Grey Area: Stories of a Girl in the Inbetween

Edited Porfolio

2006-05-22T09:53:00.000-07:00

"Sundays" is now in my portfolio

Edited Portfolio

2006-05-08T09:24:00.000-07:00

Epiphany, Sweet Satisfaction, and Forced Poetry all have been put in semi-manuscript format

Edited Portfolio

2006-04-27T09:41:00.000-07:00

Please switch "Ryan and Nickoli" with "Waffles and Chatty Cathy."

Both "Waffles and Chatty Cathy" and "Ryan and Nickoli" were updated

Thanks

2006-04-17T09:12:00.000-07:00

Thank you for coming to speak to us on Thursday. I found what you told us to be informative, and inspiring. You answered a lot of my questions (quite literally), and I thought it was cool that you spent the time to actually figure out the Capitol Metro bus system to be able to come down here. That is a feat in of itself that many people from here don't even know how to do. I'll definantly keep my eyes open now to find more inspiration.

2006-04-12T09:13:00.000-07:00

Witch-Wife
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

She is neither pink nor pale,
And she never will be all mine;
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,
And her mouth on a valentine.

She has more hair than she needs;
In the sun `tis a woe to me!
And her voice is a string of coloured beads,
Or steps leading into the sea.

She loves me all that she can,
And her ways to my ways resign;
But she was not made for any man,
And she never will be all mine.

I like how she is aware the woman isn't hers, yet she speaks of her as if she is. She makes the subect of the poem sound like a doll, made of this thing or that thing "not made for any man" but yet "she never will be all mine." It's short and sweet and to the point, but you can see a much longer story that may lie underneath.

Questions for Eddie

2006-04-11T09:21:00.000-07:00

In the article for your play "Lucky", you mentioned people shouldn't need to put a label on themseves sexually, especially when they're young because they may later have to go back and change that label. How much of this attitude translates into all of your works, if it does appear in everything that you write?

Is there a piece of work that you've started that by the end of it not only was it the story you wanted, but it actually was a decent piece of writing? Was it something that was published?

Where is the one place you suggest that every writer should go at least once to try and gain some inspiration for their works?

Testing out the Template//Temporary Portfolio

2006-03-21T09:26:00.000-08:00

Allison White
This portfolio is to show how creative my writing is.
Section 1 - My best work
The following pieces are three that I have put my blood, sweat, and tears into. I am proud of what they turned out to be, and hope you can see why I am so satisfied with them.

Ryan and Nickoli
Short story about two highschool sweethearts see each other again for the first time at their ten year reunion. Although they have gone through great changes, they begin to find a way to be in each other's lives again.
Lizzy
Short story about a girl's dislike for a nick name, and why that came to be.
Sundays
Non-Fiction short story about my step brother's death and funeral.

Section 2- My Range
This is where I show all my different styles of writing. It'll give insight on why they aren't up in section one.

Waffles and Chatty Cathy
Short screenplay about two friends who exchange stories of their bad mornings, and resolve the issues throughout the day. Co-Writer Emma Murray.
Sweet Satisfaction
Short story about conflict within a relationship.
Epiphany
Short humor piece on everyday realizations.
Forced Poetry
Poem about my views on poetry that must be in a certain form with defined rules.

Section 3- My Process
Here, you'll get to see the painful process some of my pieces of work have to go through before I'm happy with them. In this case, it is also one of the stories I think is one of my bests, Lizzy.

Lizzy-
Rough Draft
Revision(s) with comments
Final piece
Short essay describing their personal writing process

Overall, I like this template. It makes things easy to find for someone who may be looking. Looking at this, it helped me decide which pieces of work I want out there for somebody to read, and which things will probably be best left to rot right now.

2006-03-06T09:07:00.000-08:00

"Did you ever finish your college essay, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth sighed at the sound of her mother's voice. Barely even two and a half steps out of her bedroom, and was was being bombarded about her future. Putting in the earpieces as she made her way into the kitchen, Elizabeth chose to ignore her mother. They had discussed the used of the name Lizzy and how that would never. Three years later, her mother still ceased to understand.

"Don't ignore your mother," errupted the grumpy lump known as her step father from the couch he usually tried to reign the house from. The white semi circle fell from her right ear, blasting music from some band that she had discovered from Myspace.

"I told you not to call me Lizzy," Elizabeth replied coldly as she went on with unloading the dishwasher. Reaching to replace the earbud so she could drown out the conversation and TV as best as she could possibly manage, a hand caught her wrist.

"Did you send your essay?" her mother demanded. Tugging her arm from her mother's grasp, Elizabeth's cool and indifferent eyes met the ablazed ones infront of her. She tried to ignore the look in her mom's eyes because it only reminded her more why she hated the nick name she insisted on using.

"Let me finish the dishes. You always bitch at me to do them, now I am, and you're not letting me," Thank god her mother chose to ignore the swearing this time.

"Did you send in the essay? I'm only going to ask one more time, Elizabeth, this is your future we're talking about, not just some pipe dream!"

"If you get my acceptance letter," Elizabeth replied softly, "You'll know whether or not if I did. Until then, let me do the dishes ,stop insulting my goals, and don't call me Lizzy." The thought crossed her mind to compare her mother to the man who had left them, and then tried to come back when she was fourteen. Finally having both headphones in place, she went on with her chore.

Three years ago, she was doing the exact same thing, doing the dishes before her parents came home when the phone rang. Without question, Elizabeth picked it up, speaking with whoever felt the need to call them.

"Lizzy, I'm so glad to speak to you."

"Dad? What...why are you calling?" Elizabeth felt the tears whell up in her eyes, "Where did you go? I-I've missed you."

"I know sweetie...is your mother there?"

Elizabeth shook her head, but quickly remembered her father couldn't see her on the phone, "No, she won't be home for a few hours, why? Are you coming back?" Hope filled Elizabeth's voice as she thought about being able to see him again. The visitation had been so crazy, and there were times where he didn't show up because of other things.

"About that...I was calling to speak to your mother about this, but I guess you're old enough now...I've moved."

"Where?" she asked suddenly, "Is it for work? If it's just your job, maybe I can go with--"

"You can't."

"Why no--" Elizabeth was cut off by the sound of someone in the background. And not just someone but a woman, "Oh," she replied before quickly hanging up the phone, throwing it across the room, flinching at the sound of it breaking apart. Elizabeth sat down against the wall, sliding down as she burst into tears. All her hopes and dreams of her parents getting back together she knew were gone.

Time flew by faster than Elizabeth gave it credit for, and soon heard her mother's rushed footsteps on the floor to her, crouching down to her.

"Lizzy, what's wrong baby?" she asked, reaching for her baby girl. Pulling away violently from the touch, Elizabeth glared at her mother, silent verbally, but she knew something was being communicated, "Lizzy, what...what's wrong, what happened?"

