Author: Chrys Buckley

Chrys Buckley was born with albinism, which means she has no pigment and she’s legally blind. Chrys has bachelor’s degrees in Arts & Letters, Micro/Molecular Biology, and Biochemistry. She endured approximately ¾ of medical school before breaking free to focus on writing and disability advocacy. She’s currently in the Book Publishing graduate program at Portland State University, pursuing concentrations in Book Editing and Book Design. Chrys is the manager of the Digital and Audio departments at Ooligan Press. Her nonfiction has appeared in The Sun, Shark Reef, and Aerial. She was a finalist (twice) in MTV’s “I’m from Rolling Stone” writing contest. She has won the R.L. Gilette Scholarship and the Sophie Kerr Gift in English Literature. Her debut collection Invisible Violets: A Mixtape in Lyric Essays is forthcoming from Wandering Aengus Press. Chrys lives, works, walks, and writes in Portland.
TV

Why Do I Love House? – Part One, Intellectual Stimulation

Chrys Buckley

houseimagesLet me count the ways.

I have confessed before to my obsessive, undying love for this show, and being an analytical person, I have given a lot of thought to why the show appeals to me so much.

First, it’s a really intelligent, funny drama on TV. I guess in some ways, it’s not all that different from a crime type show. There’s just as much lying and investigating. Somehow though, House engages my mind more than any CSI type show, partly because the human body, and the psychology, are so infinitely fascinating. And I’ve learned a lot about medical conditions from watching the show.

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Writing

Having Myself a Merry Little Christmas

Chrys Buckley

xmasindexThis holiday season had the potential to be pretty depressing and lonely, as it’s the first one I’ve spent alone. Most years, I went back and saw my family, and last year I was here with Adrian and the doggie, and we barely acknowledged the existence of the holidays (or each other, it was a shitty holiday season). And in the past, since I wasn’t here, I never decorated or did anything for the holidays myself. This year, for some reason, I got it in my head that I needed a little Christmas.

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Music, Writing

"Toast" by Tori Amos (and thoughts about Leaving)

Chrys Buckley

"Toast" by Tori Amos (and thoughts about Leaving)TOAST

I thought it was Easter time
The way the light rose
Rose that morning
Lately you’ve been on my mind
You showed me the ropes
Ropes to climb
Over mountains, and to pull myself
Out of a landslide
Of a landslide

I thought it was harvest time
You always loved the
Smell of the wood burning
She with her honey hair
Dallhousie castle
She would meet you there
In the winter, butter yellow
The flames you stirred
Yes, you could stir

I raise a glass, make a toast
A toast in your honor
I hear you laugh and beg me not to dance
Cuz on your right, standing by
Is Mr. Bojangles, with a toast
He’s telling me it’s time
To raise a glass, make a toast
A toast in your honor
I hear you laugh and beg me not to dance
Cuz on your righ;t, standing by
is Mr. Bojangles, with a toast
He’s telling me it’s time
To let you go
Let you go

I thought I”d see you again
You say you might do
Maybe in a carving
In a cathedral
Somewhere
In Barcelona

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Writing

Home, Home Again

Chrys Buckley

eastcoastfallimages…and I can definitely say, to quote another band, “what a loooooooong, strange trip it’s been.”

Three weeks and a day of traveling all over the east coast. I went from Philly to Allentown, PA, from there a quick trip up to Albany for a concert, then back to Allentown, then Boston, then Baltimore, then back to Allentown, then to NYC, then to Philly (with a trip from NYC out to Long Island to meet my ride back to Philly). Then yesterday morning, I left Philly for my trek back to Orcas Island, which, all told, took 18 hours.

In a way it was a rock star kind of trip, waking up in all these different cities. So many nights, I had the sensation of coming in or out of sleep and being disoriented, wondering where I was. It was great. Throughout the trip, I slept on couches, in two hotels, in a basement spare room, in a shared twin bed in a dorm room and on a pullout couch. I saw so many friends it was amazing. Not just the ones I stayed with, but friends I saw at concerts, friends who came to my reading in New York City, a friend who I rarely get to see and who is going to Iraq in January. We met for two hours, went out to eat at a brewery, it was the fourth time I’ve seen in the last seven years. I get a little choked up sometimes, just thinking about how precious it is to have these short encounters with people who matter.

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Writing

Writing from the road – Allentown, PA

Chrys Buckley

housetitleindexIt’s been a long time since I wrote anything here on my blog. No, I didn’t fall off the face of the Earth, but let me tell you guys, the latest Mercury Retrograde hit hard. I can’t blame it all on that though, as it started before, and lasted until after. I will be honest, I spent most of late September and October lounging around my house, cleaning, organizing and rearranging my house, and watching HOUSE.

