Aoede

I'm giving it a third post.  And if I still don't feel like it's going somewhere, I'll try an wrap it up.  Or give some clue as to what happens to the protagonist.

~*~

Jane sat at her desk, tapping her pen against her teeth.  The window was open, letting sun and fresh air stream into the room.  "I can't believe I talked myself into this!  I mean, I don't even really believe that Muse person."  She sighed and leaned back, glaring at the page in front of her.  While she had a few lines, it wasn't anything she felt confident about.  "A sweeping expanse of barren earth / a fallow field waiting / for the rain that doesn't come / it's flowers waiting to grow..."

Aoede came up behind Jane and looked at the lyrics.  "These are a good start.  It feels almost like you're writing about your lack of inspiration."  Jane jumped and her shoulder smacked the demigodess in the nose.  The Muse reeled back, clutching her face.  Jumping up, Jane rushed over to her and tried to pull her hands away.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!  Let me see... well, actually, let me go get a towel."  Jane rushed off and Aoede watched her from the corner of her eye.  Removing her hands from her face, the Muse plopped herself down into Jane's chair and closed her eyes.  She leaned back and steepled her fingers.  Opening her senses, she used her magic to examine the lines on paper.  They had potential, but needed work.  And melody, but that would have to come separately.

Jane came back, holding a damp towel in her hands, to find Aoede in her chair.  "Are you alright?  I didn't mean to hit you."

Reeling her magic back in, Aoede looked at the other woman.  "Yes, I'm fine, thank you.  I was just thinking about your lyrics."

What is...

In my poetry writing class, we did exercises where we had to take intangible/abstract concept (like rage, luck, freedom, or mercy) and personify it in a poem.  The idea still holds merit, even if I really don't want to admit it.  I'll post up my rage and luck poems to give you an idea of what I'm doing before I write up one about another.  Which I won't announce until I actually write it.  Sounds fair to me.

Oblivious

Rage, the sneaking assassin,

Blade glinting in the night,

Target - oblivious and uncaring.

With a swift, silence

Vicious!

Thrust

The victim finds itself

Impaled by a hand-span

Of frigid metal

Fickle Indeed

A lady stands behind you

Face gray and indistinct

Sternly, solely, interested in

The game of mumblety-peg

She is playing with your hands

For this is Lady Luck

Who stands staring over

Your shoulder

So you see what I mean.  At least I hope you do.  For today's exercise in waxing poetic, I shall attempt to compose a poem about zeal.  (Which, some of you may remember, is also the name of my dnd character.  Ha ha!)

Pursuit

A goal is all she requires,

something to fill her with all-consuming PASSION!

She will tell you it's a lust for

life, knowledge, skill

But its what keeps her going from day to day.

It's not a thirst, or a hunger.  It's a drive.

Not always to be great or famous or rich.

And if she finishes one goal, she must find another.

It's not fickle.

And while some admire her drive, her zeal,

it drives others away and strains them near to breaking.

For she walks a knife's edge, following this passion of hers.

So, I think I did alright there.  This entire project is something that lends itself to playing around.  Regardless, it's done and I'm posting it.

And for those wondering, eventually I'll get around to longer poems.  For now, short ones suit me just fine.  (ie. I need to get back in the swing of things, poetry-wise)  If you have any suggestions on abstract concepts for me to write poems about, please feel free to drop me a love note in the comments.

Special Saturday Sentence Edition

I was having some issues yesterday with blogger, so I decided to put off this segment until today.

A special Saturday post because I know people want to see their paragraphs.  So, without further ado, I shall compose them.

"You will not deny me my red meat, bitch! I’m on my period!"
- Women are such irrational creatures, don't you think?  They get a little emotional and everything goes all to hell!  Can you believe it?  My wife said to me, "You will not deny me my red meat, bitch! I'm on my period!" I just about shit myself.  Do I consider myself a misogynist?  No, of course not, I'm far too open-minded f... Why you waving that curling iron so menacingly?


"Living a lie is like letting life pass you by."
- Living a lie is like letting life pass you by.  You become so caught up in your story that you forget who you are.  You become a victim of your own tangled web.  You have to remember what you told to whom, at what point, and be able to continue the lie at a moment's notice.  Eventually, it all becomes far too much.  Either you contradict yourself or you simply forget.  To be frank, I'm not sure which is worse.  Regardless, each lie strips a bit of the real you away; a piece here, a piece there.  Over time it all adds up, until you are so warped by it all that you can never be the person you were.  Oh, those little white lies are harmless enough.  It's the other lies, the big ones, the constant ones, the stories you invent to make yourself more interested to others, that change you.  And when they're all stripped away, as they eventually will be, what are you left with?

