September 30, 2009

The Poem Ends, Soft As it Began...

Woooooord Up!

So it's been a while (well, a week). But, I'm back with another Word Up Wednesday.

I'm going to go with poetic words this week.

Poetry by: Langston Hughes (one of my favorites)


Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

Quiet Girl

I would like you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To a sleep without dreams
Were it not for your songs.

Irish Wake

In the dark they fell a-crying
For the dead who'd gone away,
And you could hear the drowsy wailing
Of those compelled to stay--
But when the sun rose making
All the dooryard bright and clear
The mourners got up smiling,
Happy they were here.


I ask you this:
Which way to go?
I ask you this:
Which sin to bear?
Which crown to put
Upon my hair?
I do not know,
Lord God,
I do not know.


We have tomorrow
Bright before us
Like a flame.

A night-gone thing,
A sun-down name.

A dawn-today
Broad arch above the road we came.

We march!


Wear it
Like a banner
For the proud--
Not like a shroud.
Wear it
Like a song
Soaring high--
Not moan or cry.

Title Quote: 'Poem' - Langston Hughes

September 16, 2009

“When Words Are Scarce, They Are Seldom Spent in Vain”

For today's Word Up Wednesday, I'll be sharing some words of wisdom about writing.

E.L. Doctorow said:

"Writing is like driving at night in the fog. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way."

"Planning to write is not writing. Outlining, researching, talking to people about what you're doing, none of that is writing. Writing is writing."

"...I have to confess to having a certain bias for fiction, which I think of as a meta-discipline, one that can incorporate all the others. Whereas a journalist cannot go into someone's mind, and a scientist cannot use certain words that the theologian can use, and the theologian cannot or does not usually use the dirty words of the tabloids, the novelist can use all the words, all the vocabularies: myth, legend, history, confession, reportage, and the mutterings of the mad people in the street."

Martha Graham:

"No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive."

Donald Barthelme:

"Write about what you're afraid of.”

Terry Southern:

"The important thing in writing is the capacity to astonish. Not shock—shock is a worn-out word—but astonish. The world has no grounds whatever for complacency."

And last, one of my definite favorites:

Dana Marschz (Hamlet 2):

"Fuuuck. Writing is so hard."

Title Quote: The Bard :]

September 13, 2009

When It's Good, Then It's Good, It's So Good...

'Til it goes bad.
'Til you're trying to find the you that you once had.

'Ello mates.

I really should be doing homework, but I decided to take a break (for my sanity's sake). Already this semester I've done more work than I have in the first month of any previous semester of school. It's lame, I don't have time to do much of anything else. That being said, I might be making you guys wait yet another week for a Moral Monday post.

Auditions for 'A Doll's House' are tomorrow. I've been on the fence about auditioning all week. I'd love to audition/be in the show, but I don't know if I can do that (or even something on the tech side of the show), we'll see.

Tonight was the spaghetti dinner for the theatre. We got to go to Ty and Brenda's since the weather was nice. There was a good amount of people there...a lot of freshman it seemed.

Oh, in non-school related business. I'm in the process of applying to an AmeriCorps program. It's with a place called The Underground Cafe. It's a student run coffee shop, art space and teen center. It's in Utica, NY. It's pretty far from here and far from where I ultimately want to be (Cali.), but at this point, I'm down for just about anything that involves creativity. It sounds like a really fun program, there are positions for Development coordinator, Volunteer Capacity Builder and Publicity Coordinator. I'm going to apply for the Publicity Coordinator spot. Reading the required skills section and description, I think I'll be best suited for that one. Anyhoo, that's really the only new thing about my life.

Okay, I need to get back to doing homework. I'm really, very stressed out already. It doesn't have as much to do with homework as it does with other aspects of this semester--but I'm not going to start off on that tangent.

I know, as far as updates go, this kind of sucked...but, what can you do? I hope you all had decent weekends.

Title Song: 'Sober' - P!NK

September 11, 2009

Woe is Me. Baby, This is Tragic

Well, here we are at Friday once more. How are you all?

A couple things first. I absolutely cannot believe that it's been 8 years since 9/11. That's so crazy. I know exactly where I was and what I was doing when it happened. I won't bore you guys with the story though. I remember I used to think, 'How can everyone always remember the exact date that [insert some significant event here] happened?' when I was in history class. But, now, it's so apparent.

Also, as of today, I have 100 days of college left (including weekends). Crazy!

Shall we get down to it? I think so.

