"...he is...my closest friend. I don't have many, not the living breathing sort at any rate. And I don't mean that in a sad and lonely way; I'm just not the type of person who accumulates friends or enjoys crowds. I'm good with words, but not the spoken kind...."
Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time long, long, ago--okay...well... maybe closer to 24 years ago--there was a young girl. She was eccentric, silly, and had a huge imagination. One of her favorite past times was to write stories. She would borrow her grammy's typewriter, use scraps of paper at church, or just on any page she could find she would write stories and draw silly pictures to go along with her stories. She knew that sometimes the older kids or adults would kind of roll their eyes because she wrote so many and insist them being read... but occasionally they would laugh with her silly sense of humor and enjoy tales of bald headed princesses or super teachers or other strange marvelous creations. Her poor grade five teacher encouraged her to write and was rewarded with almost daily stories placed on her desk... works done in spare time beyond what homework required. This girl loved to act and sing... dreamedof the stage or book signings in crowded dusty bookstores. She was going to be a writer of children stories or something else marvelous. Unfortunately life sometimes puts road blocks in our way. Snarls from teachers telling the girl she had no artistic talent, music teachers not letting her into a freaking elementary school choir because she couldn't sing as well as others, and other trusted teachers telling her she could not write eventually wore her down. Recesses spent alone reading books deepened her solitude. Harsh words of other children telling her she was fat and ugly. Well meaning adults telling her drama and music were a waste of her time and she needed to focus on important things like physics and chemistry. The girl was too soft hearted and took every comment to heart. She wasn't tough enough to stand up for herself, but desperately wanted to be loved... so she hide away all the imagination and delight deep away and became a woman who was just a shadow of the girl she once was. Never fear kind reader. This story is not meant to be sad. Sometimes are knights in shining armor aren't really knights at all. Why do we want shining armor anyway. Shining armor is untested and false. Shining often means someone has been too busy admiring themselves instead of fighting the dragons that are needed. This maiden was rescued by an unexpected slightly dented older knight and another maiden who was in distress. Perhaps rescued isn't right... aide... they fought along side her until she once again started to see glimpses of what was. Long story short.... I am learning to write again. It may never be published... but perhaps with work it will make others smile once again. Here are a couple things that I have written lately. (Whew! What a long intro!!!)
This one is an unfinished work about depression:
Darkness comes swiftly
No gentle descent into the black
Great hurtling leaps into the pitch
No use reaching for warm flesh
Sure knowledge of singleness
Only the empty reaches of fingertips
Now for something different. I wrote this when I was down at Echo Lake while watching Lex. I know that it is a bit sappy, but I think it's pretty good for not having done much writing for several years.
Young girl jumps from crowded van
Dark braids flying as she runs to water
Mother's voice calling her back
Girl runs towards beach edge
Focused on the treasures she will place in her red plastic bucket
Years later woman sits at beaches edge
Memories flutter on silver ripples
Watching her own young girl
Running towards beach edge
Woman now focused on treasure she has found-- as young girl calls for her to come
Ok... now this one I find rather funny. I wrote this last night around 3am when I couldn't sleep. I had finally given up and taken a sleeping pill half hour before. It's just a simple paragraph that I wrote it on my iPhone and I am going to transcribe it EXACTLY like I wrote it.
House quiet except for gentle whirling of the fan and quiet snores of beloved husband. His warmth and rythmic breathing is a comfort, but still I found self awake. Mind whirling with plans I hope to do. Hoping not to be crushed by daylight's heavy pain. Days where I long for the comfort of night and nights I dream of what might be. But now head spinning with plans and ideas. I glance at the clock. If sleep does not arrive soon the daze of daytime will crush and blind my senses. Memories of burning, ripping pain laughs at me from dark corners... I hate it. I don't want it. But I study the little blue pill. It promises sleep. Sleep tainted with oddness and fear but sleep none the less. I swallow the vile blue promise. Stumble to kitchen for snack, arrive safe. Hoping to make sense as word and worlds begin to melt. I fight it. Easier to jus lay amd embrace the fallen words, Mybrain styst .... Fivknnm. Fighr lost painovelovees
Anfw rgecdof. Grugs.
Anyway. I also have started writing a novel. I admit to only having a couple pages written down... and my sorry excuse for not writing more is that I don't have a word processing program. I think the idea is a rather good one. It is based on this really strange vivid dream that I had. Which reminds me now of another dream I had years ago... better write that down before I forget. I might never get everything written down. But have no fear... the bald headed princess of years gone by will rise again!
|Not my artwork, but it's about my skill level!|