I am in love.

Your Keyboard Won't Judge

As always, I've started something, and failed to follow throught with an every day post. So, for that very reason, I apologize.

I've been thinking lately, and though I do that all the time, I find that this thought is important enough to share. Obviously, it's about writing.

Writing to me, has become the best form of expression. It's changed the way I've seen life actually. You see, nothing you ever have to say is ever wasted, nor is it unimportant. When a writer is writing something every small word she, or he, chooses is incredibly important, and entirely relevant to what they're trying to say. No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted. It works the same way with words. No matter what it is you feel, write it down, because whether you think someone cares or not, I can promise you this: your keyboard won't judge, and it'll love to know what you've got on your mind.

Out of My Comfort Zone

It amazes me how someone can bring out something within myself, that I never though I had. There's someone in my life who's very good at that; helping me discover the amazing parts of my personality that I didn't even know existed.... Ah, anyway... on a different angle of this, I've been blessed with teachers who've helped me find out just what I can do, even if the task at hand is out of my comfort zone. Recently, my creative writing teacher went out on paturnity (spelling?) leave. Meaning, my male English teacher, is home with his new born baby boy for six weeks. As upset about this as I was, I was luckily given a fantastic replacement. This new teacher is a younger girl, new out of college, but she's impressed me with her seemingly 'wise' ways of teaching. She knows I love to write, obviously: why else would I be taking a creative writing course? Anyway, she assigned my class to write poetry, and she gave us outlines for how the poems should be. She had students pick different prompts at random, making sure they didn't read them before chosing, although, she handed me mine, without giving me a choice, stating that she knows I'm a good writer, and she wants to challenge me. I accepted the challenge with a wide smile. My task was to write a poem about a reaccuring dream that I've had. Easy enough right? Well, I also had to write short, choppy, repetative phrases, to better express the chaos of the dream. Here's the thing: I barely ever write like that. Yes, short phrases do have tendencies to make an impact in writing, but to write an entire poem like that? And repeat these phrases? It was incredibly out of the ordinary for me, but I gave it a shot... The dream I used was a silly, strange dream, that I had a lot when I was a child. I don't understand it at all... I tried my best to describe it from a point that wasn't so stinkin' goofy. Let me know what you think:


Bedtime Stories


My hands shake from the cold,
The snow, the snow.
Chain link fence,
Cuts me off,

From the rest of the world.

Seperate.

My feel crumble the ice.

I can't breathe well in the icy, sharp air.

A polar bear rustles.

Grumbles a low roar.

Keep her cub safe.

Need safety, need safety, needs safety.

I walk past.

Don't stop.

Won't stop.

Can't stop.

The house is stout, small, cut in half.

Pure white, uninviting.

Don't walk there.

I walk there.

Do you know what's going to happen?

Can't you go inside for me?

Step closer.

Inhale deeply, watch the door swing open.

Stare at the figure, covered in fur.

Stands still.

Makes no sense,

Wolf on two legs.

Can't be real,

Can't be here,

Can't be safe.

Their eyes, they lie

They lie.

Lying to me.

They're not really friendly.

Not nice.

Not fair.

Not safe.

No safety.

I stare

wide-eyes,

walk away

There's another.

Large bird, yellow beak.

Snow white feathers.

All white,

Too white,

Not safe,

Never safe,

No safety.

Don't smile at me,

I know what you want.

Big bowl, big pot, big hole.

Black bottom.

Dark bottom.

Empty bottom.

I don't want to go in there.

Don't make me.

Don't make me.

I step in,

I wait.

Wait for what?

Wait still.

She walks closer,

Stop smiling,

Don't smile,

You hate me.

No smiling.

The fear crawls into my stomach,

Fear, stabbing in my spine.

The fear. The fear.

I step back, crawl out.

Go Home.

Home?

Where's Home?

Leave.

Leave now.

No.

Walk to the other side of the house.

Why? Don't.

Stop.

See another.

What do you look like?

Who are you?

Why can't I understand?

No memory.

No face.

Not safe.

Wants me too.

I'm so cold, no one sees me.

No one knows.

No one safe, that is.

No one safe,

Not safe,

Never safe,

No safety.

Stop coming back.

Why do you come here?

Here.

Here.

Always Here.

Stop walking around here, stop coming back.

Don't come back.

It isn't safe here.

It's not safe.

Never safe.

No safety...

If you have any questions about the dream behind this poem, just let me know.

