Archive for the ‘Personal’ Category

-For Laura Jean Sluder

My mother had a child a year before me. She was full-term and died the day she was due. Growing up, I often pretended that she was with me. When I was 18, I wrote a poem about her.


My breath escapes my chest too quickly

For me to keep up. Pillows of clouds

press on me, pushing me closer. I am only seven.

I wish for time to undo the truth.

She was an infant,

Hardly plucked from the womb

and buried already.

The grass expands all around me,

stick straight,

like a fringe wall, and I talk to the sky.

Our private playground.



I grew up the way life intends.

She grew up with me, but she’d never know.

I’m 18 now, I visit her grave

On her birthday. All around us; thick,

thick rosebushes bloomed,

spreading their petals like morose lyrics.

These are our protectors.

Her grave is flawless.

I lay flowers on the petite marble square.

She should be eating cake today.

She should be doing many things today.

The sky called to me in a silent song.

Today was her birthday,

but she would never know.



It is still up there, our private playground.

It is still attached to a wisp

of a cloud, floating, floating.

Sometimes I can see above the swings,

Two little girls separated

before they even knew

one another.

Still, the vacancy is there,

clapping in my ears.

The stars give her an ethereal

body and suddenly the sky seems so painless.

She would be beautiful tonight.


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The curtains are tied back, patterned with lilacs and grass and tulips. I gently tug at the ropes until they unravel and the afternoon light is blocked. In the darkness, I can talk to myself until I am old and withered. I’ll pull out a chair and sit back into the paneled wall. We will discuss all that was. The times we ran too fast and when we were covered in grass stains. That one time in the winter when the snow covered our hair and the air was so cold that it stung our throat. Or all those games of hide and seek and kickball.

We’ll talk about all that could be, all the wonderful things we could do and all the things that we could accomplish. We could write a million songs and play them for each other. We could keep our apartment clean and shave our legs. We could travel to Italy and Australia and Scotland. We could do a lot of things. For instance, we could stop living in fear or learn how to be a perfect chef. There would be so much we could still do, like drive across the country and play the piano. We could talk for days of our dreams.

We’ll do this until it gets too cold and the darkness becomes to hard to see in. I’ll pull back the curtains and the afternoon will still be there, there will still be safety in my reflection.

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It’s almost exactly a week away now. *takes a deep breath*

Things are actually coming together nicely. I have figured out a plan that will help to keep me on track so that I don’t fall behind on the daily word goal. I’m still working on my character profiles and have completed my chapter outlines.

I found an awesome piece of software that I’m using to get ready for Nanowrimo and I’ll use it throughout as well. It’s called Scrivener. I found it over on the WriMos FTW Blog. I know everybody plans and writes differently, but I think this piece of writing software may just save me this time around. It keeps everything organized and easy to find. You should also check out that blog. I’ve found a lot of helpful writing advice there.

I finished my Halloween story and am still in the process of fixing that up which is a lot of fun. I don’t know how most people feel about revising and editing, but I absolutely love it. I admit, sometimes I do go a little overboard and take too long but I just really enjoy it. It’s my second favorite part about writing.

We’re getting close now.

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The Daily Post asks: Who is the most patient person you know?

I would have to say my Mom. She is much more patient than anyone I know, really. She has her moments of course, but who doesn’t? In general, she can tolerate a lot more crap without losing her cool than most anyone I know. She’s always been able to calm people down if they’re in the middle of a heated argument and then talk them through it. She just has that calming aura around her I guess. She’s very maternal, and I guess patience comes with being maternal.

I certainly didn’t inherit that trait from her. I’m so impatient with everything and I hate waiting. She has no problem sitting in a waiting room for 45 min. Me? I would be pacing back and forth, having already flipped through every magazine available, and be on the verge of walking out.

Her patience is something I try to aim for. It doesn’t always work, but she does inspire me to be more patient.



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The Daily Post asks: Do you like surprises?

It all depends on the surprise. A surprise birthday party? Yes, I love those. A surprise visit from a close friend? Another winner. A giant spider hiding in the shower? Not so much. An unknown credit card charge for $500? No thanks.

I do like surprises to a certain extent. I’m a planner, I like to plan things. When plans get changed, it takes me a moment to reconsider everything and then I’m ok with whatever else we have to do. But surprises can be fun, too, of course!

What was the best surprise of my year? I think the best one would have to be finding out that I got tickets to Rockfest and that Korn would be signing autographs. That was an excellent surprise!

The worst surprise? Finding out that my aunt had committed suicide. That was definitely a very tragic surprise, nobody was expecting it.

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The topic of the Daily Post for today is Rhthym.

Rhythm is important. We all have our own rhythm. It shows in our writing. I studied rhythm and meter. Poetry is made up of these. Trying to force rhythm is hard. Writing this is hard. It’s easier to follow your natural flow. This feels awkward.

It’s actually really hard to write in short sentences like that. To me, short sentences make me feel almost panicked, like everything is rushed and cut too short. Overly long sentences can seem either like rambling or like way too much detail.

I actually know two people who talk in those two extremes. Honestly, there are times it drives me crazy. My friend, she is always talking so fast and stopping short of what she was saying. It’s hard to keep up with her at times. She’ll call me up and say, “Hi! I saw this movie. It was really good. You should watch it. I think it’s called “Some movie.” So and so also loved it. Are you gonna see it?” Meanwhile, I’m still trying to process everything she just said.

Whereas my Mother, she goes into detail about every last thing. It’s maddening. A phone call from her sounds like, ” I was watering my plants the other day and I noticed this leaf that was much lighter green than any of the other leaves so leaned in to get a better look at it, and I swear to god, a bee came zooming out from somewhere inside the pot and nearly gave me a heart attack.” She will squeeze and entire story into one sentence.

For them, it sounds normal. I suppose I probably write somewhere in the middle. When I write prose, I honestly don’t pay attention to it until I revise. Only then, I’ll focus on the rhythm and length of my sentences. When I write poetry, I do pay a lot more attention to my lines and sentences.

Hmm, I feel like this post got away from me.

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The Daily Post asks: Do this experiment to generate a post idea.

Honestly, I started thinking about Breaking Bad! Only because I have just finished Season 3 and am dying to start the 4th Season. I tend to get a little obsessive over t.v. shows. It’s one of the ways I escape from reality. I get really attached to certain characters.

Between Breaking Bad and Doctor Who, I’m surprised I haven’t had a heart attack or a brain aneurysm. One of them leaves me stunned and scrambling to get to the next episode while the other sends me into a confused state of frenzy, trying to figure out what in the hell actually is going on.

TV is a great distraction from life. Don’t get me wrong, I love life and all but sometimes it’s nice to just get that escape, like with reading. Reading and TV, my main go-to escapism’s. Without them, I think I’d go completely mad.

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