12.8.2013.

How dare you.


        you weren't there the night she died.
you'll drink your brew
you'll sit around and laugh and act like a child.
 
       and it's okay with me if you want to fall down that path of insanity.
it isn't my fault
    and don't say i didn't try

So don't you dare come crying anymore
                     
                you're problems are your own. Not mine. Never mine again. I can't let myself fall down your lazy path. You'll fight for everything you know you do not need.

But you won't fight for me.

Person vs. Technology

“I hate you!” I screamed. “I hate you, I hate you!” Near tears, I slammed my palm down on my desk and waited angrily. But still the maddening printer refused to work correctly and print my homework on time. Therefore, I was going to be late.  I hated being late. 

Person vs. Destiny

“Goodbye sweetheart,” I said as she sipped her coffee. I knew somehow, but she didn’t. She murmured “’Bye,” absently, and kept reading. I bent and kissed her, long and slow.

“What was that for?” She asked, surprised.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The light turned red too fast. 

Person vs. Supernatural

I shivered under my blankets as the phones rang again and again. Walls creaked. Lights flickered on and off. I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Hello?” On the other end was nothing but whispers: Don’t look back.

I looked back, and the whole city must have heard my scream.

 It laughed. 

Person vs. Self

The brownie was temptingly gooey.

Zoe closed her eyes, wishing she could close her nose as well.

I can do this. She counted down the days to prom for the twelfth time. And smiled, because should knew she would make it. The brownie was forgotten, in dreams of dresses fair. 

Person vs. Society

Max hid his face in the dirt.

“What’s wrong?” Desiree asked.

“I’m wrong.” He answered. “They say I’m an abomination.”

“So is everyone until God takes your heart and changes it.” Desiree’s smile was kind.

“Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes. But afterwards you’re no longer an abomination.” She took his hand. 

Person vs. Nature

The snow was a wall.  

“How much farther?” Gretel shivered, her breath freezing in the air.

“Not far.” I replied, fear rising like a strangling hand at my throat. The way was hidden and the howling snow made its own darkness. I looked back over my shoulder. Gretel was gone. 

Person vs. Person

"I won't go." Izzy said stonily, her icy blue eyes cold with defiance. 

"Why not?" Deborah sighed wearily, exhausted by her daughter’s stubbornness.

“He’s not my dad.”

“He’s not trying to be. He might make a good friend though, if you give him a chance.”

“I won’t go.” She said.

Poem

Some days I close my eyes
And see the way things used to be

The past sneaks back on creeping tip-toes
But his whispers matter little
When the future beckons

The Beauty in the Clay

Maya blinked, her throat tightening into a choking volley of unshed tears.

Sunlight streamed in through the large windows of the studio, and the other students murmured in quiet voices as they worked. Some laughed, some hummed absently, and some said nothing at all, content to revel in the joy of creating something new with their hands. It was a pleasant scene, except for her.

As Maya became more and more frustrated, her eyes grew rounder and brighter with tears. Fingers struggling desperately, she worked to shape something. But her hands, caked in the slippery, wet clay, were simply too clumsy to form anything at all out of that small lump that spun crazily around the potter’s wheel, much less something beautiful. Glancing to her left and her right, Maya saw tall vases and short, fat vases and thin, round vases and oval vases, all taking shape on the wheels around the room. Her own muddled ball of clay fell hopelessly apart at last. She took it up in her slender fingers and dug her thumbs in, enjoying the rush of hot anger which came pouring out of her.

“Maya?” A low whisper crept into her ear, startling her. Maya looked up, to see the professor bending low to speak with her. Flushing crimson as he eyes the mess of clay bunched in her hand, Maya blinked again, praying he wouldn’t see the shimmer in her eyes. “Will you stay after class for a few minutes, please?”

Horrified, Maya nodded. As the others set their pieces out on the dry rack, washed their tools and gathered their supplies, Maya sat motionless on her stool, waiting with despondent thoughts racing through her head.

What now? Why can’t I go one day without some monstrous thing happening? She thought miserably as she stared down at the flat failure cupped between her palms.

Mr. Herriot cleared the chalk board and wiped his dusty hands on a rag, his eyes grazing the room for things that needed tending. He frowned as he re-washed a tool that still had clay clinging to its surface. As he did so, his fingers caressed it lovingly. Rinsing his hands, he placed the tool back in its proper home and straightened his glasses as he turned towards her. Maya bit the inside of her lip, embarrassed to have failed so drastically in front of her young, inspiring professor. Mr. Herriot smiled at her, pulling up a stool. He took up the lump of clay that now sat on the stationary wheel. His hands kneaded it gently, and even when he spoke to her, his eyes never left its smooth surface.

“Maya, take out the Bible that’s in your purse.”

Surprised, Maya forgot her shame and stared at him widely. After a moment of hesitation, she bent and fished the small Gideon out of her bag.

“Turn to chapter eighteen of Jeremiah and read the first four verses aloud.” He instructed softly as he worked the clay into a round ball.

Maya licked her lips, shoveling through thin white pages until she came to the place he had directed her to. She read, keeping her voice as steady as she could manage.

