Monday, September 26, 2011

Story Time

Good evening Ladies and Gentleman and welcome to my blog. Tonight I will try something new that I saw Michael do; I will post my story on my blog. Any editing advice is welcome since I sometimes cannot catch my mistakes alone. This is the beginning of a larger piece (not the one that I mentioned previously), but I hope you like it nonetheless. I know we all have work (God knows I feel like homework has taken a steady flow upwards), so I am grateful for your visit. Thanks for stopping by and as always stay safe. :)




"In the Woods"


            Despair threatens to consume my being. One tear streams down my face leaving a flaming hot path in its wake. This will be the only goddamn tear that he gets from me.
            I’m leaving the dazzling lights of the Big Apple and exchanging them for the fuzzy ones on the Garbage Isle I call home. I try hard not to go home this late. Thanks to a fear given to me in childhood I know it’s not safe. Yet I miss the beauty of the Upper Bay at night. The moon shines on the sapphire colored water making it glisten with delight. The clouds hang so low that they look like they will fall with a feather’s weight. The gentle wind blowing across my body touches me like a gentle lover. A gentle lover… It’s more like a frantic storm. The wind that touches me freezes me all the way down to my soul. I shiver.  
            Another tear slips from my eye. It burns with a heat so strong that I feel as if it can take off the very flesh it touches.
 “Why me?” I ask.
To my surprise, I hear a response.
“Because you look frozen,” says a male voice.
I whip around quickly.
“Oh… Uh… Sorry, I didn’t hear what you said.”
“Oh, I had asked if you wanted to wear my jacket. It is unusually chilly tonight.”
“If you’re asking me if I want to go back to your place, then no, I’m not interested.”
His deep bass chuckle sends chills up my spine.
“No, but I’ll take that as a compliment. You look very cold and I thought, ‘Hmm, tonight I am going to be a gentleman and give her my coat.’”
“Bullshit.”
He laughs again, but this time it brings chills to more intimate parts of me. He is pure trouble. I don’t know if I can handle this so soon after.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing, it’s none of your business anyway.”
“I was just saying it because despair reaches your eyes. It’s unbecoming for your chestnut colored eyes to be marred with such pain.”
“Fine.”
“What?”
“Give me your jacket. Anything to get rid of that ‘oh-so-holier-than-thou’ attitude.”
“Ouch.”
The gentle curve of his lips that he gives me in response set a flame inside me that threatens to consume me at that moment. His eyes… There is something strange about his eyes. They are as dark as the sea on a stormy day. It is as if something was tugging at me, beckoning me to come. I try pushing away from it, but it holds me in a steady vice.
He gently places his raven colored leather jacket on my shoulders. I feel the borrowed heat radiating from the jacket, his heat. The jacket is warming me down to my very core. It is thawing this crystallized heart that barely beats. I no longer feel the ache of the break-up; rather I now feel the pain of my heart melting. It is the most hideous sensation I have ever felt in my life, yet the most familiar. 
“Thanks,” I said.
“No worries.”
I take the time out to look at him, to really look at him. Hopefully he doesn’t catch me. The moonlight seems to be playing a game of tag on the tops of his onyx loafers. His dark jeans are pressed, but has rips methodically placed in it as if a designer said, “Here, I will place this space and it will be good.” If it is made to tempt women to touch those little bear patches of skin, then it is working. I suppress the aching desire in my hand. On top of it all, I could see his toned muscles through the shirt that looks poured onto his skin. I suppress a sigh.
Then I reach his face… His features… He looks like one of those famous sculptures that people just always seem to admire. The lengthy featherlike eyelashes, which dance like butterflies when he blinks, counteract the abrupt changes in his facial structure.  Man can be both beautiful and handsome at the time.
His eyes never left my own. He sees my intrigue and maybe even more. The look in his eyes makes my heart speed double time, my palms become sweaty, and my mouth begins to water. There is one thing that I know when I am looking into his disrobing stare; I want him. This is not supposed to happen. Not so soon. Can’t the universe let me mourn just a little?
Then something unexpected happens, the look in his eyes change. They turn fierce. For a moment, I am taken aback and that’s all he needs. He comes towards me abruptly. His lips are so close to mine, I can feel his hot gentle breath. His lips remain hovering there… just hovering; tempting me beyond my comprehension. All of my breath escapes in one rushing torrent. My legs feel like Jell-O. I close my eyes waiting in anticipation for the inevitable.
“You can have your revenge,” he says.
“What?” I ask stuck in a hazy world that is no longer my own.
Another unexpected surprise, he begins to chuckle. He steps back and begins his sacrosanct laughter.
“I can offer you something no one else can offer. Only if you join me.”
“Join you?”
“In our mission to destroy the others who also walk the night.”
“What?”
“All will be revealed in time. All you must do is say, yes. Then the power you always wished for will be yours. Do not look so skeptical. Fate brought us here. Now we must finish the job.”
“I don’t know about…”
“I know you, Katharina. I know you grew up with no father and an abusive mother. I know that to escape it you would run into the woods. Even then you weren’t safe. When you came of age, you left for this city. Yet it followed you and continues to haunt you.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Do you that to be true? Look at me and remember…”
Swimming in his eyes, I begin to see the shifting of colors from blue to purple and then to green. It settles at emerald green and that’s when everything becomes clear. I remember those nights in the forest. I cannot believe I forgot.  All those nights filled with tales of the known and unknown; lost was the knowledge gained from those nights. It was not a few, but many… I forgot who I am, what I was.
“Do you remember?”
“Yes… Everything.”
“Will you help us as you did before?”
“I will try, but there is one stop I must make.”
“For what?”
“Revenge.”

