Why I don't go to readings.

The reason that I do not go to poetry readings or literary readings is the same reason that I do not watch DVDs with commentary. When I read, I like to make my own opinions out of things and go from there. I actually never want the input of the author. I feel that that can ruin any personal experience I may have from a book.

Poetry and Fiction are fun to figure out on your own. If you have someone telling you what it is all about and the method behind the madness, then it takes the fun out of it for the readers. Any time that I have been told what a piece is about, I have hated it. Any time I have figured out, on my own, what I think a piece is about, I've enjoyed it much much more.

SO, if you want me to read anything that you have written, then don't tell me why you wrote. Don't discuss it with me. I don't wanna hear from you. I'll figure it out.

Tom and Huck

This semester, I did not have to read any books in any other classes. To, me, being that I am an English major, this was amazing. I don't think I have ever had a semester with such little reading to do. In one way, this was good, because it gave me more time to focus on other aspects of my classes. In another way, it was not good. I enjoy reading and I like being introduced to new stories and ideas. Sometimes, I end up hating them, but other times, I end up loving them. So, this semester was a win/lose situation

One book that I was forced to read over the summer (which was the last semester I had) was The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain. It had actually been a really long time since I read that story, and I enjoyed doing so. It is a classic story and there are many more important themes in it then I remembered there to be. This may be because the most vivid memories that I have of Huckleberry Finn are from the Johnathan Taylor Thomas movie Tom and Huck and the episode of Wishbone (the show where a Jack Russell Terrier played different roles in classic stories in order to teach them to kids) in witch Wishbone played Tom Sawyer. So, in retrospect, the story was more adult then I remembered it to be.

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn was actually a book that I was pleased to read, so my summer class went pretty smoothly. The themes of slavery, women, prejudice, and more are very prominent in the book, and being that the story is being told by an abandoned boy, it makes it much more easy to relate to. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn are both classic books that I will be able to read at any time for the rest of my life.

Emotional Reading

I don't know if I am a cold person, or if it's just that I get more emotionally attached to movies than books, but stories rarely make me cry or laugh out loud. Maybe I think too much about things or that I need to see them in order to be effected, but it takes a lot for a book to effect me emotionally. Surprisingly, to me at least, and interestingly enough, because the hype of the movie surrounds us right now, the Twilight series of books effected me more than any other book I have read recently. I cried, laughed, hid beneath my covers, and more while reading each of the 4 books.

Maybe these books are the only ones I can think of that effected me emotionally because I am super excited about going to see the movie tonight at midnight. Or maybe it's because they are the 4 most recent books that I've read, but there was something about these books that hooked me from the start. I immediately connected to the main character Bella and I also immediately fell in love with Edward, the vampire. It may also be because Stephanie Meyer has an amazing way of making you feel like you are part of the story. All of Bella's heartbreak, elation, love, excitement, disappointment, and more felt like it was my own. When I was done reading the books, I felt as if a part of me was gone.

I would be completely lying if I said that there were no other books that ever effected me emotionally. Nicholas Sparks books can always make me cry, but in a typical way. Horror and mystery books will scare me and make me nervous. But there has not been a book that has made me feel like part of it the way the Twilight books have.

I can't wait to pull an all-nighter and relive that world in a whole new way!!

Story to workshop

This is the story that I handed in as my 4 page short story. I need help fixing it so I have decided to work shop it today. It came from my party scene prompt story and I extended it into 4 pages. You guys may recognize some of it because I think I read the 2 page version of it in class once. I really need your help and input guys. One of the comments that I recieved is that it's a good scene but it's not quite a story. I want to find a way to fix that without taking away the mystery and vagueness that I was going for in the story.Thanks!


Search Party

As I approached, the first odor that hit my nose was stale beer and the thumping of the speakers inside sounded like a heartbeat. It was a brisk fall day that called for a jacket and I slowly walked to the front door of the large house. When I opened it, music hit me like some unseen force; I almost fell backward.

