Today, I woke up and purpose captured me. I needed to go down and work. You see, my job works around me quite literally. After leaving my apartment, I walk down a flight of steps. I open the door that leads to Main Street, and then move south past two doors and unlock the third. I lock it behind me and then walk past shelves filled with thousands of books I could never read. I open the west door to the basement and turn on the light. I rule this half of the basement with an iron fist. Labeled comic book boxes filled shelves while in the north east corner unsorted comics wait for me to wrap my totalitarian hand around the throats and force them into submission.
I choose my hours. I choose what I do. Today, I spent half an hour picking up the mess left behind by a High Schooler who gained job experience by sorting comics and comic book boxes my brother did not take out from the new shipments that came in the last couple weeks. I wanted to get started since I only have three months to finish this project and need to put in close to five hundred hours total to get it all completed.
This was not the only purpose of my day. I wanted to finish the dishes I started last night, and even as I type this several sit submerged in water waiting for me to run the yellow and green pad over them to wipe away the clinging muck. Without a roommate, the dishes did not seem important to get done. Then, I had a roommate but did not have the time or want to exceed the effort to do it. Finally last night, I filled the sink full of water added the Dawn dish soap and then began to wash the plates, bowls, silver ware, and cups.
Overall, my purpose got me out of bed. I put in a few hours, and now I plan to do dishes. However, most of my day I felt incredibly inadequate. The drama from my roommate still lingers in my mind, especially since I still get countless pieces of mail I know for the most part she will simply throw them into the trashcan. She also lingers in the apartment, although since Andy moved in things actually feel easier. Andy, however, spends most of his time out in the world leaving the apartment lonely with just my kitty.
Although I know I have friends, I know I have a plan for my future, and I know my family supports me even in my potential mistakes, I felt incredibly lonely. I felt like an dehydrated person with an empty glass and no water. I began to text my friend, Katie, and told her how the gay themed movies I currently have been watching make me feel both incredibly happy while also incredibly sad.
She talked me through it all. She, like any good friend, told me how awesome I am in various contexts and I explained that she was simply brilliant. She liked the fact I quoted Doctor Who. I can't wait for my future as uncertain, but a large part of me just hopes that my friends have the same kind of hope, scary as it sometimes is. Donna Troy, a character from DC Comics Teen Titans once said in Titans/Young Avengers: Graduation Daysaid, "I don't know what tomorrow will bring, but I know that tomorrow will come and I will be there to meet it." It's been my lifeline and I truly believe it. Today, I felt sad, I felt purposeful, and now I feel lonely, but at the end of the day, I can't wait to tomorrow's roller coaster.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Moving Forward
My blog lingers out in cyber-space and I actually feel sort of bad I do not post more often. I wrote that poem earlier today about my recent roommate troubles. The extent of the troubles ends with 'I no longer have a roommate'. River, my cat, and I once again live alone in this apartment. River seems fine with it. She lays next to me in the couch in the living room and purrs wildly. She still rushes up to whatever wandering soul crosses my doorway into my kitchen. I just sit here and do homework.
I have worked on a few different things since my last post. Tomorrow marks the first day on my new novel. My boss and I plan to write a novel throughout the month of February and March. We beginning at midnight tonight, and will finish on the 31st of March. It gives us roughly 60 days. We write almost 900 words a day, and will have 50,000 words by the end of March. That end of March is my old roommates wedding and the next time I will see my parents, it would nice to have something to show to them.
I started work on a journal dictating the characters and some situations in which the characters may interact. I want to write an Urban Fantasy novel dealing with mages and vampires. The idea resonates in my mind, but I think I will have troubles actually starting it. The beginning always feels like the hardest part. You must establish these characters as honest-to-God people and not just open representations of me as a writer.
Sometimes, I think I wrote better characters growing up in LaBolt. In retrospect, the characters I role played online had a ferocity that I no longer have. I sometimes feel that when I role play now that all my characters blend together. To me, they all look the same instead of different people standing on their own two feet. I wonder why that is... and more importantly, I wonder how I can change that?
Well, I do not really have much else to say. I just wanted to give people an update on my very boring life. Now, I head back to math homework, or reading a few comics. Then it's bed, and work.
I have worked on a few different things since my last post. Tomorrow marks the first day on my new novel. My boss and I plan to write a novel throughout the month of February and March. We beginning at midnight tonight, and will finish on the 31st of March. It gives us roughly 60 days. We write almost 900 words a day, and will have 50,000 words by the end of March. That end of March is my old roommates wedding and the next time I will see my parents, it would nice to have something to show to them.