Second Sentence

I did have some fun with this week of sentences.  But I'm doing something different for my writing portion.  You see, last week, I did ones that inspired me.  This week I'm going to open it up to you guys.  Pick which sentence you like most and I, in turn, will choose one or two of those to turn into a paragraph.

March 20

I revel in your poop stories

You will not deny me my red meat, bitch!  I’m on my period!

March 21

The field was riddled with bodies, the soil drenched in blood.

March 22

There lay Leagh, lost, longing for a late love never to live again.

March 23

He fell back against the sheets, skin covered in a sheen of sweat, and waited for his heart to stop pounding.

March 24

Frank threw down his pencil, disgusted that the lines in his drawing just wouldn’t come out the way he wanted them.

March 25

Living a lie is like letting life pass you by.

March 26

“Have I told you lately how much you disgust me?”

Aoede

Aoede sat with her sister, Mneme.  "She doesn't want it, Mneme.  It's not that she doesn't have inspiration so much as lost her desire to compose.  Jane doesn't want to write and I can't figure out why.  I've been watching her for years, helping her.  But a year ago, something happened.  She has ideas, but its like something inside her snapped."

"I remember.  But I don't think she does.  Something feels wrong about the entire thing."  Mneme stood and sighed.  "Tea's ready.  Would you like some?"  Aoede nodded.

~*~

Jane held the glass up to her eyes, the ice inside it clinking softly.  It had just a small bit of amber liquid and not nearly enough for her intended purpose.  Still, she tipped it back and let the whiskey burn down her through.  Slamming the glass back on the table, she got up and went to the cabinet to grab the bottle.  She paused for a moment, her hand reaching for the bottle.

"Just who does she think she is?" sneered Jane.  "Aoede?  What kind of name is that, anyway?  And a muse? A Muse who can't make me do something.  Next she's going to show up again and tell me I need to be willing to be inspied.  Bah!"  Wrapping her fingers on the cool glass, she stumbled back to her chair and flopped into it.  Her vision went a little blurry around the edges as she unscrewed the cap.  She kept pouring until the glass was three-quarters full.  Settling back into the chair, Jane sipped her drink and grimaced.

Why was it, she wondered, that people seemed to be harassing her lately.  Ever since she'd secluded herself a year ago things had gone progressively downhill.  She still had her job, which meant she still had money coming in.  But her friends had stopped coming by, she'd stopped writing music, she'd lost touch with her family.  It just kept compounding.  It was the proverbial slide.  And she couldn't stop it.  She didn't feel particularly different, or depressed, or whatever.  So why had it all changed.  Jane took another sip of her drink.

"Maybe... just maybe that Aoede person had something right.  I should pick up a pen and try writing some lyrics, at least.  But... no.  It won't do me any good.  I'll just end up throwing it out.  Might as well not every try."  She sighed and closed her eyes.

~*~

Not sure where this is going.  Don't know if I'll continue it.  It's an interesting idea, but I'm not feeling like it really captures my interest.  The first part did, but this second one?  Not so much.  Maybe I'll post up some sections of my story from NaNoWriMo and continue with that.  Give me a chance to reread it and figure out what I want to be doing with it.

Sparkling Jewels of the Sky

A lightened haze obscures the sky
Most nights around my home,
Or clouds that come bearing rain and snow.

But out in the country,
The skies open up and the blackness
Is pierced by pricks of light

The sparkling jewels
of the sky open before me,
twinkling and smiling and laughing

Gems strung in a crown of
Celestial beauty and majesty
Sometimes appearing in a flash of glory
And fading into the night as if they'd never been
Sometimes they pulse,
Like the beat of a cosmic heart

And my heart would thud with them,
To this slow celestial beat,
If only...

If only I was not stuck
On this light polluted rock

Week of Words

I was talking with Strumpet101 about a week back.  We were discussing how to get ourselves back into the habit of writing and she suggested writing a sentence a day.  Further discussion resulted in the creation of the Sentence Salon.  That's free for anyone to submit sentences.

The entire discussion lead to me keeping a word document for the project.  Every Friday I will give you all my sentences from the week, as well as some paragraphs from those I particularly enjoyed or felt inspired by.  To that end, I give you...  A WEEK OF SENTENCES!

March 13
The rain fell in sheets, pounding on the windows and roof of the house, as lightening slashed the sky.


March 14
“Were you just… crooning love songs to your salami sandwich?” Gen asked incredulously, her voice brimming with barely contained humor.

            “Oooooo salami, you are so tastey!  Salami, salami, deliciously in sandwiches and breads.  Mmm… salami, I love you, I love you, I love yooooooouuuuuu!”  With a twirl and a flourish, Francis knelt and cradled his sandwich to his chest.