The first room I entered was lit in a dim orange glow and I noticed empty plates and bags of chips in randomness, along with empty cans and bottles. There was a dark spot on the rug, it could have been soda or vomit, and a large pile of coats on a couch.

"Yo man! You coming out back?" A large muscular boy of about 17 appeared in the door frame in front of me and I jumped at the unexpected voice. The light coming from behind him was bright and I could not make out his face.

"Neh," was the mumble that I did not expect to hear on my right. I turned to see that the pile of coats on the couch had moved. The shadow in the door frame disappeared quickly and, as my heartbeat returned to normal, I began to wonder what was "out back."

I moved through the war-like living room toward the kitchen. The light coming through the doorway was much more white than the first room. I had to squint my eyes as I walked through and, when they adjusted, I saw five or six pizza boxes stacked up on the counter. My clairvoyance told me they were empty without even looking inside of them. From the window behind me I heard the sound of a ping pong ball bounce off a table. Almost immediately after the first, I heard another. My earlier question was answered and I knew what I’d find "out back.:"

Looking around again, I got a chill and realized how ghost-like this house was. It almost seemed as if every party-goer had been abducted 10 minutes before I arrived and all that was left were the memory of their voices. I shook off the feeling and exited the kitchen through a doorway on my right. I ended up next to a set of stairs that led down and in front of me was a door that led "out back," or so I assumed. I heard more ghosts coming from the bottom of the stairs and I decided that outside might be a better place to try first. I turned the door knob and the large white door creaked open. I stepped out onto a wooden deck and I finally saw some life. There were floating heads down on the lawn, their bodies were cut off by the deck, and I decided not to mess with them. Next to me was a large, blue bucket full of floating beer cans and ice and beside the bucket there was a circle of teens around something, a keg I assumed. I couldn’t see their faces, but I didn’t recognize any of them.

I turned around and headed back into the kitchen, ignoring the basement for now. I decided to try the direction I didn’t go in before. I walked straight through the kitchen, the orange room was to my left and a new doorway with a flickering blue light was in front of me. I entered the dark room and saw a movie playing on the big screen TV. Two girls were sleeping in awkward positions on the couch opposite the TV with their hair covering their face. I assumed they were not quite "sleeping." I scanned the rest of the dark room and noticed there was another girl in the reclining chair. I had to take a closer look at her, but I didn’t know who she was.

I didn’t want to go in the basement so I went back in the orange room and took out my cell phone. No service. Behind the couch with the pile of jackets, there was a staircase leading up. It couldn’t hurt to check it out so, slowly avoiding the talking coats, I headed up the stairs. It was dark in front of me and I got another chill. The creaking of my feet on the steps was not very comforting either.

The door in front of me was small and I could hear that someone was exorcizing their stomach contents on the other side. It sounded like a male. The door to my right was wide open and the room was dark. I could make out a large white bed, but I detected no movement.

I turned to my left and headed down the narrow hallway. I passed another closed door on my right and I could hear ghoulish moans and groans coming from inside. I laughed to myself and went toward the door in front of me. It was a welcoming sight because a warm light was coming from the cracked opening. I stopped in front of the door and slowly pushed it open. I poked my head over the threshold and beheld a girl sitting on a pink bed.

She was not just any girl though. She looked as if she had been through too much in one night. Her hair appeared stringy and covered half of her face, and although she was sitting up, I couldn’t tell if her eyes were open or not. Her dark makeup had expanded around her eyes and her lips looked pale and chalky. I stepped into the room.

The girl did not move, so I crept toward the bed. I was scared. Her chest was moving up and down, so I knew she was not dead. I slowly leaned toward her and put my hand on her arm. She jumped, but did not open her eyes. I wrapped my hand around the milky white limb and tightened my grip. Taking in a deep breath, I shook her and she opened her eyes.

The look I saw on her face was a mixture of fear and anger and I quickly backed away. She said nothing and closed her eyes again. I knew I needed to save her, but I knew she did not want to be saved. "Come with me." I whispered. She responded by quickly rolling her eyes into her head.