"He's not coming back!" she sobbed, "There's someone else now, and he's not coming back and he's not going to take me...like you promised, you promised he would take me and he won't!" Elizabeth's mother moved to comfort her again, but it was in vain. Getting up quickly, Elizabeth kept out of reach, "Don't call me Lizzy, he calls me Lizzy, and he's not coming back."

Eddie De Oliveira--to invite or not to invite

2006-03-01T09:43:00.000-08:00

Personally, I love Eddie's book "Johnny Hazzard". I felt I could relate to the writing, and that this wasn't just some story, but a really interesting story about someone my own age. It feels real, and it's been a while since I've read a book that's felt real to me.

I definantly think we should invite Eddie to speak. He's so young for a writer, and it would be great insight on how hard you truely have to work to get your stuff out there. I'd like to hear from someone who truely knows how much blood, sweat, and tears they had to put into their project to make it the book I now want my hands on today.

His form of character development is a nice mix of telling and showing. He's definantly there, spelling it out for you, but it peppers it with some showing, so you aren't stuck extremly bored, wondering when some action is going to come along. It blends well, and makes you thirsty for more.

Unfinished first draft.

2006-02-17T09:09:00.000-08:00

Before his baby brother and the marriage, Z thought his step father was really cool. His step father played the father role for him, and it seemed to be a real good situation. That quickly seemed to go away as soon as he had his wife and his baby on the way. Z was no longer important in his eyes. Z was forced to sleep on a seperate floor than the rest of the family, and his step father became controlling over the craziest things.

When Z was seven, he had the sudden urge to sleep on the floor instead of his bed. Feeling the need for permission, he asked his step father. For the simple satisfaction of having control, he told Z not to. Despite this instruction, when it came to be time for bed, Z laid down on the floor and went to sleep.

At one AM the door opened to reveal Z's step father. Being picked up by his wrist, Z awoke suddenly from the force, and had to go through a beating.

2006-02-16T18:08:00.000-08:00

I interviewed my friend "Z" for my narritive. These are his responces.

Questions:

1) Think of a time where you felt a certain emotion for the first time. What was it, and how do you think it affected you?

Anger or Shock. When I was seven, I wanted to sleep on the floor. I asked my step father if I could, but he told me no. I did so anyway, and at one in the morning he came in and started to beat me.

2) Without that expereience, what type of person do you think you would be today?

I think I would be weaker. Without that happening, I wouldn't have any strength, and I wouldn't be able to stand up for myself at all.

3) Is there anything you wish to accomplish in this lifetime that you're afraid you won't be able to do? Why do you feel that way?

Back handsprings or backflips. It was scary and weird going backwards. I was always afraid I would break my neck.

4) What is the one thing you want the world to know about you? How would you want to get the message across?

That I'm complicated. I'd get the message across by...being complicated.

5) If you were to die tomorrow, how would you want to die?

I've always wanted to commit suicide by drowning in a bathtub full of quicksilver, so then when someone discovered my body, they would go crazy from the fumes. If it was a murder, being hit by a meteor or an alien space ship.

6) Do you believe in destiny? What do you think yours has in store for you if you do? Why do you think people believe in them so heavily if you don't?

I would say I believe in destiny, but at the moment, I'm unsure of what it has instore for me.

7) If given the choice, would you rather live in ignorant bliss, unaware of the corruption around you, or in miserable clarity, seeing everything for what it really is?

Miserable Clarity. I hate being lies and being lied to. I like to see everything for what it is. I feel that knowledge is more important than happiness.

8) What is your ideal life? What would you look like? Sound like? Act like? What would you do for a living, and what would be your marital status?

I'd have to say a boyfriend and more money. I basically have my ideal life right now. I moved out so I could have control of everything.

9) What is a bigger insult to you; Being ignored by your peers, or not getting the credit you deserved from society?

Ignored by my peers would be a bigger insult to me.

10) Do you feel like that in the end your life will matter? If so, to how many people?

I think I'll matter to a small amount, but how broad view not so much. Exact about is to be announced.

11) Did these questions make you think about certain aspects of yourself that you weren't aware of? Why do you think you have either never explored it before, or choose not to do so often or better?

I'm currently in the middle of a whole bunch of intense emotions and soul searching, so I'm pretty much covering it all right now.

Personal Vignette

2006-02-13T09:08:00.000-08:00

Being sixteen is difficult for any girl, but being sixteen with a secret that could potentially tear up the relationship that a girl has with anyone and everyone is almost devistatingly hard. I had discovered something was different about myself at twelve, hanging out with influential girls, talk about and doing things that made parents cringe. Alot like that movie "Thirteen" but without the piercings and the drinking and the drugs. By fourteen I was pretty much sure of who I was, and now at the age of 16, friends of mine were coming out, and the fire was beginning to rise beneath my feet to follow them out of the closet. It ate at me inside that my mother didn't know something so important to who I was. Earlier in the summer I already had cut myself in frustration of keeping things bottled inside of me. I knew I would have to do it soon before I suffered some other form of punishment for not being honest.

For weeks I felt the worlds bubbling on my tongue, waiting for me to let them escape and to let my mother know that her pride and joy was infact into other girls, but each time they also came out I found something else to focus on-the song on the radio, the car that passed by, whatever topic my mom brought up instead of what I wanted to say. At one point, the window of opportunity seemed wide open since my dad was supposed to go out with friends, but when his plans failed, so did mine.

I seeked solace in a website meant for gay teens, often keeping it buried beneath other windows, because what a way to be outed? I suspected she knew-both about the website, and about me-and I began to try and hide it. Always talking about boys, and how I liked them oh so much. Looking back on it, I would have been better off just being myself. Ofcourse there were close calls, and fears that I wasn't doing a good job, but nothing was brought up, so I felt it was still safe.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. On the way to driver's ed, as my mother turned from the neighborhood onto a main road, and I felt the words explode from me.

"Mom, I'm bi,"

Turning down the volume, she made me repeat it, and with her comment that it didn't really matter to her, I fell into an uncomfortable silence and ackward conversation. So much time spent on how to say it and when, and it was turned into something she didn't really care about, or so I thought. My mind raced on why she wouldn't care about it, it was something abnormal, why was she fine with an abnormality? But it was normal, very normal, especially for kids my age. In some cases, this was a bit late for me to realise this in me.

As I complained to friends about my mother's dismissal, I soon noticed her beside me. Stopping conversations, and pausing the music on my headphones I turned to her. I half expected to be told I needed to do the dishes, or that guests were coming over soon, so I needed to pick up the bathroom, so I awaited her words with a nonchalant look of "whatever, Mom."