*********************
If you made it to this part, it means you read it. Yay!!! I hope you liked it. It's just a teaser for now. Once again suggestions or comments are welcome. Thanks!

Monday, September 19, 2011

Creativity

"Don't ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive and then go do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive." ~Harold Whitman

I don't know what made me come across this quote one day, but since then it has become my mantra. Whenever I write a story, I always remember this quote. I think I was maybe 15-years-old when I realized my passion for reading and writing. I loved experiencing different worlds and personalities I would otherwise have never known. It's an amazing thing- being a writer. I particularly love my brand of writing, SciFi. Yes, I am a nerd. I have come to terms with it. My flavor is anything supernatural such as vampires, angels, werewolves and fairies. The last two I have been tentatively caressing. Hoping it will be a successful attempt. So far, it seems good, but I will always be an Anita Blake gal.

When I was fifteen, I started on my first story and have not completed it. I always end up rewriting it, adding things and taking things away. When I revise a copy, I always save the original. It helps me see how I have grown as a writer and as a person. When the story grows, I grow with it. I am it and it is me and we share the space called time. All my writers know what I'm talking about when I say the feeling is unlike any other. It is like giving birth, well maybe with more pain. While birth may last minutes or hours, writing a piece can last you weeks, months, days and even years. It may take your whole life to perfect every word, but it's worth it.

Creativity is something very unique. It is a gift that visits few and leaves without saying goodbye. It is in the moon that smiles, the water that glitters, the air we suck, and the sun that glares. It is all around us and no where. I have been blessed with the little I have to help others connect with this omnipresent being. This is what I love to do; I love to read and write. I don't mind doing it the rest my life, because I know it's where I belong. It is also how I know I am alive.

Thanks for reading my spiel. Have a good night everyone and be safe. :)

Oh My Goodness... I'm Late!!!!!!

Tardiness. It is a word with many horrible connotations. Some say it's rude. Others say it's terrible or irresponsible maybe even both. You can imagine my horror when this happens to me of all people. I will be completely honest in my posts, because I don't believe in untruths. So you will know that I am telling you the truth when I say I was running around like a chicken with its head cut off. I have never felt panic that strong.

This made me start thinking. What about those High School students that are late to class? Have teachers ever stopped to wonder where they are without having negative thoughts? Do those students have jobs? Do they have families that support them? How long is their commute? Do they have clothes to wear or shoes on their feet? These of course are extreme cases. They of course could just be cutting class to impress their friends, but one should always take into account all of the possibilities.

Lost in thought, I wondered how I could find a way to get to know my students. Then it hit me as I was typing, they could use blogs. They could also use journals, but I like this new move to technology. I believe it has great value. I want to be able to know my student's past, so that I can help them find their future. Blogs and journals are an excellent source of information on their lives. Of course there may be some disturbing things written, but when it comes up a teacher should be able to handle the situation accordingly. Personally I feel it's harmful and unhealthy to stifle one's emotions. I support any productive method that helps express one's inner being.

In my opinion, literacy goes hand in hand with the human self. It is how we communicate and express ourselves. We would not have as many literary works without emotion fueling the creativity. If we teach students to write, speak and relate using emotional connections, we will create students who will be able to relate to every situation and be able to achieve their greatest potential. Call me idealistic, but I feel it is worth a try.

Thanks for reading and have a good night everyone. :)