I knew I had to get her out now, and since she was skeletal and half my size, I decided to pick her up. I figured she wouldn’t like it. She fought me a little but soon gave in and slumped against my body. A rush came over me and I swiftly moved out of the room, back down the hallway, and down the stairs. I saw a familiar jacket in the living pile and quickly grabbed it. I flipped it over the girl in my arms and headed for the large front door.

The chill in the air woke her up and she looked at me in a demonic way. I couldn’t get to my keys so I had to put her down in the grass. I dug around in my pocket, pulled them out, unlocked the car, and flung open the passenger side door. I turned back to the body in the grass, grabbed her wrists, and pulled her into a standing position. She looked at me again as I stuffed her in the car. I walked around to the other side and got in. As I started the engine, the blast of heat made the girl more aware. She slowly turned her head to her left and our eyes met.

"Do I need to take you to the Hospital?" My own voice sounded distant and unfamiliar.

She grunted and slowly moved her head from left to right.

"I’ll just take you home then," I replied. She nodded once and closed her eyes. "If you don’t die in your sleep..." I added. She glanced at me sideways with her eyes half open. "You’re going to die when you wake up." This comment made her face twist into what I assumed was an expression of confusion. I answered her in five simple words. "Mom’s going to kill you."

I'm really at a loss right now. I feel like I have nothing to write about and my creative side is on vacation. I've been trying to think about the prompt and what I am writing, and it's just not working. My mind keeps going back to other less important things. I think about my ex boyfriend, or my sister... And I have an idea for a story, but I don't think I can make it 3 pages. I need coffee and a break from life. I'm so stressed out that my mind can't seem to focus on one person, place, thing, or idea (noun) for more than 10 minutes.

Another issue I am having right now is the fact that I have no ink left in my printer. I have just enough to print the story I am writing and then not enough to print the items to be work shopped tonight, which I cant quite seem to find anyway. Life is a big mess right now, I'm going to try and finish writing my story and then I'm going to get coffee.

p.s. I am so nervous about the Jets/Patriots game tonight that it is also dominating my thoughts. Go Jets! (an we should probably leave class a little early so I can watch the game!!) :)

What is a literary website?

To be completely honest with everyone, I do not have a favorite literary website. I sat in front of my computer trying to think of one, but ended up just watching the Karate Kid, which happens to be on AMC right now. Then, when I snapped out of my Ralph Macchio trans, I realized that everything and anything can be literature. I agree with Melanie completely on this one.

So through my contemplating, I decided to share my favorite website that has actually inspired me to write stories and poems: Post Secret. http://postsecret.blogspot.com/

This website has been a big favorite of mine for a few years. It is a place where people can get artistic and share their secrets anonymously. Sometimes the secrets are so shocking that they really make you think about life. Other times, they are so funny, that they just make your day better. And the best is when you read one that you totally relate to and you realize that you are not alone.

Recently, Post Secret has been made into two or three books, where they have printed out the best secrets that have been posted over the years. The wealth of ideas and thoughts that surround the Post Secret world are amazing and inspiring. Many of my stories and poems have evolved from other peoples' inspiring secrets. Post Secret helps to get me through my own life.

Daniel is learning how to punch now... finally. I'm gonna go back to that, but I'm glad I could share my favorite not-quite-literature literary website with all of you.

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Literary excellence is a hard thing to define. I believe that someone has reached the state of literary excellence when their writing has the power to evoke true emotions within the reader. An author like this has to have mastered the English language in a way that does not seem possible. Also, beyond the technicality of the English language, they must be able to use their mastery to to make their readers get sucked into a different place. They need to be able to make us laugh, weep, shake, hate, love, and more.

If I had to give an award to someone for literary excellence right now, I would have to award it to Edgar Allan Poe. There will never be another writer quite like Poe, and his stories and poems have the ability to not only mess with your emotins, but your mind as well. His words are beautiful, his stories are unforgetable, his rhyme schemes are impeccable, and he has made me sleep with the lights on.