"About what you told me earlier in the car," she began. I felt my stomach twist, and two beings sitting on my sholders, one being the raging bull dyke one assumes all lesbians are, the other, the perfectly sweet straight girl who would never think of another woman in such ways as men do. Hushing the fears of what she was going to tell me, I listened on, "I didn't mean to make it sound like I didn't care, I just wanted to let you know that you being that way is as indifferent to me as you telling me you like the color blue over green. I wanted you to know that I am glad you trusted me with this information, and that I will always love you."

Tears stung my eyes and a smile smeared across my face as I teased that she was making me cry before hugging her. I was honest, I was who I was meant to be, and my mom not only knew about it, she accepted me for it.

My Interview Questions

2006-02-02T09:06:00.000-08:00

I am unsure on who I will be interviewing at this point. I'm hoping it is someone I can actually gain some insight on, and I have a few people in mind. If I get my ideal person, they will be a stranger to me because I just met them this week. I actually came up with 11 questions, but I'm not sure I will use them all.

Questions:

1) Think of a time where you felt a certain emotion for the first time. What was it, and how do you think it affected you?

2) Without that expereience, what type of person do you think you would be today?

3) Is there anything you wish to accomplish in this lifetime that you're afraid you won't be able to do? Why do you feel that way?

4) What is the one thing you want the world to know about you? How would you want to get the message across?

5) If you were to die tomorrow, how would you want to die?

6) Do you believe in destiny? What do you think yours has in store for you if you do? Why do you think people believe in them so heavily if you don't?

7) If given the choice, would you rather live in ignorant bliss, unaware of the corruption around you, or in miserable clarity, seeing everything for what it really is?

8) What is your ideal life? What would you look like? Sound like? Act like? What would you do for a living, and what would be your marital status?

9) What is a bigger insult to you; Being ignored by your peers, or not getting the credit you deserved from society?

10) Do you feel like that in the end your life will matter? If so, to how many people?

11) Did these questions make you think about certain aspects of yourself that you weren't aware of? Why do you think you have either never explored it before, or choose not to do so often or better?

18 and counting.

2006-01-23T09:11:00.000-08:00

Walk in the door,
I.D.
Set it down,
write it out,
Initials.
Wait a while,
wait a bit more,
Come in now.
Sit on the edge,
dangle in the limbo,
close your eyes.
Pain comes fast,
hurry up and leave,
Latex and one, two, three,
it rests while I wait.
There, you're done,
look in a mirror,
shiny metal against the creamy carmel skin.

Little Willie Poem

2006-01-18T09:44:00.000-08:00

Late last night a man killed his wife
By stabbing her a bunch with a knife.
He said he was sorry as they took him to jail.
I guess he prefers death than seeing his marriage fail.

Little Willie's prove to be a bit tougher than the mere couplet. Luckily it contained couplets, so the form was easy, but it was the message that had to be put across. It was mentioned that this style is commonly seen in today's music in the form of rap, used to cut people down that the person who is singing/speaking does not like. This poem structure is often used as a form of mudslinging.

Couplet Poem

2006-01-18T09:38:00.000-08:00

I’m not one with the greatest luck,
But 2005 really did suck.
Family, Teachers, and Friends all around,
I put too many people I love into the ground.
I told my father to leave me be,
Just for my step dad to become a bigger ass to me.
Anti-Depressants the doctor gave,
To my mother as I inwardly caved.
Praised that a year had gone by with no self inflicted harm,
I had the hardest time keeping a knife from my arm.
17 years old, my life fell apart,
Maybe at 18 I’ll get a new start

Couplets are the basis of alot of poems, so to write a poem of just couplets was rather easy. As a writer, the only thing I found hard was trying to find rhyming words, although they didn't have to be, I wanted some rhythm. Sometimes using rhyme can make a poem sound childish, but if you stick with WHAT the poem is saying, it can help the message along quite well. I have no problems with this form, and find it to be the easiest since all it truely requires is two lines to make a stanza that don't have to rhyme, but more than likely they do. There is no maximum amount of lines you can do, no determined amount of syllables.

2006-01-09T09:27:00.000-08:00

In the circus of clarity the spirits gaze,
They cough and choke on a purple haze.
They giggle and laugh at the insanity of sobriety,
The spirits praise the intoxicated members of society.

Forced Poetry

2006-01-09T09:06:00.000-08:00

I think that
forced poetry is the worst poetry
it doesn't flow freely off the page,
feeling fanciful as it floats around.
I think that
forced poetry patronizes the
poet, places them someplace painful
and pessimistic.
I think that
forced poetry can turn malicious
and mocking, molding mechanical
matter-of-fact meanings into
miserable mopping maple leaves.
I think that
forced poetry will come out
outwardly candid and carefree
but inwardly is cold, callous,
condescending, curving confused comics
into cynical, cryptic, critics.
I think that
forced poetry is restrained and ridiculing,
reflective of the rude
writer inside.
I think that
forced poetry can be shocking
with its sincere simplicity as
it slips sinister sleepy solemn
thoughts into an unknowing
cerebelum.
I think that
forced poetry is desperate for
emotion, deriving its euphoric
displacement from eroding dandilions
that dance erratcally in the wind.
I think that
forced poetry is hopeful as it
looks for loving, lyrical words to
form it, to give itself a playful,
poem shape.
I think that
forced poetry is optimism in a
pessimistic world- it makes the day
brighter, but it won't help the overall
lampshade of night.
I think that
forced poetry is ridiculous,
secretive, frantic, earnest, hostile
attempts at forcing art out of
apathetic air.

Final Option # 1

2005-12-01T09:45:00.000-08:00

http://www.austinchronicle.com/issues/dispatch/2005-02-18/books_set6.html

This story, Worthy Stories, although it only placed third last year, struck me. I think part of it had to do with the fact that from the beginning I understood who the characters were. Everyone had a name, and a visible personality so you could stop focusing on who was that to get to the actual meat of the story. Although you are never given a name for the narrator, you don't really feel the need to know her. I became enthralled with Zhenya just as the narrator seemed to be, wanting to know about all of the "worthy stories" you're promised in the beginning.

The conflict appears to be the narrator's want to be like Zhenya while still being content that she is who she simply is. She is a writer whose "obvious stories written [are] by an obvious girl," while Zhenya has "dozens of worthy stories" to tell. I liked how the story was about a writer, not a soon to be mother, not some guy who is willing to pay his friend for who knows what sort of thing, but a writer who wishes she was better, which is something I identifed with on the spot. Sure the plot is just about how she admires the girl who wants to marry her brother just so she could stay in America with him, and the stories she has, but it means more to me in a way I can't seem to explain. This story was an easy read while still leaving you guessing, which made it the most enjoyable for me.

Easy Way Out

2005-11-21T09:52:00.000-08:00

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/4454738.stm

I found that randomly, I thought I would share.

