Sunday, December 13, 2015

Observations #2

Here I stand, in the corner of traditions. I live in a building that carries on legacies. In front of me, there is a tractor- A symbol of pride.
            My room gives off somber vibes, and for that, I am overlooked. I am ignored. I am neglected. Across from me, five of my brothers are suffering from the same life I’m living, and to my left, more of my siblings are crying.
            Beneath me lives a layer of majestic, brick arrangements of color. It’s been almost a century of being in this same corner and yet the room still feels new. I notice a new face each and every day. They pass me in the halls but no one stops to look. Nobody cares to listen. Not a single person notices me enough to appreciate. And while I am greeted by the stares of my kind each and every day, it is never enough. I wonder if any one of them will ever pleasure me with the feeling of acceptance. I wonder if I will ever be acknowledged as a significant figure in my own home.
            The mornings disgust me. Thousands of them pass me. Of the thousand, one hundred look at me. Of the hundred, not a single admires. Uninvited, they fill the halls of my home with excess noise comprised of obnoxious yelling and laughing. They all appear different. Each and every one of them. They’re all different in their own identical ways.
            As the afternoon approaches, my mood lightens. They will be getting out soon. When they finally do, I am delighted with silence. As I continue to stand in this corner, accompanied by my family of decayed beauty, I mourn. I mourn over my own deteriorating body. I stand here in this corner, surrounded by lights and bricks and magnificent designs. I stand here in this corner, eaten up by the lack of attention, swallowed up by dust and cracks and scratches. I continue to stand here, in this corner, waiting. Waiting for somebody to save me. 

Sunday, January 20, 2013

Active Verbs

Active verbs can make all the difference in a writing piece. They make cliche descriptions come alive. Here goes my attempt at using active verbs, while describing the hallways at school:

With the ring of a bell, they were off. Words flew through the air at the speed of their own scurrying feet, The bumping of backpacks, the slipping of supplies, and the active apologies, all initiated by a single repetitive tone. Minutes, students, and faculty pass. They fill the classrooms, and what was just chaotic becomes peaceful. The halls are now empty and class begins.

My Children's Story

If I was the author of a children's story, I'd probably fail miserably at first. I'd have to attempt to write it like nine times before coming up with a decent plot. I really have no clue what my moral would be.

Luckily, in my creative writing class, I wasn't alone. I was working with great minds to come up with a solid story. Our collaboration was a success, because we came up with a great plot and an important moral.

Things I'm Thankful For

I'm thankful for the three F's: Family, Friends, and Food. 
I'm thankful for the opportunities I have, meaning school and education.
I'm thankful that I have a place to live.

And last but not least, on behalf of myself and females everywhere, I am thankful for Nutella. 

Listing Fears

Of all scary things: spiders, ghosts, evil clowns, children laughing in the dark, my biggest fear has to be losing somebody close to me. It hasn't happened yet, and I don't know exactly how I'd react if it did. I love everyone in my life so much. Yes, everyone. Even the people I don't like. I know that doesn't make sense, but It's true. 

I can't imagine life any other way than it is now. With different people, or without some people. Everyone has impacted me immensely, and I'd like them to keep doing that. Forever. Even though I know that it's impossible. 

I don't wanna expand on this topic any further. It's too scary. 

Thoughts on Revision

Honestly, I absolutely hate revision. It may be a stubbornness issue with me. When I actually do revise, my pieces sound much better. Actually, I think I need to revise more often, because it really does help. I just don't like the thought of getting out of my comfort zone. Sometimes I feel like when I revise, I'm changing my initial thoughts. 

Oh, and I just thought I'd say this: I didn't revise this post before officially publishing it. That should say enough about my stubbornness.

Tickles My Fancy #2: Ride Warrior

    The click of the belt told me one thing: it was time. I grasped the cold metal bar in front of me, and took a deep breath. Looking down, I could see tiny people, all waiting, dreading their turn. Far ahead of me was a sparkling, blue beauty of a lake, reflecting intense beams from the bright sun above me. My heart raced, my feet planted, and I sat back, waiting. I could hear prayers in the air, anxious tapping, and last minute sighs. With a simple release of breaks, we were off. I heard clicks of wood and metal, one after the other, faster and faster until we reached a gradual stop. At this point, my heart was bound to beat right out of my chest. My sweaty palms could no longer keep a firm clasp on the metal bar in front of me. I was shaking, praying. I felt as if my eyelids were ready to rip open. They couldn't remain shut any longer. My stomach felt like it was supporting my entire body weight. Now, my knees were giving up, and I was ready to fall.

And then we were off, once again. 

          I don't know why, but I've been having flashbacks of my first time at Cedar Point. I was such a wimp at the time, refusing to go on roller coasters, fussing about having to walk long distances, and constant complaining about the heat. But hey, I was like nine. 
         When my family finally did talk me into riding a roller coaster, I was still terrified. Not only was it my first time, but I was going to ride the Millennium Force. Yeah, tough stuff. I ended up having a blast, and when I went there again a few years later, I rode just about every roller coaster they had. I now consider myself to be a ride warrior.