The End

Today is the last day of class for my creative writing class. Our assignment was to write a post about what we plan to do with our blog. And the truth is, I don’t really know. Over the course of the year, I have gone from hating the idea of blogging to enjoying the weekly habit it has become. Either way, I have enjoyed it so far. What i’m thinking of doing is posting, but maybe not weekly or regularly. I feel like my writing is something that just happens when it happens. So you may hear from me over the summer, you may not. Nevertheless, I hope everyone has a good summer.

Happy Writing,

The Writing Freak

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Creative Writing Final Project

As some of you may know, I have been taking a creative writing class that has inspired me to write on this blog. For our final project, we have to reflect on our journey as a writer, as well as upon one of our favored pieces. I was eager to do this assignment, mainly because I feel that I have changed a great deal as a writer. At the start of the semester, I liked to write without format. I didn’t like to be restricted to a certain number of words or syllables, a specific pattern. I wanted my work to be different and unique, which I thought couldn’t happen when writing in a pre-determined format. Boy was I wrong. When I wrote before this class, my writing was hectic, uncontrolled, sometimes unreadable. I thought that this made my writing different, when in reality it was just confusing. This class has made me see that not only was it crazy, but there are ways to fix it. I learned that formatting isn’t all bad, and it really helped me to clean up some of my pieces. for that alone I am forever grateful.

This poem was my abecedarian, and I was actually dreading writing it at first. I didn’t think that I would like the way that they flow, but I ended up loving it. I had no clue what I was going to do, and my teacher told me that it was often fun to write advice. And so advice is what I did.

Original Photo

Advice to my Younger Sister

After the party is over, change back to yourself.

Before you do it, think of the
Consequences; are not just fickle
Damage; cannot always be repaired
Effectively; needs to be the way you do things.

Forever may not always be the truth.

Going back on your word will only lead to
Havoc; can be a welcome distraction just
In case; of an emergency get out of the way, never put yourself in
Jeopardy; helped me remember the most interesting things.

Kindness should never be underestimated.

Listen to mom even if her words feel
Maiming; can lead to broken feelings turned
Negative; integers make a positive when multiplied, something I always
Overlook; the little mistakes, especially with those you know don’t mean it.

Please and thank you should not be forgotten.

Question the world even if you have no
Reason; will help you keep a good head on your shoulders, at least
Sometimes; you need to eat you words, even if you don’t like the
Taste; in clothing should be how you want to express yourself, not how others want to see you.

Understand that no one is perfect. (even me)

Vile feelings toward you do not need to be reciprocated, especially in
Words; can hurt and heal, choose carefully how you try to
eXplain; how you feel to someone, anyone, feelings rot when held inside of
You; are important, and if you remember nothing else, at least remember that.

Zero in on the good things, there is always a spot of light in the darkness.

Them

She was nothing but oxygen

and carbon

and sodium.

A walking mass of muscle and nerves

each part working as a gear to operate

the machine that was her,

a machine could not be allowed to break down.

Although she was only waiting to break.

Waiting to be released into the atmosphere,

even if she didn’t want to go,

even when she had something worth living for.

A balloon drifting away,

away from the prying hands of the little boy.

Pop.

She was nothing more

than one with the world.

He was no longer willing to try,

rows of cells and tissue unwilling to cooperate.

To be used as they were needed.

Moving,

a challenge.

One that became a risk,

one he was not willing to take,

not with her here.

But here she was no longer.

A deflated balloon,

torn by the iron thorns of the rosebush.

And he became nothing more

Than one with the world

They had met on cots,

grew up together,

toys and colorful flowers

sent

to cheer them up,

to distract them from the terrible truth.

One day,

they would fall in love,

and one could not exist without the other

Two balloons.

Nothing more

Than one with the world.

Innocent Until Proven Guilty

For this short story we had to write a story centered around a few randomly selected objects. Harder than it sounds. The objects chosen are as follows
Wildflowers
Butterflies
Sunshine
Rainbows
Cupcakes
Scales
Bruise
Pickle
So yeah. This is what I came up with.

Seriously, how is this chick still running? He thought to himself. He had spent the last hour trying to loose this girl, yet twists and turns did nothing to get her off his scent. Usually, he only has to use some rookie maneuvers to shake his pursuer, and then he would escape with his treasure.

He had actually tried to run this time, and here he was, still being chased over some petty theft.

When he had started that scuffle at the bar he really hadn’t expected to find himself in this much of a pickle. He hadn’t even swiped that much in the chaos either, only a few silver pieces, a bracelet, and a ring or two. But hey, that’s the way that the world works, if you want something you need to take it for yourself. Life isn’t all butterflies and rainbows.

But back to the matter at hand. This girl still hadn’t let up, but she also hadn’t tried to talk to him. Who knows? Maybe she was just on some sort of creepy, stalker-ish type of run.

Making a split second decision, he turned sharply to the left, sprinting through the field, flowers and bugs squashed underfoot. From a distance, it might have even looked romantic, a couple chasing each-other across an open field, sunlight glittering down to brush the strands of grass.. Picture perfect.

