The Perfect Day

Today while writing on the novel, I truly felt like this was what I was supposed to do. It was like I got the honest passion for it again. I haven't felt like that since high school. I began to write today and didn't stop for a few hours. I can honestly say it's a very peaceful time to be sitting in front of your computer and just letting it all flow into the story. And when it goes actually sounds like it's making sense then it's perfect. You can't beat that. I can only hope that everyone else can experience that feeling with whatever they truly enjoy doing. It doesn't matter if it's writing, drawing, listening to music, working.. as long as you are in the moment and having the best time of your life then it's worth it. Never give up hope that things can get better because they can. Goals and dreams can be achieved if you work hard enough at it. Anything is possible. I refuse to forget that.

Times may be hard right now. I am one of many people who are unemployed right now. I have a very expensive college degree sitting on my dresser right now but it doesn't matter much right now. I'm sure that in time it will matter to someone. But right now, I'm not going to get down and say that it's all pointless because it's not. Things will get better. :) I believe that. If my writing can help inspire others to go for what they want to do then it really is worth all the struggles and dark times. Just go for what you want to do. Who cares what anyone else says, you know?

Guess what time it is?? No..it's poem time, silly. :)

I decided I'm going to post another poem tonight. I wrote this poem for a creative writing I took in college. I liked it. We had to find a picture on the internet and write a poem based on it. I went and found this picture of this shaggy haired guy leaning against a beat up van, playing an acoustic guitar. If I still had the picture I would post it but alas, I don't have the picture but I do have the poem. Here it is:



Sorcerer of Music

He leaned onto the van and held his guitar tightly,
Staring up at me with that crooked grin,
his eyes asking me for my song.
He picked the strings lightly as he waited.
A soft melodic tune played, lulling my eyes closed.
I could still see his image burn bright in my head.
His wavy hair, big brown eyes and long fingers
that continuously manipulated the strings.
It was mesmerizing.
It was haunting.
It was so many things I couldn’t speak.
He cleared his throat and my eyes opened.
He began to sing a song I never heard
But wanted to hear over and over again.
Like water rushing through a stream,
the excitement of the music went through me.
He knew the magic he held within,
a sorcerer of music, power in his hands.
This man without a name
who contained the music within my soul.

Writing Prompt #4

Write a news feature based on any fairy tale.

Even Dr. Seuss Got Rejected...

Ah, rejection. The thought of being rejected makes my stomach twist into knots. I have yet to be rejected by any publishers but I know it'll happen. Every writer is rejected at one point in their lives. But I have to overcome my fear of rejection because it's not a reason to not try at all. Life is hard but breaking through all barriers and achieving a life-long dream will make it all worthwhile.

So even though I will probably be rejected by numerous publishers, it only takes one to say yes. And one will.

Even the great children's book author, Theodor Geisel (aka: Dr. Seuss) was rejected 29 times before his book, To Think I Saw It On Mulberry Street, was published. So there's always hope. :) That man is one of my literary heroes.

Poem Time

Here's a poem I wrote about five years or so ago. I found it in an old poetry notebook that I used.

Just Your Ugly Sweater (Laundry Day)

Like a sweater discarded in a closet,
I am shoved away,
stored in a musty attic,
in a cardboard box filled with mothballs,
brought out only when needed.
I cry out loud for you to hear me,
but you don't seem to listen.
You're too busy with your other sweaters.
Sweaters more durable and vibrant,
with no holes or wears and tears.
I'm just your ugly "grandpa" sweater,
one you only wear on laundry day.
A sweater to be ashamed of.
I'm not your second best,
your third or fourth even.
I'm just the ugly sweater you put away.
Never to really be considered.
Except for maybe on laundry day.

Writing Prompt #3

Imagine going out on your very first blind date. Write a metered rhymed poem about the experience.

Everything is Alright

More writing was achieved today. It's just moving along..finally.

I do have some issues with how the plot is going. It's actually twisted into a way I didn't really foresee but I think the way it did work out is a lot better than I originally planned. Mapping out the plot beforehand has really helped though. It's nice to have something to fall back on whether it works out that way or not. I'm just going with the flow. I'll edit later.