Grape Juice Girl

2005-11-21T09:29:00.000-08:00

Grape Juice Girl.

Sitting on a porch swing,

sipping from a sippy cup,

waiting for what the new day brings,

Grape Juice Girl.

Crayons scattered all around,

coloring in her color book,

Purple is the color of her world,

Grape Juice Girl.

gotten too old for the sippy cup,

hell, now she can't just give it up,

dreaming of herself college bound,

Grape Juice Girl.

sitting on a porch swing,

damn, she has all the luck,

waiting for what the next generation has to bring.

Announcement

2005-11-17T09:46:00.000-08:00

Most, if not all of the things I write are false. If something is true, I will make sure to post if that it is. I use first person alot because I find it easier to write. The narrator is not always the writer themselves.

--Ally

Top Ten list with three examples

2005-11-17T09:37:00.000-08:00

I would write something witty here before you went off to read these, but I figured it wouldn't be funny to make a joke about funny things.

Threading a theme through the text.

Contrast what should be with the obviously deficient reality

Murphy’s Laws for Kids
The more you hate spinach, the more likely it is you will have it for dinner.
The more you need to go potty, the harder it is to get your pants down.
If you miss the school bus, it will always be on the day of a field trip or party.
If you spill your milk, the dumb dog won’t lick it up no matter what you promise.
If you use the sofa for a trampoline, you will forget about your muddy tennis shoes until later.
If you have a helium birthday balloon, it will get caught in the ceiling fan.
The more unbreakable a toy is supposed to be, the sooner you will break it.
The harder you try to hide something behind your back, the more likely mom will know.
If you forget to put something away, it will be the carton of ice cream.
The more you try to sit still in church, the more your underwear scratches.
When you have to do you homework before going outside, you will invariably get stuck on the last problem.
The more you try to hurry while getting dressed, the greater the probability that you can’t find socks without holes.
If you kick anything under the bed to hide it, the cat will be sleeping there.
If you remember to wash your hands before eating, the dog will lick you on the mouth.
The more relatives your have in the audience at the school play, the greater the liklihood of forgetting your lines.
If you remember to turn out the lights in the basement, dad will be downstairs.
If you try to flush the goldfish, the toilet will clog and run over.
The more parts a game has, the greater the likelihood that it will get spilled.
Snack food is always on the highest kitchen shelf instead of in the bottom cabinet.
The more you want to go outside and play, the longer it takes to clean your room.
The newer your shoes are, the more rain puddles you will see to tempt you.
If you wake up with a stomachache and fever, it will always be on Saturday.
If Murphy were a kid, he would lose his lunch money.

Build on a ridiculous notion

Mock a public figure

Act like a clown

The heckler

Hurry Up!
Why are we in such a hurry? Would the world really end if we got where we are going 10 minutes later? If it would, couldn't we just leave 10 minutes sooner?
This week I had occasion to travel by plane and watch people - people in a great hurry. They arrive at the airport and are immediately greeted by a line to check their luggage. Because people are so impatient, there is also a line at curbside to check luggage easier and, of course, faster. In this line, there is a charge (okay, "tip") involved, but it is worth it if you are in a hurry to get to the gate and don't want to stop at the ticket counter and stand in one of those time gobbling lines.After finally getting rid of the luggage, it's off to the concourse to find the departing gate. Some people are so impatient, they don't even check baggage at all, but drag it behind them on wheels. "Saves time," they say. "Don't have to wait to get your baggage when you get off." Also, "Don't have to worry about the airlines losing it," a really, big, super-duper time consumer.
So there they go, dragging suitcases on wheels, up ramps, down ramps, over moving sidewalks, up escalators, and down escalators, really saving a great deal of time. If we could collect all the time saved at airports, we could probably extend the end of the world by billions of years!Next comes that horrible time consuming obstacle - the metal detector. Valuable seconds are lost poking purses and luggage thru the conveyor belt. And if spare change or a belt buckle sets off the alarm... Wow! Forget it! The hurried passenger becomes a hostage of the airport security guards for five or more minutes, at least, before being fleeced enough to satisfy the metal detector and security guards that there is no madman with a firearm intent on hijacking the plane.Passing inspection, passengers are free to proceed... and proceed... and proceed... Seems like they will never get there. Why do airports always make the gates for impatient people the last gate at the end of the concourse? It's almost as if they know who is impatient and planned the delay as a cruel joke!
At last, the correct gate is found, and another wait begins. People fidget, they read, they use cell phones, laptop computers, or watch TV, if there is one. Why doesn't the plane get here? Don't airlines know people are in a hurry? Why do they think people fly?
At last the attendants come out. Before they can announce the flight, the suitcase people, who were in too big a hurry to check in at the ticket counter, begin to line up. After all, people in a hurry need to be first!Finally, boarding begins and chaos evokes. Never mind that seats are assigned. People cannot wait, they stand by eagerly waiting for their row to be called so they can rush on the plane. Some don't wait, but cut ahead of others before their row is even called.
On the plane all the aisles are blocked by the early boarders who, of course, have wheeled luggage and are trying to put it in overhead compartments. The other people, who are also in a hurry, are very annoyed by not being able to get to their own seat and put their own wheeled luggage overhead.
Should the flight be delayed in taking off for a few minutes, people begin to fidget, murmur, and look at watches, sure they will never make their connection on time. At the end of the flight, they are out of their seat belts and in the aisles before the plane can stop taxing. Bags are jerked from overhead compartments and impatience evokes until the door is finally opened and the hurry-up people run from the plane pulling their wheels behind them. Yes, it really is too bad there is no way to collect up all the time saved at airports. We could dole it out to the impatient, luggage pulling passengers along with their airline tickets and give them all sorts of time to board.
Guess it wouldn't work, though. They would want to save it in a "frequent time-flies plan" and get preferred seating - ahead of everyone else, naturally.