I started work on a journal dictating the characters and some situations in which the characters may interact. I want to write an Urban Fantasy novel dealing with mages and vampires. The idea resonates in my mind, but I think I will have troubles actually starting it. The beginning always feels like the hardest part. You must establish these characters as honest-to-God people and not just open representations of me as a writer.
Sometimes, I think I wrote better characters growing up in LaBolt. In retrospect, the characters I role played online had a ferocity that I no longer have. I sometimes feel that when I role play now that all my characters blend together. To me, they all look the same instead of different people standing on their own two feet. I wonder why that is... and more importantly, I wonder how I can change that?
Well, I do not really have much else to say. I just wanted to give people an update on my very boring life. Now, I head back to math homework, or reading a few comics. Then it's bed, and work.
Moving On
Touch-screen buttons
click.
Relationship ending
words.
Thumb slams
next letter
wrong spelled words
shift to correction.
Slashing sentences
stabbing syntax
last text
final breath
Tacks, Coins, Awards
strewn across
her empty room
Tall top hat
crowns
four bags
her remains
garbage.
click.
Relationship ending
words.
Thumb slams
next letter
wrong spelled words
shift to correction.
Slashing sentences
stabbing syntax
last text
final breath
Tacks, Coins, Awards
strewn across
her empty room
Tall top hat
crowns
four bags
her remains
garbage.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Writing, Contemplating, Moving Forward,
I spent the majority of tonight working on a novel that found itself percolating in my mind over the last few days. Instead of giving a small tidbit of that for my writing, I actually came to a sudden realization. As I sat here pulling this piece together from a variety of things I already wrote, my friends showed up. My roommate, already decently intoxicated, began to once again tell me we needed to watch something other than what I watched. I tried to continue to write and talk with her friends as more people showed up to join the cadre of people. Now as they left, I realized that I sort of enjoy being alone.
Throughout the last four semesters, I constantly needed people surrounding me. When I came back from the Navy, I lived with my new roommate, Char. The two of us moved and shook with a variety of different people finding our way into countless friend groups. We loved each other. We loved partying, and we loved people. Sometimes, she liked to be alone, and I honestly did not understand it. I spent every waking moment either with people or blaring out the silent world with my music. Now, that has changed.
I sit here now alone in my apartment thinking back over the last few weeks. My roommate goes out with her friends, drinks, and comes home, sometimes alone, other times with friends, sometimes with lovers. I stay here with my cat. Now, I do go out and meet people. I spend time with friends, but the majority of my time in the apartment, I am alone. Sometimes, I flip through my Western Civilization II book, other times, I research the answers to my Quantitative Literacy book, or just sit write alone. I never thought being alone could be so relieving.
Part of it, I think, might be the fact that in five months I leave for New Jersey. If I make new connections severing them at the time I leave may feel impossible. The few friendship I find dear, I continue to cherish. I invite them over. I write with them. I make dinner plans and go out, but going down and drinking myself into a stupor feels like a waste of time. I would inevitably spend money that I do not really have. I would make friends with people I will leave behind. I want my life to move forward; and regardless of the fact one of my friends say he will be coming with me, I am moving alone.
I told myself that this semester would be about me. I work out every day or every other day (every two days at the least). I have gotten my money out of the gym membership I paid for. I will continue to go as long as I can afford it, and I will try to eat as healthy as possible. My friend, Marc, says I am growing up. Well, maybe I am.
Throughout the last four semesters, I constantly needed people surrounding me. When I came back from the Navy, I lived with my new roommate, Char. The two of us moved and shook with a variety of different people finding our way into countless friend groups. We loved each other. We loved partying, and we loved people. Sometimes, she liked to be alone, and I honestly did not understand it. I spent every waking moment either with people or blaring out the silent world with my music. Now, that has changed.
I sit here now alone in my apartment thinking back over the last few weeks. My roommate goes out with her friends, drinks, and comes home, sometimes alone, other times with friends, sometimes with lovers. I stay here with my cat. Now, I do go out and meet people. I spend time with friends, but the majority of my time in the apartment, I am alone. Sometimes, I flip through my Western Civilization II book, other times, I research the answers to my Quantitative Literacy book, or just sit write alone. I never thought being alone could be so relieving.
