Saturday, February 28, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Free verse ain't that bad...
Turns out the 1000 word memoir I was dreading is due NEXT thursday, and a poem is due instead. I'm not much for poetry, but I have been working on a short story that I felt was significant and interesting but just wasn't working. Once I put it into free verse form, it flowed beautifully. Tell me what you think:
I had a face at one point
We have a baby picture
With a winking eye
And cooing mouth.
Gran speaks of a freckled nose
Perfect, straight, narrow.
That is in my mind now
When eat in a public place
Or sneeze by a stranger.
Seeing with no eyes?
Sneezing with no nose?
I do it every day.
You think I can’t see you or hear you
Because I have no eyes or ears?
Think twice before pointing or mocking or crying;
Especially the crying.
It happened shortly after I was born, they say.
By three weeks, both eyes were gone.
In their place was soft, smooth skin,
Like the cheeks had achieved a hostile takeover of the face.
My mother actually saw the teeth flee.
She described the sound of them evaporating
Like a tiny, delicate pop.
After them,
Went my mouth and each nostril,
The entire nose, and the eyebrows.
Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop.
Then, nothing.
Flat, plain, freckled flesh
Like a speckled porcelain plate.
I had a face at one point
We have a baby picture
With a winking eye
And cooing mouth.
Gran speaks of a freckled nose
Perfect, straight, narrow.
That is in my mind now
When eat in a public place
Or sneeze by a stranger.
Seeing with no eyes?
Sneezing with no nose?
I do it every day.
You think I can’t see you or hear you
Because I have no eyes or ears?
Think twice before pointing or mocking or crying;
Especially the crying.
It happened shortly after I was born, they say.
By three weeks, both eyes were gone.
In their place was soft, smooth skin,
Like the cheeks had achieved a hostile takeover of the face.
My mother actually saw the teeth flee.
She described the sound of them evaporating
Like a tiny, delicate pop.
After them,
Went my mouth and each nostril,
The entire nose, and the eyebrows.
Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop.
Then, nothing.
Flat, plain, freckled flesh
Like a speckled porcelain plate.
Here's how last night panned out
I have a Creative Writing Assignment due tomorrow, a memoir between 800-1000 words. At the beginning of the semester I would have relished this assignment; now, I'm annoyed. Recently everything I've tried writing has become this huge story, taking me places I had no idea it would go. I've discovered an appreciation for writing fiction, which is the complete opposite of my writing only a week ago.
Here is the piece I started today. I know exactly where I want it to go, but I have to go to class and don't have time to finish it right now. Enjoy the cliffhanger. I swear I'll finish it later.
p.s. NIKKI- DON'T READ THIS. It is scary, and you live alone, so you don't like scary things. Just a heads up.
-----------------
The latest band her roommate had “discovered” hummed behind her, and she padded barefoot on the thin blue carpet in perfect time. Turning the corner towards the kitchen, one hand on the plain white wall for guidance, she stared into the black apartment hallway and passed the three doors of her roommates in silence. Once she felt cold, gritty linoleum under her small square toes, she reached up and flicked the switch without having to feel for it first.
There, on the left of the kitchen bar which separated it from the entryway, stood a man of 6’4’’ or so.
Fifteen seconds passed with neither of them speaking, each one making the girl, 5’5’’ and 120 lbs, more aware of his size. He did not move or look directly at her; instead, he studied the pantry with wide brown eyes.
Her deep intake of breath, brought on by the realization that she was about to pass out, caused him to look up at her.
“Is, uh, Natalie here?” he asked in a voice too young for someone who looked at least 30.
“No one named Natalie lives here,” she replied evenly, taking in his height and weight, and factoring in his wind resistance mixed with her self defense classes.
“Ha! Oh!” he chuckled, “I’m so sorry!” He smiled an expensive, beautiful smile, gazed blankly at the pantry, then turned and was gone into the black winter night.
--
Earlier that day the girl, Kate, had been standing in the same place in the kitchen, hands on hips, regarding the space with indignation. Where could it be, she wondered in annoyance. Her habit of losing her phone was costing her very important social opportunities, as was living with three girls she hardly knew. Wasn’t making friends in college supposed to be easy? Turns out no. Two of them barely spoke English, and the third one was nice but never around.
Outside, her third roommate was leaning against the front door, sweating and shaking. After two deep breaths, she walked in and saw Kate.
“Hey girl,” she called out casually, with a slight tremor in her voice.
“Aubrey what happened to your forehead?” Kate said in a solemn whisper, pointing up at her face. Her skin was swelling and bleeding around a thick red dent, something she hadn’t felt or noticed.