I'm sure you remember that it's [Non]Fiction Friday and so, as promised, here is the second half of last week's story:

What's in a Name?
By Me

“Hey kid, d’ya wanna get me a refill?”

I walk over to the man sitting at a table for four all by himself. As I fill his cup, I look him over. He is like every other Los Angeles businessman that walks in here: suit, earpiece, newspaper and an obnoxious tone.

When I set his cup down, he flips a quarter off of his thumb and says, “there ya go kid, buy yourself something nice.”

I must have missed the memo that nice things were being sold for a quarter these days.

“It’s not the 1920s anymore, asshole,” I say under my breath as I turn from the table.

I walk back behind the counter and start wiping it off as I glare at the suited man. I bet he has a name like Brock or Mitch or Chad—or one of those other names common among jerks with fast cars and mistresses too young for them.

As I continue to sway back and forth, completely engulfed in the movement of wiping down the counter, I think of how long I’ve been here. It has been a year—not that long to some people. In fact, two girls were in here just yesterday going on and on about how fast the year has gone.

“I can’t believe it’s been a year,” the blonde one said in a tone that sounded more like a whine than disbelief. She looked like a girl I knew in eighth grade named Lesley; sounded a lot like her too. Though, the way she flipped her hair and popped her gum assured me that she was more of a Megan.

“Yeah, I know, it’s gone by so quick,” the brown-haired one said after a pause. She looked like she was given a girls’ name at birth but always went by the shortened, unisex version because she had always been a tomboy and Alexis was just too girly.
I think if I were the brown-haired one I wouldn’t want to be friends with the blonde—she seemed annoying.

It’s funny to think that they came to L.A. around the same time I did—I wonder if their mothers supported them.

Back in Bleecher, I knew so many girls like them: cute and whiney and always with common names or unisex names…or common unisex names. They probably came out here to be “discovered.” They probably sit at random outside cafés, flip their hair, and toss their heads back slowly when they laugh. Every move they make is for some invisible producer that is watching them from afar, or some talent scout sent out with a camera to capture the perfect picture of the next big thing. Every cutesy giggle or playful touch is overdone as if they’re at a photo shoot and someone is telling them to “Make love to the camera.”

I think the year seemed long to me because I spent everyday dwelling on how my mom might be feeling. I’ve used so much energy thinking about her, that in the past year I haven’t done anything to help my writing—the reason I came out here in the first place.

I can only imagine how great the winner’s reception was. When I let myself think about it, I picture tons of round tables with nice nameplates, all kinds of pastries, people in fancy clothes and a nice wooden podium for the winners to stand behind. When I let myself think about it, I smile. I don’t think about it much though, because after the smile comes the feeling of guilt for abandoning my mother.
It depresses me to think that I’m already a one-hit-wonder in this city. I doubt I’ll ever write something worthy of an award ever again. I figure, eventually, I’ll go home to see what’s become of my mother—I think I have to if I ever want to write with a clear mind again.

How ironic that I left to gain freedom, yet I’m more under her control than I ever was.

“Hey, Babe, can I get a slice of pie?”

Ah, here’s another Hollywood executive wanting to stuff his face. I want so badly to tell him not to call me Babe; to tell them all that I’m not Kid, Hun or Sweetie either. I want to stand up and tell them who I am, where I’m going. I want to, but instead I ask, “Cherry or apple?”

“Surprise me.”

He looks like a Darren. He probably has a wife who calls him “Dar”, a son he calls Junior and a dog, named Bruno. I bet he’s not as happy as he seems though—is anyone ever?

I wonder if I came into any one of these customers’ places of employment, what they would think my name was at first glance. Probably something ordinary and unexciting like Ashley or Jessica. I don’t blame them; I look pretty mundane and everyday. There’s nothing that stands out about me. I’m positive the one thing that set me away from my peers was my writing and I don’t have that anymore, so I’m pretty much just like every other empty shell lying on a towel on the sunny California beaches.

Maybe, if I go home, people will have been looking for me. Maybe they’ve been waiting a whole year for me to walk up to my mother’s door. Maybe there’s a great homecoming party planned just for me. It is a big maybe, and I don’t know if I could stand to leave the nothingness of my life in L.A. just to return to even more nothing. I’m sure my mom will be there waiting for me, if she didn’t die when she found out I took off. I’m sure she’s been waiting to see her only child reappear; her face contorted between disbelief, anger and excitement, her heart full of the love and concern of a parent.

