Trapped in the Pages of Insanity

Our first fiction assignment was to write a flash fiction piece - something short and to the point.  The added element is we had to include something referred to as a "trope" - a singular object, idea, etc around which the action in the piece revolves.  Suggestions for locations included a yard sale, so I started thinking about a yard sale gone wrong.

This was what flowed from my fingertips, sitting in class...

Trapped in the Pages of Insanity

 

 



The sun, burning through the early morning fog, cut the chill like a barber’s razor.  Grass crunched under heavy feet, dew glistening like diamonds.

The tattered remains of a former life scattered the lawn on rickety wooden tables.  Brightly colored plastic, smooth glazed ceramics, and tarnished metal beckoned like the perfume of a beautiful woman.

Among the broken toys and tattered clothing, he saw something – something as beautiful as it was terrible.  He’d been looking for this book for years, and here it was – tossed aside like garbage.

His fingers gingerly brushed the cover, cool to the touch… jagged along a torn edge.  He lifted it, the smell of paper, ink, and dust – a heady aroma to any bibliophile – assaulted his senses and touched parts of him he’d thought long dead.

He must have it!

Setting the book down, he reached for his wallet.  He checked for cash and, elated with his find, went to grab his treasure again.

It was gone!

He looked around, wild eyed and panicked.  He must have it!  Where’d it go?

A woman walked away from him, something in her hands.

“Give it to me,” he shouted.

She looked at him as if he’d gone mad.

“I just found it!  You can’t take it!”

She shook her head and turned to leave.

He ran, tackling her from behind and knocking her to the ground.

“I have to have it!”  His eyes, glazed with adrenaline, bulged from his face.

He ripped it out of her hands, only to find his treasured book was a lunchbox the lady had just bought.

He rolled off her, defeated… depressed…

He laid there, looking up at a clear blue sky.  In the distance, flashing lights and sirens grew closer.

As soon as he escaped again, he’d find his precious book…

His prize…

His treasure…

… that part of his soul he’d lost so long ago to the ravages of time and insanity.

Petroglyph

This poem is another which flowed from the Walk and Write at the UAF Museum of the North.  The first exhibit I saw were these petroglyphs recreated on large, smooth river stones.  I sat in the floor, running my hands over the stones, letting my fingers dip into the carvings, and immediately had to write.

This is what I wrote (it has not been edited or rewritten):

Petroglyph

 

River stone
Washed smooth over the
Course of a millennia,
Rough edges eroded to
Reveal the heart

Chosen not by size or color,

Not by location or age
But by emotion…
Intuition…
Insight…
Hope.

Excess stone chipped and chiseled,

Piece by piece,
Like paint flaking in the sun.

Hands move carefully…

Deliberately…
Guided by the ghosts of
Those gone before
Until a shape is clear.

Cast in pale relief from a dark shell,

The tale is told, the story sung,
A myth made real in the face of that
River stone.

Turn Back Time

Studying poetry forms, we read one type of poem where the content is pure supposition.  Our assignment was to write a poem like that.

This was also a wild word assignment.  My word was smoke-filled.

Turn Back Time

 

Suppose you could turn back time –
Dispel those smoke-filled echoes
Of a memory,
A hallucination of regret
Which causes a fear…
A fear beyond comfort.

Suppose you could rewind your life –

Erase the mistakes made until,
Once again,
You stand alone in a
Fragment of nothingness.

Suppose futurity no longer

Teemed with endless destruction –
A future where the righteous and
Unrighteous alike were
Consumed…
Consumed in an eternal fire with
An air of breathless intensity.

A Night to Remember

This poetry assignment was really a very fun one.  We'd read emotional poetry capped off with love poems that were more about the stupid things we do for love.

Our assignment was to write such a love poem - possibly from the point of view of a particular character or figure we know. 

This was also a "wild word" poem.  My wild word was nuzzled.  All I could see in my mind's eye when I pulled that word was a man, romantically nuzzling his date's neck - only to choke because her long hair got caught in his mouth.

