Wednesday, February 8, 2017

Wednesday Word Count 3

My goal is for me to spend at least an hour on my poetry and/or revisit a story I have been wanting to work on for a while but haven't pushed myself to do. I really think this exercise will help me get back into writing.

What am I working on? :

I am still working on my Narrative Assignment, but I'm also trying out different forms of poetry. My narrative's middle plot needs some work.

How do I feel about the process? :

I can't seem to get some events for the short story right. I tend to drop a character into a plot and see how it goes, with little to no idea of how to story will end up. I have reached a point in the plot where I can't seem to go around it though because I need to keep the audience interested. I'm going to keep working on some ideas that may allow it to flow better.

What am I reading now? :

I am still rereading Pedro Paramo, and a few poems here and there from the book I previously mentioned Milk and Honey.

Tuesday, February 7, 2017

The Place They Go Part I

This is the beginning of my short story for the Narrative Project....

Robert Dante hates the way the tide turns red against the burning sun just before the world goes dark. Yet he likes to look at it sometimes, let the red sink in. He has a way in which his mind would wander, thinking about those waves and what lies beneath them. He stands at the end of the old brick bridge, riddled with cracks and eroded by the subtle slosh of the waves hitting against it. He never looks at the sunset for too long; he just glances here and there as he passes by. For some reason, he is afraid to look too long. The sun is blazing hot, and it frightens him.

He crosses over the bridge and into the street, where the market was set up with little stands of fruits and vegetables, all different colors. Watching the stone pavement carefully, he keeps his head low. As the little wooden sign engraved in the town’s name brushes against his shoulder, he thinks to himself: Camala is always set at sunset.

Perhaps it is the color of the sky, a consistent splice of colors he cannot comprehend. Perhaps, it is that feeling he gets as we walks the streets that forces that thought to stay in his mind. He feels paranoid by that sun; always setting and never going anywhere.

Camala is eerily quiet, but Robert Dante does not notice this. He closes his eyes and whistles, not realizing he is absently and thoughtlessly filling the silence. His echoes taunt the walls of the buildings around him, leaving their scrapes and marks on the walls from their repetitions.

He walks to one of the market stands, his favorite. The pomegranates are cut in halves to display what lies inside. He never eats them; He is just transfixed by their rich colors and exotic nature. He doesn’t look up at the shopkeeper, as he presumes is waiting on him. He nods his head in a general direction and leaves without a word, not taking his eyes off the floor.

Robert Dante checks his watch but forgets what time it is. He doesn’t mind though. He isn’t in a hurry.

Suddenly, a woman calls out to him. Her voice rings familiarity as she addresses him from afar. He shudders and continues on down the street.

But she insists. She follows him; he can feel it. He walks faster. So does she.

Their steps become in sync; a rhythm of predator and prey. He doesn’t look behind him, for the same reasons he fears that red. He continues forward.

“Sir!” she yells, “Where are you going?”

Reflecting on what she had just said, he tousles this question around in his thoughts. Where was he going: nowhere he could answer in a word. His legs took him places and his mind followed.

He stops, his back still towards her. Her steps catch up with him. She stays a few feet away, he can feel the distance between them.

“Sir. Where are you going?” her voice travels calmly to his ears, but the words are what frighten him. Robert Dante remains silent.

“Sir. Come sit with me and watch the sunset. It’s so lovely,” he can hear her smile.

His legs captivate him to stand there in the danger for a few more seconds, or at least he presumes they are. To his mind, the seconds are tangled with years, and he soon loses focus on the cobblestone, and he soon loses focus on why he waits. He stands, perhaps for seconds- years maybe.

Now his ears ring from the previously unassuming silence. They ring and ring. For a moment, he thinks he will go deaf.

Then, Robert Dante forces his legs to move. He continues to walk, and the woman does not follow.

Wednesday Word Count 2

My goal is for me to spend at least an hour on my poetry and/or revisit a story I have been wanting to work on for a while but haven't pushed myself to do. I really think this exercise will help me get back into writing.

What am I working on? :

I am currently working on the short story for the Narrative project coming up. I started a super rough draft in my Creative Writing notebook and I am trying to piece together the story. So far, I have thought of an old story I once had came up with, and I have planned out the beginning and end. Right now I am just working on filling out the plot.

How do I feel about the process? :

I am actually really excited about this project! I've never in my life written a short story, so that's why I chose to do it instead of a few chapters. Also, I am making this project my "experiment" project, where I am trying out all different types of styles and such. It's really fun so far!

What am I reading now? :

I just pulled down this old book I read last year. It's called Pedro Paramo by Juan Ruflo, and at the time of reading it, i didn't care that much about the story. I hadn't realized until now, however, how much the interesting style and plot stuck with me. As I was writing my short story, the way I wanted it to come across, sort of mysterious and magical realism, w=reminded me of this book. So I'm rereading it, just to get my creatitivity flowing!pe

Monday, February 6, 2017

How to not die from homework

Many of you might be wondering
Or perhaps, simply just pondering
Why we must always suffer so
When our homework is so sickly slow.

If you truly feel like dying
Please read below what I'm implying
Because homework isn't terrible
If you consider these few variables:

If you want homework to be thrilling
The first step is to just stop drilling
Sit down, relax. Don't think about it
Don't even give math a revisit.

And here we have the second step
Simply do nothing but detailed prep
Not for anything that draws concentration
But for planning your next big vacation.

The third is easier than the first
It's just remembering homework's the worst
And doing it makes your day dismal
There's really no reason in doing it at all.