Pick Up Truck

I was gonna copy an old poem from my art page but I did write something a few weeks ago finally utilizing that writing book I had gotten.

I sat in his pick up truck staring at him. My stomach was doing somersaults and I felt I could hardly breath. My mind shouted at him hoping above hope hes would hear its cries of distress. How short a time we'd been in each others company. How scared I was. Sitting in the darkness in the woods in a pick up truck. How insignificantly unromantic, this pick up truck. If he would just speak first. Release me of my torment, save me the embarassment. I was about to burst. "JUMP" my heart shouted. "I love you" I sprang. A pickup truck. I confessed my love, first, short weeks after our eyes met.. in a pick up truck. "Oh no this is bad." I thought. "I love you too" he cooly replied. I collapes within. Sweet relief. Our love announced in a pick up trucl. Our hands held tight, he drove me home.


Yep.. that's me and shane. I've realized I'm not very good at making up stories.. I can take a true thing and make it sound amazing but I can't make it up entirely. That's something to consider.

Going Places

The words always and forever mean nothing now
Thir definition and power have all been washed out
Like the blood in the sink and the tears on my face
Im asked where Im going and I say any place

Away far from here where they don't know my name
Without the pain and the fear and th gut wrenching shame
Where definitions don't change according to tone
Don't know where it is but I'll call it home

Cause home is where the heart is and mine isnt here

I have to go searching its not in my chest
Its hollow and numb under my breast
How can it be numb yet I feel so much pain
The blood has stopped pumping except in my brain
The signals still fire at the thought of your face
And thats why Im leaving to go any place

Away far from here  where they don't know my name
Without the pain and the fear or the gutwrenching shame
Where definitions don't change according to tone
Dont know where it is but Ill call it home.

Cause home is where the heart is
Home is where the heart is
.....This house is not a home.


Pretty sure I wrote this after breaking up with Danny. I had felt that some people where looking down on me for leaving him. For being with another man. For everything. I wanted to make my own decisions, but I wanted people to let me without judging, and that just didn't happen. It was one of the few times that, while she might have been right, I really didn't want to be near my best friend for the way I was looked at. We all don't marry our highschool sweethearts. I know its all okay now and she doesn't think less of me for not having only ever been with one man. But its how I felt then. ANYWAY. I bought this journal thing thats 365 things to write about. ALl it is was it give you a word and a blank page and basically says "GO". I don't know if it will help but I think it will. I never know what to write about and even just telling me to write about an airplane is a start. I can write a poem or a story or anything as long as it has an airplane. I hope to be able to add more to this soon.

Blips

Sometimes I write down little phrases that pop into my head and never attach them to anything. They just soudn good and think maybe I'll work them into a poem or something and never do. So far this is the only ones I can think of .. but I'll go through my notebooks and see whats scrawled on the margins.

I'd blow up the whole town on the offchance you're in it.

You were the only one to over fight back when I was looking for a brawl. I knew you would catch me if I ever were to fall. You'd knock me out and punch me back and pick me up when it hit too hard.

On Bathroom Walls

I wrote this a few years ago about a friend that I had stopped talking with, still haven't spoken with actually. Recently Shane and I had been fighting lately due to not being with each other enough. It made me think of this.

My heart is racing and I am shaking of things that are and were and could have been
All the things left unsaid create a void more vast than the grand canyon
Maybe that's the real distance between us
Its not the miles of land or the untouched phones
Its the speech bubbles left empty that should contain everything we're holding back
As more and more fill the air I see you fade into the horizon
But whose lack of words are they, yours or mine?
I fear the answer, i fear the words being hurled at me from a slingshot.
And with that I add another
Another question my fear keeps me from asking and makes the distance greater
My heart is racing and I am shaking with worry that someday the bubbles will pop
And an unvoiced concern will spear through my body
Who says words will never hurt me
Given distance and force it could pick up speed
I could inevitably be impaled by remarks finally released
But which is worse, losing you in the abyss we've created
or taking cover against flying daggers of untold secrets?
And who will cast the first stone?

Life and Death in a Box

So I know I haven't posted as much as I said i would. But I looked back at a lot of my old writing and a lot of it is well.. kinda depressing. I was a very emo youth. It's good, sure, but a bit of a downer. None the less I read a little more of my book about writing novels which of course made me write some more of my own. Last night I reworked a prewritten segment of my novel about Shane and I getting together. I thought about posting that, knowing that my one and only reader would be interested in it (love you Mim (-: ). But that should be saved. I had written a good chunk of it at work while covering lunch breaks and after reading some of that book decided it all needed work. I ended up taking the first two paragraphs and making them about 3 pages last night (trust me its better that way). So I haven't even gotten to meeting Shane in it yet. I'm in as far as my last flight to St Thomas. I'm over the coast of Peurto Rico right now lol. Instead, I thought I would post the story i started when I got into reading that book. It's about my relationship with Danny, my first serious boyfriend. We were together for 3 years. This is only a few pages and what I have so far. Names have been changed. (they're all really weird names now too.)