It has been such a long time. So long, since I’ve been home, since I’ve felt comfort, since I’ve heard my name.

Could a mother forget her child’s name? God, I hope not.

Welp, there you have it. Hope you enjoyed it at least somewhat. I'll try to write a general update of things this weekend. Until then, lovers and friends.

Title Song: 'Knocks You Down' - Keri Hilson (Feat. Ne-Yo & Kanye West)

September 9, 2009

These Words Are My Own, From My Heart Flow

Say, 'Hello' to: Word Up! Wednesday

Word of the week: Anachronism - an artifact that is from another time.

I love watching movies or TV shows and finding anachronisms. It's kind of hard to do if the movie isn't specific about the time period, so it's a lot easier when you have movies that state the specific year.

Like in 'Now and Then' which is set in 1970, one of the girls reads a 'Babysitter's Club' book. Those books weren't published til the 80s. Fun fact, right? Yep, I'm full of them.

Favorite words read this week: People tell themselves stories and then pour their lives into the stories they tell. - Anonymous
These days, the eye in 'I' is missing. - Anonymous

Phrases that you should try to use in the next week:

o 'Fell by the wayside' - meaning something that was forgotten over time, or abandoned.
o 'As it were' - meaning something that's not exactly right, but it's practically right.
o Example: My elementary education major kind of fell by the wayside, as it were.

Do you see those two birds? Oh, you don't? Maybe it's because I just killed them with one stone. BAM!

Title Song: 'These Words' - Natasha Bedingfield

September 8, 2009

'Cause Hugs Are Overrated, Just FYI

Old Business:

About last week's [Non]Fiction Friday, most of you said that you'd like to read the rest of the story. It is finished and I can post it for this week's [Non]Fiction Friday.

Also, sorry I didn't get a post up for Moral Monday. Yesterday proved to be a lot busier than I had originally planned. However, there are other Mondays, so don't you fret.

New Business:

I bring you: Text & Twitter Tuesday.

On Tuesday's I will be brightening your day with fun texts and tweets!

We'll start with texts:

Sept. 4, Bryan wrote: Haha...U always entertain me. U smart hobag haha. Except ur not a ho. Fo sho. (Thanks B-Ry)

On Sept. 1:
Julia: I think I've been listening to too much Backstreet Boys.
Me: There's no such thing as too much Backstreet Boys.
Julia: More people should recognize this fact.

Also on Sept. 1:
Me: Family Guy is on in 18 mins!
Julia: I think I may need a bowl of cereal for this occasion.
(Moments later)
Julia: All it was was cereal dust. Fuck, my mom needs to go shopping! I thought the benefit of living at home was free food and a stocked kitchen! WTF? And who the hell puts an empty cereal box back in the pantry? Rude!

On Aug. 27, I wrote: Is it sad that after I dropped my box of reese's pieces on the ground and they spilled I had to tell myself twice not to pick them out of the dirt? (Brittany promptly told me there was no shame in this because she would have picked them up...thanks, B)

Today's Twitter spotlight will be Michael Buckley. I chose him because he was the first person I knew of who used Twitter, so it's only fitting.

He's a YouTube personality (as well as a person) and has a hilarious show called, 'What the Buck?' You guys should check out his videos, I think you'll like them.

Here are some of my favorite tweets from him:

Packing for college. Im enrolling in University of Twitter tomorrow. It's really intense.
3:26 PM Sep 6th

FoxNews just said "there is quite a bit of Activia here". Haha. Did they mean activity or is Jamie Lee Curtis on the scene?
11:12 AM Jun 26th

Ordered two deep dish pizza's -40 bucks? Better come with a cute new V neck t shirt or somethin!
4:33 PM May 26th

If I had a child I am sure I would leave it on the playground by mistake and be like ...ohh shiny things....get home and be like oops!
9:40 AM May 21st

He was also interviewed recently for Hartford Advocate. He talks about Twitter and why it's awesome and how Facebook is boring with all it's ridiculous applications. I also enjoy the simplicity of Twitter. Anyhoo, check out the article, his YouTube and his Twitter. Oh, and he also does live shows on BlogTV twice a week. He really is the definition of Internet success story. I just think more people should know about him, he's great.

Title Song: 'S.O.S.' - Jonas Brothers

September 4, 2009


[Non]Fiction Friday!!!!