Part of it, I think, might be the fact that in five months I leave for New Jersey. If I make new connections severing them at the time I leave may feel impossible. The few friendship I find dear, I continue to cherish. I invite them over. I write with them. I make dinner plans and go out, but going down and drinking myself into a stupor feels like a waste of time. I would inevitably spend money that I do not really have. I would make friends with people I will leave behind. I want my life to move forward; and regardless of the fact one of my friends say he will be coming with me, I am moving alone.
I told myself that this semester would be about me. I work out every day or every other day (every two days at the least). I have gotten my money out of the gym membership I paid for. I will continue to go as long as I can afford it, and I will try to eat as healthy as possible. My friend, Marc, says I am growing up. Well, maybe I am.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Poetry, Writing Groups, and Awesome New Friends
Poetry causes me grief. Something about searching out the proper words for the exact meanings drives me nuts. I took a poetry class originally to find a more precise way to write. For the longest time, my friends called my writing incredibly flowery. I wanted to try and write something meaningful with novel length. A few years ago, I read Willa Cather’s A Lost Lady for a “Willa Cather and Midwest Women Writers” course. The book felt incredibly precise, with some of the scenes sounding more like poetry than anything else. This remains my goal.
I do not fell that I write poetry particularly well. I do not delve into my scenes as much as I should. I keep everything mostly to the sense of sight instead of actually moving beyond to the various other senses like I should as a good poet. My poetry professor, whom taught me everything I wanted and did not want to know about poetry, got me thinking about the senses and their levels of importance. Sight starts the beginning of experiences. You see things first. The sense of smell comes next, although smells linger in your mind. Smells stroke the memory pulling you back to places. Finally, you have the feeling of things underneath your hands or against your skin. Finally, the sense of taste sits the longest, but you need to get close enough. If you taste it, you remember the tastes or even the feeling of certain things against your tongue.
My poetry never touches on each of the senses as I stated. I need to start looking for words that will give you those sensory details. I recently made friends with someone who adores writing poetry due to the precisions. The story surrounding this friendship still makes me smile. That is a story for another time. She likes poetry due to the precision of words. According to our mutual friend, that choosing of words takes the majority of time in her poetry.
Together, we three friends created a Creative Writing group, which I hope will help me find some precision in my own writing, while helping my friend Nikki with her beginnings as a creative writer herself. I have wanted to be a part of a creative writing group for ages. A creative writing group on campus invited me to join them, and I have taken creative writing classes with all of them. Although I adore each of them, I feel like their beliefs and mine just don’t work in conjuncture with each other. I just want to work on my writing while taking my final semester of classes. I think blogging from time to time will help keep me going.
Although poetry causes me grief, I understand how studying poetry will help my novel writing. I love the fact I am just starting my writing career and by trying a variety of different types I expand my horizons. Maybe working with someone who loves the precision will help me write better poetry or at least expand my vocabulary for these mundane blog posts.
I do not fell that I write poetry particularly well. I do not delve into my scenes as much as I should. I keep everything mostly to the sense of sight instead of actually moving beyond to the various other senses like I should as a good poet. My poetry professor, whom taught me everything I wanted and did not want to know about poetry, got me thinking about the senses and their levels of importance. Sight starts the beginning of experiences. You see things first. The sense of smell comes next, although smells linger in your mind. Smells stroke the memory pulling you back to places. Finally, you have the feeling of things underneath your hands or against your skin. Finally, the sense of taste sits the longest, but you need to get close enough. If you taste it, you remember the tastes or even the feeling of certain things against your tongue.
My poetry never touches on each of the senses as I stated. I need to start looking for words that will give you those sensory details. I recently made friends with someone who adores writing poetry due to the precisions. The story surrounding this friendship still makes me smile. That is a story for another time. She likes poetry due to the precision of words. According to our mutual friend, that choosing of words takes the majority of time in her poetry.
Together, we three friends created a Creative Writing group, which I hope will help me find some precision in my own writing, while helping my friend Nikki with her beginnings as a creative writer herself. I have wanted to be a part of a creative writing group for ages. A creative writing group on campus invited me to join them, and I have taken creative writing classes with all of them. Although I adore each of them, I feel like their beliefs and mine just don’t work in conjuncture with each other. I just want to work on my writing while taking my final semester of classes. I think blogging from time to time will help keep me going.
Although poetry causes me grief, I understand how studying poetry will help my novel writing. I love the fact I am just starting my writing career and by trying a variety of different types I expand my horizons. Maybe working with someone who loves the precision will help me write better poetry or at least expand my vocabulary for these mundane blog posts.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Watching Above
I look at nights by Vincent van Gogh,
And see though eyes that feel.