For some reason, with the instructions and the mental image my word conjured, all I could think of was what Mr. Bean might do on a date.

This poem is the result.

A Night To Remember

 

He planned a night to remember…

Dinner for two, picnic-style,

In front of a fire
To fan the flames of desire.

Dessert for two,

Rich, sweet, creamy
To heighten the senses.

Romantic movie on TV,

Sitting together in the dark
Alone.

He planned a night to remember…

Feet tangling in the blanket

Moved too close to the flames,
Starting to smoke.

Strawberry mousse with cream

Remaining untouched –
Pesky allergies, you know.

Video broken – scratched and warped

Nuzzling her neck,
Only to choke on her hair.

 

It was a night to remember.

 

Pillar of Strength

Part of the exhibits in the UAF Museum of the North is prehistoric mammoth & mastodon bones and teeth.  There's a femur bone you're allowed to touch, so, during our Walk and Write, I spent time just studying it; running my hands over it to feel the textures; enjoying the way the bone and the history both gelled in my head.

This poem is a result of the time spent with that femur bone.

Pillar of Strength

Strong yet hollow

It stands the ravages of time

An outer face,

Once pale and unblemished,
Darkens…
     Cracks…
          Chips.

Smooth from wind and rain

Preserved by Nature

A supporting character –

Just a part of the whole –
Unlocking history

Fragile,

     Easily broken

Indestructible,

     Resisting pressure

Beaded

This is another poem inspired during my "Walk and Write" at the UAF Museum of the North.  I spent probably ten minutes just studying pieces of Alaskan Native bead work.  The intricate details, the patterns, the amount of effort that goes into any piece...

It was definitely inspiring.

Beaded

 

Tanned hands

Stiff with arthritis
Yet fingers still nimble

Deftly, deliberately

Needle darts, moving like a
Hummingbird.

Soft, supple hide

Rolls in the hand,
A natural, worthy campus.

Gossip shared, news delivered

Politics discussed
Friendships rekindled

Functional, ceremonial

The labor of love worn
Distinguished and powerful

Davis Soccer Fields Complex

Our poetry assignment on our fourth day was to write a haibun.  This is a form of poetry that combines a haiku with short prose.  The prose can either come before (traditional) or after, but you must have both elements in this form.

Our assignment was to write a haibun about somewhere we'd walk.  Since this was the day after spending five hours at different soccer games, it was no wonder I chose the soccer fields as my inspiration.

Davis Soccer Fields: A Haibun



The grass is mottled, colors changing from green to yellow to brown and black again.  Small cylindrical plugs of grass layered with rich dirt lay scattered about like forgotten toy soldiers.  The air, all at once, is chaotic yet quiet – a moment of solitude in a sea of cacophony as you cross each grid.

The complex is a place of life… of fun… of youth… of sport.  Colorful white lines of tacky spray paint mark the unforgiving, unrelenting borders you dare not cross lest you yield position to your foe.

Uniforms ready

Feet forward to attack

Black and white missiles fly

Who Walked Here

This workshop has been excellent for generating new ideas.  During the first week, we took an afternoon to do something called a "Walk and Write" at the University of Alaska Fairbanks Museum of the North.  During a Walk and Write, the idea is just to look around and, whenever you feel inspired, write about what you see or how you feel or how something makes you feel, etc.

This poem was inspired by an exhibit in the old part of the museum that outlines the six geographical areas of Alaska.  The exhibit has a small brown bear and a bald eagle on it and, in front where the placard explaining the exhibit is, there is a plaster mold (dyed to look like hardened mud) of several different footprints from Alaskan animals.  The footprints part is called "Who Walked Here" and it is explaining which footprint belongs to which animal.

I sat in the floor, in front of that exhibit, running my hands over the contours and roughness of the footprints, feeling the valleys where thick pads dug into soft soil and the sharp peaks that formed between toes.

This poem is the result of that time.