(Working Title) Life and Death In a Box
My name is Cecilia Baker and I am 17 years old. I'm a normal run of the mill teenager growing up in a small town. I will be graduating in a couple months. Everyone seems so excited. I, however, am one of the less that 100 in my graduating class who has no future plans, no college to go to, no job I will continue to work at, and no real reason to celebrate. To me graduating isn't a big deal. Everyone writes in the yearbook "Can you believe it?!" Yes, yes I can. They don't seem to understand that while we're tossing our mortarboards into the air so are hundreds and thousands of other kids that we'll probably never meet. Am I excited to graduate? Oh sure. Right now I'm more concerned about what to wear to this concert.
It's still a week away and it's really not a concert. It's really more like a bunch of people I sort of know sort of playing music at a community center. But what i wear is very very important. I've been going to these local shows since I was 15. I still remember my first one.
It was in the basement of a girls house whom I'd never met. My good friend was dating the bassist in one of the bands and she begged me to go with her. "I won't know anyone there!" Arlene whined. "Um no, you'll know your boyfriend, whom I know slightly less well. I won't know anyone there!" She kicked the ground. "You'll know me...Please?" I actually wanted to go, I just liked to make her beg. "The drummer in Adam's band will be there. He's single. You should um...meet him." I gave her a look of discontent, but my interest was peeked. "Oh, nice! A set up, yeah that makes me want to go." "Oh shut up you're coming!" She stomped away.
Adam's mother dropped us off at this unknown place. Arlene and I took up residence on the floor of the bedroom of a stranger. The room was pink. There were posters and notes and magazine clippings all over the walls. A maxi pad was stuck mid height to our left. She and I giggled quietly and made silent comments about everything, nervously waiting, I more than her.
Finally we went downstairs for the show. We got early arrival, being "with the band". As I reached the bottom step I scanned the small group of people for a boy with drumsticks. Adam walked up to us awkwardly. He was a very typically gawky teen boy. He was too tall, too thin, and oh so scene. I couldn't judge. I arrived at the show wearing a t-shirt with a snotty sarcastic remark on the front and pants that were so baggy and thick they added four pounds to my weight. Adam coughed lightly and I turned. "So Cecilia, this is Caleb, our drummer." And there he was. At fifteen I'd finally found him.

Caleb Reed was another gawky 15 year old boy. He wore baggy shorts and a baggy shirt sponsoring some skateboarding company. His light brown hair reached his shoulders. He had a surprising amount of even stubble on his face for his age. His glasses almost hid his piercing blue eyes. "..Hey.." He said uncomfortably, he was aware of the set up as well. The real reason for the set up? C's. The other two members of the band were dating girls with coinciding letters. Adam and Arlene. Jeffrey and Julie. Caleb needed a Cecilia. "..hhey." I barely managed back. I was never happier that my name started with a C.
Caleb Reed was the reason I was throwing clothing around my room in search of the perfect outfit. Two years later and it was his fault. "I give up!" I sat on the floor. I sighed heavily and looked toward my bed. My room was once lilac colored. That had to go. It wasn't the color that was the problem. It was the torn up wall at the head of my bed. The peeled paint that the tape had ripped off had to be mended. I looked at my now dark blue wall and reached under my bed, I pulled out an old shoe box and opened it slowly. Inside was the reason, for the paint, and the clothing.
Slowly I pulled out picture after picture. Caleb and I at the formal. Caleb and I at a show. The wrist band he gave me on our first date, that matched his own. I wore it every day. It was discolored and tattered, I had never taken it off. It was on every moment, except for showers, until he dumped me. From then it remained in this box.
I thought about putting it back on. Instead, I sniffed it and immediately dropped it back into the box with a gasp. The pictures looked in rough shape as well. They had all hung on that lilac wall. I had kissed them before bed each night. Some of them still had tape on the edges.
"This box is a curse!" I said looking at its insides with disgust. "It's been a year and a half, why do I still have this?" Because you still have hope, my mind commented back. "Hey who asked you?!" It was right and wrong. Months ago I had contacted him. I did still have hope. I told him how I still loved him and how I so much wanted a second chance. He told me he wasn't single. He just started dating a girl less than a week before. I, was shattered.
It hadn't been a bad break up. It hadn't even been a long relationship. Less than six months. In that time we'd only been able to see each other on weekends, him being from another school. I was so smitten, nonetheless. So I did what most 15 year old girls with low self esteem and their first boyfriend would do, threw myself at him. I had figured it wouldn't matter if he didn't actually like me, I knew what boys did like. I, however, managed to find the one boy within 30 miles that wasn't ready for that, and scared him away. He did what most 15 year old boys would do, not talk about the real issue, and then lie about the reason for the break up. Which of course led me to lose my mind for a a year trying to sort out what happened, and what I did wrong, and how I could get him back.
So there I sat with my box of bruises and bullshit, thinking. Did I still have that hope? After almost 2 years of waiting for him to give me another change and instead finding he gave a chance to a different girl? Did I still have hope? Did I still need hope? "No!" I sat up straight and grabbed into the pile of debris. I pulled out an old poem he had written to me. The word forever caught my eye. I stared at it. "Ha..HAHA.. HAHAHA HAHAHAHA." I fell over laughing before tearing it into pieces. I felt a sudden rush of joy. "This box was my life. It held me in my grasp! It drew me in and brought me down. It will no longer be my death!" Each item in the box got torn and crumpled and tossed in the trash. "I am ready to move on. Yes, he will be at the show. Yes , he will be with her. And yes, I will smile and not be bothered. I am free!" I proclaimed it out loud. I had finally emptied his box, emptied him from my life and my heart and could finally be happy. "Now...what will I wear?"


