In English class we are supposed to make a 6-word version of our own "portrait", just as a little exercise and reflection after reading James Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.
I'm not feeling too particularly happy at the moment. That is a blatant understatement.
I feel inspired, though, as all tortured artists must be. It turned into more of a 6 line at a time poem.
Heartstrings pulled her until she choked.
She thought she could handle the hurt.
She leaves us with art unfinished.
The moon will be alone tonight.
They always feed on her heart.
But I can't say that in English class. I'll probably say something like:
5 foot tall bottle of sunshine!
I only make pies and enemies.
At last, she slipped and fell.
Showing posts with label boyfriend. Show all posts
Showing posts with label boyfriend. Show all posts
Monday, January 23, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Pangea
I was thinking of the stories I have written in the past and talking to some other writers when I noticed an interesting trend.
I am an amateur writer. I do not pretend to be an expert or a "novelist", I just write for the sheer joy of it.
One of the marks of an amateur writer is, when the setting is a world that is not the one we live in, the use of Pangea-esque settings. I admit, I tend to do this. Scratch that, I always do this when I don't use the Earth.
When you write a story, you sometimes have to incorporate the mixing of cultures. We can portray this by drawing boundaries and border lines; by making countries, dialects, accents, and nations. However, adding an "overseas" element adds a whole new challenge. Suddenly you have to think about how much globalization has occurred in your setting, how much the cultures differ, what reluctance they might have for mixing, and..... watch out... the fact that they have developed entirely separately from each other depending on which continent they originated from before things like boats and airplanes were invented, if they HAVE been invented in your story.
>:( *brain hurts*
No thanks. Not ready for that yet. I admire it when writers are, though.
I realized through this that one of my favorite authors, Maria V. Snyder (READ POISON STUDY, YOU WON'T REGRET IT), uses a pangea-esque world that just has some borders and two country names.
I STILL LOVE YOU, MARIAAAA!
oh hey...Boyfriend is here :] I'm gunna go
I am an amateur writer. I do not pretend to be an expert or a "novelist", I just write for the sheer joy of it.
One of the marks of an amateur writer is, when the setting is a world that is not the one we live in, the use of Pangea-esque settings. I admit, I tend to do this. Scratch that, I always do this when I don't use the Earth.
When you write a story, you sometimes have to incorporate the mixing of cultures. We can portray this by drawing boundaries and border lines; by making countries, dialects, accents, and nations. However, adding an "overseas" element adds a whole new challenge. Suddenly you have to think about how much globalization has occurred in your setting, how much the cultures differ, what reluctance they might have for mixing, and..... watch out... the fact that they have developed entirely separately from each other depending on which continent they originated from before things like boats and airplanes were invented, if they HAVE been invented in your story.
>:( *brain hurts*
No thanks. Not ready for that yet. I admire it when writers are, though.
I realized through this that one of my favorite authors, Maria V. Snyder (READ POISON STUDY, YOU WON'T REGRET IT), uses a pangea-esque world that just has some borders and two country names.
I STILL LOVE YOU, MARIAAAA!
oh hey...Boyfriend is here :] I'm gunna go
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Valentine's Tower
'we were a little puddle of vitality and young love in a big empty place. i dont know, it was an odd feeling'
Boyfriend and I were having an odd day. I was sad for no reason, crying my eyes out for some subconscious BLUGH that I was feeling. Boyfriend came over late, but he got there. He took me away, through an eerie black sunset, under a sliver of moon and one bright star, to a cozy cafe in the mountains.
He coaxed out my smile, and we decided that we were in for quite a lovey, romantic evening. The thin lady of a youngish, indeterminable age and tattoos let us stay past closing time.
We were called by his acquaintance, an older woman, telling us that she needed a ride to the hospital. We ditched our plans of watching Black Stallion and trying champagne (Just to make sure we still don't like the taste). He drove like a mad man through the dark and the fog, down out of the mountains.
We waited in the ER lobby, the ER room, the hallway, the OR waiting room. When we got there, the place was bustling with headachey, feverish people and children with confused, tired expressions at having been woken in the night. I felt confused and small. We waited in the ER room as the woman became unconscious, and we shared the tiny brown chair in the corner by the sink.
People came and went, patients checked in and were then checked up on, and checked out. People watched us watching them as they passed by, first worried, then relieved. An old couple was taking a disoriented old man home when the husband walked towards us. He had a little plastic tub with a sandwich in it that reminded me of how starving we were. His plaid scarf delightfully mismatched his plaid jockey cap and slippers. Poking his head in a bit through the curtains, he said that he thought it was really good that we were comforting mom, and comforting each other.
That was really nice of him, I told Boyfriend.
