I didn't know this...

The Cowardly Lion costume in The Wizard of Oz was made from real lion pelts.

For those who are interested, I got a scanner for Christmas so The Mediocres is updating again. There was an update on Christmas and will be one tomorrow. Then it will return to the normal Tues/Thurs update schedule.

Also, Ed, thank for the offer of the use of the library's scanner. I'm sorry I never got over there to use it when I said I would.

Anyone who has never read The Mediocres and would like to start, Ed has very kindly put a link to the site on the side of this page. Have fun.

To everyone: Don't forget about the meeting tomorrow!

I was just wondering if anyone else was planning on bringing refreshments to the December meeting and if so what. I'm bringing something but I don't want it to be a repeat.

Also, Ed, I was thing of bringing soem hot chocolate mix and tea if you're willing to boil water again. Since there're probably be more people I can bring some mugs as well.

That literature website thing

I don't know if you guys remember this but we did talk about starting some kind of literature website a couple of months back. I got tired of waiting for the library to get back to me about hosting and I went ahead and used a new service provided by Google. They will register and host a domain for ten dollars a year. Not a bad deal. Here is what it looks like right now. This is by no means a final look, I was just messing with the service to see how it works. It's still in Beta mode and it isn't currently working with Mozilla Firefox and is barely working correctly with Microsoft Explorer. Hopefully they will iron that out before we get all serious. Maybe if we put our heads together we can have something together before school lets out.

Survey Monkey

For this project I am working on at work I had to create an Survey Monkey account. If you want to have a little fun try out my silly little survey so I can see how the results are gathered. Thanks.

Orhan Pamuk

Melanie sent me this: "A writer is someone who spends years patiently trying to discover the second being inside him, and the world that makes him who he is: when I speak of writing, what comes first to my mind is not a novel, a poem, or literary tradition, it is a person who shuts himself up in a room, sits down at a table, and alone, turns inward; amid its shadows, he builds a new world with words. This man – or this woman – may use a typewriter, profit from the ease of a computer, or write with a pen on paper, as I have done for 30 years. As he writes, he can drink tea or coffee, or smoke cigarettes. From time to time he may rise from his table to look out through the window at the children playing in the street, and, if he is lucky, at trees and a view, or he can gaze out at a black wall. He can write poems, plays, or novels, as I do. All these differences come after the crucial task of sitting down at the table and patiently turning inwards. To write is to turn this inward gaze into words, to study the world into which that person passes when he retires into himself, and to do so with patience, obstinacy, and joy. As I sit at my table, for days, months, years, slowly adding new words to the empty page, I feel as if I am creating a new world, as if I am bringing into being that other person inside me, in the same way someone might build a bridge or a dome, stone by stone. The stones we writers use are words. As we hold them in our hands, sensing the ways in which each of them is connected to the others, looking at them sometimes from afar, sometimes almost caressing them with our fingers and the tips of our pens, weighing them, moving them around, year in and year out, patiently and hopefully, we create new worlds."

SF anthologies in 2007

I bet you are sitting there wondering what SF and Fantasy anthologies are coming out in 2007 and just when exactly they are going to be released. Wonder no more.

Lists, lists, lists

If you enjoy end of the year best of lists then check out this website which posts a list of lists of many different categories.

Another site for the artists out there

I heard about this on NPR this morning. I had been to the site Threadless before but I had not realized the designs were user submitted. I might have to get me one or two of these.

SF website

I just found this website devoted to science fiction. According to his blog, David Brin helped start the website. I've taken a look at it and what I have seen so far has been interesting.

By the way, David Brin has a great blog and you might want to check it out. I think Matthew might find some of the discussions very interesting. His most recent post is a nice long musing on the future of artificial intelligence.

Test your geography skills

OK young'uns, lets see how good you are with the world's countries. On my first try I got a 38.

Art and commerce site

Those of you that draw check out this site called Open Studio. If you start an account and participate let me know your handle so I can sees your art. My handle is zzazazz but I can draw worth a darn.

Essentially this site uses fake currency called a Burak and you start with 25 Buraks and you create and buy and sell art. Sounds like a fun idea to me.

The all in one generator

Need a description of cat-girl? Need a name for a SF government? This generator has it all. Heck, it even generates random story ideas.

Most Cited

I don't know why I think you guys will find this interesting but I found this interesting. What are the most cited journals of the last ten years? Let's take a look.

Quote from an interview with Tom Waits

Pitchfork: Do you have a favorite sound?

Tom Waits: Bacon. In a frying pan. If you record the sound of bacon in a frying pan and play it back it sounds like the pops and cracks on an old 33 1/3 recording. Almost exactly like that. You could substitute it for that sound.

It's that time of the Year again

It's not even December and "best of" lists are starting to come out. The Guardian asks writers to name their favorite books and the New York Times lists their annual 100 Notable books.

A dog's life

A short comic about the life of a dog named Murphy.

Second Piece of Silliness

This is the other joint document we mashed up at our last meeting (at which we had hot green tea, by the way).

Once the sky ripped open
as I was walking to school.
Aliens abucted me and I just couldn't cope with them
so I killed them.
Then I walked in to the nearest building and screamed,
"Aliens are taking over the world!"
Only they were dead so I was lying.
I didn't see the three million aliens standing behind me
and naturally chaos ensued.
Then I heard a lound ring,
opened my eyes and, to my relief,
I was lying in bed.
That is, until I saw the aliens standing over me.
The aliens were holding smoking laser rifles
and were wearing matching kilts.
They whipped out bagpipes and started to sing/sling
me around until they bound me up and took me
aboard their ship and a million other aliens
all did the same thing.
They extracted all my knowledge of math from my brain
and English
and social studies
and science
and my life experience
and secrets
and random things
and all my knowledge of medieval torture devices
and all my knowledge of rocket science
and all my knowledge of faery lore
and the person died.
Until I awoke and refused to refer to myself in third person.

Guess what? This is the blog's 100th post! YAY!!!!! (Did you know that multiple exclamation points are a sign of a deranged mind?)

Alright. I havn't posted ina long while so here is the dialogue thing I wrote at the last meeting. It is, of course, brilliant.

*********

" Why are you so angry, Ed?"
" My tie is strangling me!"
"Why don't you take it off?"
" I have to look responsible! See! I'm crossing out all the swear words in my story. Gosh darn these darned ties!"
"Take it off Ed! (Ed. note: I just realized that taken out of context that could sound pretty bad.) Be free! You have nothing to lose but your chains!"
"You're right! This isn't a tie, it's one of those doggie choke collars, choking my freedom of expression!"
"Ow, my eye! Careful where you throw that thing!"
" Sorry."
"S'okay. Now that you're free what will you do?"
" Say whatever I want about those *bleep* *bleep* *bleeping* *bleepers*!"
" Ed! I'm shocked to hear such words coming out of your mouth! "
" But, but...I thought you said I was...free?"
"Just 'cause you're free doesn't mean you can do anything you want. You have to be responsible. Here, put this tie on."

*********

I would post the pictures too but, you see, my scanner broke. *Grumble, grumble*

Tonight's Meeting

We had 5 1/2 in attendance tonight. Matthew came in late so we can't count him fully. Things got a little wacky when we passed a couple of sheets of paper around again. I'll put one up now and another tomorrow.