I did get a little further than this, as you can see I have not met Dan yet. There's another 2 pages of that beginning. But this is long enough without and its what i would claim as probably a first chapter. Plus I think that needs a bit more work to equal up to this. This is more showing a little setting, and a lot of character description. Now I would love some critiquing. MIM lol. Keep in mind I have no idea how to write fiction. This is essentially an autobiography. All of this is true. Oddly enough. So umm yeah.. it's a work in progress.

Of Experiences

On my bed I sat
staring at him and smiling.
My eyes welling up with tears.

I've been splashed by Niagara falls.
I've stood in awe of the Grand Canyon.
I've swum in the Atlantic and
squished my toes in the sand.

I once ran through the rain.
I've listened to the snow.
I once found a four leaf clover.
I've seen a rainbow.

I've made it through a mosh pit.
I've survived a poisoning
and I have saved a life.

But I've never been touched more deeply
then when he looked at me and said simply
"You're beautiful."

I wrote this in 10th grade, no.. 11th grade. Whenever Miss Robbins was. This poem really was about the first time I had someone aside from family or a gal pal tell me I was beautiful. That was maybe, 9th grade when i heard it. It really meant a lot to me.

Who Am I?

I decided to start a blog for actual creative writing. I realized my first one became more about just random everyday this is what happened junk. So now this is going to showcase all of my creative writings. I actually have started writing a couple books. I've decided to turn some of my adventures (or misadventures) in the dating world into stories. With the right twist and skill they actually could be something besides a teen girl diary mess. I hope to post something at least once a week and yes some of these will be old writings, stuff from high school. But ya know, I will run out of those and have to actually start new stuff, so you can look forward to that. This first post I actually wrote as a little "summer school" thing I did on my old kiwibox account. I took a creative writing "class" and the first assignment was to introduce ourselves. Everyone else in the "class" wrote "Hey I'm Alicia. I'm 16. I love to hang out with friends.. blah blah blah." I took it as a creative writing assignment and described myself a little better so let me know what you think. (Keep in mind I did write this (oh man uhhhhhh) at least 3 years ago so when I was 20 or younger.) I changed it just slightly so its more up to date.

It's a dark night and a girl runs through the rain. Her hair catches the shine from the streetlight briefly. It is crimson but fading. Her apathy is apparent by her lackluster locks. She seems to be in some hurry, perhaps trying to avoid as much rain as possible. She slows her pace, approaching her wanted destination. One would imagine she would duck inside in a flash. Instead, she looks up, arms outstretched and lets the rain beat upon her. She laughs. Her appearance and demeanor make her look and feel like a child. She steps forward then jumps in a puddle before walking the steps to the door. Inside the phone is ringing. She hastily jiggles the keys. The answering machine picks up. "Hi. You've reached Charlotte and Shane.." She opens the door and runs for the phone. "Hello?!" Only a dial tone responds. The playfulness is gone. She sighs and hangs up.

So the setting is all wrong for an actually description of me. There is not streetlight, nor steps. It seems like a city setting and I definitely don't live there. But everything else pretty much works. The only thing I changed was that when I wrote this there was a different boys name on the answering machine. Which of course when I wrote it, I was not living with that boy either (we had talked about it). I've been reading a book about writing books actually and I just read last night about how to start by introducing your character. Getting to know the person and setting without stating each thing. I actually love this "piece". The fact is that I don't know that much about writing, I just write. And now that I read a little of that book and what the (award winning) novelist is teaching is what I was doing years ago. So I don't know, maybe that says something. I hope you liked it and could actually understand what I was describing, what each sentence meant without it blatantly saying it (especially the ending.. nobody got that in the "class"). And expect more soon. But nothing too new for a little while.