The moral of today's story, he said, is that the system is stupid and slow, and people are too busy to listen.
I thought about that for a bit. Then i responded, I think the moral of today is that even though life can throw some nasty turns at you, you can still find compassion and humanity in people. Like the lady who owned the cafe and that old man. And all the people on staff here are stretched thin, but they are trying their best to make a difference.
We were questioned over and over, we were ushered from chair to chair, we were left in a big room full of single seat chairs that gave our spines a strict talking to. The only other man, an old man named Henry, was staring with a loose jaw at a television, seeming not to comprehend anything that was on the screen.
The hospital was deserted now. We were the only two people waiting, and we hardly saw any of the staff walking around. Once Henry had been called away, we turned off the horridly loud TV and tried to turn some chairs to make an odd, gap-ridden bench bed. We talked the entire time. Boyfriend and I have never been bored by each other. I think that's amazing. We talked about the cafe we want to own, and how I want to have a house with a Tardis mailbox, a horse named Beans, and an outhouse made of one-way mirrors in the middle of a garden.
The halls were far from silent, because the elevator would ding and open, without anyone getting in or getting out, and then close and move on. The little intercoms would buzz. There was a constant buzzing in the air. Boyfriend and I talked about how we are going to have to decide whether to stay together when I go to college or not. It was bittersweet: we love each other so much that we are okay with either of us doing whatever we really need to do in life. That just makes it harder; it makes me want to stay with him forever. If we have to split up, we know that we will horribly, selfishly wish that the other person misses us to death. But all the feelings are mutual. I don't know what will happen.
I felt young, I felt powerless, I felt oddly free.
Boyfriend and I were having an odd day. I was sad for no reason, crying my eyes out for some subconscious BLUGH that I was feeling. Boyfriend came over late, but he got there. He took me away, through an eerie black sunset, under a sliver of moon and one bright star, to a cozy cafe in the mountains.
He coaxed out my smile, and we decided that we were in for quite a lovey, romantic evening. The thin lady of a youngish, indeterminable age and tattoos let us stay past closing time.
We were called by his acquaintance, an older woman, telling us that she needed a ride to the hospital. We ditched our plans of watching Black Stallion and trying champagne (Just to make sure we still don't like the taste). He drove like a mad man through the dark and the fog, down out of the mountains.
We waited in the ER lobby, the ER room, the hallway, the OR waiting room. When we got there, the place was bustling with headachey, feverish people and children with confused, tired expressions at having been woken in the night. I felt confused and small. We waited in the ER room as the woman became unconscious, and we shared the tiny brown chair in the corner by the sink.
People came and went, patients checked in and were then checked up on, and checked out. People watched us watching them as they passed by, first worried, then relieved. An old couple was taking a disoriented old man home when the husband walked towards us. He had a little plastic tub with a sandwich in it that reminded me of how starving we were. His plaid scarf delightfully mismatched his plaid jockey cap and slippers. Poking his head in a bit through the curtains, he said that he thought it was really good that we were comforting mom, and comforting each other.
That was really nice of him, I told Boyfriend.
The moral of today's story, he said, is that the system is stupid and slow, and people are too busy to listen.
I thought about that for a bit. Then i responded, I think the moral of today is that even though life can throw some nasty turns at you, you can still find compassion and humanity in people. Like the lady who owned the cafe and that old man. And all the people on staff here are stretched thin, but they are trying their best to make a difference.
We were questioned over and over, we were ushered from chair to chair, we were left in a big room full of single seat chairs that gave our spines a strict talking to. The only other man, an old man named Henry, was staring with a loose jaw at a television, seeming not to comprehend anything that was on the screen.
The hospital was deserted now. We were the only two people waiting, and we hardly saw any of the staff walking around. Once Henry had been called away, we turned off the horridly loud TV and tried to turn some chairs to make an odd, gap-ridden bench bed. We talked the entire time. Boyfriend and I have never been bored by each other. I think that's amazing. We talked about the cafe we want to own, and how I want to have a house with a Tardis mailbox, a horse named Beans, and an outhouse made of one-way mirrors in the middle of a garden.
The halls were far from silent, because the elevator would ding and open, without anyone getting in or getting out, and then close and move on. The little intercoms would buzz. There was a constant buzzing in the air. Boyfriend and I talked about how we are going to have to decide whether to stay together when I go to college or not. It was bittersweet: we love each other so much that we are okay with either of us doing whatever we really need to do in life. That just makes it harder; it makes me want to stay with him forever. If we have to split up, we know that we will horribly, selfishly wish that the other person misses us to death. But all the feelings are mutual. I don't know what will happen.
I felt young, I felt powerless, I felt oddly free.
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