Who Walked Here

 

Footprints

A memory made in malleable clay
Set hard by sun and heat

A moment

Bright and fleeting
Caught forever like a fly in amber

The shapes

Sharp peaks and soft valleys
Mimic the landscape.

Their tale

A well worn path freed of brush
That shows their struggle.

Footprints

A snapshot depicting the life
The journey of a land long ago.

A Field Guide to the Dragonfly

Again, this poem is another assignment from my creative writing workshop.  This assignment was to write a poem with a list.  And, once again, my brain went immediately to the dragonfly and part of an assignment from the previous day.

The assignment was specific about the title.  It had to be "A Short History of ______", "A Field Guide to the _________", or "The Industry of __________".  Hence the title...

A Field Guide to the Dragonfly

 

Low comforting buzz of wings
Slicing through the air in an acrobatic ballet
Vividly verdant
Awesomely azure
Wings,
Clear as Caribbean waters
Lined in an intricate weave of
Veins as golden as an Autumn sunset.

Scurries
Dipping
Weaving
Turning
Diving
Pulling up at the last moment before an
Unseen foe can jump

Graceful

Beautiful
Soft lines and
Delicate daintiness
A ballet dancer moving in a
Primal performance choreographed
In the mists of time.

Snake's Servant

A little background on this piece before you read it.  I've been in a creative writing workshop for two weeks, working on mastering different forms of writing.  One of the emphases in this workshop daily is exploring different forms of poetry.  This poem was written for an assignment on a form of poetry called Via Negativa.  You can play with the form and actually list things the item about which you're writing is NOT or, as I did (inspired by a poem called The Hand), write about what the object or idea IS by saying it is not that quality.

Another complication to writing this poem was we had to choose what our instructor calls a "wild word".  Before the instruction begins, we're given a slip of paper on which we are to write a single word.  Each slip is thrown into a bowl and we choose one at random.  On this day, my wild word was innocence.

The poem itself was very painful for me until a very fluid, beautiful line formed in my head, inspired by the dragonflies I'd been watching during the soccer games I attend on Mondays and Wednesdays.  From there, using descriptions of the dragonfly and bits & pieces from myths written about dragonflies, I was able to write a poem of which I am proud.



Snake's Servant


Neither graceful nor lithe,
Not propelled on wings of
Spider silk spun stained glass,
The dragonfly is neither dragon nor fly
Nor airborne acrobat,
Swirling and tumbling,
Never crashing,
Never ceasing.

Not prey,

Not toothy predator,
Neither overly large
Nor damselfly small,
The dragonfly does not fly
Nor does it scurry across water,
Exhibiting primal power...
     Presence...
          Poise.

The dragonfly does not

Measure the worth of a human soul,
Guilt or innocence,
Good or evil,
In the single stroke of
Startlingly self-clarity.

The dragonfly is not summer.

It is not autumn,
Neither prosperity...
     Potency...
          Purity.
It does not harmoniously hover
Just above the curves and
Contours of imagination.

The dragonfly is...

Nothing yet
Everything
For its very essence is the
Fluidity of cosmic, karmic change.

The Soundtrack of Your Life... Part 1

Music is an integral part of my life... of my work... of my soul and passion. Without music, I would not be able to get through even the simplest tasks of the day - and that includes my writing. In fact, odd as it may seem, I am often times struck with fabulous inspiration by listening to a slow, sappy love song. Inspiration for what? Why, for murder, of course.

Music is such a part of me that I took the time to think about what, if any songs, would be listed on the (2 disc) soundtrack to my life. This is the first half of that list:

Track 1: Barry Manilow's Can't Smile Without You
Reason Why: Okay, I admit it - I am a Fanilow. Yes, his songs are often best termed bubble gum pop, but there is no denying that Barry Manilow has changed the face of music - both contemporary and in the world of television jingles - forever more. Not only that, but who doesn't know some of the words to at least ONE Barry Manilow hit (~~At the Copa... Copacabana~~)? Can't Smile Without You is one of the very first 45s I ever owned - and it was at the tender age of 5, I do believe. The melody of the song and the simple emotion expressed by this song always can make me smile.