            “Were you just… crooning love songs to your salami sandwich?” Gen asked incredulously, her voice brimming with barely contained humor.  Francis whirled around to stare at her, a deer caught in the headlights.

            “Uh… no, well, yes.  I was.”  Gen doubled over, laughing until tears rolled down her cheeks.


March 15
Light from spelunker’s headlamps refracted through the gigantic crystal formation before them, a breathtaking rainbow array in a cavern that had never seen natural light.


March 16
If you had to choose between going to Europe or Asia, you’d better be willing to live with your choice.


March 17
They say, when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.


            They say, when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.  It doesn’t.  And what they don’t tell you is that you realize you’re just a single drop of water in the ocean.  You can make any protestations of grandeur, wealth, and importance you want.  You can claim that people love you, will miss you, admired you, whatever.  But when it comes right down to it, you don’t mean a damn thing.  You never did.  That’s why death is the great equalizer.  Not because of some antiquated notion that you reach heaven or enlightenment.  It’s because you lose everything and become nothing.  It’s black, it’s cold, and it’s lifeless.  So, then, why am I here telling you this?


March 18
“If I were James Bond, I’d kick your ass and love your womens.”


March 19
When good bombs go bad, things have a tendency to explode.


If any of these inspire you, feel free to use them as story starts.  I also encourage everyone to submit to the Sentence Salon!

Aoede

It feels a bit like I've already used up my muses time for today.  But you won't see the results of that until Friday. :D  I promise, it will be interesting.  But this is a writing blog.  So write I shall!

---_---_---_---_---_---_

"I'm Aoede, a Muse.  You know, a Greek goddess who inspires, source of knowledge, and all that.  What, you don't believe me?  Alright, what do I have to do to prove it to you?"  Aoede pushed her glasses higher on her nose, her eyebrows rising in question.  The skinny woman before her took the cigarette from between her lips and, exhaling, extinguished it.  Leaning back in her chair, the woman looked pensive.


She didn't believe the woman before her was actually a goddess, whatever religion or culture she claimed to be from.  A muse surely wouldn't present him- or herself in person, certainly not to her.  Jane hadn't had a muse in years, nothing to inspire her craft.  With a snort, she spoke in her raspy voice, "So you're a muse, h..."


"Not muse.  Muse.  Capital 'm,'" Aoede interrupted.


"Yeah, yeah, whatever.  Muse, muse.  It's all the same.  I haven't had one in years.  So, then, what purpose do you have here?"


"I'm here to inspire you.  You've a gift that you have neglected for far too long."


"And how do I know you're not just someone trying to scam me out of more money, here to steal my ideas and profit from them?  You know what you can do to convince me, to prove your claim?  Make me write a song, a brilliant and moving piece that will make me independently wealthy."  Jane crossed her arms and looked at Aoede expentantly.


Aoede snorted.  "I can't make you do anything.  You have to want to write, be willing to be inspired.  And even if you are, I can never guarantee that you will make that much money off your piece."


"Then what good are you!" yelled Jane, shotting up from her chair.  "What good are you to me?  NONE!  Get out!  I'll sit here like I always have, doing what I always have."


"You'll be unfulfilled, like you always have."


Yeah, well, we can't all have what we want, can we?  Get out," Jane sighed wearily.  "Just get out.  I don't know how you got it, but don't let it hit you in the ass on the way out."




To be continued?

A Gesture a Day

It's all in the gestures
A smile
A wink
The brush of a friendly hand or
An arm around the shoulders
A kind act, however large or small

Can transform a countenance
Or a day
Or a week
Can save someone's life
Figurative and real

So get in your gesture a day
Not to feel good about yourself
But to pass on your gesture
Down
          the
               line
And maybe, when you need it,
You'll get a gesture, too

(I officially apologize for this being to crappy.  No particular inspiration.  I just penned it down and sent it out.)

Renewal

As you can see, I have deleted the other posts on this blog. That is because I have decided to give it a fresh start.

You see, lately my mom has been pestering me about not writing. "You say you want to be writer, but you never write anything!" That kind of stuff. And that is true. I haven't written anything for myself since I gave up on NaNoWriMo in November. I regret letting the story drop because I liked it. But I was in a rut and couldn't seem to get myself out. That seems to be a recurring problem with my story writing. (My mom thinks I make a better poet anyway, but I'm not convinced.)

So, here we have a blog that is starting to collect dust from disuse. My other one I won't change because it's a different style of writing from my normal and I can use it for interviews and stuff. If anyone is interested in seeing it, let me know and I can give you the address. BUT back to the main point.

I have summarily decided that, starting next week, I will turn this blog into a writing blog. I will try to stick to a 2-3 post per week schedule, but I am notoriously terrible when it comes to blogging. Still, here's the warning. Keep coming back if you want to read what my creative side has to say.

See you next week!