Alrighty, introducing the first of five themes I have come up with. This one is called, as I mentioned above, [Non]Fiction Friday. Friday posts will contain an excerpt from a piece of fiction or non-fiction. The excerpt will either be something by me or by some other famous (or obscure) author.

I won't necessarily post something every Friday, but I think this is a fun theme, so I'll try. I won't be writing everyday, most likely, but eventually you'll learn what each theme is. The basic idea of the themes is to give me something specific to talk about, thus (haha, thus) making it more likely for me to write more frequently.

I'll still do general life updates on the weekends for those of you who care to know what I'm doing with my life.

Now, without further ado, I give you [Non]Fiction Friday:

What's in a Name?
by Me

Sometimes I think back to the day, one year ago, when I left.


It was one of those hot summer nights where the only comfortable place to be was sitting out in your front yard. At that time, I was stuck with my mother, who spent so much time on our couch she sometimes blended in with its cushions.

She called herself a homebody; always told me it was nice to stay at home because everything was familiar. I was always the one who went out to the grocery store, the Laundromat, or to pay the bills that could not be sent by mail. She always said, “It’s easier for me to get things done around this house if I don’t have to go off running crazy errands.”

If you ask me, or anyone, the real reason was not convenience. She would not step a foot outside our door because her previous years of drugs use made her paranoid—her paranoia turned into agoraphobia.

The night I left is still so vivid in my mind—it’s almost as if it happened just yesterday. I came home from school a bit later than usual, but before I could explain, my mom was on me about not being around to get the food she needed for dinner.

When I finally got a word in, I told her I was late because I was in a meeting with my school principal and English teacher. An essay I had written for class won a contest and I had been invited to the winners’ reception in California. Before I could give any more details, she cut me off.

“No! We can’t afford it.”

I told her that everything was taken care of, food, hotel and airfare costs.

“Well…you’re just too young to fly halfway across the country.”

I argued with her. I argued that she never let me experience anything, never let me go anywhere worthwhile or participate in life.

“What’s wrong with your life here? You feel like you have to pack up and leave?”

I told her that I would only be gone for four days and again, that everything was free for us. I even pointed out that my principal and teacher would be there to chaperone.

“Its four days now. But next time it will be a week, then a month and then you’ll be gone and I’ll only see you when you come visit me for four days!”

I stared at her, unmoving, silent. I realized then that she never wanted me to leave. She wanted me to stay and be trapped inside that house, like her, forever. I looked at her face again; her forehead was wrinkled with worry and her eyes were glazed with tears; she was expecting a heartbreaking argument from her only child.

I knew if I gave in, I would become a lifer. I would be one of those girls who forgoes college and a career to work at the corner market and marry the son of some well-off townie.

It broke my heart to think that my mother had become so dependent upon me. Instead of arguing, I hugged her and went up to my room. I lied on my bed, stared at the ceiling and waited.

I waited until I heard her shut off the television and close her bedroom door. I waited until I thought she was sound asleep and when I figured she was, I grabbed a duffle bag, packed some essentials and snuck out the house.

As I walked down the street, I tried my hardest not to look back. It was tough though, I kept thinking about my mother’s face—how it looked earlier that night and how it would look when she realized I had gone AWOL. It upset me to picture her face when she figured it out.

I wondered what would clue her into it. When I didn’t walk through the door on time, would she go to my room and discover the random pictures missing? Would she see that I took the good luck charm she gave me on my seventh birthday from its resting place? Maybe the fact that I made my bed that night would be the first thing to confirm it for her.

Yes, it pained me so much to think of how she would react. Her only child gone—disappeared like a faint dream. The probability of her dropping dead upon realization was high. However, as selfish as it sounds, it pained me more to think of “living” in Bleecher, Oklahoma for the rest of my life.

My mom moved us to this town so I could avoid all of the temptations that she couldn’t. When I was younger, during a school break, my mom took me to see a play in the city. I fell in love with how fast paced and big everything was. For days, all I could talk about was going back. My mom saw the hunger in my eyes—we didn’t ever go back to the city, she wanted to keep me away from it as long as she possibly could.

I never was a small town girl, we both knew it, but knowing that didn’t make my leaving any easier—for either of us.

Well, there's about the first half of the story. Hope it didn't bore you, and if it can suck it. I'm mostly kidding ;)

Hopefully you guys enjoyed the first [Non]Fiction Friday. Stay tuned for the next themed blog: Moral Monday. I will be talking about a life lesson I'll be sure to teach my child (if I ever have (and by 'have', I mean adopt) one).

Stay tuned.