I lost.

I lost NaNoWriMo. But I'm continuing to write.
I realized, why do I need some race thing to help me write a novel?
Maybe I won't be able to write a novel in a month, but I still do kind of wish to finish it and send it in for publishing.

NaNoWriMo

There are a few days 'til NaNo WriMo. I'm not done with planning. So...wish me luck and pray for me my nonexistant viewers?

Post #7

PoemSong
It's a really heartfelt poem,
it's beautiful, but it's cold.
It's ruthless.

It's the kind of poem
that jumps out at you when you're guilty.

It ensnares,
it traps,
it reaches,
it feels.

We, the readers...
we feel.

It's the poem that is a light,
you know the kind of light that illuminates,
that forces you out of the darkness,
that shines upon your evil deeds.

It's that kind of light
they use
to interrogate.

It's the
kind of light
that sets you
free.


A rant I wrote when I commented on someone at AP. I'm procrastinating on HW, like usual.

NaNoWriMo!!!

This is not really related to a writing practice, but there's this website: http://ywp.nanowrimo.org/ Called National Novel Writing Month. Their goal is to get young writers to write a novel in one month, that is, the month of November. Now, I'm participating in this, so I probably would be posting to a minimum...I know I've posted like twice per month, but I might post less...soo yeah...
Just to let you know.
And like, you guys can join too, I highly encourage it!!!

Who knows, I may be feeling more inspired during this month, so maybe I'll write more.

Post #6

Poem:
So Long

We stand in a small ring atop a small hill of dirt
And other rings stand with us too
Of many things we talk about,
And we don't know what the heck everyone else is saying
but we are one.
We are one on "The Mound"
We are one group
But in my ring
I tune out the conversation
and you move in front of me
you shadow me
you eclipse me
you alienate me.

And I try to find yet another cavity
another gap in our small little ring
but like a drawstring bag, the cords tighten and pull
I am shut out

The door slams in front of my face
Yet all I can do is hover,
circle and scavenge for openings
a little cranny is all I need
but I am sealed off.
And I go to join a different circle.
Once you realize I am gone...
It's strange - a wide open gap
an open window
an open door
an open gate. Unfortunately for you, I walk past all the openings.
Because I'm done with it.
You've rejected me
And now I'm rejecting you.


So Long

Post #5

I'm beginning to title these as posts, seeing as I don't update daily.

This is a Word War on YWP's NanoWrimo.
A Word War is basically a user challenging you to write about something.

Prompt: A Different Kind of Word War

Sam gulped. This wasn't the talk he'd been expecting. He wished to get busted, and then shut himself in his room. But an inkling of pride suddenly welled up in him. "What kind of gifted?" he asked.His mother answered strangely. "Do you ever feel like there's some kind of spark in you? A surge of power, or maybe even an immense amount of strength?"Sam shook his head, anxious. What was she playing at?"Well, this school...they have a sort of tracker that detects any strange powers.""Such as...?" Sam didn't know where this was going. A confused look consumed his face."Well, this special school selected those who have special talents...Their tracker detected some in you, but the thing is...you don't know what it is...They think you can see things. Magical things and traces of them. They want you to be a spy for them, and they'll train you."This was an agonizing joke. "Mom, I'm not a kid anymore. I don't play around like that. Stop messing with me and just lemme go."In a split second, a booming crack was heard, and the living room ceiling thudded on the floor beside the table. An odd man dressed in a shimmering spangled suit with a makeshift tie which pinned to him a cape. He had a thin monacle which lay on his reddening face, surrounded by a tangle of neon-blue dyed hair which smelled faintly of old cheese. For such a frail-looking man, his voice echoed and shook the walls. "Sam, so you don't believe your mother? We want you to join us. Come, come, come, I'll show you your new school."Sam protested. "This is impossible, it's an outrage, it's--""Inconcievable?" The strange man answered."I don't want to --" Sam was cut off by a small popping sound and immediately after he heard this noise, his breath knocked out of his lungs."
Back at home, in the dining room, his mother heard his words, "...go to this 'special' school. Especially not with some weirdo like you." Her son would learn sometime soon. And in a swift moment after the two left, her ceiling stuck itself back in place, and the room looked perfect - not a crack or misplaced rubble was in sight. As if nothing had happened. But something big was about to begin. Her son's life would be changed forever.
Sam and the 'weirdo' ended up in a dark, empty place. No color, no sound, no smell. He could not even hear himself panting for breath. He realized he was sitting down in what felt like an audiotorium seat. His seat popped up when he stood, and his leg bumped another row of seats in front of him. Beside him, the frail oddball lifted a finger to Sam's mouth, in a way to calm him. Out of nowhere, black curtains were drawn, and color, light, the sound of revelry, and the smells of pine wood and fresh wine flooded Sam's senses.


To check out all the other entries and maybe even the full prompt, look here: http://ywp.nanowrimo.org/node/621232#comment-276733

Please note that this link might disappear.

Day #4b(Not really): Poem

Water

Trickling, trickling
or perhaps falling and splashing
and maybe even standing still

your spherical cousins greet me in the morning
in the form of little dew drops
clinging to freshly clipped grass
and sweet-smelling petals
of fresh lavender and rose

oh the misty morning
with the sun shining down on us
crystallizing the perfect ambience of nature,
God's marbleized creation,
casting dazzling reflections on the wall

as I walk out my front door
into the garden
and whisper,
to everything out there,


"Hello."