Two Frogs walked into a bar. They walked because they did not have a car. When they came in they started to sing a song, except it turned out completely all wrong since Joe sang a C minor and Bob, D major. They didn't make a very good wager. So they had some pizza and orange juice and talked with a melancholy moose. Then they walked out, forgetting that they did not have a car, and died. A necromancer came along and he revived them. Then the frogs hopped away and walked into a bar. It was the same bar and there was blood on the floor, their blood. They slipped and impaled themselves on the moose's antlers, sending them both flying through the large window and over a cliff to an icy death. Then another frog came along to see both of the frogs floating up in the sky and the frogs hit the other frog and killed it. The three frogs lay there, stinking and attracting flies. The all of a sudden one started to wiggle, then another, then another! The three frogs got up and started to walk to another bar with the flies still flying all around them. Then they came across a moose wearing a toboggan. The flies from the frogs attacked the moose, started eating it alive. The moose screamed like a girl and ran off. The dead frogs laughed. They stole the moose's toboggan so it was cold as well as being eaten alive because the frogs were cruel having suffered death twice (is that even possible?). Anyway back to the story...As the frogs laughed hysterically, pieces of them began to fall off until they were only piles of stinking fly-attracting flesh that will never come back to life again. Or will they?

I'm just putting this out there so y'all can get used to it by the time I come back. My name is now Mitchell. It's not legal yet, as that would be a paperwork nightmare when combined with college and financial aid, but it will be legal as soon as possible.

So, yes. I will be changing my display name to reflect this. Just giving y'all a heads-up.

I just used the word 'y'all' twice (now three times), didn't I? Shame on me.

Meeting This Thursday

I already sent an email out earlier today but it never hurts to be repetitive when it comes to meetings. We are meeting this Thursday at 6 pm at Morrison Regional Library. I heard a rumor that Unkown Entities may show up this time. Is it true?

Also, to celebrate Thanksgiving, Clare is going to bring a dish of her special recipe, pumpkin yogurt. I can't wait.

Meg Rosoff's top 10 adult books for teenagers

Whenever I take a few minutes and try to find something worthy of posting here for the few that visit I always hope I can find something as perfect as this.

I was trying to think of an adult book or two I would add to this list. Maybe "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" and "Ender's Game."

Mmm...indignant rage

What's my favorite thing about working with the public? Today it's the lady who sent the wrong 35 page print job to the printer and got pissed off at me because I wouldn't refund her money. The best part was while she was adding money to her printing account so she could attempt her printing again, her cell phone started ringing. She looked up from the cash machine for a moment and let the phone ring so I could see how angry she was. Good for her.

Poet Musician

There is a local songwriter named David Childers that I am very fond of and he has a webpage where he writes occasional diary entries and poetry. Right now he has a poem up. Give it a gander while it's still on the front page. Powerful stuff.

A new poll

This is a very serious poll and your answers will be utilized to improve the quality of this blog.



Nominate a book

A friend of mine is involved with a bunch of bloggers that have created their own yearly award for Young Adult books. If you are curious you can see it here.

Pulling off your own head

A serious discussion on this subject here.

What kind of a name is R.A?

I don't recall his name ever coming up at one of our meetings but R.A. Salvatore is coming to town and he has personally invited you to come see him speak:

An Evening with R. A. Salvatore
On Friday, November 17, New York Times best-selling author R.A. Salvatore comes to the Wachovia Playhouse at ImaginOn: the Joe & Joan Martin Center to promote the final adventure in his Sellswords Trilogy: Road of the Patriarch! FREE and open to readers of all ages! A book signing will follow the presentation and books will be available for purchase from Joseph-Beth Booksellers. The doors open at 6:30 pm and seating is limited to 250. Co-sponsored by Joseph-Beth Booksellers and the Public Library of Charlotte & Mecklenburg County
ImaginOn: The Joe & Joan Martin Center - The Wachovia Playhouse
11/17/2006 at 7pm
Age Range: All Ages
Contact: Kelly Czarnecki, 704-973-2717

Six Word Stories

Wired magazine just published a collection of six word stories written by contemporary science fiction and horror writers. There are some heavy weights in here.

Here's a couple:

Visiting team, home run. Silent crowd.
Hobbit, with no scarf, follows wizard. (OK, that's cheating)
Mountain bike, no control, a cliff.
I see you! Sorry wrong person.
Are these your children? Want them?

Shuttle liftoff pictures taken from outer space

These are the cooolest pictures I have seen in a while

Drawing lessons online

I am just full of information today. I took a gander at a couple of lessons here and they look legitimate. Take a gander at them and let me know what you think.

Stephen King Podcast

I haven't had a chance to hear this because I am at work but the Times has a podcast/interview with Stephen King. I can't remember if any of you guys like his writing but I am sure at least one person in our group has read a Stephen King book. I've read a couple. You can hear the podcast here.

Flash Fiction Contest

I've heard about this form of fiction recently and saw that a book store had a contest. The winners are posted here. I only read the first couple because the library is gettting ready to close. Give the winner a shot, it's really good.

Michael Swanwick

Any of you guys ever read any Michael Swanwick? He wrote a book that just blew me a way a few years ago called "The Iron Dragon's Daughter" that is an amazing urban fantasy. Here here comments on it:

"Q: Is The Iron Dragon's Daughter a Marxist fairy tale?

Well, it's certainly not a fairy tale – I was trying to deal with some serious matters in as straightforward and truthful a manner as I could. But as Kafka demonstrated, sometimes that involves turning a man into vermin or putting a sword in the hand of the Statue of Liberty. You could say that it's Marxist in the sense that I don't pretend that class differences don't exist. But it's not really informed by leftist sensibilities at all. It's more like a world in which everything has been turned inside out so that the essential mysteries of human consciousness are more obvious.

Q: What was the atmosphere you wanted to convey in the book?

I wanted to write a high fantasy but I'm allergic to horses, a mediocre archer, a worse fencer, and I was thirty-two when I first set foot in a castle. So my experiences left me woefully unqualified to go toe-to-toe with J.R.R. Tolkien or E.R. Eddison. But all that Medievalia is just settings and furniture, really, for the serious work those writers were doing. I replaced that stuff with factories and strip joints and mega-malls – places I know and understand – and this in turn made the world more convincing to me.

There's a kind of a bleak, lonesome beauty to a sunset seen from a factory parking lot. That's the kind of feeling I was going for – that the world is magical even if it's the one we're most familiar with. You can be incredibly unhappy and still feel that, still feel privileged to be alive."

Meeting This Week

I already sent out an email but I'll post it here also that we are having our monthly meeting this week, Thursday October 19th at 6 pm. I hope everyone can bring something to share.

Added physics software bonus

I double dare you not to play with this for half an hour.

Have any of you read anything by Chuck Palahniuk? If so, what did you think? If not, allow me to recommend EVERYTHING HE HAS EVER WRITTEN. Except possibly Haunted, because that's just creepy. Not that all of his writing isn't creepy, but. Basically this post is an excuse to foist my current obsession onto all of you. (He's the guy who wrote Fight Club, to give you some perspective.)

I would post things that I have written, but everything I'm writing lately is either essays for class or bandslash. And I really, really doubt any of you want to read either of those.

National Book awards

I didn't even know they had an award for Young People's Literature. They do and here's the list that came out in the last day or so. Have any of you young people read any of these books? I am in the middle of reading "The Looming Tower" which is one of the nominees for nonfiction. It's a book about the rise of al-Qaeda.

M.T. Anderson, The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation, Vol. 1: The
Pox Party (Candlewick Press)
Martine Leavitt, Keturah and Lord Death (Front Street Books/Boyds Mills Press)
Patricia McCormick, Sold (Hyperion Books for Children)
Nancy Werlin, The Rules of Survival (Dial/Penguin)
Gene Luen Yang, American Born Chinese (First Second/Holtzbrinck)

In response to Ed's desperate pleas, I shall post something. (Hey, all of us are in middle and high school, and you're living the luxurious life, remember that, Ed.) Hrrrm...because I have no good material right now, I'm going to use my Language Arts assignments!