I leave you with this...

The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
'Tis the wind and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and
flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed
he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no
craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown
before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never- nevermore'."

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and
door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he
hath sent thee
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or
devil!-
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or
devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked,
upstarting-
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my
door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the
floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted- nevermore!

-Edgar Allen Poe

The Tell Tale Heart ---> http://xroads.virginia.edu/~Hyper/POE/telltale.html

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Your Friends Will Defend the Silver Lining

I don't think there is a book or story that has "saved my life" per say, but music always captures me in a way that I can not explain. No matter what mood I am in or what I am feeling at any given moment, music can "save" me. It can make me feel better about a situation, or make me realize things that I have never realized before. I'm a sucker for lyrics, and they are in fact a simple form of poetry set to music. I want to share a song that recently saved me from a form of dispair. It came on my Zune in my car when it was on shuffle one day, and it was a song I had listen to a million times before. At that moment, though I realized I had listened to it previously, I finally HEARD it. Since that day, this song can uplift my mood at any time and it will ALWAYS make me cry no matter what kind of mood I'm in.

Sometimes you lose someone in your life and it crushes you, but in those moments, you find comfort in the people that have always been there for you.

---------------------------------------------

THE HEART OF LIFE
by John Mayer

I hate to see you cry
Lying there in that position
There's things you need to hear
So turn off your tears
And listen

Pain throws your heart to the ground
Love turns the whole thing around
No it won't all go the way it should
But I know the heart of life is good

You know, it's nothing new
Bad news never had good timing
But, then your circle of friends
Will defend the silver lining

Pain throws your heart to the ground
Love turns the whole thing around
No it won't all go the way it should
But I know the heart of life is good

Pain throws your heart to the ground
Love turns the whole thing around
Fear is a friend who's misunderstood
But I know the heart of life is good
I know it's good"

---------------------------------------------

I have realized that I sometimes take my friends for granted. There are 2 girls who will always be there for me no matter what happens in my life. They proved it to me recently and this song made me realize it. <3

Fiction

Writing and reading Fiction are 2 of my favorite things to do in the world. From the previous post, which I apologize for being so late, you can see that I do write my own fiction. I am never sur of how good it is, but it is a fun release for me.

I also really enjoy writing fiction that I find to be more artistic. I am going to shar with all of you one of my favorite pieces of work.

"The Walk"

We went for a walk. The sky was slowly becoming a colorless shade of gray; the concrete and the air fused together at the horizon. The chill from the wind was almost as intense as the one I got when he looked at me. We didn’t speak. I observed the hats and scarves that floated by, they were as vibrant and rapturous as the people that were wearing them. The geese were skating on the dense pond, pretending they were at Rockefeller Center on Christmas Eve. They were having more fun then I was. The trees that lined the meandering path were naked and gnarled, twisting in so many directions they looked like the lines on a map. One tree in particular reminded me of how I felt. There were so many limbs to follow, but the longest branch looked like the path I had chosen. It was perilous and distorted, the bark was stripped, and I wanted to put a sign on it that said "turn back now." He cleared his throat and I waited in anticipation, but no words came out.

We turned a corner and the silence was more bitter then the air. I wiped the drippage from my nose with the back of my hand and then placed my chilled fingers in my pockets. The wind suddenly stopped as if God was holding his breath and I felt a small pin-prick on my nose. It had begun to snow. "Damnit," he said. The first word that had come out of his mouth in about an hour, and it was the exact opposite of what I wanted to say. The small sparkles were lighting up the slate sky and the world seemed at peace. The geese were skating faster now, talking and laughing. I felt warm. The hats and scarves gliding over the thin sheet of white reminded me of a Christmas cookie. He began walking faster, but I paid no attention. He was annoyed that I was slowing down, but I wanted to stay. I wanted to be in that peaceful snow-globe world where everyone was happy. I wanted to stay where the gnarled trees became beautiful and the dead grass glittered. I wanted to stay so I could see the icicles, that would soon form, become prisms in the sun. I wanted to let this world of beauty consume me. But he didn’t want to be in that place and I realized it was over.



