Thanksgiving. (Yesterday's Account.)

I am thankful for my family, (though we are reeling from loss).
I am thankful for my life, (though I am hurting).
I am thankful for the roof over my head, (though it's painful to be home).
I am thankful for my health, (though I've had a cold this week).
I am thankful for my books, (though I can't escape myself completely in them anymore).
I am thankful for my college, (though it is painful to be there, as well).
I am thankful for --
For --

I am thankful for my faith and belief in God and Jesus, (because without that, I would truly go mad.)

Angel (left), Tumble (right)

English Classes

I sit through
English 108:
Women and Literature.
More like
Women and War.

Greek soldiers,
Mrs. Dalloway,
countless women refugees

Somewhere,
deep within,
a tree creaks under the weight
of
death,
grief,
violence,

I should have --
dropped the class?
But the thought goes
unfinished

Because
it weighs
heavy and silent,
but so, too,
weighs the thought
that perhaps I
should join these authors
some day.

--JDM,
The Girl Who Sits Silent and Listens.

Poetry and Other Stuff

So, I'm still reading Narnia -- the reason I didn't post Monday. But I'm back now. =D

I don't have too much to say. I've got links to my pinterest and tumblr and twitter -- I happen to repin or reblog a lot of cats, flowers, random-fandom stuffs, and whatever I think is funny. I can have a weird, nerdy sense of humor.

I might eventually begin posting arguments on here. Argumentative essays. I'm taking AP language, and I need to know things like how to construct and deconstruct an argument. So, I'll need practice; and y'all will be my guinea pig audience. (Hopefully you're not actual guinea pigs behind the screen. I kinda imagine this rodent army of guinea pigs staring at the screen, eating my words up. It's kind of a creepy mental image.) Don't worry, I'll steer clear of sensitive topics, or political topics or disturbing social norms or whatever you feel like calling them.

But other than that, there's not much to say. so I wrote some poems the other day, and I decided to share one with you. Don't know why.

Inky Starlight

On a clear night,
When the stars glisten like
Drops of white ink
On black paper;
I go outside,
Sit in my backyard,
Staring up at the brilliant mystery.
And I take my glasses off,
To see the moon properly,
Big and fuzzy:
The friendly moon of my childhood.


(Do they even make white ink?) This is not my favorite work. But it is my work, so I love it. (Wow, I think I just paralleled Stephen Crane there, with his poem on the creature who ate his heart.)

Anyways, I don't... really have anything else to say. Just wanted to let you know I'm not dead. I'm still coming up with writing stuffs. And, have a blessed Wednesday!

Follow Friday #33

Follow Friday is a weekly meme hosted by Alison Can Read and Parajunkee.

Q: Write a letter to your favorite character. Rant, rave, or gush... just pretend like they are real and you just want to let them know a "few things".

Dear Emily Strange,

You. Are. Awesome. 'Nuff said.

You are a genius; you are a weird genius, who knows how to build a golem and an amnesia machine and a duplicator; you are an antisocial genius, who is destined to become a Dark Aunt with magical black rock...

In my book, you are one of those few lady characters who was written right. I love how you can invent the best things ever -- like, as I mentioned, a duplicator -- and how you have the wierdest, randomest talents.

I don't know why more people wouldn't want to be friends with a cat-loving, skateboard master, sewer-mural-painting prankster such as yourself. Their loss.

Sincerely,
JDanielleM.

(*Emily the Strange: the Lost Days by Rob Reger. Published: 2009 by HarperTeen. It's worth reading, guys.*)

On Poetry

I have nothing planned. So I wrote a poem for you:

 

Thy Infinity

 

Indigo swirls

I cannot see the end

Or is it the bottom?

Everywhere the same

Underneath me, above, around

But at least it is

A fascinating color.

 

 

Poetry is not my strong point. I'm still doing nanowrimo, so don't judge me too harshly. (I haven't dropped out yet! I am so proud. I dropped out long before this last year.) I'm up to 35,000 words, despite the homework piling up around my ears.

 

Not to mention my cat's kittens (they are about four or five weeks old now) are starting to climb out of their box. There are three of them, but only two are climbing around, squealing and distracting me from writing. The third is a runt, who I have to feed replacement milk every other hour: he is so adorable. I named him Woodstock (after the little yellow bird from Charlie Brown) and I feed him every other hour. (Or so.)

 

Nothing else to say, really. I started reading The Book Thief (Markus Zusak). I may or may not have a review for that on Monday. Other than that... have a blessed day. (And a blessed Thursday, since I don't post on Thursdays.)

 

:D

Halloween Writings and Nano

Happy Halloween! Or Happy Recoverings, if you were hit by Hurricane Sandy. (We were all set for power outages and crazy winds here, but we were lucky. Not even a flicker in the lights.)