First writing assignment: In summer...

In summer...I always visit my extended family in Missouri. Sometimes for a week, sometimes more. Each year, I grow more mature, so each trip is a definite eye-opener. I find ways to get along with my brother during the fourteen hour long car trip. I enjoy the mountains and other views, and gain more knowledge of wordly things; example, how to work a vending machine or just how long it takes to drive through Tennessee.

When we arrive at my aunt's house, I let the nostalgia sweep over me, as I am glad to be out of the cramped car. However, at my aunt's, not everything is perfect. An example of this was when I learned her cat, my favorite animal, had been put to sleep. Another painful time was when I visited my grandfather in his nursing home.

I savor quiet moments reading on a bed that's not my own, but I'm always ecstatic to visit my scarcely seen family. Each year, I learn a bit more about them all because I'm let in on more secrets since I'm getting older and because I'm I listen more attentively.

SIMILES AND METAPHORS
(feel free to steal one or two if you ever need one and are not feeling creative)

-My spoon was a catapult for the peas I flung at my sister.
-Our dog is a fierce warrior guarding its castle, our house.
-The hundred dollar bill was the door to my sucess.
-The embarrassing photo was a gag, not allowing Tom to tell anyone Jim's secret.

-The bird was chipper as a young child.
-The pillow was like a door to dreamland, enticing its owner to sleep.
-My puppy is like a kind smile, always cheering me up. (I do not actually have a puppy)
-Her long hair looked and felt as though it were silk.
-The clouds were like a cold, grey blanket over the sky.
-The car zoomed down the road like an odd sort of monster, emitting puffs of awful black breath.
-Grass that has grown tall will sway like waves in the sea when wind blows.
-The rain drops were like bullets as they shot from the clouds up above.

I will be posting more frequently once I start actually writing and editing all my beginning-of-the-school-year ideas. You know, the ones you come up with and elaborate on during the middle of math class...

Posting

Hey guys, any chance we can get a couple of you to post what you read to the group last time? I heard a couple of things I'd like to be able to read and digest.

Soft tissue from a t-rex

I don't want to turn this into a science blog but I found this story via David Brin's blog. It seems a dinosaur bone has supplied us with some soft tissue. Story and photographs here.

A new blog

I know at least one of you has expressed an interest in librarianship. Here is a blog by the staff of The Library Journal.

Another attempt to ban Harry Potter

This time it's a mother in Georgia.

Last night's meeting

The meeting went well. I had to step out for a few minutes to set some chairs up in our meeting room and those in attendance worked on a couple of group poems.

Unititled #1

I read a book I didn't enjoy
so I went to the store and bought a toy
but on my way back I saw a boy...
and jumped for joy
and said, "my, you're a pretty boy, aren't you?"
but he was ugly, so it wasn't true
but, feeling kind, I smiled and said, "You look blue."
A delightful grin crossed his his lips and he spoke,
"Why yes, I believe I am...
and I'm feeling a little green, too."
"You're green because you're hungry," I said,
"would you like some soup?"
"No," he replied with a gleam in his eye,
"I'm hungy for you!"

The smile never fading from my lips, "Well then, here I am for you."

Untitled #2

Straightening pictures, reading stories
writing books, laughing out loud
punching girls, punching boys
I love writers club.

Dancing to tones, singing to songs
goofing off, always off subject
alliteration and digression.

Locking ourselves in cupboards,
cubboards of inspiration
questinable inspiration
but joyful nonetheless.

Ah, the joyful wonders of insanity
because everyone here is insane
(there's no excuse)
except Ed
(although we doubt that at times).

Meeting this week

This is the monthly reminder that our monthly meeting is right around the corner. Don't forget we are meeting this Thursday at 6 pm. That will be Thursday, September 28th at six pm. I'll be there...will you?

Reading reading reading

I've been reading a collection of Harry Turtledove short stories called "Counting up, Counting down" for the last few days. My favorite story by far has been one called "After the last elf is dead." It's set in a world much like Middle Earth and it's a "what if" story. As in, what if the Dark Lord wins? Good fun.

We haven't discussed that too much on here. Anyone doing any fun reading that's not school work?

Photography Contest

By the way, gang, there's a free online photography conest sponsored by a friend of a friend that gives away actual prizes. It's called The Everyman Photo Contest and it is what it says it is. It is open to anyone that is not a professional photographer. I recommend giving it a shot. It really is a lot of fun and it's free and you get your photographs posted on a professionally designed webpage.

Martha Gellhorn

Have any of you guys ever heard of this lady? There's a biography that came out recently that I am going to read some day. Fascinating lady. Here's an excerpt from an interview with the woman that edited a recently published book of Gellhorn's letters. "People thought of her that way a lot, and it made her very, very angry. If someone had the temerity or foolishness to bring it up, she would just get up and leave the room. She used to say, "I was with him for eight years, and married for four. I've lived a lot of other lives." I was telling someone recently I've written about Martha Gellhorn, and it seemed to draw a blank. I said, 'She was a writer and a war correspondent.' Then, with huge reluctance, I said, 'She was also married to Ernest Hemingway,' and the person said, 'Ah, of course.' And I could just see Martha sending a rope down from above."

Q: What is it about a mouse's brain and the universe?

A: They are strangely similar. I thought you guys might get a kick out of that. I would think that picture would appeal to the writers, drawers and math whizzes.

"New" Tolkien

According to this story Christopher Tolkien has finished a work by his father and it's going to come out soon. I'm not too crazy about projects like this. Except for the Silmarillion I have avoided all the posthumous releases of Tolkien. In general, I am not a big fan of any writer finishing another writer's work or writing new stories in another's universe. Although when the main character's in Robert Heinlein's "Number of the Beast" briefly stayed Lewis Carroll's Wonderland I thought is was wonderful. A double standard? No, I think not, more of a homage. Anyone have an opinion on this?

Just thinking

This is my week for my evaluation here at work and every year we have to come up with goals. I thought that maybe, just maybe we could start some kind of a literary website that we would be the editors of. Mind you, this is in the very early just-thinking-about-it stage but I wanted to see what you guys thought of it. This would be even something our long distance members could join in with us. Is it an old idea that has run its course online? Would it be too much work? Shoot me some early thoughts on this.

Flight Delayed
You stole my heart
With one innocent Grand Gesture
Before disappearing
Into an infinite plane.

I've never used so many math terms
Until I had to make you understand.
Even now I must look them up,
Though the connections are clear.

Pi equals Pie equals Poe equals Darkness
Equals Me plus You equals Love.
The equation is simple.
Do you care/dare/swear to solve it?

Your plane has doubled back
And deposited you at the beginning;
But now I myself have travelled off
Without ever moving on.

I shall return
(And hope you do the same)
When desperation and cold winds chill the heart
And only the Holly and the Ivy are green.

Never mind the presents
With bows and hearts hung high;
You're the real reason
I'm counting the days to Christmas.



The events in this poem are purely hypothetical, and should not be taken to represent obsessions the author may or may not have.

ETA: I just realised what the title could be taken as, considering the date. I did not mean it that way, but if it adds meaning for you, go for it.

Howdy

The October meeting has been moved up a week. We are going to meet on Thursday, October 19th instead of the 26th. The board of elections is holding their early voting the following week and we can't meet in the room because they will have voting machines locked in there and that is top secret stuff and we're not allowed near it. We are doing the same thing in November since Thanksgiving falls on the fourth week of that month. Our meeting date in November is the 16th. September is unchanged. We will be meeting on the fourth Thursday as usual and that date is the 28th.

Crikey

One thing you can say about the passing of the Crocodile Hunter is that at least he died doing what he loved: harassing animals in the wild.