“The word that came to Jeremiah from the Lord: “Arise, and go down to the potter's house, and there I will let you hear my words.” So I went down to the potter's house, and there he was working at his wheel.” She paused as Mr. Herriot situated the lump of clay back on the pottery wheel. “And the vessel he was making of clay was spoiled in the potter's hand, and he reworked it into another vessel, as it seemed good to the potter to do.” Her voice trailed off and she studied the words intently. Mr. Herriot stopped his work on the clay and looked up at her seriously, removing his glasses.

“Maya, I’m going to tell you something. And it is probably the most important thing you will learn throughout this entire course.” He said seriously. Maya nodded.

“Okay,”

He pointed to the clay. “You are clay. You must stop being so hard on yourself. When the clay doesn’t form the right shape, God doesn’t throw you away. He simply reworks you and reshapes you until you fit the pattern that He means you to fit.” His smile was reassuring, and Maya nodded again, her eyes downcast. “No matter what you do, God will not let you fail. Therefore, you can never be a failure, in spite of many mistakes.” He paused, his voice soft. “May I show you something?”

Maya dared to look up. She followed him into the back of the studio, into a separate room which was stuffed full of pots and vases, some simple and sleek, others intricate and elegant in shape and design. He led her to the far corner to a bookcase, and pulled out a small, somewhat lumpy, little clay pot. On it was painted, “I love mommy,” with a pink heart in the center of the phrase. He handed it to her and Maya smiled as she fingered the scratchy lines.

“This was the very first thing I ever made. It’s ugly isn’t it?”

“No,” She protested quickly, and then blushed as she realized the trap he’d set.

“You don’t think so?” Mr. Herriot smiled teasingly. “Of course you don’t. Because I was young, and it was my first try. And also because it has a deeper meaning. I made it for my mommy and I loved her with all of my heart. What could be more beautiful than that?”

In the Dead of Night

I'm dead and gone
And no one even looks up into the stars
The night is dark
There's no moon left to shine

I feel the heart
Beat inside
As it slowly fades away
Into the dead of night

The day is over
And my mind is clear
Clear in its monstrosity
There's nothing left for me today

So I'll run
Feel those dark clouds growing brighter
And the wind is always mightier
Than all the rainbows in the sky

Maybe there's still a ray of light
If only I can find
Keep hoping against destiny
Keep dreaming against death
And maybe
And maybe

I will find the little light
And the fire will glow
Into the dead of night

NaNoWriMo Recap Assignment

I remember when I was nine years old, visiting my cousins in Florida for the first time in several years. When I saw my cousin AJ (my best buddy!) I was shocked. He looked so old to me. So different. But after a just a few minutes together I realized that he was just as much my adorable, kind-hearted and smart-mouthed cousin as he'd ever been. 

NaNoWriMo was the same, only the changes were more drastic. It would have been like finding AJ all covered in tattoos, smoking a cigar, and swearing at our grandmother. In other words, the first seven days of this November were essentially filled with a plethora of disappointment. Physically, I didn't stand much of a chance. Emotionally, I was Eeyore. Mentally, I was a twenty-seven year old pug dog, on life support.

Once the barren wasteland of day seven was through, however, I was healed up, and I managed to snap myself into Pooh-mode (which doesn't sound quite as nice as it is) and regain my humanity. I wrote with everything that was in me until two, to three thousand words became standard. After the first few days it was thoughtless. I was not thinking, just writing. Maybe the book will be no good whatsoever, and maybe the characters are flat and emotionless. Maybe there's too much death (spoiler alert: a lot of people die). Maybe nothing will ever come of it and no one will ever read it and no reader will ever be changed or moved by it. 

But maybe something will happen. And maybe that oh-so-cliche, "someday" is possible. 

12.2.2013.

The rain came down and the birds flew to the hidden worlds where they rested against the earth as their pathways were shaken. I watched them fly, feeling the tinge and tingle of a whispered shiver. It was cold now. Though the rain brought and ease in the barrage of winter winds, its gray drops brought the darkness with them. All around, clouds sprang into being like new mountains looming long and tall above the world. I closed my eyes as the gray thunder pounded down. The world was washing away with the light. I didn't want to see it go.

Yay! I'm done.

Well the month of noveling is finally finished. I'm super excited. Moving on.

Today I'm going to write about a subject very near and dear to my heart:
Food.

Not just any food though: chocolate food. Rich, thick, and creamy chocolate Christmas fudge. And what about steaming hot cocoa with melty marshmallows bobbing to and fro? So much deliciousness. (By the way, spell check is now telling me that "melty" is not a word. I hereby make a formal complaint against the English language. Melty should totally be a word!) And then there's chocolate cake. Has anyone ever had those delicious chocolate cakes from Beaches? I seriously have had dreams about that cake. Let's see what else is there? You know, sometimes the best thing in the world is one of those York patties. All minty fresh with just that thin delicate layer of chocolate keeping the white meat safe from the world like treasure. And let's not forget all the incredible chocolate-peanut butter combinations in the world. I sometimes wish that I had a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup the size a swimming pool. That would be magical. Actually, it would probably quite literally take some magic to find one that large.
Well I think I'm done now.
Wishing you Merry Christmas snacking!