I will digress to say, I’ve watched the entire series THREE TIMES. Yes, I’m sure that sounds pathetic to anyone who isn’t me, and I’m sure it probably is, but here’s the thing. First of all, I went through every part of my house – kitchen drawers, closets, the chest that the TV sits on, the shelves in my bedroom closet and the cabinets under my bathroom sink. I totally reorganized everything. When I first moved into my apartment, a year and a half ago, I was seeing Adrian and he soon moved in with doggie, and it was all haphazard, with some organization as we went along (he was actually very clean and liked to arrange the house, which was great because at the time, I was pretty much a slob). For months I’ve felt like I wanted to re=organize, really make things mine, that sort of thing, but never got around to it. Until I downloaded all the seasons of House. I put on the pilot episode and wandered over to the kitchen.

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Writing

Is finished ever really finished?

Chrys Buckley

writing-is-the-artYesterday was my target date. I was supposed to have the next draft of the book totally DONE.

Technically, I made it. Sometime Wednesday morning before work, I finished revising the last paragraph of the last chapter. I want to talk some about the process of writing this book.

It all started the first summer I lived on Orcas Island. I’d just made it out of hell and narrowly escaped homelessness in Seattle. I was offered a kitchen job at the camp that offered housing, which was my own room to myself, and food, and year-round work, sort of. I was staying somewhere, for the first time in years. I wasn’t fully on my feet but for once I didn’t have to worry about basic survival.

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Writing

Coming Clean about College

Chrys Buckley

emersonimagesI am nervous making this post, might as well get that out of the way from the very beginning.

As I’ve talked about in previous blogs, I’m planning on returning to school next fall to finish my undergrad degree. I’m looking at some WA state schools, and also, as described in I Can’t Seem to Stop Stretching, widening my circles of where I’m looking. I’m not sure I want to stay in WA. I am sure it would be easier, especially financially, and that if I go somewhere else, everything will depend on financial aid. Still, that hasn’t stopped me from looking. I dream big, always. And I’m determined as shit, so if I want to make something happen that’s more of a stretch, I’ll find a way. Of that, I have no doubt.

*

On a different note, up until April, I was living with this guy. He doesn’t want to be written about (and almost definitely hasn’t seen my blog), and I want to respect that, but also be able to give bare bones background stuff when necessary, so I’m going to call him…Adrian (lol it doesn’t fit him at all but I have my reasons). You can pretty much assume that any names I use in this blog for people in my real life (aside from other writers who I want to link you to and such) are changed.

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Writing

My Artist Statement

Chrys Buckley

artiststatementimages(The artist statement is something I had to write for a grant I applied for. I railed against it, mainly by way of procrastination, but here’s how it eventually, perhaps a bit too passionately, came out.)

ARTIST STATEMENT

Like most people I know, my childhood was regularly awful. I am albino, which means that my skin, hair and eyes are paler than pale and I’m legally blind. This condition complicated social matters, but with a messy home life, I often felt more different and alienated on the inside than I was in outward appearance. I survived my difficult times by reading books. Books entertained and deepened me. Reading took me to other worlds, which paradoxically helped me understand my own life and illuminated what it meant to be human in a more universal way.

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Writing

A Mishmosh of Other Notes

Chrys Buckley

mishmoshimagesSo, after further investigating UW’s English department, I realized they really don’t offer the array of writing classes I want. I’d spend most of my time there taking literature classes, which isn’t necessarily terrible, but I want to be writing, and not just analytical, critical essays. I have three semesters left if all my credits transfer, and I don’t want to have to put writing on hold for that long while I get my degree. What irks me to no end is that UW offers these “extension” programs aimed at the working adult, and they have extension classes in everything I want to take – memoir, creative non-fiction (as in articles and essays), screenwriting, genre fiction, literary fiction. Such a delectable selection! But of course, when I asked the English department, I found out that in no way can any of the extension classes be taken for credit.

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Writing

I Can’t Seem to Stop Stretching

Chrys Buckley

expansionimagesThis always happens.

It always seems that whenever I have an idea, a plan, something expansive, I put that in motion, and as soon as that’s taken care of, more ideas for more expansive things come to mind. During the last semester that I attended college, instead of flying into Phoenix (I went to school in Flagstaff), I wanted to go to LA to spend time with my good friend Caren before going to school. In my house, it didn’t matter that I was 21, I had to get this plan approved by my parents. The way I got any plan approved by my parents was to put it in writing.

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