I enjoy all forms of fiction, and I hope you enjoyed my piece! :)

Short Story Beginning

Riley sat in her 1995 Volkswagen Jetta and watched the windshield wipers move the rain from side to side. The weather reflected her mood, yet she knew she would have to pretend there was sunshine tonight. She was off to a bar to celebrate the engagement of her two good friends, Carla and Jeremy. She glanced at the small gift with a silver bow sitting on her passenger seat and felt the sting of on-coming tears in her sinuses. "Stop it Riley," she said out-loud to while she began to dig around in her much too large purse. "Where the hell is my cell phone?" She found the small pink device and flipped down the mirror on her visor as she moved the phone to her ear. While she was gently dabbing her tear ducts to make sure her makeup was still perfectly in place, someone picked up on the other end. "Becky. I’m outside."
"I’ll be right out!" Becky replied, more cheerful than ever.
"Great," Riley replied sarcastically, hoping Becky didn’t catch the tone.
Riley’s glance moved to the large, sand-colored, stone house with the perfect wrap-around porch that her car was idling in front of. "Can’t wait to see her new outfit," she said with a sigh. Becky had been Riley’s best friends since the fourth grade and a rich girl since she was born. Though Riley loved her, she’d been putting up with Becky’s, "Oh my God, I need a new outfit! Did you see the car my parents bought me?" attitude for 14 years.
Even worse than Becky was her older sister, Carla. Carla the queen, prom and homecoming that is. She was the type of person who would never have even spoken to Riley if they hadn’t grown up together. Carla now lived in a beautiful condo that her father, a contractor and most likely the builder of the new cond developments, bought her as a college graduation gift. Her fiancé Jeremy was in the process of moving his things.
Riley’s train of thought was startled to a halt when her passenger side door swung open. "Hey hun," Becky sang cheerfully as she leaned across the car to give her a kiss on the cheek. The large bag she was carrying seemed to fill the car instantly, tissue paper spilling out all over. It was definitely filled with something big and expensive.
"Oh no! You sat on my gift!" Riley’s realization panicked her.
"It’s fine," Becky replied as she reached under herself and pulled out the small present, silver bow detached. "I’ll fix it, don’t worry. Why do you seem so stressed out? Tonight is going to be great. Relax."
"Yeah, it’ll be perfect. It’s bad enough that I could barely afford a gift, now it’ll look like I wrapped it in my cardboard box on the curb." Riley looked at Rachel’s face and immediately realized that she’d made a mistake. She let out an awkward little "I’m just kidding" chuckle as she flicked her car into drive.
"You know Carla and Jer don’t care how much money you spend on them, they appreciate anything," Becky said with the surprised expression still glued on her face. Riley couldn’t quite understand why Becky seemed so shocked. They always joked about Riley’s "poorness," so why was this time any different?
"Jeremy would, but your sister isn’t happy until she sees a brand name," Becky knew she went too far again with that comment, but she was almost curious to see how Becky would respond. There was silence and Riley knew she ruined the sunny mood that Becky possessed earlier. Now they were both upset and they drove the rest of the way to the bar without saying a word.
As the Jetta chugged into the parking lot of the "bar" that looked more like an up-scale lounge, Becky broke the silence. "Look Ri, I’m not stupid. I know you have some sort of issue with Carla and Jeremy getting engaged, but can you please drop it. Just for tonight at least?"
