To any readers out there, sorry for the delay between installments. I've been kind of busy. Yes, I'm embarrassed that I haven't posted a single thing to this blog in over a week. I'm aware of the problem. Talk to my professors and see if you can work out with them some way for me to be less busy. I would really appreciate it.
I haven't written a single word of decent poetry since I entered college. I think this whole Poetic Things idea was more of a "don't-I'wish" than anything else. I have all these great pictures that I wanted to post, but I have yet to set up any photo-hosting service, and I have a feeling that I won't be getting to it in the near future. Still, this is worth something - I'm writing at least fifty words a week. More, because I feel this need to write commentary, which I'm sure you're not interested in. Or maybe you are, since blog-readers often want to know the nitty-gritty details of the blogger's life. But probably you don't, since I haven't gotten any hits recently - so you couldn't have missed me too much. I know, I flatter myself by thinking anyone could possibly want to read anything I wrote.
By the way, if you want to stop all the depressing, self-deprecating, non-humor that occurs on this and my other blog, all you have to do is start posting comments. Then I'll cheer up because I'll know that someone's reading this, and I can go back to being my usual self. Which may or may not be more interesting than the current depressed persona.
Anyhow, here's the fifty words for today.
Isn’t choice the joy of life? She wouldn’t go back – she was off on an adventure, to discover the beautiful, wide world. Until the next mishap. Maybe next time there would be knots in her shirtsleeves or something. She really needed to move away to somewhere no one knew her.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Fifty Word Fiction, Part VII
Perhaps eventually the story will get moving. It's hard to have any serious action when you only have fifty words to play with, and you want to develop the character a bit, too. Or maybe it's just that I can't decide what should happen next, so I'm dragging it out until I have a brainstorm. You'll never know the truth, will you?
Here's today's installment. Today's been a busy day on Poetic Things.
There she went again. She was letting them dictate to her – their petty jokes were taking over her life, taking away her power of choice. She had to stand firm. She would wear – and do – and be – exactly what she wanted. If only she could figure out what that was.
Here's today's installment. Today's been a busy day on Poetic Things.
There she went again. She was letting them dictate to her – their petty jokes were taking over her life, taking away her power of choice. She had to stand firm. She would wear – and do – and be – exactly what she wanted. If only she could figure out what that was.
The Road Not Taken
by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as long as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.
Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim
For it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
But knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Someday ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.
I apologize for having referred to this as "The Road Less Travelled" in a previous post. That's how I always think of it. It's a metaphor for so much in my life - in everybody's life. The choices you make shape who you become, and there is rarely a chance to change paths once the choice has been made. I know the choices that I have made - and I am not happy with all of them - have changed how other people see me, and more - they have changed how I see myself. My choices have "led on" to other choices - there is no escaping the chain of events that every choice begins. Every time we come to a branching in life, we must stop, evaluate, and then choose, knowing that we will probably never come back. This is what life is all about - making choices and living with them; shaping your future by your actions of the present. Often, it is easier to take the road more travelled, but it may not be the best thing for you. And often, the road less travelled appears much more exciting, but it may not be a good idea to stray from the common path. Because every choice has repercussions on every aspect of your life, even ones that you may not see when you look at the choice. And you can never take back a decision. Sometimes you can repair damage, but you can never undo what you have done.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as long as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.
Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim
For it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
But knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Someday ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.
I apologize for having referred to this as "The Road Less Travelled" in a previous post. That's how I always think of it. It's a metaphor for so much in my life - in everybody's life. The choices you make shape who you become, and there is rarely a chance to change paths once the choice has been made. I know the choices that I have made - and I am not happy with all of them - have changed how other people see me, and more - they have changed how I see myself. My choices have "led on" to other choices - there is no escaping the chain of events that every choice begins. Every time we come to a branching in life, we must stop, evaluate, and then choose, knowing that we will probably never come back. This is what life is all about - making choices and living with them; shaping your future by your actions of the present. Often, it is easier to take the road more travelled, but it may not be the best thing for you. And often, the road less travelled appears much more exciting, but it may not be a good idea to stray from the common path. Because every choice has repercussions on every aspect of your life, even ones that you may not see when you look at the choice. And you can never take back a decision. Sometimes you can repair damage, but you can never undo what you have done.
Happy Semi-bicentennial!
Go straight, and then spin 'round twice
I blink to make sure I've seen right.
We've passed the big one: "double-o"
Well, ooh-la-la, hip-hip hurro.
One hundred pages have been viewed
Maybe read - can I assume?
At least most of the poems are good
Better than this one, which doesn't rhyme properly.
I blink to make sure I've seen right.
We've passed the big one: "double-o"
Well, ooh-la-la, hip-hip hurro.
One hundred pages have been viewed
Maybe read - can I assume?
At least most of the poems are good
Better than this one, which doesn't rhyme properly.
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Fifty Word Fiction, Part VI
I guess this blog is turning into A Novel Beginning, but I am saving that one for the summer when I have time to develop my novel. Since there is already a basic plot and charaters for the novel, I can't just let this story take over that space. I'll have to add some poetry here, though.
Anyhow, it's Tuesday(but that didn't matter [ref: Cookie Monster and the Cookie Tree, a very important book in my development]).