Give human characteristics to non-humans

Leadership secrets from foreign penguins
Penguins show how leadership by example works
by David Leonhardt
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There's a brand new fitness program at the San Francisco Zoo – a program that sort of just took off on its own without any goals or leadership from the zookeeper. This fitness program is for the birds, but it carries a leadership lesson for all of us.
The birds are penguins. Penguins are supposed to swim. In fact, 46 penguins at the San Francisco zoo have been taking regular dips in the pool to cool off and keep their feathers sleek. Ah, ain't life grand. Lie around, eat, swim, rest, eat, swim, relax, eat, swim.
Until six "bodybuilder" penguins moved in from Ohio. The newcomers jumped into the pool and swam. And swam. And swam. In fact, those six penguins kept swimming laps all day long. Day after day. They must have been using a very effective antiperspirant.
The newcomers would start early in the morning and keep swimming in circles until they would "stagger" out of the pool at dusk. What is most amazing, though, is that the six penguins have convinced the other 46 to join them. Hitherto "society" penguins are now swimming the whole day through like commoners.
What is the secret to the Ohio penguins' success ? I don't speak "penguin" very well, but I think I overheard the following conversation:
"C'mon, what are you, a penguin or a rock?"
"Why, I'm a penguin, of course."
"You don't look like a penguin. All you do is sit around like a rock."
"That's not true. I swim ... sometimes."
"Ha! A true penguin swims all day long. Pepperoni!" SPLASH!!
"Hey. I'm a real penguin, too."
"Who you shouting at, Percy?"
"That swimmer with too much adrenaline in his feathers. He says I'm not a real penguin because I don't eggplant enough."
"Oh, yeah? We'll show him, won't we, Percy?"
"You bet! Uh, how?"
"By out-swimming the showoff penguins." SPLASH!!"
"Oh, oh. I guess I better get swimming right creamy teacups." SPLASH!!
Foreign penguins show their leadership and their penguinhood
OK, so I may be a little off on my translation, but somehow those six penguins changed the entire lifestyle habits of the other 46. The zookeeper is reported by the wire service to have said, "We've completely lost control." The wire story quotes an aquatic biologist as saying she would be more surprised if the six had taught the other 46 how to jump through hoops – something few penguins do in the wild with any success.
The point is not that the 46 penguins have learned to swim, which they had always been doing as a leisurely pastime, but that they are now in full aquatic stampede mode ... and that they were convinced by the other six to change their entire lifestyle. How did the six penguins do it?
Well, I was suspicious about penguins that come from Ohio. Everyone knows that penguins come from Antarctica. Last I could recall, Ohio was nowhere near Antarctica. Sure, it's cold in Ohio this time of year, but not THAT cold. My atlas confirmed that Ohio is indeed still in the United States, not in Antarctica, meaning that these penguins were foreigners, perhaps victims of persecution – refugees from their homeland.
So these foreign penguins have come in and motivated the local penguins to live up to their full ... ah ... penguinhood. What an accomplishment! What success! And what great leadership lessons we can learn from this.
Lesson number one: don't be afraid to try new things and accept outside influences.
Lesson number two: be a penguin not a rock (unless, of course, you are a rock).
And lesson number three: don't give up. If six penguins can whip 46 homebodies into shape, imagine how you could kick-start your own fitness program (or any other goal you set your mind to.)
But don't count on learning success from penguins. Get the Science of Success, not written by penguins.

Build laughs upon laugh

Give silly names to things

Funny faces and weird sounds

Random Quotes I hear in this class

2005-11-16T09:36:00.000-08:00

"It's an oldie, but goldie!"-Seth

"I don't want to be acredited with it, but I don't want you to take all the credit. You can make up a name for me,"

"I know! You can be 'Anonymous Murray'!"-Myself & Emma

"I can't wait for Christmas, I'm going to explode with happiness!"-Emma

Better Luck Next Time

2005-11-16T09:26:00.000-08:00

I stare at something in the room.

Is it funny?

No, ofcourse not. Nothing in here is funny. Emma is funny. Seth is funny (well, only because he is a smart ass). I guess there are people who are funny, but will people find it funny on paper?

Like, if I wrote the thing about Haiku's not having to rhyme, and the responce from Connolly, I bet nobody would laugh, or if they did, it would be because how stupid it was for me to write about it.

I guess I just did....oops.

I wonder if anyone will find this funny. I doubt it, I'm trying to hard. Damn, better luck next time.

Epiphany

2005-11-16T09:07:00.000-08:00

I've noticed a few things about my boyfriend. Like when we go to the mall, I'm the one whining to leave halfway through it. When looking at clothes, he actually worries if a certain color will go with his complextion. I don't even go that far into detail. So now onto shoes.

We seperated, me wandering the vast two, maybe three feet of the size 11 shoes they carry, trying to figure out if Payless is truely worth it anymore. I turn the corner to find what? That's right, my boyfriend seated on one of those little stools (you know with the mirrors to check and see if those shoes make your ankles look fat) trying on the most flamboyantly girliest pink heels I have EVER seen. Before he could see me I quickly took refuge back with my fellow size 11's, desperatly trying to erase the image from my mind. It was then I began to notice, each time he's pushed the envelope a little too close to that imaginary line, I've ran to church, as if my prayers and guilt will erase those deeds.

So I figure in the end, he'll become a fag, and I'll become a nun.

Waffles and Chatty Cathy

2005-11-07T09:25:00.000-08:00

INT. CLASSROOM – DAY – ESTABLISHING SHOT

Students are seated in various places, talking among themselves. CATHY is seen whispering to another student. TOM is seen eating an EGGO WAFFLE. Everyone appears to be exaggeratedly happy except for…

CLOSE UP—

ALABAMA and EMILY are seated side by side; looking as if given their weapon of choice they could kill everyone else in the room.

EXTREME CLOSE UP – ALABAMA’S FACE

ALABAMA turns her head to Emily

ALABAMA
What’s your problem?

EXTREME CLOSE UP – EMILY’S FACE

EMILY turns to face ALABAMA, CLICKS HER TONGUE and SIGHS HEAVILY.

EXTREME CLOSE UP – ALABAMA’S FACE

ALABAMA
(angered)
What’s your problem?!

ZOOM OUT – ALABAMA AND EMILY

EMILY
Well, it all started this morning…

CUT TO:

EXT. NEIGHBORHOOD STREET – DAY

The houses around them look clean and proper, nothing out of place. Wisteria Lane without the crazy stories behind every family. TOM and EMILY are standing at the corner, a PLATE OF WAFFLES beside TOM’s feet.

EMILY
You can’t just leave your waffles out here!

Emily gestures angrily to the PLATE OF WAFFLES.

TOM
Why not?

EMILY
You just can’t!
(pause)
It’s polluting!

ANGLE ON – PLATE OF WAFFLES

TOM (V.O.)
But I’m done with them.

ANGLE ON – TOM

TOM
I don’t want to clean them up.

ANGLE ON – EMILY

EMILY
(pissed)
Well who do you think is gonna clean them up?

TOM looks around for someone else before shrugging.

TOM
I don’t know.

EMILY
I can’t believe you!

CUT TO:

INT. CLASSROOM – DAY

ALABAMA is staring at EMILY as if she had announced she didn’t have a belly button.

ALABAMA
That is SO STUPID! Don’t you know my story TOTALLY trumps yours?

CUT TO:

EXT. COURTYARD – DAY

ALABAMA is seated on a picnic table near a huge cedar tree surrounded by kids dressed in all black. ALABAMA is the only one with a color on besides red or black. Despite this, everyone seems to accept her.

