Saturday, April 30, 2011

Oscar Wilde

I love Oscar Wilde’s work, he is a great writer: stage scripts, novels, short stories, poems, all of it fabulous. I eat it all up. He has a humor that is absolutely timeless and keeps the intellectually challenged in the dark, for it is not for them to enjoy the genius of Wilde. The wiser you are the more twists and turns there are in his writing. “The Portrait of Dorian Grey” will always intrigue me with the heartlessness of Dorian Grey, and his eternal beauty. “The Canterville Ghost” will always make me laugh at the American’s failure to pay the old ghost the proper amount of fear owed him. “The Importance of Being Ernest” with its absurd characters weaves a perfect example of satire. “The Nightingale and the Rose” will make me tear up every time with its beauty and sadness.

  Sarcastic and clever, serious and tragic, silly and absurd, sad and beautiful; Oscar Wilde’s work will last for as long as good taste for literature survives in human beings.

Friday, April 29, 2011


As I edit my book

In a quiet little nook,

Here I stand,

Pen in hand.

I scribble away,

All the mistakes

It’s a small price to pay

I do what it takes

To make the perfect tale

And not one that is stale,

So an agent may not go berserk

At the sight of my work

Though I hate this task

I ease the boredom with music

To keep me from being sick

And put on a patient mask.

As I edit my book

In a quiet little nook,

Here I stand,

Pen in hand.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

A Bad Day at the Pet Store

Hanna gazed into the cube shaped fish tank. The dull looking fish with the unpronounceable name stared at her with its huge eyes with pupils as large as their stomach, or at least, according to the tour guide. The guide led Hanna and her group away from the tanks and into the furry animal section of the store. It was about time, he had started out with the snakes and tarantulas, which were things to be eradicated in her opinion, not kept as pets. By the look the guide, Chad, had on his face as he passed the slithering things around for Hanna’s classmates to hold (she had refused to take one) he had a different opinion. He talked like they were the greatest pets ever.

Fish came next, boring combined with high maintenance Hanna had said when the guide had asked what she thought of them; she hadn’t made it a secret that she didn’t like reptiles and bugs.

She cheered up as they made their way out of the fish section; leaving the stink of filthy tanks only to be replaced by another unpleasant smell.

“Mink,” the guide said as he proudly pointed them out to her.

“Rodents with silky pelts,” Hanna said covering her mouth as she headed out of the section. “At least I know not to work at a pet store,” she said passing the teacher. “I’d throw my chips if I had to smell all of this all day.”

“Shh,” the teacher snapped.

“What do you like then?” another student asked.

“Dogs, cats, you know, real pets.” Hanna fought back a cough.

She got some muttered agreements from other classmates.

“Unfortunately, our dogs and cat section in closed and the animals have been relocated to another store until the remodeling is done.” The guide said for the whole class to hear.

Hanna didn’t need to voice her disappointment her peers did it for her. She closed her eyes, like that was going to help her churning stomach.

She began to reflect on the day and wondered how else a trip to the pet store could go wrong, even if she puked.

That’s when she felt something hit her head.

“Eww!” her classmates squealed.

She reached up without thinking and her peers screamed louder as she looked as her hand to find it covered in bird poop.

She felt her teacher tug on her arm. Through the roaring in her ears Hanna heard the guide giving directions to the bathrooms.

Once they got there, Hanna bent over the sink without being asked and she felt the freezing water hit her scalp and it almost made her jump. Then she felt something crawl over her sandal and she did jump and she banged her head on the faucet.

“What was that,” Hanna asked pulling away from her teacher. Looking on the floor and clutching her throbbing head,she saw a scuttling lizard just as it ducked behind a stall door.

“Where did all these animals come from,” Hanna said backing away from the thing.

“We’re in a pet store, where do you think they came from?” The teacher retorted.

“They’re supposed to be in cages, not flying and crawling everywhere,” Hanna said not calming down.

“Sometimes they get loose. Now get your head back under the water, or we’ll miss the rest of the tour.”

“How did they get loose?” Hanna asked as she leaned back over again.

“I’m sure they didn’t plan it Hanna,” the teacher started to scrub.