“Oh, that?” was her light response as she touched her yellow leather gloves to the red liquid on her face, “That should teach you to never take me to the batting cages. Stupid boys thinking I enjoy sports.” She laughed in a high, pulsing pitch, but her features were cold and lifeless. Kate noticed the bruising on her collarbone but said nothing.
“Aren’t you missing class right now?”
“Geeze, lady, stalking me or something?” she smiled and pushed Kate gently. “Knock on my door if you feel like making me food.” Back in her room, she began sucking in great heaves of air and pulling off her gloves. She rushed into her bathroom and began washing the blood from underneath each fingernail.
After the man left the apartment, Kate immediately walked to the door, locked it, then turned to stare at the living room window. Their apartment was at the end of a hallway, the light of which was always on. This window, even with the blinds closed, alerted them of any guests coming or going with an obvious shadow.
--
That morning Aubrey had paced the poorly decorated living room, occasionally peeking out and heaving an impatient sigh. She was waiting for her ride to take her to school, since she hated driving in any kind of snow and she was only one more ticket away from getting her license revoked.
“Any more screw ups and we’re pulling your funding,” her step father had decreed before the semester, his style of speaking to her always awkward and formal. The man didn’t know how to be a parent. Even though he’d been married to her mother for two years now, he was still using terms like ‘pulling your funding,’ like he was a benefactor, not a stepdad. Screw that guy, she thought bitterly, remembering his presence in her life. Just thinking about him made her want to blast sludge metal and wear her skull and bones t-shirts to church. He always looooved that. Ten more minutes passed without her ride arriving or answering his phone. After changing into a Mastadon t-shirt and pocketing her iPod, she snatched keys off the bar and walked out into the dirty snow, hopping into her red convertible.
--
Andrew held his fiancee’s hand the same afternoon, pushing the ring he gave her back and forth over her delicate, tan knuckle. “You know that was my grandmother’s ring,” he said proudly. His grandmother was so relieved he was actually getting married, she offered it as early inheritance. “Thirty three isn’t so old,” he had argued. Staring at the perfect woman before he, he can’t believe he waited so long. “I love you, Andrew.” He bent his tall frame to lean in and kiss her perfect, pouting mouth.
--
That night, still staring at the window, Kate was again unintentionally holding her breath. At the pace he exited the apartment, a shadow should have passed by now. She held her face up to the peephole and saw nothing but an empty apartment. Since that shadow still had not passed, and she couldn’t see him, she knew he was still there, standing somewhere in the three foot stretch of hallway between the door and the window.
Backing away from the door, she painfully sucked the thin air into her lungs. Where is that stupid phone?! She screamed at herself and at humanity for not inventing cell phone lo-jacks. Backing away. He is still out there. No shadow on the window. She ran her hand across the bar for balance as she passed it. Suddenly the chilled linoleum floor was much colder than usual for a winter night. Lifting her feet, she realized they were damp. Two seconds after looking down, she was clutching at the kitchen bar and sagging to the ground. A thin trail of blood was leaking from the open pantry, the candy apple red color now covering her feet and the hem of her pajamas. The bottom shelf of the pantry was two feet wide and four feet thick, usually held nothing but an occasional case of water bottles. Kate’s eyes were now following the trail of blood, up to the source: Aubrey’s face was pale and relaxed, the blood from her neck covering the left cheek and the entire floor of the pantry. Her expression was so relieved and tired that Kate was transfixed, and didn’t hear the front door opening slowly.
Here is the piece I started today. I know exactly where I want it to go, but I have to go to class and don't have time to finish it right now. Enjoy the cliffhanger. I swear I'll finish it later.
p.s. NIKKI- DON'T READ THIS. It is scary, and you live alone, so you don't like scary things. Just a heads up.
-----------------
The latest band her roommate had “discovered” hummed behind her, and she padded barefoot on the thin blue carpet in perfect time. Turning the corner towards the kitchen, one hand on the plain white wall for guidance, she stared into the black apartment hallway and passed the three doors of her roommates in silence. Once she felt cold, gritty linoleum under her small square toes, she reached up and flicked the switch without having to feel for it first.
There, on the left of the kitchen bar which separated it from the entryway, stood a man of 6’4’’ or so.
Fifteen seconds passed with neither of them speaking, each one making the girl, 5’5’’ and 120 lbs, more aware of his size. He did not move or look directly at her; instead, he studied the pantry with wide brown eyes.
Her deep intake of breath, brought on by the realization that she was about to pass out, caused him to look up at her.
“Is, uh, Natalie here?” he asked in a voice too young for someone who looked at least 30.