ALABAMA (V.O.)
So like every morning I sit at the tree

ANGLE ON – CATHY

CATHY is seen walking over to the tree. She appears to have something she REALLY needs to share with someone.

ALABAMA (V.O.)
But I have this friend Cathy who won’t SHUT UP!

ANGLE ON – THE TREE

The mob of black clothes students gradually moves away from ALABAMA as CATHY approaches.

ANGLE ON – CATHY

CATHY waves at ALABAMA excitedly

CATHY
Alabama! I have so much to tell you!

CATHY begins rambling on about information that only appeals to her. ALABAMA pretends to be interested.

MONTAGE

1. ALABAMA is seated on the picnic table, half listening to CATHY’s chatter.
2. ALABAMA and CATHY are walking to class. ALABAMA is beginning to look uninterested, and only is reacting with non-committal reactions
3. ALABAMA and CATHY are seated in class. ALABAMA has completely forgotten about CATHY who is still talking. CATHY then begins to try and get ALABAMA’s attention again.

CUT TO:

INT. CLASSROOM – DAY

ANGLE ON – EMILY AND ALABAMA

Both girls are looking straight ahead, before turning to look at each other with an “oh my god we’re so stupid” look.

CUT TO:

INT. LUNCHROOM – DAY

TOM and ALABAMA are in the lunch line. As TOM turns around with his PLATE OF WAFFLES, ALABAMA grabs TOM’s arm harshly.

ALABAMA
Don’t fight about waffles.

TOM
(long sigh)
Okay.

CUT TO:

EXT. COURTYARD – DAY

CATHY is seated at the same picnic table ALABAMA had been in the morning. We see her talking to people who are paying absolutely NO attention to her. EMILY walks over to CATHY.

EMILY
Shut up!

CATHY stares at EMILY, stopping in mid sentence before she shuts her mouth.

INT. CLASSROOM – DAY

EMILY and ALABAMA sit side-by-side, exaggeratedly happy while the rest of the class sits around them, pissed off. TOM is spinning a fork between his fingers like a baton, and CATHY has her hand over her mouth, as if afraid to speak.

Randomness Writing

2005-10-17T10:07:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had one of those moments where you can't seem to move, but everyone else can? The one where you don't know why you aren't moving, but it's like you can't turn the potential energy into kinetic. You even think "Why am I not moving?" and right as you think that you begin to move again, onto where ever you were headed before you got stuck. But when you are stuck, it's not gum and you don't feel anyone touching you. It's just a greater force holding you there for an unknown reason.

THE BIG DECISION

2005-10-17T09:51:00.000-07:00

Below is the things you need to know about what I'm submitting:

Ryan and Nickoli
Many people didn't seem to grasp the pace of the story, so changes/revisions I will be making is adding another character in the beginning that is a part of Nickoli's "new" life. It'll help serve as a way for you to grasp where exactly she is, and I feel it's needed. Also with more length, it'll make more sense on why it goes back and forth from Nickoli, to Ryan, back to Nickoli.
I'm planning on submitting to both The Pedestal Magazine, Scholastic, and of course, WORD.
My Audience will be a big large, ranging from High School students to young adults.
For WORD, the length is up to 2,000 words, where with Pedestal Magazine, fiction is allowed up to 6,000 words, and with Scholastic it pretty much has no length (as you probably just heard discussed in class). As long as it is sutable for your audience (High School students and above) you're pretty much in the okay zone.

Part Three

2005-09-28T09:37:00.000-07:00

Although this takes place later within the story, it is acctually a flashback.

"I don't think this is going to work out," Ryan whispered into Nickoli's ear. Both were seated on some halfway comfortable couch in a hotel room someone had rented for a graduation party. The words caused Nickoli to snap back to reality just as she turned her head to look into Ryan's eyes.

"What do you mean? Of course it will. We had it all planned on when I come back to visit, and when you come to see me-"

"But do you think it's fair? Do you think I should just sit back here waiting for you to come home? What if you meet someone--"

"I won't," she interjected quickly.

"You don't know that," Ryan shot back, watching as Nickoli's eyes went ablaze.

Standing quickly, Nickoli glared down at Ryan, searching for the words to say, but when she found none she turned and left. Pushing through the crowds, she waited until she was in the parking garage before she began to put the cigarette in her mouth, trying desperatly to light it.

Coming close up behind her, Ryan took the aflamed cancer stick from Nickoli's hand and threw it to the ground, violently putting it out. Spinning on her heel, Nickoli began to open her mouth to shout at the person before catching sight of who it was.

"Save me from the lecture, just this once," Nickoli pleaded coldly, holding her hand up to stop him, turning now to head for her car, the sound of her boots hitting the pavement echoing against the vast cement walls. All Nickoli wanted was a temporary escape from this argument, for when she was calm and ready. Not now, not like this.

"You can't run from your problems forever KiKi!" Ryan's voice boomed behind her. Stopping in her tracks she looked over her shoulder, she took a moment before replying.

"You can't predict everything that's going to happen," she snapped before continuing on her way, reaching her car, soon exiting that parking garage.

How Ryan beat her to her own home would forever be a mystery to Nickoli's mind. Avoiding this discussion appeared to be futile, but instead of going to the front door, Nickoli pulled into the garage, leaving him outside of her sanctuary. Nickoli was buying time, hoping that her luck would change and her seemingly now ex-boyfriend would be gone.

Ofcourse, Nickoli wasn't that lucky.

Still waiting at the door, still as cute as he seemed when he got angry, was Ryan. For however upset Nickoli may have been at him for his accusations, she admired his paitence, even if she wouldn't say it aloud. Nickoli braced her back against the wall and took deep breaths, trying to calm down, the tears lining her eyes as she opened the door, looking up at him while staying silent.

"KiKi, we need to talk about--" Ryan began, stopping when he saw the look on her face. He reached to wipe away the tear that had fallen, but Nickoli pulled away, escaping his touch. Recoiling his hand, Ryan watched as Nickoli stood there broken by his words, yet still strong enough to stand before him, tears sliding down her cheeks building up the shield she would wear for years to come. Taking in a deep breath, Ryan watched as she thought and planned how to speak to him. Nickoli always seemed to want to plan the words that would mean the most, but only in her head. Keep them locked up to herself before it was time to say them because they caused a tingle on the back of her tongue.

"No, we don't," Nickoli stated clearly, "not now at least." Taking a step aside she let Ryan in, shutting the door of both her house, and possibly her heart.