"I don’t have a problem. I’m fine."
Riley then realized that her right arm was getting wet. "God dammit!" Riley yelled, louder then she thought because Rachel Jumped. "My moon roof is leaking. Again! This car is such a shit hole." Riley grabbed the ancient crank that opened and closed the moon roof and tried to tighten it shut, but it didn’t work.
"I told you I’d drive," was the only thing Becky said as she watched Riley frantically try to remedy the situation. Riley was glad to have the subject changed now, and she was also glad that she wasn’t sitting in Becky’s brand new Nissan Altima hating her life even more. Riley knew that Becky had no idea what the extent of the issue she had with the engagement was and she just wanted to drop it.
Riley grabbed the sweatshirt that was sitting in her back seat and stuck it on the arm rest. "I don’t plan on drinking, that’s why I drove. You know that. As the future Maid of Honor you should enjoy yourself tonight." She hated being nice about anything that had to do with this wedding and she clenched her teeth a little. "The sweatshirt should deal with the leak for now, let’s go in."
The two girls gathered their purses and gifts and hurried toward the awning under the front door. As they walked in past the door man and the coat-check area, Riley realized how out of place she felt. She wished more than anything that they were walking into Ted’s instead. It was the hometown bar that she loved so dearly and, as cheesy as it sounds, that bar made her feel like she lived in the show Cheers. At Ted’s, everyone really does know her name. She felt comforted just thinking about Ted’s and was thrust back into her unfortunate reality when she heard Jeremy’s voice. "Beck! Riley! Over here!" If possible, Riley was now even more uncomfortable looking at Carla and Jeremy sitting at the table hand-in-hand. She stuck a large, awkward smile on her face and walked over to the couple, giving fake hugs and kisses to all.
The girls settled down at the table across from Jeremy and Carla, "Who needs a drink?" Jeremy asked.
"Oh, it’s ok, I’ll get it myself." Riley responded as she attempted to stand up and make her way to the bar. "Besides, I’m just having seltzer."
"Get it yourself?" Carla sounded appalled. "Don’t be silly!" She whipped her head around, "EXCUSE ME?" She sounded like a drowning dolphin. A classily clad waitress in black walked over and Riley felt embarrassed. She was just so used to the way it was a Ted’s. "A seltzer and 2 glasses of Pinot Grigio please. That’s what you want, right Beck?" Carla usually talked fast and her thoughts jumped from one thing to another quickly. "Thank you! Oh. I went dress shopping with mom yesterday. I’m so excited! Lisa’s here with Sam!"
As Carla blabbered on, more friends arrived, and Riley slowly lost her cheery persona. She zeroed in on Jeremy, studied his hands, his smile, and the slightest movements he made. He was so beautiful to her, just as he always had been, and Riley’s thoughts floated off as she took a sip of her seltzer.
Riley had known Jeremy for as long as she could remember, her brother Chris had been his best friend since the two boys were in preschool. He was always around when she was younger and he has been a constant in her life ever since. His green-brown eyes were ingrained in her brain and the deep dimple on the left side of his face, which was now more rugged looking on his older, sun-weathered skin, could make her smile even if every bone in her body had just been broken. His dirty blonde hair was shorter now, but the same beautiful color it was when he was just the baby-faced boy with a bowl cut who she fell so desperately in love with when she was just 7 years old.
(To Be Continued)