Also, for those participating in Nanowrimo like me, good luck! Or, Merry Writings! (Gracious wisdom, that sounded like something Charles Dickens would say.)

To celebrate, and as a warmup for tomorrow, I'm posting a short spiff today. It's written right this second, off-the-tip-of-my-tongue. It's not a short story, perhaps not even a scene, but it's writing. Sorry for anything amiss.

The lone black cat stared through the window in the chilly light of dawn. Outside, nothing stirred -- not the people in the houses that lined the other side of the road, not the stray cats and dogs sleeping under bushes, not the birds in the trees. No light shined from the street lamps; it was too dark to see properly, but not dark enough to call night anymore.

The only sign of life was the flickering light from under one of the bushes in her front yard. The fairy light danced, tempting her, but the cat refused to budge. It was her job to watch and protect, not play with fairies.

As dawn bled into morning, the cat flicked her ears. Halloween -- the most important day of the year. Inch-tall figures walked out from under the bush, fairies with fragile wings and nature nymphs with green skin. Busy humans, waking up to work or go to school, passed by the little figures, oblivious to their presence.

Whenever one of the little figures outstepped her bounds, the cat growled, and the little creatures' sensitive ears picked up the warning. They stayed, always, within thirteen feet of their burrow under the bush.

One of the little figures ignored the black cat's warning. The little fairy, glowing blue stepped over the invisible line, looking curiously at the humans passing by. A little human, no more than five years old, spotted it.

In a flash, the black cat bounded away from the window, along the hallway, out the front door. She pinned the offensive fairy to the ground and meowed, more to appease the human boy's curiousity than to punish the little figure underneath her paws.

After the human ambled away, the black cat brought her face up close to the fairy.

"Remember the pact, Little Figure," the cat hissed, with something akin to worry in her words. "It's there for a reason."

"What reason?" the fairy challenged. It was a young fairy, barely an adult, and didn't figure much for a mysterious, centuries-old pact she had nothing to do with.

"To keep the humans from pinning all of you like butterflies," growled the cat. She refused to say more, feeling her duty to protect was fulfilled. She walked back to her perch in the window.

As the day wore on, none of the little figures stepped over the line again. One day of freedom they have, but it was worth keeping that one day than trading it for no freedom at all. By nightfall, the magical little creatures had tired their dancing and gawking, and slipped once again into their otherworldly burrow for another year.

Have a lovely, spooky Halloween!

Wednesday Spiff (On Ghosts)

So, my short piece of writing. I don't want to call it a short story, because it kind of isn't; now that I think of it, it's more of a scene. I just wrote it to write. (In a way, it was a sort of writing prompt: just a way of saying, "look! I wrote something today!")
-----------------------------

       The faint crunch of boots in snow and of children laughing were all that could be heard. Inside, next to the window sill, the little girl kept cutting folded paper into the shapes of snowflakes.

"Watcha doin' there, honey?" her mother asked. She bent of the little girl, watching her struggle with the big-girl scissors.

"I'm making art," she answered happily. Her dark pigtails bounced as she looked up at her mother.

"Mamma, do you think the Big People will sell them in their museums?"

"Sure they would," her mother lied. She changed gthe subject. "How about we go into the kitchen and make some hot chocolate?"

      The little girl stood up and walked into the next room, momentarily distracted from her work. A teenage girl, who had been standing invisible peered at her little sister's snowflakes still scattered about the floor.

      Among the clumsy paper snowflakes was a green one with an indistinguished pattern. On it was written "Chandra" in silver Sharpie. She picked it up, smiling at her sister's innocence.

"Mamma, can Chandra have some have some hot chocolate, too?" came the little girl's voice from the other room. Her mother's voice, when it came, sounded choked.

"Now, Clara, we know that Chandra isn't here, remember? I told you all about how God wanted her to stay with Him for awhile."

"Yea, but she's back! Mamma, I saw her."

      The overheard exchange left Chandra depleted. As her energy faded, her body did as well, until the snowflake fell through her fingers to the floor. She wished her mother could believe in ghosts: the faith kept her solid for awhile longer.

     The sound of Clara's footsteps clattered across the kitchen tiles and back into the living room, where her snowflakes waited for her. The invisible Chandra floated on light feet to the doorway. Her mother took no notice as she swept through Chandra's spirit and back towards her living daughter.
------------

 It kind of feels representational of my voice, and I write using more or less the same voice in my novel-writing, so feedback would be nice (to avoid similar mistakes while I'm writing my novel). It looks a lot shorter in my post than it does on lined paper.

Anyways, have a blessed 1st Day of August (and a blessed Wednesday, for that matter). Don't forget to write! <3

I decided this post needed a picture. So I found a flower in the public domain, through Google/Creative Commons.