Kipling

I came across this poem in an article about Rudyard Kipling and his son who died during World War War I, the first "war to end all wars." Kipling wrote an amazing poem about his dead son a year later. The
article is here and the poem is below and in the article.

My Boy Jack (1916)

Have you news of my boy Jack?'
Not this tide.
'When d'you think that he'll come back?'
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

'Has any one else had word of him?'
Not this tide.
For what is sunk will hardly swim,
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

'Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?'
None this tide,
Nor any tide,
Except he did not shame his kind -
Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide.

Then hold your head up all the more,
This tide,
And every tide;
Because he was the son you bore,
And gave to that wind blowing and that tide!

From Last Night

At last night's meeting we did a fun exercise where we played with Roger Zelazny's Rule of Three. This rule states that when describing a character all you need to do is mention three things about the character at a time. This is enough information to give the reader an idea as to the nature of your character and leaves enough unsaid to allow the reader to use his imagination. One of the types of characters we desribed last night was a dark lord and/or dark lady. Here's mine: "He carried a sword as long as a lightning bolt, his steed could eat whole villages and he used his sinus cavities as a prison for his most dangerous enemies."

Anyone else want to contribute some of what they came up with last night?

Ursula Le Guin quote

From the book about the craft of writing called Steering the Craft: "Somebody asked Willie Nelson where he got his songs, and he said, 'the air's full of melodies, you just reach out...' The worlds full of stories, you just reach out."

OK, more of a Willie quote but I like the idea of Willie and Ursula collobarating even on this tenuously.

Meeeting tomorrow

I done sent an email out. Don't forget we are meeting tomorrow at 6 pm. Be there or be even more square.

Feeling Tired

Because of the flooding last night I didn't get a lot of sleep. OK, I'm exhausted. I wrote this in a few short sessions.

Being Tired

What did you say?
No, I am listening. Really.

It stormed and the dog couldn't sleep
he whined and wanted to play
with the cats. The cats don't like him.
He moves too fast and wants to play
all the time. Cats only play
when they decide.

When I turn my head too fast
I almost lose my balance.
I've heard lack of sleep
can cause brain damage.
I know a guy (no it's not me)
that is in a lot of trouble in the future.
He spent his thirties half asleep at work.

Occasionally when I speak I sound
unsober and confused
A quick shake and I'm out back
and lucid until it happens again.

The air conditioner sounds like
an engine room.
Outside
everything is hazy and in soft focus
What was I just doing?
How long have I been sitting here?
If turtles walked upright would
they waddle like real fat people?

A long time ago I had a good night's sleep
and it was good.

Fairty Tale Generator

They didn't have one of these when I was a kid.

Harry Potter Lexicon

Since we are on a Harry Potter kick (that's never happened) here is a website I saw in a friend's email. Maybe you guys are familiar with it already, maybe it's no good. I'll let you Harry Potter readers decide.

Article on a Harry Potter convention

This post is for Maggi.

Trade your old books

I just read about this on Metafilter. Looks interesting.

100 Best

Penguin Classics picks the 100 best books by categories in honor of Penguin's 60th anniversary. I have to confess I haven't read a majority of the books on this list.

I Long for some Pie

My cravings inside
will sure not subside
until you break down
and serve me some pie.

Apple, Blueberry,
Lemon Meringue.
Sweet or chocolatey,
or one with some tang.

I would not even mind
if you haven't a fork,
I would eat with my face,
and looklike a dork.

Now I sit down,
Math homework I eye,
Could I please have
some pie with my pi?
---

(From the 7/28 meeting.)

Yes, two pie poems in one night. What are we, milkandcookies.com? (Okay, inside joke, sorry.)

I love the rythmic nature of the first two lines of the second stanza. Reminds me of how my piano teacher used to teach young students to play triplets with words like "blueberry".

Forgive the horrible math joke at the end. I had to slip one in somewhere, didn't I?

N+7: An Odor to Maggi's Teflon

Although she appears as an innocent pogo stick,
Confront her and you will find a horrible period.
Concealed behind here furtive liposuction
are threatening weasels poised to strike.
It is what keeps me awake at nine,
Beware of Maggi's Teflon.

Gnawing, gnashing, grinding, piercing,
Ripping, tearing, slashing, shredding,
Her sharp, pointed whiz
is like metal daiquiries gleaming bright.
It is what scares the chili dogs away.
Beware of Maggi's Teflon.

Under gothic drills and gleaming smock
lie feral ragtops and cunning guilt.
Do not irk her with lofty arses,
lest she consume you in bloody vipers.
It is what keeps us awake at nine,
Beware of Maggi's Teflon.
---

(From the 7/28 meeting)

For this poem, I took the original Ode to Maggi's Teeth, and replaced every significant noun with the noun in the dictionary seven nouns away (or the closest one to that which was reasonably understandable). The result was this quirky, Mad Libs-esque poem.

However, by fate, it worked out to be "threatening weasels poised to strike", I don't know. It's just perfect.

A poem that I have written. Please don't ask what inspired it, you won't get an answer. Just tell me if it's TOO confusing. I'm thinking of making a story with the people in this poem though, because they've been dancing around in my head for a while. For anyone who catches this before tomorrow's meeting, please critique!
------------------


Perfect contrast, perfect pair

One with brown, one with blonde hair.

They’ve always been the best of friends,

Always side by side, ‘til the end.

One’s the Earth, one’s the air,

Perfect contrast, perfect pair.

One needed saving, one’s the savior,

One takes away the horrors of a war.

One of dark chocolate, one of white,

Both so sweet, but only one in the light.

Like the most beautiful nightmare,

Perfect contrast, perfect pair.

Just for fun I decided to mess around with a silly story. Here is part 1.345

The Birthday Wish



Randy was four going on five when his parents had the Birthday Wish talk with him. His parents sat him down at the dinner table on a Sunday a few days before his birthday. They had their backs to the kitchen, Randy had his back to the front door of their house. They talked to him very seriously, almost like he was a grown up. He listened.
"Randy," His Mother said, "This Wednsday you will turn 5 and on Saturday we are having your birthday party."

"Yeah," Said Randy. He'd known this for a few weeks.

"Grandpa and Grandma Johnson will be here." He knew that too. "Grandpa and Grandma Simpson will be here." Also old news. "All of your cousins will be here and both my brothers and your Dad's sister and brother."

Randy had no response to such old news.

"Randy," Mother continued, "Aren't you a little curious about all these people coming to your birthday party? Don't you want to know why?"

"I know why."

"Why?"

"Because it's my birthday."

"Well, yes. But you know about your fifth birthday right?"

"Yeah, I get to make a wish this time."

Randy didn't know what his mother was getting at. All he knew was that this year he was going to be allowed to make a wish when he blew out the candles on his cake. It's all he'd been thinking about for weeks now. He and a couple of other kids at school with birthdays close to his had been counting this day down together. It seemed really important, like the first time you were allowed to take the dog outside by yourself or going more than two days without wetting the bed.

"It's a special wish, Randy." His Mom said.

"I know because it might come true. I mean, that's what I've heard at school. Is it true?"

"If you do it right you wish may come true."

"Yes, Randy. We wouldn't tell you a fib about something as serious as a birthday wish."

"What can I wish for?"

His Father continued, "Well, anything at all, I guess. But it's best to keep it simple the first time."

"Uh huh."

"As you get older you might work on something more complictated but this Saturday I would keep it very simple."

"Why?"

"Well, it's your first time and the more simple the wish the better chance it will be granted."

"OK, keep it simple."

"Right."