Drop a Heart, Break a Name

2005-09-23T09:24:00.000-07:00

She listens to Fall Out Boy. She wears skirts over her jeans. She wishes he would see her, but that's just in her dreams. A sea of pink when the day called for the two colors that when mixed make green. She had spirit the other four days of the week, let her have her break, alright? She thinks of learning the Craft. She sings random things. She wishes she would say yes, but she doesn't know about her dreams. She has a faded A that once upon a time she carved into her arm. She wears converse, wondering if they make her "scene." She wishes she wasn't such a chicken, but that would require doing something. She writes in her notebook for everyone but herself. She wishes it was for something more than a grade. She daydreams of her movies, and plans everything that she wants people to say. She wishes for a better life. She wants her father to not be a dead beat. She wants her step dad to shut the fuck up.

If a dream is a wish your heart makes, what the hell does her heart want?

She dreams of death and drugs, embarrasment and humilation, of boys she wants and girls she needs, but nothing ever comes true. She's too scared to get anything she wants. She's too afraid it may not be what she really wants.

She wears rainbows. She wants to be big in the business. She wants to go to college, but doesn't want to do the work. She hates her life and loves the people in it. She dreams big, oh yes, but she does very small. Someone help her in this world.

Two Decades from Now

2005-09-21T09:42:00.000-07:00

Looking in on my life 20 years from now, I see myself in a comfortable home. Not some huge five bedroom house you see on MTV Cribs by any means, but a nice, 3 bedroom, 2 bath with the signifigant other of my dreams (sometimes I see a man, other times a woman) and two children, living our average life, except for the fact that every once and a while someone recognizes me- A.M. White as I'll be known, some will grow to just call me A.M.- and I politely sign their books and let them go on their merry way.

How did I meet my better half you ask? How could two people you wouldn't think of together end up living together (and hopefully married if law permits)? In college, sophomore year when I'm allowed to go out of state and explore who I truely wish to be. It could have been in a class, or library, but most likely a party where we hit it off, having fun of sorts. Their goal in life providing a more secure income and lifestyle, but definantly no plain jane 9 to 5 desk job that everyone dreads, oh no. They admire me for my big dreams and creativity, not to mention those moments where you question if I'm a natural blonde.

So hear we are, in our adult life, the first child born soon after we got out of college and married (again I say hopefully), the second child, although adopted, means as much as the biological in our hearts. They're able to brag at school about how their mother wrote this movie and that book, people will not believe them until they see me come to get them, trying to focus on the road while keeping the idea I was working on flowing in my mind.

My first few films were indie, and very low budget. Made more for the fun of it than for the money. Everytime I watch them I'll think "she should have done this, he should have said that, this should have been longer, I should have been more vague," but I'll still love them, all like babies, keeping them organized, blushing when my mother gushes about my talent. My first major feature film will be based on one of my books, drawing more people in that way.

I won't care how good or bad it does, just to see it in the theatre, knowing that somebody somewhere enjoyed it. That is when I will care. I would love to win an Oscar for my writing, but I don't need some statuette of a naked man to validate everything my life is based around. I write because I like it. My way of life is doing what I love, and what I love is my family and my life. Sure there are times where there is a deadline I have to meet, so I close myself off and get to work, but there will also be times where it's out of my hands, so I have time to take care of the ones I love.

So now, as I take a step back from my life two decades from now, I can conclude that I will be a happy writer, but even more so, a happy mother.

Too Little, Too Late

2005-09-21T09:26:00.000-07:00

As I walk into that old building
the memories flood me
of simpler times,
of tears I cried,
of smiles and laughs and pride.
As I walk into that building I see
everything is smaller now,
everything is real.
Memories of her on the tables,
photoes and binders and such.
My eyes grazed over them,
my hands too nervous to touch.
I entered that dark theatre
at the door next to the chair.
My heart skipped a beat,
I almost thought she was there.
I knew she wouldn't be,
I knew I was wrong.
That was why I was there,
that was because she was gone.
Now my turn for the microphone,
and I go up there to speak.
Oh crap I'm chewing bubblegum,
Oh shit, I'm too nervous to speak.
I tell my tale, I go sit down,
Carolyn Munn, I loved you.
I will never let you down.
As I walk out of that old building,
I walk out with a sad smile.
She was there to help me
she was there to love us all.
Even if we can't hug her,
no matter how hard we cry
That love, that bond
will hold us forever strong.
Her love will never die.
Life will be harder now,
and I'm glad I was able to speak.
I didn't even know her that long,
but she'll stay with me for an eternity.
As I write these words on this paper
I think back to these times
and I can't shake the feeling
that Miss Munn will be back.

Part 2

2005-09-21T09:19:00.000-07:00

This portion takes place a bit later in the story.

The sound of someone running down the hall woke both from their seperate dreams. Nickoli wiped her eyes and sighed heavily, forcing her eyes shut to have another glimps at her cruel mind.

Ryan was still inside his room, seated on the floor, staring at the door handle, trying to clear his mind of what he had just imagined. It felt so real, he was almost scared by his imagination.

At the sudden thought of it, Nickoli turned and opened the door, feeling the urge, wondering if there was a reason to let herself think that way. Standing across the hall with that same lost, curious, wanting look on his face was Ryan.

Taking the fact that he wasn't just standing there staring at a hotel room door, but at Nickoli as a good sign, Ryan found the courage to walk a little further, standing in the middle of the hallway, waiting for Nickoli to meet him there.

Leaving the safety of the room and her tears, Nickoli slowly met Ryan, her mind in too much of shock to consider what she was doing. Hesitation filled the air as she debated on reaching for his hand, fearing it would lead to a less worthwhile version of the dream she had unknowingly shared with the man before her.

AP English Lit, and how I hate it

2005-09-09T22:18:00.000-07:00

One thing that always seems to come up in AP is the question "Why did the author write this?" as if writers have some big philisophical plan on what they're going to write so then highschool and college students can study it. I can personally say that when I am writing, that thought doesn't come close to my head. I don't write because I want it to have some big prophetic meaning about life or something, I write because the mood strikes me, or because I see something I think I can do better. It bugs me to no end when I am asked "Why did the writer write this" because it doesn't seem likely that someone would sit down and say "I'm going to write a book about how this personality trait can affect everybody" I see it more as they sit down and think "What kind of story do I want to write? Who do I want in it? Where should it happen?" and let it go from there. My greatest desire is to write a story that started from something so random you would never think it was something that would be studied in a class and then find out it is, but when it is, and the teacher asks "Why did the writer write this?" for a student to raise their hand and say "Because she just felt like writing about that character. No more, no less"

Plot

2005-09-02T11:27:00.000-07:00

When I think about plot, I don't like it to be right there in your face screaming "THIS IS WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN", but I certainly don't want some weak little slip of a plot that's barely holding anything together. I think the art of writing is knowing how to have a strong plot that doesn't completely murder your characters as people. Make the person and their life shine through, and the plot be the Tinkerbell guiding them to the outcome of them all without distracting you.

