Number Three: Forgetting.

This is a recent story I wrote about a person who has gone through a traumatizing experience and physically survived it, but not mentally. He is trying to forget what happened by avoiding anything emotional-resulting in a tedious, daily routine that leaves him utterly dehumanized.

"The alarm goes off. The coffee maker begins brewing. I hear the whack of the newspaper hitting my front door. These are the noises that begin my day. They help me wake up, turn myself on. They are what remind me to do a raincheck on my emotions, and then quickly shut them away so I don't have to feel.

I don't know how long this has been going on. I can't remember-- nor do I know what I can do to stop it. I understand that most things are spontaneous, that everything happens for a reason, eventually coming together to form one big picture that somehow explains the meaning of life. But I think I'm the exception.

6:55 a.m.

I shut the alarm off and sit up in bed, swinging my legs out to the left and letting my feet search for my slippers. I then go to the bathroom, six and a half steps away, and brush my teeth. I brush each tooth for twenty seconds, counting them out slowly in my head. One crocodile, two crocodile...

7:07 a.m.

I am downstairs in the kitchen. My coffee is just around boiling, and I pour a tablespoon of milk in to cool it down. I blow. I sip..."

What stories have you made up today?

Thanks for reading!

Mr. Keats

John Keats is pretty much A to the mazing!! I was a fan of him before, but then I read this...



"Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--

Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night

And watching, with eternal lids apart,

Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,

The moving waters at their priestlike task

Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,

Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask

Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--

No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,

Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,

To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,

Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,

Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,

And so live ever--or else swoon to death."

~John Keats



*sigh* Love it.



What's your favorite poem/poet?

Happy Independence Day.

Today I'll be enjoying some homemade apple pie and fireworks with the family (yum!). I hope you all have a fun holiday!

p.s. Please enjoy this video by Balloonshop. They bring unimaginable amounts of joy to my average life with their hilarious videos.

MURDER! (insert cackle)

My favorite author of all-time would have to be Agatha Christie. I've been a fan of her for a loong time, and I don't think there's a single one of her books that I haven't read! A few of my favorites (there are a lot) are: And Then There Were None, The ABC Murders, The Secret Adversary, and A Pocket Full of Rye.

They were written kinda far apart- from early 1920's to early 50's- which only shows how long of a writing career Christie had. I find her success inspiring :)

Oh! I just remembered another one of my favorites: Death Comes As the End. I haven't read this one in a while, but it was really really good! I'll have to go check it out from the library and read it again!

What's your favorite murder mystery?

Thanks for reading,

~Becca

Dream On...

I've always wanted a job that consisted of me being constantly surrounded by books. Whatever that entails I have no idea, but for now I would settle for a bookstore...

(That first one would be so perfect. :) What's your dream job?

Something Else

Hi! I just wanted to post a little something from some poems I think are really beautiful:

"To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible form; she speaks
A various language; for his gayer horns
She has a voice of gladness; and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware..."
-William Cullen Bryant

"She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes..."
-Lord Byron

"I met a lady dressed in tweeds
full beautiful-a faery's child;
with fair hair long, with will that leads
and her eyes were wild."
-John Keats

Number Two: "Sleepwalker"

"Sleepwalker"

The woman took a tentative sip from the steaming mug, then went and took her place near the window. Slowly, she pushed aside the curtains and peeked outside. It was a chilly evening, the sun having almost set and left behind a fine mist in its wake. At this hour people were heading inside, eating dinner, relaxing in front of the t.v.

But not this girl. Not this girl who, every evening at around the same time, would walk down this street. She walked slowly, at a steady pace but not really, because as the woman watched the girl stumbled, looking dangerously unsteady on her feet.

"It's as if she were sleepwalking," the woman mumbled, although she knew that that wasn't the case because the girl's eyes were open. And anyways it happened every night.

The woman continued to sit comfortably, sipping at her tea, and watched as the strange girl made her way slowly down the street, then eventually turned the corner and disappeared. The woman knew she would be back tomorrow though, so she wasn't worried.

"... And, the curtain closes. Show's over," she whispered to herself again. For a while she stood, wonderingly looking out of her window at the world outside, then sighed, shaking her head at the strangeness of it all.

Here We Go...

Hi everyone!

Each one of my posts will probably just be a short snippet of something I've written. I'll only post small parts because when I write, I tend to almost never stop, and so a short story starts turning into a novel and it's sequel. (ha!) But if you like it and want to hear more, just say so and I would be glad to oblige. :)

Alright then! Here we go!....

Story #1: "Homeless"

I watched as the girl looked at me, glanced away, then looked back at my sign. HOMELESS, it read, with a small fish and the words God Bless You underneath it in smaller print. For almost an entire minute that car sat there, stopped at the intersection, waiting for the light to turn green. And for that entire minute I sat and stared longingly at it--admiring the grace and curve of the model, and thinking that if I only had a car I wouldn't really be homeless anymore. Not really, anyway.

But then it was gone, the girl along with it, and suddenly I had a different car to stare at. Also complete with a new set of eyes to stare back at me. For the next couple of hours I sat in the same spot, and watched as car after car after car sped right past me. Soon though, the chill in the air became too much, and I packed up what I had and trudged on to my next location.

You might ask what exactly brought me here, but I can only tell you that I asked for it. You see, you may not believe it now, but what goes around does come right back around to kick you in the rear. And it's not like a gentle spanking from your loving mother, but like having a raving mad dog sink its sharp, foam-flecked teeth into both cheeks, and then rip off a chunk like you would a bite of a double cheeseburger. You have a lot more regrets.