His parents let him go outside after the discussion trailed off. Randy bounded down the steps that led to the garage and went on the other side of the garage where he couldn't be seen from the house. The garage was connected to the house by a breezeway and with the garage between him and the house he had as much privacy as he could wish for. The house was surrounded by woods so if his parents couldn't see him, no one could. He grabbed a stick and started absentmindedly hitting things. He hit the side of garage, a couple of nearby trees bordering the turn around on the side of the building, the barrell the family used to burn garbage and he picked up a couple of rocks and tossed them to himself and wacked the ones he didn't miss into the woods.

What should he wish for, he wondered. Another dog? Where was his dog? He must be inside. If he was outside with me he'd be chasing those rocks I just hit in the woods. How about an X-Station 920 Turbo? Does the wish include games? It has to. Mine will. That's it then, easy choice: an X-Station 920 Turbo...with four controllers and five games. That seems fair. Four controllers might be too much. OK, two controllers. That will allow me and dad to play baseball and it won't be asking for a whole lot. Mom and Dad can get me the controllers since they won't have to buy the game system. He hit a few more rocks into the woods before his mom called him in for Sunday dinner.

Workshop this! I'm not sure if I really like this poem. But nobody else has posted anything and this is the first rhyming poem I've written in forever. And the whole purpose of workshopping is to make the writing better. So here ya go.

Mother dear, where are you?
Gone so many years,
The laughter has come back to me,
But then, so have the tears.

Mother dear, I'm so confused,
You were my guiding hand.
Now it is so hard to thrive,
In this increasingly darkening land.

Mother dear, I need you here,
I still cry in bed at night.
It all happened so suddenly,
You went quickly into the light.

Mother dear, come back, I plead,
I know it is in vain.
We've lost you now forever,
You'll never come back again.

I've edited it a bit but it still feels a bit too angsty instead of communicating the feeling of loss, need, and acceptence I was trying for. I started writing it (and you can see the influence in the third stanza) after rereading "Do Not Go Quickly Into That Good Night" by Dylan Thomas. Only I said she went into the light and in his poem he says to "rage, rage against the dying of the light."

What makes a classic a classic?

Just saw this and I thought it was a nice short article about what is required to make a piece of literature a classic.

I don't know about you but I always thought a piece of literature qualified as classic if it held up over time. I see they mention that in this article. I've always wondered what SF classics might become plain-ole classics over time. If I had to pick one it would probably be "A Canticle for Leibowitz" by Walter M. Miller. It's got a sense of wonder, it's funny and thoughtful.

More adjustimication of schedule and work shopping

OK, how does the third Thursday of November sound? Novemember 16th it will be.

If you would like anything workshopped I would post it here by Monday night so the rest of us can have time to read it closely and make notes before our meeting on Thursday.

Adjustify your calendars

In November we are going to meet on the fifth Thursday of the month because the fourth Thursday is Thanksgiving. Since I am so good at scheduling I forgot that the fourth Thursday of November has been Thanksgiving since 1942.

Well, I was going to post this, but Matthew beat me to it.

As I'm going to Asheville for college in the fall, this meeting is also going to be my last for quite some time. I should be able to come to the November and December meetings, but after that, nothing until next summer.

See, now it looks like I'm trying to one-up Matthew, when that wasn't at all my intention. I'm just letting you know.

Sad News

As you all know, I'm going off to school at NCSSM this year. I leave on August 19th, so this makes the next meeting my last for quite a while. Of course, I'll still be in touch via the blog and e-mail, and will still be spending plenty of weekends in Charlotte.

Assuming that all writer's club meetings take place on the fourth Thursdays of each month, I should be able to make the December and January meetings (albeit about a half hour late to the January meeting). Of course, the dates of the meetings change, so it is likely that I will be able to attend more.

On a lighter note, I will officially be taking a class on short story writing, which should either improve my writing dramatically, or drive me completely insane. Either should be fun.

Okay, to update those that are curious about The Mediocres. The update for Monday is drawn and the next three strips are scripted. It really will update on Monday. There will also be a big explanation/apology in the comments that you must read. Otherwise you may be very confused in the coming weeks.

Also, in a few minutes I'm going to post a couple poems I wrote, specifically for the purpose of the workshopping/criticizing/whatever thingy that we are planning for next meeting. No one else has stepped up to the plate so...here I go. The quality of these poems is questionable.

One more thing. What happened to the new girls from the last meeting? Were they planning on joining the blog? Have they abandoned us like all the others? I feel so alone... *sob*

I'm at ImaginOn right now, and I've just seen Meghan. I've specifically provided her with the date of the next meeting, so if she's not there we have an excuse to mock her.

Alan Poindexter just walked by. I have to go be a fanboy.

Where is it?

All right, where's that new Mediocres? What's the hold up? Why the slow down? What is the reason for this absence? Does anyone know why there hasn't been a new Mediocres in, like, a year. As George Bush once said, bring it on.

Just a thought

You know, if you have a three year old maybe you shouldn't bring him to the adult section of the library. Especially if you aren't going to keep an eye on him or his four-year-old brother. I hate when this happens because she's probably a single mom and she's here by herself and I'm sure she doesn't get a chance to check her email that often but free range three year old's just don't belong among old men reading the paper.

Because I promised Clare that I would post it, here it is.
---

An Ode to Maggi's Teeth


Althought she appears as an innocent poet,
Confront her and you will find horrible peril.
Concealed behind her furtive lips
are threatening weapons poised to strike.
It is what keeps me awake at night:
Beware of Maggi's teeth.

Gnawing, gnashing, grinding, piercing,
Ripping, tearing, slashing, shredding.
Her sharp, pointed whiltes
are like metal daggers gleaming bright.
It is what scares the children away:
Beware of Maggi's teeth.

Under gothic dress and laughing smile
lie feral rage and cunning guile.
Do not irk her with lofty arrogance
lest she consume you in bloddy violence
It is what keeps us awake at night:
Beware of Maggi's teeth.
---

I've threatened to write that poem before, and when two lines popped into my head in the shower (the "feral rage" lines), I sat down and hammered out the poem.

...And then he announced that Maggi and Matthew were a perfect match because Maggi was sadistic and Matthew was masochistic," said the girl. "And that," she told them sadly, "Is how Ed died."

TBC...

Revision of cat poem

I'm a revising fool.



The back of a comfy chair
near the front door
is my orange cat's throne

He lies there for hours
he sleeps, wakes
surveys the room

Passers by pay tribute
with ear scratches,
face rubs and gentle pats.

King of all he sees
the Xbox, a glass table
& a child's baseball bat

This morning leaving for work
I pay tribute, he rubs against my hand
purrs and then the little bastard sratches me.

Meeting on Thursday

If you haven't received my email then let this be your notice. We are meeting this Thursday, June 22nd at 6 pm. As usual, bring stuff to read. If you have an idea for something fun to do, bring that with you also.

Something completely different

You know, just the other day some friends and I were talking about what animals we would like to be when we came back in another lifetime. I think cats and birds ranked pretty high. Cats because they sleep a lot and birds because they can fly. I leaned towards some sort of bird also. Particularly a bird of prey. Like they say, if you are going to be a bear, be a grizzly. Would you rather be a mourning dove or a hawk? Easy decision. Of course, with my luck, if I did come back as a hawk I'd probably end up in a zoo with my wings clipped and ugly fat kids would throw popcorn at me all day and I hate popcorn because I am a raptor. Raptors don't eat popcorn, they eat other birds and ugly fat kids when they can.


What animal would you like to be, eh?

Another poem about my cats

My cat has a throne
it's the back of a chair
near the front door

He lies there for hours
he sleeps, awakes
surveys the room

Passers by pay
him tribute with ear
scratches and face rubs

King of all he sees
that Xbox over there
& a child's baseball bat

This morning leaving for work
I pay tribute, withdrawing my hand
the little bastard sratched me.