Having an "implied" plot makes the audience a part of the story. Let them guess for a bit on what is happening/has happened and then reveal at the end the truth of it all (or hell let the audience think what they want while you know the truth) so then they have to work at finding the plot. Letting the plot be so easily seen can lead to a boring story that just won't interest people.

When I write, I don't focus on plot. My usual thoughts when I'm beginning to work on a story is "who do I want in this" not "what do I want to happen." Plot for me always seems to be a second thought, letting it happen as I bring my characters and their problems into it. Like with "Sick Satisfaction" all I knew was that I wanted this argument right at the beginning. I didn't know it as going to end the way it did, or that Jayson would become so violent or so far in denial. I just started with the first line, knowing that was the driving force of the story.

Now with plot comes the whole first person or third person ordeal. I tend to use both, depending on how I want things to go. If I haven't gone through it, and have no idea on how I personally would feel, I go with third person, so I can obseve the characters and what they do, watch as they do right and wrong and cause their lives to be destroyed or become the best thing ever. I opt for first person for things like this, when I'm asked to write on a topic dealing with me. When it's my opinion or my methods, how am I supposed to explain it as if it is some other person going through it? They're my thoughts and my ideas, purely of my own for the most part with a dash of some inspiration from the outside world, because you can't form an opinion or a story, or anything really without some knowledge from the outside.

For the record

2005-08-31T11:42:00.000-07:00

Sick Satisfaction, and any of my pieces of work that have acctual dialogue, or definant characters are fiction. I usually just write from a random idea and let it flow. I've never been in any form of an abusive relationship, nor do I know what it's like to have some grand lost love and meet back up with them again.

I wanted that cleared up for y'all to know.

--Ally

Part 1

2005-08-31T11:36:00.000-07:00

The following is an excert from a story I am writing. Comments are not only welcome but wanted.

The small talk carried on. About life, about love, about both of their failed attempts to move on. They eventually did leave the overpriced coffee shop with the same amount of money they had entered with. As luck would have it they found out they were across the hall from one another. How they did not notice was amazing. Nickoli (again) broke away, giving a gentle kiss before dissappearing into her suite, pressing her back to the door as she shut it, closing her eyes tightly as she cracked. The tough Nickoli shell broke into a million pieces as each tear slid down her cheek, washing away the many lies she had given herself so she could sleep at night.

What felt worse than those bitter tears sliding down her face was that at one point she had believed her lies. She depended on the "it would never work out in the long run" excuse, or the "he's found someone better" line to make her day at least bearable. She even remembered once that she had even made some elaborate story about his perfect woman, which of course was nothing like her, but of course she wished she had been everything like her. Nickoli wished it was her. Now she suddenly knew, she was.

The Pedestal Magazine

2005-08-31T11:33:00.000-07:00

The Magazine I have decided to send work into is The Pedestal Magazine. They're open to just about anything, and since I don't tend to really right in a certain genre just yet, I like the freedom of just writing a short story or poem.

For poems they pay $30 per poem, and for short stories it's $.05 per word. They accept entries electronically only from what I have read so far.

http://www.thepedestalmagazine.com/submit1.asp

Conflict

2005-08-26T11:34:00.000-07:00

Conflict can be created in various ways. The boring "person vs. person" or "person vs. nature" aren't always the case. Plenty of times it's one idea versus another, and a person just placed in the middle of it all to show you the problems and how they exist, or don't exist in some cases. In stories it can be created with what is, or is not said, by a character's actions, by events that happen in a character's life, and actions of the character or the people around them. Basically, anything that makes your life a living hell, probably would in a book as well.

I always love to read "person vs. self" because having to fight with your own self usually provides a more interesting outcome than another person. To discover something new about yourself from maybe an event or what someone has said always has conflicts because nothing is really defined about humans. All we know is what we learn and choose to accept. To read, (and write) about that always is (simply put) cool.

And so it begins...

2005-08-24T11:55:00.000-07:00

And so it begins...

I bought this notebook as just one of the generic spirals that I needed for school "three for two dollars" the little sticker read, so I grabbed one of each color- red, yellow, green, blue, purple, and black. I stuffed them in rainbow order into my backpack, deciding the color I drew in each period would be the one for that class. Red is now AP Lit spiral, soon to be filled with reading logs and heor journeys. Yellow has taken the life of Government, note about how and why things are the way they are in the great U.S. of A.

So I reached third period-Creative Writing-to reveal the green spiral. The one that was there purely because it was next in the rainbow order has now taken the responciblity of holding just about anything and everything I plan to write in or out of this class. Nothing fancy about it, just a green, one subject, 70 paged, college ruled spiral that was "3 for $2" at Walgreens.

I've written on the cover "Overwhelmed is Senior Year" a quote from my english teacher as she explained the course, and "Live Happy; Love Forever" which had been written on the bard of my fourth period class. Between the two lines is a drawing that evolved from being a girl in class to an angel. One I presume that will guard the words inside, protecting thrm from the evil critic that would become jealous and try to steal these words as their own.

Sick Satisfaction

2005-08-24T11:32:00.000-07:00

"What do you mean it's not the same?" he asked confused. His voice had risen as the confusion grew.

"It just isn't the same, nothing is and never will be!" the girl argued back, pushing past him to seek freedom from him, from the argument, from the doomed relationship.

"So that's it, isn't it?" the boy declared, "You just decided one day that it won't work because something so minor changes?"

"Minor?" she askes, rage suddenly showing, "You think this is minor?! Finding out what food you like is minor, realizing you can't love someone, think that falls in the major catagory Jayson!"

Jayson clutched his head and forced his eyes shut, shaking his head viciously, "No, no you still love me, you can't just wake up one morning and stop loving somebody!"

"It wasn't sudden...I've known for a long time, and I think it's time we--" suddenly Jayson's hands were at her throat, squeesing tighter, forcing the air to stay out of her lungs. The girl struggled against Jayson's grip, her face turning blue and her attempts growing weak until she finally fell limp in his arms, her eyes rolling back, her pulse slipping away to nothing...

Sitting up suddenly, Jayson gasped for breath as his mind raced over the nightmare. Slowly he began to calm down and looked at the girl asleep beside him. If only he could get the nerve to tell her that every night he dreamt of killing her, all the same way, all with the same conversation, and all with the sick satisfactin of ending another human being's life.

Introduction Time!!

2005-08-24T11:23:00.000-07:00

Hey,

Incase you have stumbled over this blog wondering "what the hell is this about?" I'll tell you. My name is Ally, I'm a senior in highschool, and live in Austin, Texas. Everything I post in here is my work that I have created either in my Creative Writing class, or in my own free time. This is a way for me to get feedback on my work from the outside world (and hell even some from the inside) to see if I can cut it as the big bad author/screenplay writer I plan to be.

So, step back and enjoy the show!!