“Just like I didn’t plan to get pooped on, don’t scrub so hard!” Hanna said through gritted teeth.

“Toughen up already.”

Hanna held her tongue, she wanted to think that this day couldn’t get any worse, but she didn’t want it to start raining in the bathroom.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Last Day

Today is the day before my eighteenth birthday. Not only is it the last day I shall be this age, but it is also the last day I shall be a child as far as the law is concerned. It’s a big thing, according to many. Lots of people mark their eighteenth birthday by doing something they weren’t able to do while they were children, such as going to an R rated movie, or buying a pack of cigarettes, not to smoke them, just because you can. I’ve decided to reflect on what I’ve learned before I turn eighteen.

If there is one thing that I have learned during the last seventeen years of my life, it’s that you can always be a kid inside, even while you’re dealing with adult issues. People that look upon the world with the eyes of a child laugh more and cry less. They are more content because they know what makes them happy. People with child’s eyes can cut through the drama and see the heart of a problem. Children know life is simple and that life should be fun instead of hard and cruel. Adults make the world hard, not the world.

I’m facing my adult life with the determination to keep my child’s eyes well taken care of, instead of letting them be blinded by “obligations”, and “responsibilities”.

As long as we live, we learn, and as long as we learn, we make mistakes. Making mistakes is a part of being alive, so why sweat it? Why tangle ourselves in the delusion that life is hard when we hold the key to making it simple? When you hurt someone, you apologize. When you fall, you get back up and clean you wounds and heal. When someone hurts you don’t let them hurt you again; whether that means talking it out, avoiding that subject, or avoiding that person all together.

When I was thirteen, I dreamed that I died. Mama told me that it was my self-consciouses way of acknowledging that my life and body were changing from girl to woman and I wouldn’t be able to go back again. In a sense my childhood was dying, but she said “with every end there is a beginning.” My childhood would be over, and I would be an adult, there is no way to turn back the clock. I will go to college, get some degrees and do things no child could ever do. I will not be able to go outside after a rainstorm and throw mud at my brothers unless I wanted to be put in the psycho ward. There are things I can never do again; but that doesn’t mean I can’t have fun like a child, smile and laugh like a child, and be carefree whenever the opportunity presents itself.

With this last essay as the seventeen-year-old me, I bid you farewell.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

My First Concert

It's 11:59 and my family and I just got back from me and my siblings very first concert with Pop Evil, Finger Eleven, and Papa Roach. We didn’t know who the opening bands were when we bought the tickets, our soul intention was to see P-Roach. But we enjoyed the other bands too.

Our plan was to get there at 8:00, when the show started and leave at 10:00, so that our mom could go to work the next morning without circles under her eyes, well, turns out Papa Roach didn’t start their performance until 10:00, so that blew that plan out of the water. Once the band started, we couldn’t leave! They were so great! I found myself shouting out the lyrics to songs that I don’t even like, such as: “Angels and Insects” and “Last Resort” they were that good! It was so much fun!

The only downside (and this had nothing to do with the bands) there was a barfly right in front of us and he banged into me one of the times he got up for another drink or whatever. Then the same barfly threw his drink on some girls in front of us who were dancing and were in his view of the band. Then one of the girls threw her drink back in retaliation, and got me in the shoulder. So now I smell of boos, not exactly what I was looking for in my first concert, so I flipped her off, then we left (the concert was over anyway, and the boys had taken their bows.)

Thanks Papa Roach, you rocked my first concert. Love you guys!

Monday, April 25, 2011

My Blog

Realization:In my attempts to try and get my book published I’ve found that I don’t really believe I will get published by a publishing house. Realizing that I felt this way I needed to figure out how I felt about my future as a writer. I realized that a writer is a writer, I can’t change it, so what am I going to do if I feel so put out and negative about the publishing world?

Decision:I decided that I would try to get an agent for a little while longer but if I can’t get an agent for any of my books, I’m going to try out self-publishing (if you want something done right, do it yourself.) Besides I’ve read that a lot of publishing houses won’t do any promotion for a lot of book. This being the case, even if I got published without an agent, then I would have to do all of the promotion myself anyways. So, why get a publishing house to publish a book at all if they don’t do their jobs most of the time?

