It seems a bit trite to do this, but I've decided to do it regardless. I'd love to know how you'd answer these questions.
One word only, please.
Where is your phone? desk
Your hair? short
Your Mother? sensitive
Your Father? stagnant
Your favourite food? fruit
Your dream last night? unremembered
Your favourite drink? tea
Your dream/goal? zen
What room are you in? sitting
Your hobby? reading
Your fear? dormancy
Where do you want to be in six years? peace
Where were you last night? bowling
Something that you're not? tidy
Muffins? butter
Wish list item? doctorate
Where did you grow up? village
Last thing you did? sit
What are you wearing? barefoot
Your TV? hidden
Your pets? nonexistent
Friends? lovely
Your life? busy
Your mood? scattered
Missing someone? yes
Vehicle? goes
Something you're not wearing? jewelry
Your favourite store? Good Will
Your favourite colour? yellow
When was the last time you laughed? reading
The last time you cried? yesterday
Your best friend? loyal
One place that I go to over and over? dictionary
Facebook? eh
Favourite place to eat? grandma's
Saturday, January 23, 2010
offhand-fanciful-random
Does a word ever seem to just hit you over the head? You know, one words just keeps rearing its head over and over for a few days or weeks, and it becomes something that you somehow work into normal conversation, something you say too many times in one day.
My word is "arbitrary" today or yesterday or whatever. It's a good word. I've had better ones stick to my tongue in the past, but right now that's it. I've decided to somehow try to work these sticky words into my creative writing efforts. For whatever reason poetry seems to be at the surface of most of these efforts, granted it isn't the greatest poetry ever, but it is there. I have a couple of short stories I am trying to work on, but things aren't coming along in that area.
Maybe they're too personal or too fresh, too opinionated maybe. Maybe I should try to actually write fiction that isn't based on personal experience, but that's never been something easy for me to do, and I don't know why I'd think it'd suddenly become easy for me to do so. I get too hung up on petty things like the heroine's name or which verb best describes her mocking/snarling/pious/coveted features. When it is real, then the words seem to come more easily. And I have tricks for beginning poetry that just don't work for short stories.
I was honestly hoping that this creative writing class would help me with those efforts, yet it is quite the disappointment. There is no direction, only a quota.
I'd call that a tangent, and it happens to be arbitrary, which brings us full circle.
Arbitrary. That is something that I don't want to be.
It feels like I've done some things recently in a very pointed and driven way, and then I've done other things with no clear motive at all. What I've found is that following my intuition works best, and when I forget myself and let that energy or intuition slip into the back of my mind, those are the moments when I become careless, when I turn a page too quickly or forget to bookmark an especially useful website.
Point being - I'm trying to pay attention to my feelings, to my intuition, and while it is one of the most enlightening and wonderful things I've ever done, it is quite a challenge and one to which I wish I could devote all of my time. Of course, I wonder who can devote all of their time to any one thing.
It's a new path, and I feel that it leads in the correct direction, whether or not that is an arbitrary feeling has yet to be decided, but I'm fairly certain that things are becoming less and less arbitrary.
My word is "arbitrary" today or yesterday or whatever. It's a good word. I've had better ones stick to my tongue in the past, but right now that's it. I've decided to somehow try to work these sticky words into my creative writing efforts. For whatever reason poetry seems to be at the surface of most of these efforts, granted it isn't the greatest poetry ever, but it is there. I have a couple of short stories I am trying to work on, but things aren't coming along in that area.
Maybe they're too personal or too fresh, too opinionated maybe. Maybe I should try to actually write fiction that isn't based on personal experience, but that's never been something easy for me to do, and I don't know why I'd think it'd suddenly become easy for me to do so. I get too hung up on petty things like the heroine's name or which verb best describes her mocking/snarling/pious/coveted features. When it is real, then the words seem to come more easily. And I have tricks for beginning poetry that just don't work for short stories.
I was honestly hoping that this creative writing class would help me with those efforts, yet it is quite the disappointment. There is no direction, only a quota.
I'd call that a tangent, and it happens to be arbitrary, which brings us full circle.
Arbitrary. That is something that I don't want to be.
