reflection

I believed I signed up for creative writing one or two days before the second semester started. I remember my parents being a little uncomfortable with me giving up my only study hall that I was goinfg to have second semester; a semester that was going to include AP tests, final exams, final projects, and my last season of baseball. Not to mention the regular stresses that come with the end of your high-school career. Despite all of this I truly believe it was one of the greatest and most important decisions I have ever made…but I should have dropped astronomy…I really could have used that study hall.

            I had been interested in writing since the beginning of the year. I had started writing in a journal and writing for my own entertainment. I just wrote…because I wanted to write, I guess it was that simple. The plan was never to want to become a writer or to even do anything in writing, now creative writing is my favorite class and I’m seriously considering majoring in English and college and hopefully being able to make some type of career out of writing. No promises though, things change and I have other interests, but whatever happens I do not plan on ever being completely done with writing. I mean come on there are sooo many cool things about writing: you can essentially live forever through your words, people reading what you created and just liking it is an awesome feeling, you get to play God with whatever it is you’re writing, and I don’t know exactly how to explain it but I just feel more alive when I can put what I’m thinking on paper. For example, before I started writing I would always think about things and find them interesting or inspirational or maybe just happy, but when you don’t write something down epiphanies are short lived. Being able to write down what your thinking just feels like a way to hold on to time and remind yourself that YOU ARE ALIVE. Not merely living, but alive. And even though I realized these things pre-creative writing, creative writing has helped me express my thoughts in a much more awesome way. I don’t discredit journals, everything has it’s place, but creative writing has helped show me that I can turn my raw ideas or philosophies or whatever and turn them into really cool things! And I now that sounds like a plebian simple way of describing it but it’s true; I learned that I can make really awesome stuff.

            If I was asked what my strongest piece was I feel like I would have to say my play. Not simply because it received recognition but also because I really liked how it came out and I can’t remember ever working harder on something for school. It was the first time I really realized that I could take what I was thinking and what was going on in my life and turn it into something that other people could read, relate to, and enjoy. I actually sent it to a friend of mine who shared it with his brother, who is a college student in L.A, and his brother contacted me because he wanted to tell me how great he thought it was. He even said it brought tears to his eyes; I could not even believe that when I read it. The entire experience with my play was surreal and I think my favorite compliment I received was from the people who told me I had “a voice”. Now I just hope that I can write something even better than my play, there is always that silly worry that I’ve peaked. But that won’t stop me anyway, I have to keep writing and maybe next I’ll write a full length play and it will be even greater. Uhhhh I honestly don’t know what my weakest piece was probably the one that we were just supposed to use imagery in. I don’t remember what the assignment was exactly and we never really work shopped so it probably could have been better.

            I don’t really know what my favorite assignment was. If I could write something that I personally liked for a prompt, than it was an assignment I enjoyed.

            I think one of the most important skills that I gained from this class was being able to develop the imagery in my writing. I never used to write poetry. I never even really used imagery that much in my writing. Now not only do I feel a LOT more confident using imagery in poetry but I also feel like it’s a skill that can translate into if I ever wanted to write a short story or a novel or anything really.

            I also realllly liked the workshop experience. I never felt SUPER comfortable sharing my work with other people. The workshoping that we did in class seriously has helped with that. It also really helped me to hear what other people liked and what they thought could be better. I am not going to be able to give this up; I am going to need to continue workshopping in college and hopefully after. It was truly the most helpful for my writing. It gave me a better idea of what my strengths were and it really just helped me refine and polish my work. There is a clear and significant difference between the things I have and what I haven’t workshopped. I also thnk workshopping was great for my confidence as a writer. Now I feel a lot more comfortable asking people to read my writing and showing people my work. There isn’t really a lot more to be said….workshopping is awesome.

 So yeah that’s it, the end of what may be one of the most important classes I’ll ever take. I loved this class

           that is all 

Over Eyes

                                                     

He never drank. Alcohol was not an indulgence that he desired.  He considered it more enjoyable to sin while sober. The first time they met was at a party in the valley, at the residence of Cheryl Mcnabb. Cheryl was a co-worker of Emilia and an acquaintance of Ryan’s friend Scott. In all truth, neither Emilia nor Ryan new Cheryl.

 Ryan showed up to Cheryl’s at about 7:35 p.m, just as the Sun was falling over the valley; painting the landscape in a romantic Hollywood tan.  Cheryl’s house was a one story house with a red clay roof and a bright blue infinity pool in the back yard. The party had started at 6 and when Ryan showed up there were about 35 people already at the house.  There were probably about 12 of them sprawled out on the green lawn when Ryan got out of his dusty black el Camino and began walking towards the front door. Most of them had second servings already in hand. One girl had already completely passed out, but despite her perceived loneliness someone had placed a pair of ray bands over her eyes and setup an umbrella over her for protection from the sun.