Plan:As soon as I’m done with sending agents for all of my books, (and I’ll let my patience decide how long to keep that up.) If I get an agent, I’ll cut the deal and let them do their job. If all of my books are rejected by all of the agents I can find then I’ll save money to publish my books myself.

In the meantime:While I’m sending out queries to agents, I’ll try to build a fan base on-line, that way when I do publish my books someone out there will want to buy (and possibly read) my book.

Please follow my blog and friend me on facebook where I keep an update on all of my progress with my books and my blog. Thanks for your support.

Monday, April 18, 2011

Cloudy, Lousy

All I can think about is the clouds here in Southern California. So, I think I'll just complain.
Yesterday was sunny and over ninety degrees, what the heck happened? It's sixty degrees out and wonder I felt like hibernating this morning. But I don't have that option. Even my dog, my adorable bouncy dog is depressed. He looked at me and asked.
“Where’s my friend, the Sun Nana?”
“You know that’s a good question Mer. He didn’t call to say he’d be late or anything, he’s just gone.”
“Did we do something wrong?” Merlin asked.
“I wish I knew Mer, I wish I knew.”

I've lost my mind huh...

Monday, April 11, 2011

I did it Again

I’ve spoken about my clumsiness before, and I’m back at it again. Saturday I was in a hurry and I kicked the door jam in the bathroom, at first all my toes hurt I walked some of the pain off. But one toe wouldn’t stop hurting and I could walk on it without a lot of pain. I didn’t break it; I just jammed it really badly. Last night my foot turned a really pretty purple color. Now I can kind of walk on it without too much trouble, though I’m still limping.
I know this is really short, but I can't think of anything else right now.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Lovy's Writing Prompt

The last two Short Stories I’ve written “The Lion” and “Maggie Stuart” were based off of some writing prompts a fellow writer came up with (if you’re reading this Lovy, they’re fabulous and I hope you’re feeling much better). If anyone wants to read some of her stuff her blog is Lovy Boheme here's a link:

One prompt was “You take one last gasp, mutter an apology and pulled the fire alarm at the mall” I used that in “Maggie Stuart” which at the time had no titled. I began by wondering what would push me to pull the fire alarm at the shopping mall, not a dare or prank; it would take something like, what the fire alarm is supposed to be used for: an emergency. Thinking of exciting scenarios I picked, I confess the easiest for me to write about, then ran with it and I got the story which would eventually be titled “Maggie Stuart”.

The Second prompt had something close to this “When I first took the picture I didn’t realize it might cost me my life” I know that’s not it, but you get the general idea. I kept the danger in the situation but let the main character, a passionate photographer, feel perfectly at ease in the situation, transferring the feeling of safety to the reader, who may very well be terrified of lions, and no one dies.

It still amazes me how a story can be developed from only a sentence or phrase.

Maggie Stuart

Maggie’s heart beat faster than the cycles her wheels made on the concrete as she sped through the parking lot of the shopping mall where her mom worked. She zigzagged through cars as an insane speed before she finally reached the front doors. She needed to get there before the bomb went off.
Her friends had told her not to piss off the drug lord, but she hadn’t seen another way to keep her boyfriend alive. Now she wished she hadn’t interfered.
The heads up about the bomb had come fifteen minutes ago from the lord himself. He called it his “final warning” – the “last scare” before he went for everything she has ever cared about until she begged for death, or took her own life, or ran.
Her car wheels screamed as she slammed on the brakes right in front of the mall doors. She’d get away in her mom’s car. They wouldn’t even go home, they’d just run. Grabbing her purse with the plane tickets, Maggie ran into the building.
Her sneakers squeaked on the waxed floor as she brought herself to an abrupt halt to check her watch, five minutes, there was no way she would get to security to warn them in time.
She whipped her head around, trying to find a solution to the problem.
An eternity wrapped up in a moment went by before she spotted it: the little red box. Rushing over she broke the protective covering with her elbow.
Maggie gasped from the pain. That probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do. Everything she did the past week was stupid come to think of it. But she had to do this. Taking one last gap she mumbled an apology and pulled the fire alarm at the shopping mall.