Boom! That's two in a week. C'mon, you turkeys, let's see some content. OK, not quite a week but close enough.

One more thing

Where's that new mediocres? Weren't we promised one when school let out? Isn't school out?

New blood

You guys aren't going to believe it. I just got off the phone with a mother who signed her daughter up for our group. Just last week I took a similar phone call. We could have a pretty big group if we get a good turn out on Thursday, June 22nd at 6 p.m.

New stuff

OK, a friend's mother (She is a friend too. I've known her longer than I've know him) is fighting cancer and is having a rough time recently. She has been on my mind so I've written this:

1.

She sounds no different on the telephone
a voice I've heard for twelve years.
"Chris is in the bathroom,
I'll have him call you back."

I visit, she's bald like my Grandpa Ed
when he was seventy, small stragglers
of hair poking out like cactus in a desert
She's watching soap operas.

Medicine arrives by Fed Ex
a chart of medications, morning and night
she must be feeling better
mother and son bicker like before.

2.

Alive and dead
Brave and terrified
I've heard you can't fight this stuff
you just wait it out.

We're all flowers
blooming and dying.
We're bees, stinging and dying
We're cigarettes glowing
burning down to ashes,
then ground into the remains
of other cigarettes.

3.

There are cracks in the ground
outside the condominium
someday these units too, will fall.

WANT TO STRANGLE SOMETHING

Guess what? I won't have any new stories over the summer. They're packing up our writing folders in boxes and stashing them away in an empty classroom for our 7th grade teacher to read them NEXT YEAR. ....! BLAH. That was a lot of precious writing that I won't get for another year, or more if they want to box them up after 7th grade as well! I'm hoping, though, that by the time I'm graduating from middle-school that I'll be in possesion of my writing folder. Of course, I'd probably not like my 6th grade writing anymore and it'll hardly matter. D:<

Howdy

I haven't put anything new up recently because I have been on vacation. I think sometime this week I'll post a new poem. I haven't done that in a while. I dare someone to post a new piece of writing before I do.

The meeting

Well, our last meeting had low attendance. Not a problem, though. We did end up staring at each other a couple of times but our little metaphor/simile game worked out better than the naysayers expected. Matthew came up with a couple of nice ones although he wouldn't admit it. Mine were spectacular and the room hushed in awe.

We will be meeting again in June and I'll be sure to send out an email reminder in the middle of the month.

Here's something I came across that you might be interested in. Science fiction writer James Patrick Kelly is offering free audio versions of a bunch of his writing here. If like literate SF you will like this guy, trust me.

Speaking of figurative language

Metaphor has always been a tough one for me to get my brain around. Wikipedia has a good article on metaphor.

Thursday

Here's an early reminder that this Thursday we are meeting again. Come one, come all.

Think about what you would like to do this week. Another contest of some kind? An exercise of some sort? Just sit around and read stuff? Riot? Let me know.

Rainbows at the library

I went downstairs to buy a soda in the breakroom about 7:45 tonight. When I got back upstairs the downpour from earlier was now a steady rain. Looking out the windows behind the reference desk there was no rain, just dark steady-moving clouds. Sitting at the reference desk and looking across, out the windows opposite, I could see a golden rain lit by the sunset. I thought that there must be a rainbow in these conditions. I looked back out the windows behind the reference desk and, sure enough, a half rainbow arcing out of the trees and to the left out of sight. It's nice to have windows at work.

It 's time to....POST RANDOM POEMS!!! DUN-DUN-DUN-DUUUUN!!
---------------------------------------
Haiku Ode to Meghan and Maggi

Meghan and Maggi
do you really care that much
if Lupin is gay? -----> alternate names: Harry, Wormtail, Charlie, Hagrid, etc......


Random Randomness from the CUPBOARD OF INSPIRATION

Dappled light on my face
springy moss under my head
my feet submerged in crunchy leaves
my elbow on a tree root
a spider on my nose

Random Stuff written directly after the Writer's Meeting

Head rush
bend it down, choke, swallow if you can,
don't let your limbs out of control,
keep running.
Don't let up--you can win
it's inevitable if you try.
Flashing legs, pummeling fists, aching ribs
and an echo of pounding feet in your ears.
It is pain, but it is joy.
It limits, but it is freedom.
Keep it up, only two more in front of you.
Your body is at the maximum,
draining your reserves of energy.
No one wins a marathon,
but you are someone.
You will win.
You will be.
You, the winner, the sprinter, the fastest, fly across the pavement as though your feet had wings.
-------------------------------------
Yeah, yeah, none are that great, but I feel the need to post (cause no one else is) and I happened to have a couple halfway decent poems lying around, so why not?

Ode to our Token Adult
---------------------------------------------------------
Ed.

Ed said

Ed said, "I'm dead."

----------------------------------------------------------
There are some things you just have to do. This IS writing, even if it's short...and it...rhymes?

Haiku Contest

Yesterday we had our exciting haiku contest in which I was completely shut out in the voting. It was a conspiracy, I know it.

The Winner

Crisp Twilight sunrise
shards of water-colored mist
rolling up a hill

- Meghan

Runners Up

Doodles on paper
margins filled with my drawings
sketches of day dreams

- Grace

Silver drops fall
tears from the sky above
pure from heaven, rain

- Erica

The Rest

A blackened shadow
he stands, his mind wandering
filled of time and space

- Kelly

Ripping bleeding dead
S&M play gone too far
an accident...right?

- Maggi

Caged, he sits stagnant
forgetting what freedom is
how can he find hope?

- Matthew

The mall's many stores
the parking lot's pile of cars
the ants are marching

- Ed

Care Bears are scary
similar to mimes or clowns
Ahh! Run! Run away!

- Clare

Next meeting is this Thursday

Remember to not forget that at 6 pm this Thursday (May 11th) we will be meeting.

Don't forget we are having a big and special haiku contest with a super secret and very special grand prize. Runners up get squat. All spoils go to the victor.

ARRRRGH! NOOOO! *choke, gasp* WHY??????????????! Bad, bad, bad! Bad Grace! I completely forgot earlier that I have to keep all my school writing in my folder at school, so apparently you all won't be able to read my creative writing story until summer! Now I have nothing to put up! I must root around my room to see if I can find anything.

An idea for the Mediocres

How about an RSS feed? That would be fun. That way the new Mediocres would show up in my news reader.

Speaking of newsreaders and comics. You guys should check out Unshelved if you haven't. It's a comic that documents the daily life of a small library branch. It's been embraced by library people all over the country.

The Department of Redundancy Department

I'm sure everyone knows by now. In fact, the media may know by now, but yeah, we're meeting on May 11th at 6 pm. It's now official. It wasn't official before. It became official exactly 25 seconds ago.

Reschedule?

As I mentioned in yesterday's post which is directly below this post, the room is free on May 11th and I have booked it. Can I get some yea's and/or nay's concerning meeting on Thursday, May 11th at 6 pm?

Meeting cancelled

We won't be able to meet tomorrow, the room has been taken over by the Board of Elections for early voting. Maggi suggested we try to meet in a week or so. The room is free on May 11th if you guys are interested in meeting then.

Alrighty, then

It looks like reports of this blog's demise were premature.

Don't forget to remember that this Thursday is the fourth Thursday of April and you all know what that means: pot luck down at the VFW hall. No wait, that's no right. It's the monthly meeting of the Morrison Writers Club or, as it was known last time, The Thursday Night Fights. Be sure to bring something to read. If there is not enough material brought in to keep us busy all night I have a special weapon in reserve. I have a CD of me singing songs about my cats and will play it if you guys can't keep me interested. You have been warned.