Ryan was tall, about 6’ 2” with an athletic build, wearing a white Henley shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He had dirty blonde hair that was styled messily and an unreadable stone face hidden by aviators. As he approached the house he gave off the air of someone who was not at all average.

 At the time Emilia was standing by the front door with her fiancé Augustus, and two other people whom she regarded as simple but necessary background. Emilia had not wanted to go to Cheryl’s house that night but Augustus had made her realize that she did not want to miss out on this networking opportunity. Augustus had also expressed his concern that Emilia was becoming a “sloth” who was “all too happy to sit at home and waste away”. However this was not always the truth. Emilia had never known who she wanted to be. As a child she was never understood by other girls. She was always happier with a shady tree and an ant hill than she would have been with a cute boyfriend or a new car. The things that made Emilia happy were looked down upon by everyone around her. Despite this, she was never without friends thanks to her purely natural beauty. Emilia possessed eyes that seemed to convey their own world. Unfortunately Emilia’s friends could never truly relate to her. Her insecurities led her to feel foolish and embarrassed of the things she should have been most proud of. She had allowed herself to fall into a life that was not made for her; a life that she had never felt comfortable with.

As she stood there, surrounded but alone, her curiosity was piqued by the mysterious man who was entering the house. As she watched him enter the house her mind emptied and things began to move like a slow motion movie scene. For a moment she felt like a child again, with complete freedom from the opinions of others.

“Em!” Emilia’s eyes shot back to her fiancé. “Em, are you here with us?”  Augustus laughed as he jokingly waved his hand in front of Emilias face.

“Uhm, yes…I mean, I’m sorry, I just got lost for a second there. What were you saying?”

“Tim was just telling us that he heard management was impressed with your department’s numbers from this past quarter and that he thinks they are looking to promote someone to purchasing manager of the department in Denver”

“Word in the office is that you are a favorite for the position Emilia” said Tim with a poor smile.

“Isn’t that great honey?” Augustus was wearing a suit with a black tie. He had slicked back black hair and had the manufactured appearance of a politician. He looked at Emilia with a smile that seemed practiced.

Emilia forced a polite grin and looked at Tim “yes, that is wonderful news. Thank you Tim”

Augustus looks at Emilia dryly “you don’t sound overly enthusiastic”

“Oh, don’t I? I apologize; this heat has me absolutely drained. I think I’m going to head inside and freshen up”

“Ok honey” Augustus attempts to kiss Emilia but she turns her head towards her shoes. Embarrassed he quickly presses his lips to her forehead in order to save face.

When Emilia walked inside she instantly noticed Ryan in the back of the living room sitting at a smoky table with five other men in shirts and loosened ties playing cards. A large sum of money sat on the table. Something about seeing Ryan had grabbed Emilia’s heart; something she did not yet understand. Emilia grabbed the arm of Cheryl as she was walking past her with a couple drinks in hand, Emilia had not stopped staring at Ryan.

“Cheryl, who is that?”

“That? That would be my future husband if all goes according to plan honey!” Cheryl laughed boisterously; she was near being over served.

            At this moment Ryan looked up from the table and caught sight of Emilia. He saw her through the gray smoke that danced towards the ceiling of the dimly lit room. She appeared to him as some sort of vision; enhanced by the setting Arizona sun that shown through the door behind her. He smiled at her until one of the men at the table got his attention shouting “how many do you want! Jesus Christ who invited this kid?”

 Stepping back into the moment Emilia re-interrogated Cheryl, “Seriously Cheryl, who is he?”

Cheryl tried to focus in order to fake a moment of sobriety, “I’m not exactly sure; I think he’s a friend of Scotts. I’ve seen him around before but I don’t know much about him except that he is my dream come true!” Cheryl continued to laugh.

Rolling her eyes, Emilia asked “does he have a name?”

“Truthfully I don’t know honey; he’s not much of a talker, not that he neeeeds to be”

At that moment a number of men at the table shouted and threw down their cards. Ryan’s face remained the same as he collected the money in the center of the table. After he collected his winnings he stood up and began to walk away from the table. A couple of the men protested Ryan’s movements saying things such as “oh look at this punk” “not gonna give us a chance to win back our money you bitch?” Ryan walked away from the table without batting an eyelash. Before he left the house he stopped about two feet in front of Emilia and began talking to her with a directly honest tone; as if she were the only person in the world.

“Hey”

Taken aback Emilia eventually responded softly “uh, hi”

“how are you” Ryan lit a match and held it to a cigarette he had placed in his mouth

“uh…I..I’m fine” Emilia didn’t understand why but she felt as if she had lost her voice.

“are you happy?” he spoke with an interested and steady look.

“am…am I happy?” Ryan nods to her and she replies.