“No one named Natalie lives here,” she replied evenly, taking in his height and weight, and factoring in his wind resistance mixed with her self defense classes.
“Ha! Oh!” he chuckled, “I’m so sorry!” He smiled an expensive, beautiful smile, gazed blankly at the pantry, then turned and was gone into the black winter night.
--
Earlier that day the girl, Kate, had been standing in the same place in the kitchen, hands on hips, regarding the space with indignation. Where could it be, she wondered in annoyance. Her habit of losing her phone was costing her very important social opportunities, as was living with three girls she hardly knew. Wasn’t making friends in college supposed to be easy? Turns out no. Two of them barely spoke English, and the third one was nice but never around.
Outside, her third roommate was leaning against the front door, sweating and shaking. After two deep breaths, she walked in and saw Kate.
“Hey girl,” she called out casually, with a slight tremor in her voice.
“Aubrey what happened to your forehead?” Kate said in a solemn whisper, pointing up at her face. Her skin was swelling and bleeding around a thick red dent, something she hadn’t felt or noticed.
“Oh, that?” was her light response as she touched her yellow leather gloves to the red liquid on her face, “That should teach you to never take me to the batting cages. Stupid boys thinking I enjoy sports.” She laughed in a high, pulsing pitch, but her features were cold and lifeless. Kate noticed the bruising on her collarbone but said nothing.
“Aren’t you missing class right now?”
“Geeze, lady, stalking me or something?” she smiled and pushed Kate gently. “Knock on my door if you feel like making me food.” Back in her room, she began sucking in great heaves of air and pulling off her gloves. She rushed into her bathroom and began washing the blood from underneath each fingernail.
After the man left the apartment, Kate immediately walked to the door, locked it, then turned to stare at the living room window. Their apartment was at the end of a hallway, the light of which was always on. This window, even with the blinds closed, alerted them of any guests coming or going with an obvious shadow.
--
That morning Aubrey had paced the poorly decorated living room, occasionally peeking out and heaving an impatient sigh. She was waiting for her ride to take her to school, since she hated driving in any kind of snow and she was only one more ticket away from getting her license revoked.
“Any more screw ups and we’re pulling your funding,” her step father had decreed before the semester, his style of speaking to her always awkward and formal. The man didn’t know how to be a parent. Even though he’d been married to her mother for two years now, he was still using terms like ‘pulling your funding,’ like he was a benefactor, not a stepdad. Screw that guy, she thought bitterly, remembering his presence in her life. Just thinking about him made her want to blast sludge metal and wear her skull and bones t-shirts to church. He always looooved that. Ten more minutes passed without her ride arriving or answering his phone. After changing into a Mastadon t-shirt and pocketing her iPod, she snatched keys off the bar and walked out into the dirty snow, hopping into her red convertible.
--
Andrew held his fiancee’s hand the same afternoon, pushing the ring he gave her back and forth over her delicate, tan knuckle. “You know that was my grandmother’s ring,” he said proudly. His grandmother was so relieved he was actually getting married, she offered it as early inheritance. “Thirty three isn’t so old,” he had argued. Staring at the perfect woman before he, he can’t believe he waited so long. “I love you, Andrew.” He bent his tall frame to lean in and kiss her perfect, pouting mouth.
--
That night, still staring at the window, Kate was again unintentionally holding her breath. At the pace he exited the apartment, a shadow should have passed by now. She held her face up to the peephole and saw nothing but an empty apartment. Since that shadow still had not passed, and she couldn’t see him, she knew he was still there, standing somewhere in the three foot stretch of hallway between the door and the window.
Backing away from the door, she painfully sucked the thin air into her lungs. Where is that stupid phone?! She screamed at herself and at humanity for not inventing cell phone lo-jacks. Backing away. He is still out there. No shadow on the window. She ran her hand across the bar for balance as she passed it. Suddenly the chilled linoleum floor was much colder than usual for a winter night. Lifting her feet, she realized they were damp. Two seconds after looking down, she was clutching at the kitchen bar and sagging to the ground. A thin trail of blood was leaking from the open pantry, the candy apple red color now covering her feet and the hem of her pajamas. The bottom shelf of the pantry was two feet wide and four feet thick, usually held nothing but an occasional case of water bottles. Kate’s eyes were now following the trail of blood, up to the source: Aubrey’s face was pale and relaxed, the blood from her neck covering the left cheek and the entire floor of the pantry. Her expression was so relieved and tired that Kate was transfixed, and didn’t hear the front door opening slowly.
Sleep
It's past 2 am and I am awake. Have no fear, I fell asleep at 7pm, and woke up at midnight.