Well of course she tripped! That tends to happen when people tie your shoelaces together. They must have found her while she slept and decided it would be funny. Her hiding place had been violated; she’d have to find a new one. And she’d have to stop wearing tie shoes.
Anyhow, it's Tuesday(but that didn't matter [ref: Cookie Monster and the Cookie Tree, a very important book in my development]).
Well of course she tripped! That tends to happen when people tie your shoelaces together. They must have found her while she slept and decided it would be funny. Her hiding place had been violated; she’d have to find a new one. And she’d have to stop wearing tie shoes.
Friday, March 11, 2005
Fifty Word Fiction, Part V
Forget Tuesdays. Who can keep to a schedule?
I'm feeling a bit sarcastic today, so this is not really in character for the story, which should have a dark, depressed, lonely-turning-out-okay kind of tone. Maybe. But each piece is also supposed to stand alone. Or at least be exactly fifty words long. Which this is. Even though nothing happens.
Then again, if you read Asimov's Foreward to Foundation's Edge (I think. The fourth of the Foundation trilogy, anyway.), he too comments on how shocked he was on rereading the trilogy to discover that nothing happens for many thousands of words, and yet Foundation is one of the most popular and classic SF books/series ever written. Asimov rules!
Not that my writing is Asimov caliber. But I try to imitate only the best!
Anyhow, here's today's piece.
A branch? Where did that come from? This isn’t the forest, is it? Oh, that’s right. When you’re running away in panic, you usually end up in the forest. Even when you start out on concrete sidewalk. Maybe it wasn’t a branch at all. Probably it was just her shoelace.
I'm feeling a bit sarcastic today, so this is not really in character for the story, which should have a dark, depressed, lonely-turning-out-okay kind of tone. Maybe. But each piece is also supposed to stand alone. Or at least be exactly fifty words long. Which this is. Even though nothing happens.
Then again, if you read Asimov's Foreward to Foundation's Edge (I think. The fourth of the Foundation trilogy, anyway.), he too comments on how shocked he was on rereading the trilogy to discover that nothing happens for many thousands of words, and yet Foundation is one of the most popular and classic SF books/series ever written. Asimov rules!
Not that my writing is Asimov caliber. But I try to imitate only the best!
Anyhow, here's today's piece.
A branch? Where did that come from? This isn’t the forest, is it? Oh, that’s right. When you’re running away in panic, you usually end up in the forest. Even when you start out on concrete sidewalk. Maybe it wasn’t a branch at all. Probably it was just her shoelace.
Saturday, March 05, 2005
Fifty Word Fiction, Parts III and IV
I missed last Tuesday, which is the day for updating the story. So here is last week's installment. Part III:
She tossed and turned, her dreams plaguing her with painful images. All the times she tried to impress them, or just to fit in. And they just laughed. Every time. As if they knew how hard she was trying, and they didn’t want anyone who had to try so hard.
Since I'm doing this tonight anyway, here is this week's installment, a few days early. Who knows, maybe there'll be another one on Tuesday, and this is just an extra. Part IV:
Was that the problem? She was trying too hard. Why should she bother, anyway? Why was it so important that they validate her existence? She was better than them, anyway.
She woke, confident, and stood up. As she stood, she tripped on a branch. In her mind, they laughed again.
She tossed and turned, her dreams plaguing her with painful images. All the times she tried to impress them, or just to fit in. And they just laughed. Every time. As if they knew how hard she was trying, and they didn’t want anyone who had to try so hard.
Since I'm doing this tonight anyway, here is this week's installment, a few days early. Who knows, maybe there'll be another one on Tuesday, and this is just an extra. Part IV:
Was that the problem? She was trying too hard. Why should she bother, anyway? Why was it so important that they validate her existence? She was better than them, anyway.
She woke, confident, and stood up. As she stood, she tripped on a branch. In her mind, they laughed again.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
by Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
I've always loved this poem. As a kid, I loved it for the imagery of snow. I'm a winter baby, and I love snow. Which is why this poem is going u pthis week - it's been snowing on and off quite a bit recently. And this paints such a great picture, tells a great story. Which is what good poetry is all about: expressing feelings, telling stories, painting pictures. They're all facets of the same goal, and poetry is such a great medium for this kind of expression.
More recently (since high school, but even more so now, what with college and a job), the last lines are what I identify with most. So many responsibilities, so many promises, so many things I wish I could promise but am afraid to because I know I simply won't get to them. And sleep? Sleep is a beacon, glowing in the future.
Actually, I'm a big fan of Robert Frost in general. Another great poem is The Road Less Travelled, another one I identify with and which will probably make an appearance here soon.
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
I've always loved this poem. As a kid, I loved it for the imagery of snow. I'm a winter baby, and I love snow. Which is why this poem is going u pthis week - it's been snowing on and off quite a bit recently. And this paints such a great picture, tells a great story. Which is what good poetry is all about: expressing feelings, telling stories, painting pictures. They're all facets of the same goal, and poetry is such a great medium for this kind of expression.
More recently (since high school, but even more so now, what with college and a job), the last lines are what I identify with most. So many responsibilities, so many promises, so many things I wish I could promise but am afraid to because I know I simply won't get to them. And sleep? Sleep is a beacon, glowing in the future.
Actually, I'm a big fan of Robert Frost in general. Another great poem is The Road Less Travelled, another one I identify with and which will probably make an appearance here soon.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