Day #4a (Not really): Poem

"Screw Up", Written on September 30, 2009

You know what?
I hate the days when I watch
people passing by
and all I can say is
"They've got talent"
cause I'm jealous.

I'm green with envy
and white with burning anger,
and red with frustration
and blue...with the cold, damp, clammy feeling
of emptiness and that feeling you get
when you feel you just don't get anywhere.
That feeling where you feel like you've never accomplished anything.

And you.
You who whines
who screams
who complains
about every single little thing in the world
you cry because you feel left out
you cry because people leave you

but you know what?
it's not them, it's you this time
and you need to admit that to yourself
I'm tired of your whining.
I'm tired of your self pity
I'm tired of your slapping everyone in the face
with your white-hot iron bran
with your double-edged sword
with that hateful hurricane of bitterness.
That's what you are
you're an evil pit of hatred
and your pitiful excuse is
"I'm only misunderstood. I strive for what's normal."
Cut the crap, I won't fall for it.
And missy, define normal?

What's normal, what's strange,
what's absurd, what's different?
There's no such thing, to tell you the truth...

And here's what I see.
I see a little girl
dressed in pink with short black tresses
and thick lenses.
And all she wants is a place in this world
and she trips, she cries, cause she's not getting it.

I've seen you crash,
I've seen you burnt,
I've seen you fall down and fall over
and I see you right now.
You're a crumpled little heap
at the base of the staircase.

And all this is because you fail.
You fail to make a use of yourself.
You fail me notice anyone but yourself.
You fail to care about anything other than what affects you.
You fail to really try to help people.
You fail at trying to put a smile at your face.
You fail at being "normal" just because you try.
You fail at being competitive.
You fail at being hardworking.

Face it.
You're a little parasite that clings on to other.
You're insecure, you're dark.

You've fallen off your high horse.
Now humble yourself, and ask that person for help.
Ask that person extending her hand.
Yeah, you see her? That person is me.
And all you do is push me away...away...away
to the furthest end of your little galaxy.
And you'll only keep bringing yourself down.

Face it chiquita.
You've really screwed yourself up.
And there's nothing
that
you
can
do
about
it.

Based off of a friend who regularly pisses me off because she does some really stupid things. I don't think about her like this all the time, but sometimes, she just...irritates me like...hell.

Day #3: Poem

A Night

Silver and slim
or wide like a face
looming and silver
staring down at our earth, dear Gaea.
What a celestial orb to be blessed with
hung in the twilight sky
where all is dark but pricks of light
shine so bright

gauzy is the air
and subtle rays bounce off of
corners and buildings

and up there,
a single light
amidst the dark
laughs and shakes the stillness
of the black curtain
before the play
of nature that is day.

Hush little ones, go to sleep
and midnight's solitude will run so deep
in your minds.

Winged dreams float in tiny spheres
so far away,
probably exhausted from the trip here.
And in the cool nights, draping over the cities
and the farms,
and the forests, and the seas.

Those celestial bodies of light
lay their heads to sleep.
And along with the rest of the world,
we
dream.

A/N: Written in Freewrite of AllPo.

Day 2: Poem (Not really Day 2. Just my second post.)

"Today" Written on September 26, 2009

Today.

Today started out happy.

I was a flirt, I was a genius...

I was late for class today.

Today was enjoyable.

With two tests awaiting,

but who pays attention to that?

Today, I made corrections.Today I realize...

I'm failing

I'm falling

I'm flailing

I'm flapping

hopelessly, broken in a wave of despair

up and down stairs

tossed about in the depths of the ocean

That is life.

That is today.

Today is what I lived for...today.

Today was yesterday's tomorrow

and Today is tomorrow's yesterday.

But no matter what direction you go,

today is today.

Today is an x between two other numbers.

Today looks like this: 4 <>

That is what today is.

That is what yesterday was. For yesterday was a today...

It's just not this today.

Tomorrow will look like that as well,

For tomorrow is a today of the future.

I am lost in the future.

But never mind the future.

I might as well just focus on today.

A/N: Written as a freewrite on Allpoetry. The topic was entitled Today.

Day 1:

Poem: This is about...well let's see if my nonexistant audience can guess.
Inspiration from this was...well I came up with it while in the bathroom for like five minutes. (It's weird, I know...) but I was just staring around the room and next thing you know I have composed a poem.

You'll notice that this isn't how I usually put my poems, but this one has special form/formatting...so yeah.

"Untitled", Written on September 17, 2009

Luminous and glowing, you are a square

and yet, not a square with your curved edges

and concave sides

I look up and a strange noise emits--

air blows in my face, and rids me of

the silly putrid odors

under my nose

like the winds of spring.

And like the day, you are the sun

but a square sun that lights up the corners

of this tiny room

In which I am

I am in a meadow, free of scents

yellow is everywhere

Winds whistle through trees

and cracks in my walls.

Upon this round seat

-- a throne stuck to the wall

lays a carpet

a small, furry carpet

so cozy, and its fabric

kisses the air

and sways in the wind

and faces the

luminous light

everytime I flip the switch

and every time

the sun blows

and glows

from its own boundary,

its own litle place

up there...

stuck on the ceiling.

Introducing

This is my new blog, and you can follow it if you want, but what this is is mostly like a journal to track how many writing prompts I can do. This is a daily excercise to get my mind producing creative juices. You know,once you start writing, even if it's crap or even if it's not that good...and especially if it's off topic, you'll be able to write well.

It's training, for my novel - inspiration so that I write well and I don't hold back on my "talent." I'm excercising this.