It feels like I've done some things recently in a very pointed and driven way, and then I've done other things with no clear motive at all. What I've found is that following my intuition works best, and when I forget myself and let that energy or intuition slip into the back of my mind, those are the moments when I become careless, when I turn a page too quickly or forget to bookmark an especially useful website.
Point being - I'm trying to pay attention to my feelings, to my intuition, and while it is one of the most enlightening and wonderful things I've ever done, it is quite a challenge and one to which I wish I could devote all of my time. Of course, I wonder who can devote all of their time to any one thing.
It's a new path, and I feel that it leads in the correct direction, whether or not that is an arbitrary feeling has yet to be decided, but I'm fairly certain that things are becoming less and less arbitrary.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
chips
I gave five dollars to some random man outside of a gas station tonight. I can't think of a better way to begin this story. I don't which of us was doing more "profiling." What I do know is that it has been a long time since something of this sort has happened to me, and apparently it was time for something to occur.
I pulled up to a gas station in the middle of Jonesboro. Busy street, lots of people around - safe. As I pull into a parking spot a man walks around the corner (the sort of dark corner) of this gas station. I get out of my car, phone in hand and lock the car. As I begin to walk to the door of the station, which I have stopped at to retrieve a snack consisting of Ruffle's Sour Cream and Cheddar chips (my weakness), he begins to talk to me. And the first thing out of this man's mouth is and I kid you not: Hey there young lady.. I ain't no killer or nothing, but you see.. blah, blah. We're out of gas and we need to get to Paragould. Do you have any money? We just need ten dollars...
I say that I have very little. Yet, this guy is persistent. He says that there is an ATM and he'll pay me back if I'll give him my address or phone number. I just handed him a five dollar bill and kept moving.
I noticed that he only seemed to be soliciting to white women, and he was not white. I don't know what he used that five dollars to buy, but I do know that I am happy to be safely behind the locked doors of my mother's house. I did check to make sure I wasn't being followed. Suffice it to say that I probably will just go to a different station the next time I am craving those chips.
I pulled up to a gas station in the middle of Jonesboro. Busy street, lots of people around - safe. As I pull into a parking spot a man walks around the corner (the sort of dark corner) of this gas station. I get out of my car, phone in hand and lock the car. As I begin to walk to the door of the station, which I have stopped at to retrieve a snack consisting of Ruffle's Sour Cream and Cheddar chips (my weakness), he begins to talk to me. And the first thing out of this man's mouth is and I kid you not: Hey there young lady.. I ain't no killer or nothing, but you see.. blah, blah. We're out of gas and we need to get to Paragould. Do you have any money? We just need ten dollars...
I say that I have very little. Yet, this guy is persistent. He says that there is an ATM and he'll pay me back if I'll give him my address or phone number. I just handed him a five dollar bill and kept moving.
I noticed that he only seemed to be soliciting to white women, and he was not white. I don't know what he used that five dollars to buy, but I do know that I am happy to be safely behind the locked doors of my mother's house. I did check to make sure I wasn't being followed. Suffice it to say that I probably will just go to a different station the next time I am craving those chips.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
oh...
bronchitis/pneumonia (walking) + grad school + 2 hour drives + "Mama" = FUCK!
Friday,
Please hurry, and bring Sleep.
Love,
Lauren
Friday,
Please hurry, and bring Sleep.
Love,
Lauren
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Now and Here
He was something else back then,
Unlike the man of now and here.
He'll never be back again.
The way things have recently been
Fills my heart with fear.
He was something else back then.
He was one of the great men,
But along the way he began to veer.
He'll never be back again.
No longer able to recall when
This other man began to leer,
He was something else back then.
All that's left to hold is this pen,
At this point we're
Realizing he'll never be back again.
This is the beginning of the end,
And it's nothing to do with mere sin.
He was something else back then.
He'll never be back again.
-Lauren Adams
He was something else back then,
Unlike the man of now and here.
He'll never be back again.
The way things have recently been
Fills my heart with fear.
He was something else back then.
He was one of the great men,
But along the way he began to veer.
He'll never be back again.
No longer able to recall when
This other man began to leer,
He was something else back then.
All that's left to hold is this pen,
At this point we're
Realizing he'll never be back again.
This is the beginning of the end,
And it's nothing to do with mere sin.
He was something else back then.
He'll never be back again.
-Lauren Adams
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