prompting poetry

The first poetry prompt exercise i came across that I enjoyed was "Peoms by Google." Basically you would Google search "____ is..." or " ____ are..." and then you have a poem according to what Google finds.

MY EXAMPLE POEM

"Friends are Google"

Friends are hard to find
Friends are loyal and trustworthy
Friends are hard to find
Friends are books: Guiding
Friends are doing this, new
Friends are important, and how
Friends are liberals
Friends are interested in exercise
Friends are athletes
Friends are made of paper
Friends are electric
Friends are reading

(source - http://theothermother.typepad.com/bigwindow/2006/04/poems_by_google.html)


The second writing exercise that caught my attention was [OverheaRd].
The suggestion here is to write a poem solely of overheard conversation. This one really caught my eye because my friends and I used to sit at diners and actually do this all the time. Some of them were extremely funny and my favorite consisted of a food shopping conversation. The famous stanza from that poem, which my friends still repeat to this day (6 years later) was:

"[...]
In and out
In and out
Her hands were full.
[...]"

(Source - http://theothermother.typepad.com/bigwindow/2006/03/open_19.html)


The last fun one i found was a challenge. There was a page of instructions, or you can use any kind of technical manual, and you have to erase all but 11 word from it to make a poem.

EXAMPLE WRITING TO USE - MANUAL

"Check the Fluid for a Hydraulic Clutch in Your Car
Cars with manual transmissions (stick shift) use either hydraulics (which uses fluid) or a cable to connect your clutch pedal to the transmission. If your car has a hydraulic clutch, the fluid must be checked monthly to ensure that it's full and there aren't any leaks.
Steps:
1.
Determine whether your car has a hydraulic clutch.
2.
Turn the engine off and open the hood.
3.
Look for a small plastic container about 1 inch in diameter located close to the back of the engine, usually near the brake fluid reservoir. It looks a lot like the brake fluid reservoir but it's smaller. Imagine that the clutch pedal went straight through into the engine compartment: this is where you'll find the clutch master cylinder and clutch reservoir.
4.
Check the fluid level. The reservoir is usually clear with a small round rubber cap on the top; it should be filled to the top.
5.
Add brake fluid if it's low.
6.
Replace the cap.

Warnings:
Take care not to spill brake fluid on yourself or the car's paint - it's highly corrosive. Wash your hands and wipe any spills with a rag.
If the clutch reservoir is consistently low you probably have a leak. The reservoir is very small so even a little leak can empty it out quickly. Without fluid, your clutch pedal is useless so you won't be able to shift, or to drive. See your mechanic if you suspect a"


MY EXAMPLE POEM FROM THAT WRITING
(I used 12 words, I'm a cheater)

Your fluid has a reservoir.
It looks like the compartment you'll spill.

(Source - http://theothermother.typepad.com/bigwindow/2005/02/open_12.html)

The Dead

"The Dead," by James Joyce had been a hard story for me to concentrate on. I finished the entire story, yet I am still a little confused about what happened. I know Gabriel and his wife are at a Christmas party, but there are so many characters in the story that I'm not even sure how they are connected to the people throwing the party. Then, Gabriel's wife gets emotional over a song and I think she basically tells him that she misses her past lover and will never love Gabriel as much as she loved him... or something.

Don't get me wrong, I love James Joyce and there are many of the other short stories in "The Dubliners," that I enjoy. I have been flipping through and reading them. There is just something about "The Dead," that makes me not want to read it and not able to fully understand it.

Here is something I found on James Joyce that I thought was very odd.

"After graduating from UCD in 1903, Joyce left for Paris to "study medicine", but in reality he squandered money his family could ill afford. He returned to Ireland after a few months, when his mother was diagnosed with cancer.[5] Fearing for her son's "impiety", his mother tried unsuccessfully to get Joyce to make his confession and to take communion. She finally passed into a coma and died on August 13, Joyce having refused to kneel with other members of the family praying at her bedside.[6] After her death he continued to drink heavily, and conditions at home grew quite appalling. He scraped a living reviewing books, teaching and singing — he was an accomplished tenor, and won the bronze medal in the 1904 Feis Ceoil.[7]"

(from wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Joyce#Dublin.2C_1882.E2.80.931904)

Sick to Creative

I'm a little late on this blog because I felt awful yesterday and barely got out of bed. Many things have greatly effected me this past week or so and I can't tell if the over-all impact has been positive or negative. Last weekend my friends from Chicago were in town, they are in the band Treay of Paris and they are on tour. I had a blast with them and I miss them already. They'll be back in November. Also, on Wednesday I broke up with my boyfriend of 2 and a half years. This has been effecting me the most, but I think I'll be ok. And then, to top it all off, I got pretty sick yesterday. I still can't tell if it was physical or mental, but it sucked. AND... today is my birthday... and it's rainy... and I'm home alone. It's been quite a week or two, so now I've decided to get inspired. I'm going to share with you some inspiring and creative websites that have made me feel better.