Track 2: Tim McGraw's Live Like You Were Dying
Reason Why: The title of the song says it all, Live Like You Were Dying. There is far too much time we spend doing things that, in the grand scheme of it all, do not matter one bit. Who, years from now, is going to remember that you worked all those unnecessary hours on projects no one cares about? The only thing that will be remembered is your absence from the lives of those you love. Instead, you should embrace today for what it is - one more day to live life to its fullest - and spend the hours as if they were your last on this earth.


Track 3: Alan Parsons Project's Oh Life (There Must Be More)
Reason Why: So why would such a sad song about a woman wondering out into the water to drown herself, make the list of tracks on the soundtrack of my life? It's there simply as a reminder - a reminder of those nights spent, drowning in my own sorrow and thinking that this was the end of something. Oh Life (There Must Be More) is one of those songs that expresses the sheer hell of a terminal case of loneliness and neglect better than any other song out there. The way the music ebbs and flows with the poignancy of the lyrics emphasizes the complete despair the woman feels... and it is a great reminder that, no matter how bleak the situation, there is more to life than what you can see.


Track 4: John Mayer's 3X5
Reason Why: This song is probably the song that made me fall in love with John Mayer's music. Sure, I heard No Such Thing on the radio and loved the song itself, but 3X5 is such a great song with such true lyrics. Why spend your life looking at what you experience as if through the filtering lens of a camera? You cannot fully savor the best of what is being offered to you. You need to put aside that lens and just experience life - experience that which surrounds you and you've always been too busy to take full notice of.


Track 5: Winger's Headed For A Heart Break
Reason Why: This song is here as a reminder of things that were fantastic but were never meant to be. It is now and forever a memory of early teenage years and a first love... of summers spent in the sun and nights spent on the phone, experiencing what it was like to truly get to know someone beyond the surface of their facade.


Track 6: B.J. Thomas's Rock And Roll Lullaby
Reason Why: Ah, the pure joy and innocence of the young! This song is not on my list because of the song itself (although it does seem to be the one and only BJ Thomas song I can stomach for more than 45 seconds). This song is a reminder of times when people were not so guarded - were not so afraid to express their emotions freely and without reserve. This song has assumed its place in the soundtrack of my life for one reason - I can remember my dad holding me when I was a toddler, dancing, and singing to this song. It still brings a tear to my eye because of that reason.


Track 7: The Beatles' With A Little Help From My Friends
Reason Why: No one gets through life without help from your friends. That's why this song has earned a place in the soundtrack of my life.


Track 8: Sting's Brand New Day
Reason Why: The sentiment of this song is a great one - no matter how hurt you feel right now, tomorrow is a brand new day. It's a great thing to remember and to live by.


Track 9: Billy Joel's You're Only Human (Second Wind)
Reason Why: This is my favorite Billy Joel song of all time - and the lyrics say it all. ~~You're only human - you're allowed to make your share of mistakes~~ No one is perfect - and you shouldn't expect to be. Allow yourself to be human and enjoy life.


Track 10: Chris Botti's Midnight Without You
Reason Why: This song is a sentimental favorite. Beautiful music, beautiful lyrics... and a heartbreakingly true message.


Track 11: Jackson Browne & Clarence Clemmon's You're A Friend Of Mine
Reason Why: How many friends have come and go in your life that you can fondly look back and say, "Oh yeah! I can remember doing that with so-and-so... and it was a blast!!" This song is in the soundtrack of my life to remind me of all the great people I've met throughout my life - and the wonderful experience it was to know them.


Track 12: Reunion's Life Is A Rock (But The Radio Rolled Me)
Reason Why: Music, music, music! It's such a major part of my life, a song about music's history from about the 60s on would need to be included in the soundtrack of my life, doncha think?