Read it for Yourself

I have this disease. No worries, nothing fatal, just a disease that causes me to be...shifty. Hm, that seems to be the right word. Here, let me explain. In my last post, I told you I'm currently reading The Lovely Bones, but as of last night, I was given the book, The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner by Stephenie Meyer, so now, I'm reading that one too. It's incredibly good. (The shifty comment comes from my strange need to read like twelve freakin' books at one time.) Anyway it's a book about, obviously, the short second life of a girl named Bree Tanner, that we first meet in the book Eclipse from the Twilight Saga. I know, you're thinking something along the lines of, 'Twilight Saga, seriously? You loser,' but seriously check this book out. Ah, and to talk about that whole Twilight deal. I have read it, yes. I read it a while ago, but I was addicted. The coolest part? I'm not someone that's totally into vamp novels, and I don't really enjoy too much in the scary, creepy, book department. I don't care who you are, or what kind of books you enjoy, read these freakin' books. Yes, they are long, but they are also INSANELY incredible. I was totally wrapped up in every book I read, seeing, hearing, feeling, smelling, tasteing every aspect of that entire series. Stephenie Meyer writes as though everything written is personal experience. Exciting, romantic, intense, passionate, action packed. Yes, my list of adjectives for the Saga. I was incredibly sad to read the end of it, but it was worth every last bit of my time. Now, reading this current book realated to the Saga, I'm totally in love with it. I haven't yet heard a word about Bella, or Edward, or anything like that. I'm learing the entire opposite angle of the entire 'army of vamps' thing. So, Twilight fans, you must read this book. You will understand so much more than you thought you would. Speaking of understanding, have I mentioned I love Stephenie Meyer? If not, then here goes nothing, I LOVE STEPHENIE MEYER. I love her for this very reason: In the begginning of The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner, Stephenie Meyer writes a letter to the readers, explaing what she wants us to get out of this book. She tells about how Bree was a character that created herself, something all writers can attend to. She says she hopes we love Bree just as she does, and then explains that it is a selfish wish, considering it is The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner. But because of her personal touch with this novel, as well as the readers, I admire Stephenie Meyer now, more than I already did, (as if that was possible?)
Alright, so, yes, pick up this book, it's fan-freakin'-tastic.
This is where I'm supposed to tell you to not take my word for it, go read it yourself, but, I'm not going to. I'm going to tell you to take my word for it, as well as go read it for yourself.

Book Nerd

Yesterday, I finished the book Along for the Ride by Sarah Dessen. It was in fact, my first Sarah Dessen book, but many people have been forcing her novels down my throat (not literally, that would be painful). I have to admit, it was a pretty great book. Ironically enough the girl's parents were both writers.This girl, named Auden, throws herself into her school work to cope with her parent's fighting and divorce. Eventually, in her senior year, she travels to a little town called Colby, and stays with her dad, her 'Barbie' of a stepmom, and her new baby sister, Thisbe. Long story short, she finds that her stepmom (Heidi) isn't so bad. Auden makes friends in this place, and finds a boy different from all of the others there. She learns a lot about herself, and the world around her when her dad and Heidi start to fight, like her mother and father did. What I didn't like about this book, was the fact that it was difficult to find out what genre to stick it in. It wasn't a full on love story, or just an average, 'this is my life' story either. Maybe that's also a reason to like it. It was pretty real in a sense, because when you focus on life, there isn't just your love life, or your home life, or your school life, everything is all smashed together in a massive mess. This aspect of Sarah Dessen's writing did make her story more real, and more relateable. Also, there's something about Auden that everyone can relate to, even if you are nothing like her. She has this way about her that is afraid of something, something that she can't understand. We're all afraid of the unknown, and we've all delt with times when we've decided to completely envelope ourselves in something else, to block out this elephant in the room. So, give this book a shot, it is worth reading.


On a more, not so peppy note, I recently also finished the book Impulse, by Ellen Hopkins? Yes, that sounds right. Ellen Hopkins. Now, this book was pretty kick-ass. It was grody, and intense, and it made you squirm, no doubt. Ellen Hopkins writes about three teens in an asylum. One kid, Tony, is stuck there for drugs and all whole bunch of other things he did in his past. He walks in gay, and walks away, well, not so gay anymore. Anther boy, Jason, (don't hold me to his name, I have a horrid memory) is in there for trying to kill himself. His life was seemingly perfect from the outside, but inside, he just couldn't take the rich, snobby woman who was always against him: his mother. Also, when one's affair with a teacher becomes public, one often doesn't cope too well with that. The girl in this mix was, oh gee, I'm going to say her name is Veronica, (I sure hope so). Well, she was a cutter, stuck in this place because one cut was just a little too 'close for comfort' and by close, I mean close to the other side of her arm. She was bipolar, a condition she got from her mother, and like her mother, dealing with this without help, causes one to really travel downhill after a while. These teens interact and lean on eachother inside this place, filled with peverted inmates, and guards. There's a hot therapist that Jason tries his charm on. (Jason? I still can't decide if that sounds right.) And Tony and Veronica discover that 'the end of the world' isn't always the end. It was full of shocking moments, and moments that litterally made me laugh out loudly. (lol) But enough of me forgetting their names, you might as well just read it yourself. It is a verse novel, so it's written sort of like poetry. I have to warn you though, this is nothing like your favorite Dr. Seuss.


Currently, I'm reading The Lovely Bones, I'll let you know how that goes. So far, so good.

P.S. My favorite Dr. Seuss was the Foot Book... check that one out too.

I'm All About Here

Here, on this webpage, is where I want to take you with me through the wonderful world of writing. Let me read your best simile, and metaphor; lets argue about great writers. Write down some of your feelings, or ask for a good book, I'll reccomend them often. I'll be posting some pieces of my current novel, to give you a taste of what you will soon find covering the bookshelves in Borders. I'll be posting some poetry, and short stories. Yet, more importantly, I want to hear what you have to say. So write all over this page here, let me know what you've got.
Oh, and feel free to correct my horrible spelling.

So, I've got this book here...

So, I've decided to assign myself the task of writting a novel. It's not the first time. I've started books before, typing word aimlessly, just praying they'd find their way into some sort of creative order, although, that never seems to be the case. Fortuantly, things are looking up, I've gotten farthest with this one. I know this one will get finished. It might take me the rest of my life before I feel that it's perfect enough for me, but it'll get finished, I promise. So welcome to the start of my novel writing, and good luck in deciphering my scattered thoughts. Sometimes words just come out, and I haven't yet had the time to decide whether they were meant to be written or not... Oh well. Too late now. If the words wanted to be there badly enough to go behind my back and jump on the page, then they must belong there.