My name is Emma R. Wilson, and I write fiction and poetry under my alter-ego pen name Novaa Veo. On this website, I encourage you to sample my writings and view my resume. Thank you very much for stopping by!
Inquiries? Email me and novaa at novaaveo dot com.
After I realized I didn’t want to be a Christian anymore (no offense, Christian readers! Just wasn’t for me) I remember I still craved a holy book. What I did like about being Christian was taking some “me” time to read the Bible. Introspective quiet time is so important, and I missed that spiritual “re-connecting” every morning.
Then I found poetry.
Then I found yoga.
Poetry & yoga, every morning, y’all. Actually, I could read poetry and do yoga all day. And eat Poptarts, but that is besides the point
Kendra and I last night, all dolled-up.
Last night, I forgot to ring in the new year.
My best friend Kendra and I were exchanging birthday/Christmas presents. (Kendra is one of the best gift-givers I know.) I looked at my phone, and I said “Oh hey! It’s 2013! Happy New Year!” It was a low-key night: dinner and drinks turned into a champagne-farts and science-fiction movie marathon sleepover at my house. It was just what I needed. This mimics how I want the new year to be: fun, honest, and effortless.
This next year, I want to steer clear of making stressful long-term goals. In my personal experience, long-term goals or resolutions tend to fizzle, and I don’t want to feel weighed down. Instead, I’ve decided I’m going to embark on twelve 30-day trials. (One for each month, Math Whiz…) I can’t take credit for the idea of the 30-day trial; that credit goes to the impressive Steve Pavlina. Each trial I run will be focusing on a habit or practice I’d like to give a test-run. But at the end of each month, there are no commitments to maintain or continue these habits. It is simply for the experience.
I tried to make a list of the twelve 30-day trials I’m going to do in advance, but I realized that I don’t need to do that. I’m taking it one trial at a time. THIS month is my only focus. SO, for January, I decided that I am going to get up each morning at 6 a.m. I have always much enjoyed being an early riser in the past but I’ve gotten out of the habit. This month, it’s all I’m focusing on. With Christmas break, I think it’s an excellent opportunity to get into the habit of rising early. I do my best writing in the morning. I’m motivated and excited to see this 30-day trial to the end.
I am simplifying this year. I’m tired of juggling tons of activities and projects that only leave me half-fulfilled. I feel the urge to pare down and focus on essentials. This year is all about my writing, my friends and family, and my college career. This time next year, I’ll be a graduate. THAT IS BIZARRE LET’S MOVE ON AND SIDESTEP THAT CRISIS LOL
I’m going to bed, because I’m getting up early. I’m happy, I’m here, I’m doing well. It’s all happening. Happy New Year!
Gulping the sugary air, pink and June,
You and I found Hello Kitty in the asphalt.
I couldn’t pry her loose with my car key; you laughed.
“Maybe she’d prefer to stick there forever.”
Later, we ate pastries and provided an audience
For the ducks. It hit me-
You’re cosmos! I couldn’t believe it.
“There’s jelly on your nose!”
Attempting to wake up, I bit my lip.
Blood gushed out, a river, down my dress.
Your tangerine dreams flirt with my reality.
Watch them promenade in the giant cup,
Hesitant, before mixing completely.
If I could just lick that jelly off your nose,
About the rest, I could care less.
The light glimmers and you feel
a seizure coming;
panic pools in acorn wells
so faeries can harvest it for their gardens;
magical, tragical dew, made special, by you.
Your palms moisten,
your throat swells,
knees jerk and eyes blink, wild.
The small of your back screams “Let’s run! Before it’s too late!”
And the faeries, with fire hair
may sneer and snicker,
taunting you as your vision begins to flicker
into kaleidoscopes.
“Focus on your center,” you recall your therapist advising.
“Hold tight to your core, and breathe.”
(the above is an excerpt from my new poetry chapbook, available soon!)
If you swim too deep in the ocean, the pressure crushes you into a bloody blob. It’s a lonely way to die. I heard of these folks who created gills for underwater living, but they didn’t yet know this consequence. For a little while, everything was fine. They played cards with the jellyfish, and the dolphins told amazing jokes. Of course it all ended tragically when they swam too deep. Their families, devastated, said “Enough!” and destroyed all the gills in a public burning, which Mama says was for the best.
Sometimes when I dive down to the bottom of the lake, I feel a faint pressure in my ears. Mama told me it’s a warning sign from our grieving ancestors, but I think she’s wrong. I bet the gilled-people felt that same strain too, but the lure of the unknown was a force they just couldn’t resist.
(the above is an excerpt from my new poetry chapbook, available soon!)
anticipation nation
roots under boots
daysleeper
hip hop headphones
brink-walking
damp soil
big fishing
The poems below are excerpts from my most recent poetry zine, Happy-Makers.
Greetings, loved ones! I’ve been working on some poems for the past few months, and I finally have a few polished enough to share with you. I’ve posted a few below, and I’ll post more tomorrow. They’re a little whimsical and a lot weird, but that’s always been the case with me. ^___^ Writing is red velvet cake. I hope you love these poems!
XO
Novaa
1.
I left on a voyage to the Sun
in an effort to meet my Creator.
She could barely keep still,
my odyssey long overdue,
Yet she never once thought of complaining.
2.
If Earth were the size of a tennis ball
our Sun would be
seven football fields away.
Why would a thing so remote
bother with greening the grass
on which we lay?
3.
All you have to do is slide.
Let your grip go; forget the ego.
Understand your everything is nothing at all,
and allow yourself to melt in pure light.
4.
Police lights dance at accident scenes,
this is life.
Fat tears slide into beer bottles,
this is life.
Spray-paint Jesus blesses the building wall,
this is life.
It’s understanding what cherishes you
and what is then cherished.
I found the egg
while adventuring around the construction site
by my schoolyard.
I picked it up, cupping it feather-light in my palm.
Cold.
I held it for hours,
sensing movement, then convincing myself otherwise.
I began to think if I tried hard enough
I could revive whatever lay inside.
I’ll take it home
Put it under my pillow
Keep it warm
I squeezed too hard.
A crack, tiny,
oozed clear liquid on my hands.
I shrieked, horrified, dropping it to the pavement.
Running home I felt sick,
heavy in my eyes and feet,
magnetic in the worst way.
I swore I heard a bird
chirping frenzied songs of sorrow.
Like when Dean died… remember?
Mom got to see him first.
She straightened his tie
and cried
and cried.
About Me