Ode to a Dead Blog

O, dead blog
we hardly knowed yuh.
We came into this world
slowly and left less slowly,
some would say almost quickly.

We'll meet on the other side,
dead blog.
You'll be there with Johnny Cash
and his bride who is young again.
You'll be there with that dog of mine
that got diabetes and we had to put down.
You'll be there with Minnie Pearl
and Waylon and Willie (who's still around I hear)
and that rat I gave to the pound
before I left for the Marines
in the summer of '86.

But you haven't left yet,
dead blog.
There are weeks of archives
that the curious may yet peruse.
Let's call you dormant, not dead
blog.
You are a aluminum Christmas tree
sitting in a box in the garage in July.
You may feel close to despair but,
like that tree, someone has you
in their mind.

Stephen Crane

Since there ain't been much put up recently I thought I would post that poem by Stephen Crane that Megan read last week. This should brigten up any day.


Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.
Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky
And the affrighted steed ran on alone,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment,
Little souls who thirst for fight,
These men were born to drill and die.
The unexplained glory flies above them,
Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom --
A field where a thousand corpses lie.

Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.
Because your father tumbled in the yellow trenches,
Raged at his breast, gulped and died,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

Swift blazing flag of the regiment,
Eagle with crest of red and gold,
These men were born to drill and die.
Point for them the virtue of slaughter,
Make plain to them the excellence of killing
And a field where a thousand corpses lie.

Mother whose heart hung humble as a button
On the bright splendid shroud of your son,
Do not weep.
War is kind

Hah. I have joined. Because I feel like it (and am actually ridiculously proud of this thing) I will post the song I read this evening.

Not Dreams But Waking Nightmares
Spiraling off, twisting and turning,
Never afraid while you’re here by my side
But now you’re gone, and so I am learning
When love doesn’t want you,
There’s no place to hide.

My dreams are spiraling out beyond my control
Turning to nightmares when day is through
I can’t rest my head with these devils inside
I’m going insane and I can’t survive
If I ask you again will you be so kind
Tell me what to do (Tell me what to do)

Bloodred sunsets shake my nerves
So badly I can’t breathe
Never again will I sleep through the night
My conscience is restless but I cannot reply
How to stifle my screaming when nothing’s all right
And the leaves shake the wind from the trees?

Spiraling off, twisting and turning,
Never afraid while you’re here by my side
But now you’re gone, and so I am learning
When love doesn’t want you,
There’s no place to hide.

When you were still here by my side I was sure
We’d be safe from all evil intent
But now that you’ve left me here grieving to death
I know nothing can save me
When you said you loved me,
I’m still not quite sure what you meant.

At least Evil’s intentions, however perverse,
Are still purely attired in black and dark red
While Good’s muddled mask saves its true face for last
And you only know its true goal
Once it’s stripped off its pretenses
When you’re lying face down and near dead.

Spiraling off, twisting and turning,
Never afraid while you’re here by my side
But now you’re gone, and so I am learning
When love doesn’t want you,
There’s no place to hide.

Love’s dark angels are sweeping me away
To your side, where I’ll wait for the end of all time
When bloodred streams of loneliness
Wake me from my fever dream
I remind myself to hide my sins from others’ prying eyes
And in the distant future, you’ll be mine

Black birds rip through my troubled mind
Screeching and scratching with bloodred claws
And I know that no matter how I try
They’ll never be gone and you’ll never be back
So I’ll just slip away, into Death’s looming jaws.
And let her do with me what she will
As I smile and the world fades to black.

Spiraling off, twisting and turning,
Never afraid while you’re here by my side
But now you’re gone, and so I am learning
When love doesn’t want you,
There’s no place to hide.

Book of poems, me bought

I bought this new collection by Donald Hall today. I believe I shared one of his poems during our first meeting. A big reason I bought it was because it came with a CD of Hall reading his poetry. Over an hour's worth. Maybe I'll bring it in Thursday and force you guys to listen to a couple...

So, no one else seems to be posting. I am currently working on something new, however, this is a random thing I wrote awhile ago. One of my few recent pieces of prose.


Some times I sit outside at night and I wish that the whole world could be as beautiful and uncomplicated as the night sky. Pink-tinted clouds against a dark purple-blue sky. It’s like the picture on a nursery rhyme tapestry in some little kid’s bedroom, reminding me of simpler times. Of bedtime stories and fighting to sit on Mama’s lap. Of staying up until eleven reading by the nightlight and thinking how exciting it was to be up so late. When the door creaks open quiet footsteps are careful to wake no one who sleeps. I rub my eyes and say I only got up to use the bathroom. But I stayed up to see her and she sits with me for awhile. Rubs the growing pains out of my legs and then settles down to read on of her mystery books until I finally drift off to sleep.

I jerk myself out of long ago memories, surprised to find wet cheeks. I go inside and light candles. The flames waver as I breathe out and then dance back up, casting shadows on the wall. Their glow of light has a beauty that electrical lights have never imitated. In the soft light of the candles the whole world - including me - seems that much more okay, more peaceful and at ease in a way that nothing ever is in the bright, revealing light of the day. It is why I love the night so. The darkness seems to encourage the letting down of barriers, showing one’s true self. I feel safe, wrapped in a cloak of darkness and faraway pinpoints of light.

Finally at 2 a.m. I climb into bed. By then I am so tired that I sink into the pillow with a sigh of content. The cool night air comes through my window and I snuggle farther under the covers. Sleep and dreams, angry for being so long denied their claim on me during these hours, rush to fill my mind. I willingly surrender. Goodnight.

More people need to post!!!!

Clare

A call for teenage girl writers

I just saw an article about how Amy Goldwasser from New York magazine is looking to put together a book of nonfiction from teenage girls. You can read about it here

I'm here to help.

I wrote this in the 7th grade, about 4 years ago, either for or relating to Language Arts class. I've changed the last line a little over the years, but this is the poem in it's original form. (You'll see what I mean.)
--------------

A teacher once said with glee,
"We must torture the students, you see.
A five hour long test
Will be a real pest
We'll call it the EOG."
--------------

Too bad there's no way to make the last line work with "10th grade writing test".

Sorry for not having too much original/current stuff to post right now. Apparently, stressing out about English essays, math competitions, and writing tests shuts down my inspiration. Maybe on Wednesday....

Where is Lee's poem?

I see a rough draft in there. When do we get to see the stunning final product?

Also, why hasn't Meghan given us a glimpse of her intellect? What's the deal, yo?

Am I being to insistant?

0kay, I found this story awhile ago. I think I wrote it when I was about 9 or 10. I just felt I had to share it with you guys. I didn't really edit it because there isn't much I can change without it losing some of what I feel makes it interesting to read.

Not the Brightest Person in the World

Clare

One day, while Rachel was riding her bike, she saw a car behind her, so she went over to the side of the road to let it pass. But the car slowed down, as though it were waiting for her to continue, so she kept riding. The car followed her all the way home.

As the car was leaving, whoever was in the car rolled downt he window and dropped something out. As soon as the car was out of sight, Rachel ran over and picked up the piece of paper that had been dropped.

She unfolded the paper and read the message. It said:

Go to the new bench in Grayson Park.

So Rachel went.

There, on the bench, was another piece of paper. On that piece of paper was a strange picture. It was and eagle on a rock inside a tent. At first Rachel was puzzled by the picture, but then she realized that it probably meant for her to go to Eagle Rock Camp. After all, the first message had told her to go somewhere, so why shouldn't this one?

But since it was late,she decided to wait until the next day.

The next morning she went to Eagle Rock. As soon as she stepped through the gates, she suddenly felt strong arms grab her. She tried to scream but a hand clamped over her mouth. Then everything blacked out.