Why?
Because last night I got one hour of sleep.
The night before that I got three hours of sleep.
Why?
Wish I could tell you that. I was literally counting the hours as I thrashed around in my bed, in my room, in my apartment, in Provo, UT, which is where I currently live.
First, I can't sleep. I change positions. I cover my entire body, head included, with the blanket. I unplug my printer, throw a blanket over my window, block out every light possible since that has to be the only reason I'm still awake after four hours in bed. I read something calming. I get up and stretch. I brainstorm new stories for my creative writing class. Sometimes I wake up, turn on the lights, and write down whatever comes to me. Not last night. Last night I was EXHAUSTED, and HAD TO SLEEP, since I had work at 7 am.
And yet...5 am roles around...
My legs and arms are full of a nervous energy that I can't explain. If I don't move them, it gets painful. I am so tired and frustrated that the only way I can react is by spazzing out every ten minutes or so. Lying there, quietly, the tension builds up in my limbs until I feel like someone is holding a tazer to my shins and forearms. I break my stillness and punch and kick and flex for five seconds, trying to get all of the power out of my body. The blanket flies around me. I wish I could ask someone what it looks like.
Then I lay still again. I feel tired. I'm sure it worked.
Ten minutes later.....tazer legs.
Why?
Because last night I got one hour of sleep.
The night before that I got three hours of sleep.
Why?
Wish I could tell you that. I was literally counting the hours as I thrashed around in my bed, in my room, in my apartment, in Provo, UT, which is where I currently live.
First, I can't sleep. I change positions. I cover my entire body, head included, with the blanket. I unplug my printer, throw a blanket over my window, block out every light possible since that has to be the only reason I'm still awake after four hours in bed. I read something calming. I get up and stretch. I brainstorm new stories for my creative writing class. Sometimes I wake up, turn on the lights, and write down whatever comes to me. Not last night. Last night I was EXHAUSTED, and HAD TO SLEEP, since I had work at 7 am.
And yet...5 am roles around...
My legs and arms are full of a nervous energy that I can't explain. If I don't move them, it gets painful. I am so tired and frustrated that the only way I can react is by spazzing out every ten minutes or so. Lying there, quietly, the tension builds up in my limbs until I feel like someone is holding a tazer to my shins and forearms. I break my stillness and punch and kick and flex for five seconds, trying to get all of the power out of my body. The blanket flies around me. I wish I could ask someone what it looks like.
Then I lay still again. I feel tired. I'm sure it worked.
Ten minutes later.....tazer legs.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
wisdom teeth
four wisdom teeth. three impacted. one of the three impacted ones was behind the bone. I can feel stitches all up in my mouth. My pain meds make me dizzy which makes me nauseated.
On the plus side, I got to see my mom and dad and Nikki! It was so fun seeing all of you! Nikki is funny and I miss living with her. My mom and dad got me this art bag thing which is sweet and awesome.
My cheek is still kind of swollen (almost a week later. I know)
and I have all this catching up to do. I wasted away the whole day being tired and feeling sorry for myself.
All in all, I'm hoping this medical leave didn't totally ruin my academic momentum.
Cross your fingers for me.
On the plus side, I got to see my mom and dad and Nikki! It was so fun seeing all of you! Nikki is funny and I miss living with her. My mom and dad got me this art bag thing which is sweet and awesome.
My cheek is still kind of swollen (almost a week later. I know)
and I have all this catching up to do. I wasted away the whole day being tired and feeling sorry for myself.
All in all, I'm hoping this medical leave didn't totally ruin my academic momentum.
Cross your fingers for me.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Passive Aggressive Notes
Recently I've suffered stolen granola bars and was moved to pen a bitter diatribe or two. Reviewing them later, I found them silly and entertaining. I then discovered a few websites dedicated to the leaving of such notes.
First, We see the notes are on a vending machine. Each picture following is a close up. The very last one made me laugh out loud.
First, We see the notes are on a vending machine. Each picture following is a close up. The very last one made me laugh out loud.
Friday, February 6, 2009
List of Things I Want
-Subscription to McSweeney's Magazine
-Subscription to The New Yorker
-a lifetime supply of Denali Peanut Butter Cups Moosetracks
-art lessons (any and all paints)
-to shove as many books into my brain as humanly possible
-to get off Academic Warning
-to pick a major
-a license
-everything kurt vonnegut/joan didion/jorge luis borges/oscar wilde has ever written
-a hair color I really like alot
-my septum ring back (I know! Such a strange vice)
-a tape player (my friend Alex, who is on his mission, just sent me a tape of him and his companion being silly. Unfortunately, I have yet to locate a tape player)
-a good plot for my next short story
-more closet space
-patience when it comes to ALL OF THE IDIOT GIRLS IN MY MARRIAGE PREP CLASS. NO, YOU WILL NOT BE HAVING SEX 6 TIMES A DAY. THAT IS NOT POSSIBLE. GO WATCH SOME CABLE AND LEARN A THING OR TWO.