Track 13: Dan Hill's Sometimes When We Touch
Reason Why: This song may not be a pulitzer prize winning ballad, but who says our favorites need to be? This song is included because it is one of my all-time favorite love songs (and believe me, I listen to enough of them). A song about a man who wants to love the woman he is with but can't quite find it in him to love her like she wants him to, this song can rip me apart and build me back up in the same breath. Plus, one of my all time favorite lyrics is in this song... I'm just another writer, still trapped within my truth.


Track 14: Dave Koz's You Make Me Smile
Reason Why: This one just has great music and is something guaranteed to put a smile on my face whenever I listen to it. No lyrics to inspire, but the music itself is beautiful.


Track 15: Elton John's Tiny Dancer
Reason Why: My all time favorite Elton John song. A sentimental edition, I have to turn this song up loud every time it comes on.


Track 16: Queen's The Show Must Go On
Reason Why: Queen is probably my all time favorite band, if someone were to ever force me to choose one. And this song - written by Freddie Mercury near the end of his battle with AIDS - is as true now as it was when he wrote it. No matter what happens to you in life, as long as you and the people who love you still live, the show MUST go on.


Track 17: Gavin DeGraw's I Don't Want To Be
Reason Why: There are people in this life that will try to force you into one category or another. They'll try to tell you who you are, what you are, and what you should do with your life... your experience... your chances. This song is a reminder that no one has the right to tell you who you are - your only responsibility is to be yourself each and every day.


Track 18: John Mayer's Love Song For No One
Reason Why: Love Song For No One is here because it's a great reminder that no matter how alone you feel, there is someone out there. You never know who it could be, how you will meet that person, or if you already know them in some fashion - there is someone out there searching for you while you're looking for them. ~~I could have met you in the sandbox. I could have passed you on the sidewalk~~


Track 19: Les Miserables' On My Own
Reason Why: On My Own is so gorgeous, so poignant, so heartbreaking. This song about unrequited love speaks to the heart of anyone who has had feelings for someone that were not returned. No matter my mood, my outlook, and who I'm with - this song will reduce me to tears each and every time.


Track 20: Les Miserables' A Little Fall Of Rain
Reason Why: We've all lost people in our lives... people we never realized were there for us until it was too late. A Little Fall of Rain is a song about that very subject. A man realizes, as a girl is dying after taking a bullet meant for him, that she has been instrumental in his life - as a friend and as someone he trusts completely. This song is a reminder to remember those people who have been instrumental in making you the person you are today.


Track 21: Meredith Brooks' Bitch
Reason Why: The word "bitch" has so many connotations - both good and bad. This song actually deals with the how a woman termed as a "bitch" can be so many things - and to the same person. When it came out, my "big bro" told me, "I heard your theme song on the radio the other day," and it's been a personal favorite of mine since I tracked it down and heard it.


Track 22: Nik Kershaw's Wouldn't It Be Good
Reason Why: Who hasn't lamented, "Oh, wouldn't it be so much better to be richer/thinner/more successful/famous/etc?" We have all had those moments where we thought, "If I was thinner, life would be better," or "If I was famous, I would be okay." This song addresses the "grass is always greener" outlook of life - and how what you think would make you happy often wouldn't.


Track 23: Rascal Flatts' Fast Cars and Freedom
Reason Why: This is a love song - plain and simple. But it's a song about remembering what drew you to that person you love in the first place. It's got a great message (and the song ain't bad either ;D)


Track 24: Jason Mraz's Beauty In Ugly
Reason Why: There is beauty in all things around you - from the snail crawling across a path in the forest to the actor or actress you daydream about as you watch them on the big screen. It's quite often the everyday things that are the most beautiful to us without our realizing. This song is a great reminder to look for the beauty in everything around you - even in yourself.


Track 25: Supertramp's The Logical Song
Reason Why: Not every thing goes as planned - there are days that life seems like it's at its most complicated and confusing. This song is reminder that everyone has those days - that there are times we all feel like the world is spinning out of control and would like someone to explain to us what is happening.


So there it is, the first half of the soundtrack of my life. The second half should be coming some time very soon.