My friends from Chicago, Treaty of Paris. Mike, Phil, Chris, Dan, and Nick are like a ray of sunlight when they enter the room and I can't wait to see them in November. Also, besides just listening to their music, their video blogs are HYSTERICAL! I suggest watching them when you're in a bad mood. There are 6 or so on their Myspace blog, but the third link is their You Tube page with 3 whole pages of video blogs that span about a year.

http://www.myspace.com/treatyofparis
http://www.treatyofparismusic.com/
http://www.youtube.com/user/treatyofparisvideos

My good friend Mike Graziano, aka Grassy, is one of the greatest artists I know. He's a photographer and a graphic designer. He, I, and a few friends of ours are starting up a clothing company. The second link is to that clothing company, but it's not quite up and running yet. (Be sure to check back periodically though, the first shirts are coming in soon) The first link is his personal site.

http://www.30minutesatf22.com/
http://www.pollutedclothing.com/

Photography is one of my personal passions, I've been doing it since I was 15. This is a good site to browse and share.

http://photography-now.net/index.php

This is a site I use to help me out when I have a block in my brain. I am not a poet, but sometimes I like to get creative or I have to write a poem for a class. This site helps get the creative juices flowing, for me at least.

http://www.poetry.com/

You Tube is one of my favorite sites to visit because you never know what you'll find. Through You Tube, I have found the sketch comedian John Roberts. He makes me laugh so hard, and I'm very partial to his "Mom" character. She is a typical Long Island mother and she is probably exactly like your mother. "The Christmas Tree" is my favorite skit. I also enjoy his character "Debra" because you definitely went to High School with her. :-)

http://www.youtube.com/user/mittymoo


Seeing pretty art, taking pictures, listening to great music, laughing, and good friends always makes me feel better. I am trying to start over, and maybe my 23rd Birthday is what I needed. A new year of my life that will help me become a new and better me.

Abstractions

In my creative writing class, we did an excercise on abtractions. We were given a word and we had to write the first thing that popped into our heads. Here's an example of one of mine.

"Generosity"
-giving a homeless person a sandwhich
-the streets of New York
-bright lights and noise
-a christmas tree
-a warm home, fire place buning, the scent of food and candles, full of family
-my mother
-childhood and simple pleasures
-play doh-- the feel, the scent, and yes, the taste
-saturdays off
-cartoons and cereal
-the flintstones

In a matter of 3 minutes I went from "Generosity" to "the flintstones." It is a strabge connection but it made me think about how our minds work. I really enjoyed this exercise and it really helped me open up my mind and my thoughts.

Vampires and Frankenstein

A work that has inspired me recently is the Twilight series by Stephenie Meyer. Her writing is so fluent and clear and it keeps me right in the story the whole time. The series is made up of 4 books, all of which i read in 3 weeks, and it is basically about the relationship between vampires and humans. It has made me want to write a book of my own more now then I have ever wanted to write one in the past.

Another author who has always inspired me is Mary Shelley. Frankenstein has been my favorite book since the first time I read it. Her writing is absolutely amazing and I am always intrigued by the fact that she was so young when she wrote it. It will always be a top book on my list and something I always look back at for inspiration.


Stephenie Meyer: http://www.stepheniemeyer.com/
Frankenstein: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frankenstein

Opening Statement

...Besides Myspace, this is my first blog. I created it due to the fact that I need to have a blog for my Creative Writing class at William Paterson University, but I hope to keep it up after the semester and my assignments are completed. I am currently a senior and an English major with a concentration in writing. I will be a High School English teacher one day and I hope to graduate in December of 2009. I will also publish a fiction book one day, I am sure of it. I plan on posting my ideas, my personal writing, and other stories and poems that interest me. Don't be surprised if some song lyrics pop up from time to time, music is everything to me. I hope you enjoy what I create and feel free to leave me some feedback; I appreciate it. Thanks for reading. :)