Meet the Writer

This week was very busy, which seems to be becoming my normal week, that’s fine with me, ever the shying violet, I realize that I need to develop social skills, including: small talk, introducing myself and the like.
So, on with my report, yesterday I somehow got the bright idea to bring one of my blog poems to my writers group last night. I thought it would be fun, after all I was growing confident in my poetic abilities, and the next step in my mind is to read it aloud. After some thought I decided to pick one of my favorites, I thought picking a poem that I’m confident in might make the new experience easier when the nervousness of doing something new brings. Then the moment came and I thought I had lost my sanity. The writer group is comprised of people who would never do something to hurt me, not terribly anyways, so it was not really the fear of the people saying something, just what they would think. Oh, my gosh: that was a terrible poem! She needs to stick with fiction, and thoughts along those lines were my fear, which might seem silly to you, dear reader, but what made it so terrible, would be that I would agree with them, I don’t consider myself a poet: so what am I doing bringing my therapeutic scribbling to them? I got through it though, and they enjoyed it. I actually read it twice because some of the people were not at the table and because it was so short no one minded me reading it again. So, it was scary, but I got it done!
The other thing that happened this week that I want to mention to the five people who read my blog (thank you for reading it by the way,) my Mama and I went to Starbucks to meet with a writer, not to read our work or anything, just a social thing, and it was very nice. We got to know each other a little better and it was great. During our writing group meetings we don’t really have time to talk, and even during the “socializing time” there are certain voices that tend to dominate over the others. It was a refreshing change and it’s just nice to know that I have a friend in a fellow writer.

Poetry Fuming

I didn’t realize until a little while ago that I vent when I write poetry. I know, I always vent when I write, but it seems to be especially so when I am attempting to be a poet, and it’s not an intentional fume, I just…fume. I let out whatever has been bothering me, or making me happy, or sad, or at peace. Whatever it is, I tend to keep true to what I’m truly feeling when I’m writing a poem. I don’t know why, maybe it’s because I’m so unoriginal all I can write about are my emotions in some form, even “Hostage” my last poem was addressing my feelings of being trapped and vulnerable.

  On the other hand, somewhere I heard that poets only write about their feelings in some form, well, if that’s true, I guess that I am a poet. I have always flirted with the art of poetry, but never have I ever pictured myself as welding the pen of poetry as an expert, I still don’t. I am first and foremost a writer, but I know that even ahead of that, I am a storyteller and I suppose if I think of being a poet as another way of telling a story, I guess I can accept the title of poet…nah.

The Party

Betty-sue ran up the front steps to her cousin’s house, she was half an hour late. Her cousin Bill was turning twenty today, while he might forgive Betty-sue for her tardiness, his girlfriend never would. Betty-sues’ five dollar clearance high heeled shoes clicked on the brick steps as she scampered up to the porch. Hurrying up to the door, she used the reflection the ornamental glass the door afforded her, though the oak of the door was so polished she probably could have used that too, she hurriedly fixed her hair and straightened out her dress and fake pearl necklace, they had been a gift from her mother a few years back and they were precious to her for that reason, however she didn’t feel that her cousin’s significant other and the crowd they tended to associate with would understand. This thought struck her just after she had rung the doorbell, she considered taking the necklace off and stuffing it in her purse, but it crossed her mind that a bare neck might actually be worse than one with costume jewelry.
Slapping on a smile, she clasped her purse containing the twenty dollar gift for her cousin with clammy hands and nervous heart as the maid came to open the door.
Here we go…

{The main purpose of this story is for me to practice writing a piece that can get you into the character’s head, and feel what she’s feeling on that doorway in less than three hundred words. Did I succeed, let me know, just leave a comment!}

Throwing Things Out

I love throwing things out. Let me explain; things have a tendency of accumulating in my room. Since I try my best to keep everything within their various folders and envelopes to the outside observer, it may not always appear that items are beginning to pile up, when in fact they are doing just that. I try to throw things out as they become irrelevant or old, but if I have set something aside in its proper place, I can sometime forget to throw it out when the time comes, or I think I already have thrown it out when I haven’t, or I don’t know that the items time of usefulness has past.
Let me give you an example, just yesterday I had my college folder out, most of the flyers and pieces of paper in there are essential for me to finish the process of getting into Fullerton College: proof of assessment, my student I.D. number scribbled on a scrap of paper (since they haven’t sent me my card yet), proof of orientation, flyers on the different class I can take within my various interests since I’m not positive what I want to study (people ask me what I’ll be studying and I always say Art, because I don’t like the look most give me when I say I have no idea. Some people may have their entire lives planned out, and I want to be one of those people but am incapable of it) I think you get the idea of how much stuff is in that single folder. Because I’ve been so busy lately, I usually only have time to open the folder when I need a particular scrap of paper. So things that are no longer relevant, such as old information on scholarships I didn’t win and flyers for events at the college for this past spring were still in the folder. Yesterday I actually had a free moment, (imagine that) and the folder was right in front of me, so I went through it and had the pleasure of throwing out old pieces of irrelevant notes, and flyers out. I say pleasure because it’s a form of cleaning and I love cleaning because it makes me feel like I’m on top of the pile of stuff that is my life, rather than being buried by it. Also getting rid of these things shows me how far I have come in the process of getting into college, it also makes the folder, so much lighter and easier to carry.

We Are The Fallen ~ Bury Me Alive

Now I realize some Evanescence fans could rip me apart for posting a song from this band, my only excuse is that it's a cool song. Also while Amy Lee's voice is more pleasing to my ears, Carly Smithson has had a lot more voice training, so she can do more things with her voice. But that's not really here or there. Have fun listening and watching everyone!