Imagination - a Challenge

Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire; you will what you imagine; and at last you create what you will. - George Bernard Shaw



When you were a child, were you ever told that something was "all in your imagination"? Maybe you were scared of the monster you were convinced was under the bed, or you saw something and made up a story about it that just grew and grew in the telling. Well, now that you're all grown up, I've got news for you. Everything is in your imagination. If you can imagine it, you can create it. And if you can activate your imagination in a positive way, you'll go a long ways toward turning your dreams into reality.

Too often, as adults, we use our imaginations to picture our fears. How many times have you imagined all the things that could go wrong in a given situation? You end up with a sense of paralysis or doubts before you've even started. I know that feeling myself. So instead of using your imagination negatively, turn it around and imagine a positive outcome.

If your imagination seems a bit rusty, here are some simple steps to help you kick-start those creative juices.

1. Think about what you want to happen. Decide exactly on the outcome you want.

2. Picture it in your mind. What happens? What do you do? See all of the details — what you're wearing, where it takes place, who is there.

3. Hear what you and others are saying. Think the thoughts and experience the feelings you would have in these circumstances.

Free Write (08Jan09 09:02) - Musing About the Future by Looking Into the Past

I can see it… dusty light filtered in through a grease stained window, illuminating the cracks and crevices worn into the faded linoleum by class after class of hormonal teenagers, each trying to carve his/her own niche out of the cold, unfeeling concrete walls of the high school.

I can hear it… the muffled sneakers of some ne’er-do-well running down the hall, away from the fire alarm he just pulled to get everyone out of class, his laughter wrapped around him like a warm blanket. On the stairs, a couple is hidden from view, tucked into that space under the stairs – dreaming and discussing a possible future that neither of them will realise because they will be broken up in a week.

I can smell it… lunch time fare sent to tantalise and tease your appetite – more likely to tease your gag reflex into vomiting before you could choke down one bite. Sweat, stale and acrid, wafts up from the carpeting and floorboards – sweat shed in the pursuit of knowledge… the pursuit of life… the pursuit of love.

Fast-forward… the sights and smells have changed. The grease stained windows have been replaced by elevators and pool tables. The dusty light is now filtered through tiny portals to the outside world instead of large gateways. Traipsing over faded linoleum to get to class has been replaced with hikes through the trees and snow, uphill and down, to try and make it to a 10:20 lecture.

No longer do the ne’er-do-wells run down sun lit hallways into the annals of infamy. Now they have all night drinking binges, their laughter replaced by slurred words and the sounds of vomiting at 2 in the morning. Slurred words are gradually replaced by the groaning and cursing at the effects of a hangover.

The smells – ahhh, how they tug at your heart, reminding you of a simpler time. Those smells of the hallowed concrete halls would be welcome as the foul smells of the dimly light commons assault your nose and stomach. The bland food and days’ old grease would cause your stomach to somersault like you’d been on a rollercoaster for years.

Free Write (08Jan09 02:58) - Rollerskating

I hadn't wanted to go. Roller skating was for the young, and besides - I hadn't been on a pair of skates in years. But, it was eighties night at the roller rink, and my friend had pulled me out of the house. She said it was because I needed to get out more, but I knew she just didn't want to look foolish by herself.

We arrived just after things had gotten underway. She paid our ways in, and we headed towards the skate counter. I chose skates over rollerblades because I just never got the hang of those damn blades. Finding a secluded corner, I watched the skate floor as I began to change into the skates.

The colourful lights, revolving disco ball, and music was like a time machine. Suddenly, it was 1984 and I was ten years old again. I sat there, letting the sounds of Raydio's You Can't Change That wash over me like a piece of watered silk and decided I had to get it over with.

Upon unsteady ankles, I skated my way to the floor. I took one tentative step and then another out onto the hard, polished wood... and immediately fell on my ass. Laughing to myself and glad to have gotten the night's first humiliation over with that quickly, I got up and brushed myself off. I hugged the wall for a bit until it started coming back and then made my way for the main floor area.