When Rachel woke up, she couldn't move, and there was a gag over her mouth.

She guessed that the people in the car had lured her here to capture her. But why?

Two men in dark suits and sunglasses came in and turned on the light. As soon as they entered, Rachel went,"Mmm! Mmm!" Then one of the men took off the gag, and she said,"Why am I here?"

The other man laughed and said, "You aren't the brightest person in the world, are you?

"Well, I go to school!" Rachel said angrily.

"I mean you have no common sense. We work for the local nuthouse. We watch everybody, and if they are nutty enough, we leave notes. If they are stupid enough to follow them, we put them in the nuthouse."

"Well, I still don't get it!" replied Rachel. "I'm not a nut!"

"Yes, you are. What about that time you hit a ball over the fence in softball and you ran home -- literally?"

"Well, that was my first year!"

"No, it wasn't. It was your fifth year. We've been watching you."

"Oh well," grumbled Rachel,"I guess I'll go with you. I mean, I won't have to go to school anymore."

So they went. and the men continued their job, while Rachel lived in the nuthouse.

The End

Another poem

I'll post what I read at our last meeting for the benefit of those who did not appear.

Ohio Sunset

A campground
in the middle of a corn field.
My world is blue from light
coming through the tent.
Collected dew runs down
my arm with a touch.

The campground is coming to life.

A fat man is chopping kindling,
his rhythm like a giant sloth woodpecker,
power lines that cut through the grounds
crackle like a million bees moving at light speed,
a locomotive whistles under the horizon,
songbirds everywhere.

The children in the next lot stayed up late.
They are stirring, exploring
while their parents sleep off their Busch beer.
The kids are dirty, laughing, squealing
in different stages of dress.

I watch the unwashed munchkins
walk down to the pond.
They chase a small gaggle of ducks
while laughing and laughing and laughing
until their hungover father tells them
to shut their traps.

Just a thought

I make no bones to being a poet with anything but average talent but we was talking about revising once and I have revised this thing at least a dozen times. I even changed a few words as I was transcribing it just now. I can't stress revising enough, it's what turns a good idea into a great poem or story.

One more thing

If you are posting a poem here try and transcribe it rather than cutting and pasting it. I think as you type it in you will find words you want to add and subtract and line breaks you will want to change.

There is a new crisis relating to writing going on in CMS.

As most of you probably know, there is a writing test that each 4th, 7th and 10th grader must take. It is quite poissbly the most awful, counter-productive test known to man. Previously, I and many others quitly suffered through this mostosity. It didn't have much impact on our grade and it was easier to just write some BS than to do anything about it. Until now.

This year, the 10th grade wrting test counts for 25% of the students' final english grades. This is so amazingly absurd that I almost think it must be a hoax. My problem is not so much the large possiblity of getting a bad grade (grading writing is sucha subjective thing) but that this shows that they are putting a large amount of stock in this test. Half of me wants to rise up, protest, change things.

Th other half says there's no way it will make a difference.

And around the U.S. thousands more potential writers were discouraged and squashed in their prime. Out from the wreckage march the mindles drones our socirty prizes so highly.

Sorry for the melodama. This makes me very angry.

Clare

Quick post, I just wanted to say I'm sorry I wasn't at the meeting. I took a nap after school and overslept. I could have come late but I was very, very grumpy and by the end of the meeting someone would've been dead. It made me sad. I was looking forward to this meeting. Oh well, there's always next time!

Disappearing poem?

Where did Grace's last poem go? Why have we been denied?

Argh...criticize away. Even you, Leah!
WARNING: This was writen for Lang. Arts class, and also was written INSIDE the classroom. On demand. I just thought it sounded kinda cool.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Ode to Clovers

In spring the small green plants unfold,
filling the air with sweet scents.
They force their way out, wild and bold,
they grow, they grow, they grow,
soaking in kind sunlight,
taking in the water sprinkled onto the soil
for the flowers.
I crouch beside the patch
and pluck a few,
soon to be tied into a necklace.
Now I rifle through them,
searching for that special little
four leafed one.
Round white flowers
sprout up beside the leafy green plants,
and bees swarm to them.
Clover honey will soon be made
while I sit,
inhaling fresh green scents,
in a sea of my favorite color.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Sooooo...I did get two compliments on it. One was the teacher, who I think felt compelled to write "beautiful" on every paper, but the other one was more impressive. A kind of friend of mine, who sits on the other side of the room, so I was almost positive she hadn't even heard it, said that she thought it was really pretty.

To be exact, I have two favorite colors, blue and green. Original, I know. I have to be the only person on this whole planet whose favorite colors are green and blue.

I really do love clover. They might be my favorite scent in the world, and they're so pretty, the flowers and the plants. I also like how wild they are. They don't need to be cared for, they're strong enough to live independently.

I don't think I mentioned enough about the white flowers, and the second sentence goes on maybe a bit too long. Do you guys think it's okay?

Read at your own peril. This was written by an unexperienced twelve year old who is better at prose. Actually, it was technically written by an eleven year old....Oh, and it's free verse.

Clear blue sky,
dark grey clouds,
vaulting happiness reaches so high,
low black heavens.
Meaningless meanings,
yet sweet and bright.
Meaningful meaningless,
great and no light.
Sun-kissed dancing ,
twisting of words,
honest and brutal,
but not quite cruel.
Not one but two-
what to choose.
Plunging and deep
or carefully mended, but not shallow.
Care for each other or
fend for yourself;
pipe dream or else
an eternal truth.

Okay, I'm no good at poetry. So constructive criticism, please...I need it. Still not good at this. I think I need to lengthen it, too.

EDIT: Oops, sorry. Accidentally deleted it. I'm still not entirely comfortable with this site. Now I have to post it again....

Hello, hello. This is a poem I wrote. It's about this guy I know at school, only the relationship I have with him is a bit odd. You can kinda get it from the poem I think.

His tough guy demeanor breaks only a little.
"I just wish one person in my family had
some decency."

We talk, exchanging sarcastic retorts,
witty comments, comparing our woes;
emotional baggage.

I watch him walking away,
trenchcoat blowing in the wind, wishing
I understood him.

We, two lost souls on paths beginning
to diverge, both through seemingly
impenetrable briars.

Digging deeper into our sarcastic retorts,
witty comments, he says he lives for
the humor.

For him it is the only constant thing,
for me the most effective defense,
we are alone.

I, living inside the system, dying a little
each day. Biding time until my
freedom.

He, lashing out, laughing at rules,
the world holds no restraint --
until it does.

He'll come back for another day,
another round, matching wits, until
he disappears.

I do not know what happened
this time. I do not know if he's
returning.

Yeah...I'm not gonna bore you with all the details of the odd relationship unless you ask.

Also, I demand comments and constructive criticism! CONSTRUCTIVE CRTICISM!!! We don't really have much of a chance to do that at the meetings. However, with this we have a chance to and we are bloody well going to take it.

Clare

Note: Edited to incorporate some of Ed's suggestion, possibly not like he meant it, but I like it!

Howdy

I see one person has joined. I guess I'll put up some content just to get to get the ball rolling.

I wrote this back in December. Just a little childhood memory.

Strangers, X and Y

Kids we don't know
in the pines
atop the tall bank
next to the road.

Summer kids.
City kids.

We're being stalked by strangers
because my brother said
a swear word to them
as we rode away
from the corner store.

They didn't have faces then
they are more obscure now.

I remember a girl being with them,
pretty.

A charge out of the woods
ferocious pedaling
a hand grabs the seat
of my bike.
We are away.

Terrified, relieved, then jubilant
my brother lets go of the handlebars
turns around and gives them the finger.

He says another swear word.

This is only a test

Really.