God that sun was scorching.

A clearing was beginning to appear in the distance, a path carved by a winding stream. On the other side of that stream was a sheer drop. Just past that however, was the sanctuary of the other side. She wouldn’t make that jump. Only he was that stupid.

Splashing through the stream, he took a running leap across the chasm, fumbling through the landing, but he had made it.

He took a second to catch his breath, a second to admire the land he had just flown by, from the dew kissed leaves to the slippery scales of the brook trout.

He wasn’t looking in quite the right direction, and had no time, nor place, to run away as his eyes settled on the sight of the girl hurtling across the gap. Then she was over. Standing next to him. He scrambled back. She only stepped closer, eyes drinking in the pathetic mess he was sure he looked like.

” Give me back the ring you stole.”

She speaks.

He hesitantly reached into his pocket, and started as he realized that his fingertips only toughed cloth.

“Sorry cupcake-“

Smack!

He barely had time to register that her fist had just collided with his face before she was on him.

“Do you have any idea the mess you just got me into?”

Short Story, Attempt Number One

She lived in a sky blue house, precariously perched upon the edge of a towering cliff, overlooking the expanse of endless blue sea. This life that she lived was simple, every morning started the same way the nights were ended.

Legs dangling over the edge of of the balcony, hair braided by the gentle hands of the wind, salt tinging the atmosphere.

She watches as life moves on without her. Watch as they watch her, watching them. The princess locked away in her tower.

What they don’t see are the white washed walls and barren pallet, cushioned floor and barred windows. Barred from the inside, panes of glass only placed over top to show wandering eyes all is normal.

But nothing is normal about this house, hanging over the unforgiving waters below.

She knows two things. One, this life she lives will never be normal, no matter how hard she wishes it to be. Two, she knows that she lives this life because it was decided that she is not normal. Even if she is sure that she is.

Some nights, while she watches the world from her balcony, she wonders if she will be ever let out of this cage, allowed to fly. But every time she believes she may feel the elation of freedom, her wings are clipped again.

If she was being honest, she would say that she craves the company of these evil strangers, who slowly strip away the tatters of her dignity. If only for the company.

She still opens her eyes every morning, , even if she cannot change the way she wants to live. So she stares blatantly at the body that is not her body, but she cannot change, they said no.

So, she knows she will forever be locked away, as abnormal, as different, watching from the balcony of a sky blue house, perched atop the asylum.

Flash Fiction Friday - Simple Writing

NaPoWriMo-The Review.

Even though it is 5 days past the official end of April and National Poetry Writing Month, it seems like I should write something as a follow up. For me, it was a great experience to learn to write in in a wider variety of styles. I also liked having a little bit of a habit, a routine of posting a poem every night. I kinda miss it actually. Maybe I’ll try it again next year. I dunno yet.

The month of May is short story writing month (I think) and I can definitely tell you that I will not be cranking out short stories daily. I’m not THAT into writing. I will however, attempt to write a few at least, and see where it goes.

Wish me luck-

The Writing Freak

NaPoWriMo: The Final Day

For the last poem of NaPoWriMo, I was going to write a poem with chalk outside, just because it sounded fun. Unfortunately, today turned out to be a cruddy day, so that plan was effectively foiled. Instead, I chose to write a narrative poem. My teacher challenged us to write using a few random objects that she chose for us. Mine are as follows; A flower, a piece of flooring from the globe theater, a nightlight, and a bandage. Yeah. So here is my attempt to work with that.

The world is still asleep when the moon falls under the horizon.
But what makes the world wake when the first tendrils of morning
stretch above
into the sky?

And so the sun rises into the sky
searching
for is lost love, whom is searching for the sun,
the moon.

A love story to inspire the greatest.
Shakespeare paced the wooden floors of the globe,
trying
to capture this beautiful picture with words.

It seems cruel to taunt the searching moon,
with our fire and candles,
our nightlights and phone screens,
all fake to its beautiful sun.

Who knows what the sun longs to do
maybe the tendrils of light that span endlessly across the sky
are trying to reach the moon,
only to fall short.

Perhaps the sun and the moon were once at peace,
free to be together
but as of now, a rift stands between them
one no bandage can repair.

One day, it is said the sun will engulf the moon,
that we will not be here to see it.
Maybe then the sun and moon will finally
be together.

In our world
the flowers will bloom and die,
and we will come and go
but the sun and moon will always be there.

Chasing.

One Day Left of NaPoWriMo

Today, my teacher challenged my class to write a book review, but as a haiku. Turns out, its harder than it looks to squeeze so much into 17 syllables.

Heir Of Fire, By Sarah J. Mass

A little bit slow

But soon comes a huge plot twist

quenching thirst for words

NaPoWriMo, Poem 28

She forever will stand alone

A beautiful picture set in stone

She wished the world would let her be

But what the world cannot see

Is even though she is the picture of perfection

Inside her body swarms in dejection

So she will stand forever more

Until she knows she is ready to soar