It was exhilarating - out there on the skate floor again, a gentle breeze flowing through my hair. And the music!!! I hadn't heard most of these songs since I was in elementary school. They were well loved old friends - ones that had whetted my taste for music as a young child and got me interested in all types of sound.

She waved at me from across the rink, already having found this cute blonde to skate with her. He was holding her steady, trying to keep her from falling, and they were laughing. Oh ho, I thought. She had an ulterior motive for wanting to come out tonight. Then I laughed because I would have done the same thing.

We had probably been there for forty-five minutes when the first slow song made an appearance. I was about to go sit down and take a breather when I saw you across the floor. You had this slightly puzzled look on your face, as if not quite sure how you had wound up at a roller rink on a Friday night.

I liked what I saw. Dark hair, tall but not too tall - nice body. I was intrigued but ignored the urge to go ask you to skate. Instead, I made my way to the snack bar. Buying a bottled water, I sat down in a horrid plastic seat and watched the cozy couples out on the floor. I sat there, waiting for the moment a faster song would come on and I could make my way to the floor again, but there was the most unsettling feeling of being watched from across the rink. I glanced about, but all I could see was you. Surely you weren't watching me, I told myself. Must just be my imagination.

Finally, Bon Jovi's You Give Love A Bad Name came on, and I skated out to the floor again, grateful that the romantic music was over with. Time seemed to fly as I rounded the rink that night, feeling like a child again. As Tainted Love began playing, I tripped over my own toe stop and went down on the floor, taking some poor soul along with me accidentally. I assessed my injuries, concluded all I had hurt was my pride, and went to get up. A hand appeared in front of me, and I accepted the offer of help. As I got up off the floor, I looked up at my rescuer - right into your eyes. I was stunned. From across the rink, those eyes had been interesting. Up close, they were deadly - the type of eyes you could fall into forever and not care.

"Sorry for the collision," I mumbled, quickly releasing your hand as soon as I was up. "And thanks for the help." Before you could answer, I was off skating again.

I turned on my skates, moving backwards for a bit and watching you out of the corner of my eye. My heart felt as if it was stuck in my throat, and there were butterflies churning in my stomach. Never had one touch so effected my senses. But I didn't even try to work up the courage to talk to you - my friend had always been the pretty one of the two of us. I had accepted that and knew the likelihood of some guy coming up to talk to me while she and I were out together was slim to none.

I kept to myself, skating until another slow number came on. As Double began singing about The Captain of Her Heart, I exited the floor and retired once again to the snack bar. I watched her out there on the floor with the blonde and felt a pang of jealousy that it wasn't me out there with you.

The music changed. Air Supply's Even The Nights Are Better - that definitive skating slow song - came on, and I looked up to find you. You had disappeared, and I sighed softly.

A hand on my shoulder snapped me out of my gloom. "Excuse me, but would you like to skate?"

I looked up in surprise - and it was you, smiling at me. That smile filled those eyes, making me want to just stare into them all night.

"Huh? Me?" Yeah, real smooth, I told myself. "Uh, sure."

I took your hand, and we made our way to the floor. Getting out onto that rink, I felt as if my heart would slam right out of my chest. My palms were a little sweaty, and I wasn't sure if I'd be able to stay up on all eight wheels.

My friend saw us and winked at me.

We skated out there to that slow, sappy song - skated as if everyone else had disappeared into the night. I was reluctant to release your hand when the song ended. My grip began to relax, and you looked at me. "Want to go somewhere and talk," you asked.

I looked into those eyes and couldn't say no. We exited the floor and found this little corner away from the speakers. We introduced ourselves and began talking. We talked the rest of the skate session, never quite making it out on the rink again. After the session had ended, we left for this little coffee place to continue our talk. Grabbing a table in the back, we drank coffee and talked the rest of the night. It was almost as if we had known each other for years.

As the sun came up, you drove me back to my place. We exchanged phone numbers and sat there, neither one of us knowing what to do next. I moved my hand to open the door, meaning to get out and go inside the small house I was renting. Throwing caution to the wind, I leaned over and kissed you - a soft first kiss in the pre-dawn blush of a steely sky.

