I pressed my hand against the wall hearing the thudding European Dance throb through my palm. For a moment I was immersed in their party. I saw myself with a drink in one of my hands and happily conversing with someone, quickly befriending after witnessing a drunken girl suddenly falls on her face. Laughter explodes through the wall, startling me and sending me back to where I was. “Ah, it’s time for dinner anyways.” I muttered to myself and shuffled out of my room and down to the kitchen. I didn’t want to hear any more laughter because with each one, I find my soul being ripped to pieces. “Wow Roxy, way to be dramatic.” I muttered to myself as I furiously buttered my toast. I wasn’t even hungry, but I needed a distraction. I was about to head back to my room when the door knocked. I cautiously set my toast down and peered through the peephole. The pizza deliveryman stood outside of my door staring at the door next door. I eased my door open and asked, “Who are you looking for?” He turned towards me and looked me up and down, surveying my mismatched pajamas and stolen hotel slippers. “I’m here for Roxy. I’ve got a pizza with everything on it.” he said with a terrible monotone voice. I shifted my weight and leaned against the door frame. The savory smells of the pizza wafted through the bag and my mouth started to water. “I didn’t order any pizza, but I am Roxy.” I said. He sighed and his gaze drifted towards the party next door. “Well, it’s under your name and address so you might as well take it. I’ve got a lot more runs, so I can’t really play Sherlock with you.” he said as he shoves the pizza into my arms. I shut the door, still in shock and peer at the pizza. It smelled incredible and it started to flood my apartment with the amazing aroma. I checked the receipt and saw that it was under my name and address, but the phone number was different. On the bottom of the receipt was a note to the deliveryman, but it appeared to be for me. The mysterious pizza purchaser must’ve knew that I wouldn’t have ordered a pizza at this time so they included a note of explanations. Walls may seem to be like a barrier when they also provide structural integrity. Enjoy the pizza on me! From, your partying neighbor I couldn’t help but smile not at the shear fact that I got free pizza, but because my neighbor remembered me and even invited me. I sighed as I turned on the TV and took a slice of pizza just as laughter erupted from the walls again. “I’ll see what’s up next time, but I’ve got all night and all this pizza to enjoy. There’s no stopping me now!” I declared as the show started.
Oops, I’m late again! A lot of things have been happening, mostly class so I’m usually pretty tired. First of all, I would like to welcome all of the new and recent followers to my blog! I hope you enjoy!
This piece felt unorganized to me, maybe because it was so long and in my opinion, I think it was really sappy. Basically, this piece is about a couple who drives away from home to find a town to elope. They end up finding this little town called Zearling (a name I made up) and an old couple who help them out. The old couple actually owned a stationary store and upon meeting Reid and Briella, they knew that they should help them out one of the reasons being already having their names on a wedding invitation.
This is a really straight forward story and I wanted to try my hand on writing a “happy-go-lucky” story. I wanted to write a story that really demonstrated (what I thought) true love was even if it meant eloping. Some of you may have different opinions about eloping and marriage when it comes to relationships, so this is just a little story about Reid and Briella. As for their names, I wanted them to be unique so I spent a little extra time searching. Their meanings don’t really carry much with regards to the story, but they are uncommon names to suggest that what they’re doing is uncommon. I also found that when I’m writing a “perfect” story, it takes me longer to set up because I don’t start the first couple of sentence with the disaster. I had to make the couple really love each other as well as the old couple. Things may have appeared to be too perfect.
I chose the title, Bacon and Eggs because in the part when Reid and Briella first meet the couple at the diner, they talk about how Briella ordered eggs and toast while Reid ordered bacon and pancakes while Briella remarks that they are so fit for each other like bacon and eggs. They complement each other and they’re similar. To be honest, I already had the title, Bacon and Eggs, in my head so I worked the plot gently around my title.
Anyways, I hope you liked my different take on romance!
“You must be really tired.” my boyfriend noted as he looked up from his phone. I shook my head and continued driving. The streetlights looked like will-o-wisps, guiding me to my fate; I wonder if it’s the right one. My eyes carried the weight of hours of tears and a long day; I’m not sure how long I can continue. “Reid, I can’t do this anymore. You want to have a turn?” I muttered, my gaze no longer focused on the road. The lights drew me in, their warm glow appearing to be coming closer. When I pulled over and I got out of the car to switch, I could barely walk straight. Reid rubbed my shoulders and kissed my cheek before settling into the driver’s seat. The last thing I remember before falling asleep was him whispering, “We’re going to make it now, not long until we’re there.”
I woke up to the car pulled over in a rest stop. Reid was passed out in the back and his jacket was carefully draped over me. As soon as I turned around, his eyes fluttered open. “Hey, you’re awake. Sorry, I couldn’t drive for any longer. Those lights were so hypnotizing.” he muttered as he sat up. I smiled at him and sighed. “Well, as long as I’m with you, everything will be okay.” He stretched and yawned, his stomach peeking through his sweatshirt and I smiled wider. “You want to drive or you want me to drive?” I suggested as he appeared by the window. He shrugged and slid into the driver’s seat. “Breakfast and then marriage. How about that?” he said with a wide grin on his face, all traces of sleepiness gone. I gave him a kiss and we drove off into the sunrise in search of breakfast.