-to get back into Guerilla Art
-to get attached to Provo (see above)
-to find out which one of my roommates ate my granola bars and shove bamboo sticks under her fingernails. or maybe have her drawn and quartered. or Iron Maidened!
-to get out of my comfort zone every day (yesterday I did speed dating. I think that counts for the rest of the week)
-visit my three favorite girls in Lincoln
-to go back home this summer, work on a novel, get my license back, save up, do BYU in the fall then possibly study abroad in the winter.
-Subscription to The New Yorker
-a lifetime supply of Denali Peanut Butter Cups Moosetracks
-art lessons (any and all paints)
-to shove as many books into my brain as humanly possible
-to get off Academic Warning
-to pick a major
-a license
-everything kurt vonnegut/joan didion/jorge luis borges/oscar wilde has ever written
-a hair color I really like alot
-my septum ring back (I know! Such a strange vice)
-a tape player (my friend Alex, who is on his mission, just sent me a tape of him and his companion being silly. Unfortunately, I have yet to locate a tape player)
-a good plot for my next short story
-more closet space
-patience when it comes to ALL OF THE IDIOT GIRLS IN MY MARRIAGE PREP CLASS. NO, YOU WILL NOT BE HAVING SEX 6 TIMES A DAY. THAT IS NOT POSSIBLE. GO WATCH SOME CABLE AND LEARN A THING OR TWO.
-to get back into Guerilla Art
-to get attached to Provo (see above)
-to find out which one of my roommates ate my granola bars and shove bamboo sticks under her fingernails. or maybe have her drawn and quartered. or Iron Maidened!
-to get out of my comfort zone every day (yesterday I did speed dating. I think that counts for the rest of the week)
-visit my three favorite girls in Lincoln
-to go back home this summer, work on a novel, get my license back, save up, do BYU in the fall then possibly study abroad in the winter.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
I have something to say
How do you put so much of yourself on a page without covering the words in the resulting vomit? You'll explode if you can't put it on paper, but you'll make yourself sick if you do.
The blank sheet before you might as well fold into a delicate, feminine fist, weilding a Pentel Metal Tip pen and plunging it's 0.7 mm ball tip into your willingly bared chest. Liquid gel ink mixes with blood in an assortment of viscera. The origami hand begins shaping an introduction out of your intestines. Cursive. How lovely.
Aching and empty, you carry the soggy pages outside and thrust them at the sky.
"See?" You wail breathlessly into the pink morning clouds.
"See what you have done, disgusting people! Look at the words you have memorized but ignore. Look me in the guts and tell me it's not familiar. Say it. Say it to the bloody truth in my hands. Say it now!"
The blank sheet before you might as well fold into a delicate, feminine fist, weilding a Pentel Metal Tip pen and plunging it's 0.7 mm ball tip into your willingly bared chest. Liquid gel ink mixes with blood in an assortment of viscera. The origami hand begins shaping an introduction out of your intestines. Cursive. How lovely.
Aching and empty, you carry the soggy pages outside and thrust them at the sky.
"See?" You wail breathlessly into the pink morning clouds.
"See what you have done, disgusting people! Look at the words you have memorized but ignore. Look me in the guts and tell me it's not familiar. Say it. Say it to the bloody truth in my hands. Say it now!"
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Ron Woods
Ron Woods is the teacher of my creative writing class, and I just received an email from him. I was surprised when I saw it in my inbox, since I didn't send him any of my work to edit this week.
Instead, the email was about my last story (which is in the previous post). The subject was "your story" and the email said:
"I don't have much to say because it is excellent."
Needless to say, I'm thrilled. The man doesn't hand out compliments like cracker jacks. This does create a problem, though, since I haven't even started to think about the next assignment (due in two days) and I highly doubt I'll be able to produce anything near that quality in such a short period of time.
sad sad day.
Instead, the email was about my last story (which is in the previous post). The subject was "your story" and the email said:
"I don't have much to say because it is excellent."
Needless to say, I'm thrilled. The man doesn't hand out compliments like cracker jacks. This does create a problem, though, since I haven't even started to think about the next assignment (due in two days) and I highly doubt I'll be able to produce anything near that quality in such a short period of time.
sad sad day.
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