"Call me later," I said and got out of the car. Smiling to myself and humming that Air Supply song, I let myself into the house and closed the door, collapsing against the back of it - a huge smile plastered on my face.

From Where Do You Draw Inspiration?

The other night I wrote a blog, asking from where you draw inspiration. I wanted to address that topic again, but from another view - from where I personally draw inspiration.

I honestly draw inspiration from everything around me - things I see, do, hear, feel, taste, touch, experience. A book I'm reading could yield a new way of looking at a tired old topic or offer up some delictable phrase to use somewhere else. A song could evoke a powerful emotion, one overpowering enough that I have to write about it before the memory is gone like the fluttering of a butterfly. A scent could bring to mind a scene, remembered or imagined, that strikes me as pivotal in someway and begs to be written about. I don't draw upon just a few facets of my life for inspiration.

While I'm writing, however, that's at different story. If you've read enough magazine articles about writing or read a book by a so-called "expert" on how to strengthen your writing (or even if you've ever read Stephen King's The Dark Half) you know most authoers have pecularities when it comes to working their craft. Whether it's writing everything out in long hand first or having a particular spot that they can only write in, there is some quirk. In Stephen King's Misery, Paul had a certain room in a certain hotel in Denver and a certain ritual he had to fulfill when finishing a manuscript.

For me, it's no different. How I create my masterpiece is flexible - I can use a word processor or computer, or I can write the thing out long hand (these days, age makes me prefer the computer - less harsh on fingers who have seen their fair share of tragedy), but my surroundings - that's a different story altogether.

Don't think you'll ever catch me sitting at a desk while I write. I've tried that - it's too stiff and formal. The ideas seem to be cut off by the impersonal nature of the hard wood and clutter. You can find me curled up on the couch or stretched out on my bed when the muse grabs me most oftenly - I will only sit at a desk if I have no other choice.

And music - some people can have music, some people can't. I must have music. Very emotional music, at that. The sadder or more emotional evoking the music is, the better. I went through and put together a playlist last night to listen to while I was writing. I finished the foreward, part of the prologue, and wrote a few other things. I took a break from writing but did not switch off the music... and I ended up, collapsed in a heap on the floor - crying like a baby. The emotions pulled to the surface in just three or four songs were enough to make me want to die - to bury myself and hide away from the mean, cruel world.

Sounds strange, doesn't it? To listen to romantic, emotional music when writing things as dark and disjointed as I do? I had never understood it until today - when a very insightful friend of mine (thank you, Matt) said, "you seem like a person whose emotions drag your conscious mind down a path. and then they're dragging you down another one before you even figure out the first" (or something like that - it was a few years' ago) - and it all clicked. Writing is a very emotional process - even writing an essay, you have emotions bubble up to the surface (for most people, it's thinking about how much they hate writing essays, but it's still an emotion.) Writing exposes those emotions - raw, angry, fresh emotional wounds that you try to get down on paper as best as you can.

For me, the music must act as a catalyst for the process - to get the emotions flowing enough that I am dragged down whatever path the muse wishes to lead me. Well, even if it doesn't make sense to you, it does make sense to me now.

So, quit looking for something which inspires you. You may be missing it completely by looking. Embrace the strange creature of habit that lives within your breast, and just write. You may be surprised with what happens.

Creativity running slower than molasses in... well, in January

Everything is so sluggish this morning. As I sit here, looking at the frost building up on everything outside because of these frigid temperatures, all I can do is think about crawling back into bed and snuggling down under my covers. Creativity and writing definitely are NOT at the top of my list of things to do right now.

At times like this, I don't sit there with some writing prompt to try and clear away the writer's block. I turn to things like this and just start writing. Anything that comes into my head shows up on the page... and as long as I can get some word on paper or printed on the screen, the writer's block seems to clear on its own.

I guess it's like when the trainer at the gym tells you to keep working through the pain of a workout, eh?