Stars swirl blues and blacks
blending yellow to teal growing green.
Everything moving by planets or
suns with humans such tiny specks.
I wonder if ants see streetlights
twirling orange to whites fading navy.
The light shall fade, dying into day,
eternity of dark before the brilliant rebirth.
We enter their world. Giants uncaring,
we destroy their mounds with a misstep.
Do they worship us in churches of dirt,
praying we accept their offerings of crumbs?
And see though eyes that feel.
Stars swirl blues and blacks
blending yellow to teal growing green.
Everything moving by planets or
suns with humans such tiny specks.
I wonder if ants see streetlights
twirling orange to whites fading navy.
The light shall fade, dying into day,
eternity of dark before the brilliant rebirth.
We enter their world. Giants uncaring,
we destroy their mounds with a misstep.
Do they worship us in churches of dirt,
praying we accept their offerings of crumbs?
Friday, January 13, 2012
Through a Transgender's Eyes
My short narrative feels a bit out of place. I know one transgender in my life who recently began to take hormones; however, I do not know much about the confusion that they feel. I wanted to try to write and understand a lifestyle I myself am not a part of. I wanted to break down the confusion and figure out how the process may begin.
The idea started at the gym. I thought about my life several years ago when I thought I could change my appearance, then I began to break down how much I can easily change in comparison to the people around me. I thought about the other people in the LGBT community and how hard being a transgender could be.
My courtship and marriage aggravated this thought. I spent thirty minutes in class today listening to Dr. Stover talk about the legality of the syllabus. I put on my coat and threw my backpack over my shoulder making it up the few steps to the professor who packed up his things. I asked a simple enough question, “Are you going to discuss alternate lifestyles?” He explained that ‘cohabitation’ will be the only thing that may factor into alternate lifestyles. This appalled me. This course supposedly teaches ‘social diversity’ but only expands upon the knowledge that my heterosexual classmates learned from varied media since birth. I just wanted to take a survey course in Courtship and Marriage giving me a broad understand of both homosexual, bisexual, transgender, and heterosexual rituals dealing with both.
As I left the class, one of my fellow classmates came up to talk to me. He pulled me aside in the hallway and explained a second course that might be closer to what I talked to Dr. Stover about. He even mentioned the fact that this course brings a transgender into the course to explain some of the things in which we study. This Human Development and Sexuality course dealt with all the social diversity Courtship and Marriage should entail. However, the course did not hold the same level of importance to the university. It did not cover the social diversity goal that such a course should have.
Although I came up with the idea of the short narrative a few days ago, it did not truly capture me until today. I wanted to actually explain the diversity I wanted to see or at least come to some sort of explanation that I could understand. If I did not capture the emotions right, please let me know. I want to expand my knowledge of the topic and try to see things from a perspective I do not fully understand. Please comment, and let me know if I should change things or how to change things.
The idea started at the gym. I thought about my life several years ago when I thought I could change my appearance, then I began to break down how much I can easily change in comparison to the people around me. I thought about the other people in the LGBT community and how hard being a transgender could be.
My courtship and marriage aggravated this thought. I spent thirty minutes in class today listening to Dr. Stover talk about the legality of the syllabus. I put on my coat and threw my backpack over my shoulder making it up the few steps to the professor who packed up his things. I asked a simple enough question, “Are you going to discuss alternate lifestyles?” He explained that ‘cohabitation’ will be the only thing that may factor into alternate lifestyles. This appalled me. This course supposedly teaches ‘social diversity’ but only expands upon the knowledge that my heterosexual classmates learned from varied media since birth. I just wanted to take a survey course in Courtship and Marriage giving me a broad understand of both homosexual, bisexual, transgender, and heterosexual rituals dealing with both.
As I left the class, one of my fellow classmates came up to talk to me. He pulled me aside in the hallway and explained a second course that might be closer to what I talked to Dr. Stover about. He even mentioned the fact that this course brings a transgender into the course to explain some of the things in which we study. This Human Development and Sexuality course dealt with all the social diversity Courtship and Marriage should entail. However, the course did not hold the same level of importance to the university. It did not cover the social diversity goal that such a course should have.
Although I came up with the idea of the short narrative a few days ago, it did not truly capture me until today. I wanted to actually explain the diversity I wanted to see or at least come to some sort of explanation that I could understand. If I did not capture the emotions right, please let me know. I want to expand my knowledge of the topic and try to see things from a perspective I do not fully understand. Please comment, and let me know if I should change things or how to change things.
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