“I…I don’t really know”

“Most people aren’t. Most people confuse being happy with being content”

“wha..I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Doesn’t matter. Do you want to get out of here?”

“wha…I can’t..i mean, I don’t even know you”

Ryan smirked at her without showing any teeth. “it’s ok, neither do I”

Ryan smiled at her again and walked out of the house.

A Kid Named Tyler

Lost in my thoughts

Because he is alive in my mind

In my memory he’s as happy as ever

Smiles with no regard for tomorrow

Living only for the life of today

He is so full of life

So real I could hear him

See him

Oldest image is when you taught me empathy

I remember feeling sorry for you on the playground

You said someone had broken the back of your hat

I just remember feeling like it had happened to me

I don’t know why I remember that

Snapback, cargo shorts and a tee

Cudi wristbands and Osiris sneakers

Popping your carrot top into classrooms

Part of a group I had always looked up to

Using nicknames as given ones

Holding him back when his passion got the best of him

Taking games more seriously than we should

Scenes acted out on pavement, dirt, woodchips, and grass

Outcomes only determined the sincerity of the laughs

Riding in the backs of yellow buses with orange sunlight painting seats

Bracing ocean waves that broke our backs and lifted our spirits

Telling him he could go because my ride was on the way

Going out in the rain to be certain I said bye, not knowing when I’d see him again

Watching his black Honda speed off

The memories are disjointed by time

But they feel like they could have fit in one day

His voice is so clear

Maybe that is why it is so hard

So impossible to believe

So inconceivable

You cannot accept that someone so full of life

Could now be completely empty of it

Maybe he just used it all up

Maybe we all get a certain amount of living and he just used his all at once

Spending it frivolously

But happily

Because what point is life if you’re not truly living

I cannot remember the last thing he said to me

I’d like to say that it was something dramatic or meaningful

Some type of Hollywood ending

But this is not fiction

This is as real as he was

I don’t remember the last thing he said to me

But I would bet my life

That it made me smile

Into the Wind

 We are the lone flames that flicker past with no resemblance to our Polaroid pasts

We are the birds that fly together in a flock with no knowledge of our neighbor

We are the wilted and dead trees that stand for years dying into a deep charcoal wood

We are broken glass throw on a brick wall that separates us from the cage of our education

We are boxes of thoughts like ghosts that haunt us and make us curse our own image

The mirror laughs in our face, we try to get in but the menace blocks the way

We can feel but never touch our limits

We want to push through to the other side but we stop ourselves every time

Are we saved or are we damned?

We push forward but we only seem to move backwards, pushing until we can no longer move

Our roots hold us to cycles and we repeat the seasons of life and death

We tie ourselves to time, chained to the walls we were told to build

Our blood races to beat the clock until it wants to break the seconds and run out of spiked tongues

Our minds are trains that grow broken wings and jumps from the tracks

Flying too close to the sun we melt and rain down from the heavens

 Seeping back into the earth that feeds our roots

We tie our laces to the ground until we move like oak trees

So that we blow in the wind but never catch the answer

Hidden Juniper

The dumb fish cloaked the king’s heart in rich swan’s feathers

He was delighted to see his fortunes in the mirror that spoke the truth

Then the mirror entrusted him with a secret

The torches light crept around the dark corners

They painted the dull journey

The bird was alive its eyes shivered like glass

Its arms danced and the feathers were blown off

Swans feathers settle on grass in a meadow of juniper

The heavens stole the secrets that wept in the meadow

They shone like rich sunbeams and carried out their masters wishes

And Yet It Moves

His hands are cold as stone

While the sparrow tightens screws on a sunflower

He sees the sounds of crickets and cicadas

As the crowds return to Glastonbury

His warm hands forget the scars of winter

Some pain is not cured only pushed to the side

His actions were shady but his intentions were clear

The sky opens bringing him to life once more

“I can’t wait for the Summer” is a phrase often mentioned

While new light dances on surreal cumulus

The sky is covered in blue paint and the sun’s breath

Walking towards a feeling that leads to nothing

But adventure will only find the unsuspecting

The grass is friendly and inviting

Greenery grows in fears absence

Eppur si muove

Trees sing in the presence of a setting sun

The stars paint the sky but the music’s just begun

To a Worrying Friend

Your memories fall like shadows on the wall

While you hang your friends from the ceiling in the hall

You float straight through like there is nobody involved

Just cut the string and your problems will be solved

Wind blows through the window of your mind

And life only happens when you’re wasting your time

Most other people wander through their lives blind

Their minds cast no shadow, no reminder of their time

Because time means nothing, it is your life and how you live

So stop your silly worrying and be happy with what you did

Your memories cast no shadow but the past

And forgetting about the present means your future will not last

But your mind still falls to the shadows on the walls

Worrying about what’s not there

Well is that worrying at all?