We just happened to find a small family diner in a little village where we could find breakfast and get marriage. “It would be perfect if we could get married and eat breakfast at the same time.” Reid said. I shrugged and continued watching the sun’s rays touch the little town houses, “Now, we don’t live in a perfect world.” At the diner, I ordered eggs with toast and Reid ordered bacon and eggs. With his mouth full, he remarked “Hey! We’re just like bacon and eggs – we’re so fit for each other.” I scooted myself into his side and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Even in an imperfect world, you’re so perfect for me.” I said.
After breakfast, we went to look for a courthouse. At the diner, we met an older couple who remarked on how our relationship reminded them of us. Their little kisses for each other made us hope that we would end up like them one day. We told them what we were doing and they kindly reminded us that we needed witnesses. In return, we asked if they would be so willing to be our witnesses. And the four of us set off to look for the courthouse. The older lady’s name was Hanah and she insisted that we find some flowers and a little veil that I could put on so I felt more special while Reid and Ian went to search for a tuxedo and a chapel. She was a nice lady and she reminded me of my grandmother. After an hour and a half of searching, I found a veil and some lilies and Reid found a quaint little chapel on the outskirts of the village.
The ceremony only took about an hour and by the time it was all finished, Hanah and Ian applauded for us while the officiant smiled on. We called our parents after two days of not contacting them and happily told them that we were married in Zearling. Their relieved congratulations with a hint of sadness and regret continued to haunt me to this day, but I knew that it was for the better. After the ceremony, we had lunch with Hanah and Ian, explaining to them how we met and why we decided that this was the better way. Before we left to go back home, Hanah and Ian decided to surprise us with wedding invitations. “Oh you shouldn’t have!” I remarked as I saw the beautiful lettering. “Yeah, these are beautiful! When did you even have these made? We were with you for this entire day!” Reid exclaimed, his eyes scanning the delicate paper in front of him. Ian smiled to his wife before saying, “We own a stationary store in the village and this was actually the sample invitation. When we found out that you guys were named Briella and Reid, we were delighted.” Hanah laughed and continued, “We just couldn’t believe that two people decided to elope in our town! It was like you guys knew and decided to stop by here!” We were completely speechless, our gaze shifting quickly from Hanah and Ian to the beautiful wedding invitation we never had. Reid finally said, “Well, then we definitely know that it was meant to be!”
I hope your day is going well so far!
This piece was written with more personal ties to it than my other pieces. I avoided doing that for a while because I wrote the piece out of emotion rather than having a good story laid out. I decided to try it out again to gauge my writing, in comparison with my previous emotion riddled pieces. I also wrote this piece for therapeutic reasons.
This piece basically follows a narrator who’s traveling. On the first impression, it may feel like one of my previous pieces, Eleanor because it starts with the train. On a side-note, I enjoy riding the train mostly for the soothing sound it makes. Anyways, this piece begins with the narrator going through the town and remembering memories that they formed with each place from graduation to prom. Then, the narrator starts looking around and sees a couple saying good-bye to each other and a family with a baby where the mom and father is unhappy with her life while the grandmother is oblivious to everything. The narrator encounters someone who points out where they’re from when the narrator doesn’t want that part of them to be accentuated. In the end, this left the narrator feeling like an outlier, belonging nowhere.
While this piece is personally linked to me, this piece can also relate to others as well. The first I can think of is to someone who has recently moved and they’re visiting their hometown. Essentially, I was coming home from college and I had felt this way.
I hope you enjoyed this story & thanks for reading!
The train rumbled to a stop and a voice overhead announced that it was my stop. I hauled all my stuff down and slowly made my way out of the train. All around me, people were going in all directions. They dragged large suitcases behind them, child in one arm and backpack weighing down on them. I weaved around them with just my backpack, feeling underdressed and without a word, I entered the city. Couple miles that way, I had my senior prom. I remembered learning how to dance and letting myself go among the smiles of my cherished friends, bouncing and swaying to music more fit for the summer. We forgot about our upcoming tests and simply watched the lights swerve around us, so we joined in. Couple miles the other way was where my high school graduation. I remembered feeling the drum line pound their way into my heart, echoing my fears about leaving home. I remembered coming home and letting my fears run down my face. I stood in the open, waiting on my ride. Besides me, couples were saying good-bye, their kisses filling in every gap that couldn’t be said into words. To my left was an elderly grandmother ogling at her new grandson, the mother haphazardly balancing him on her thin hips. The stern look on her face and the distant look on her husband’s face fills in the gaps that weren’t told to the happy grandmother. I continued looking on, waiting on my ride. “Where are you going?” a voice behind me asked, bewildered I spun around and was face to face with an older woman. “Oh, I’m just headed home.” I said, hoping that she would mind her own business and leave me to my thoughts. “Are you a college student?” she persisted. I nodded and tried giving her more than she asked for so she would leave me. I lied and told her that I was going to spend my summer traveling by myself. Her little smile hid her own secrets while taking mine for her own. She sighed and shifted, her small frame leaning against her massive suitcase. “Where in China are you from?” My throat closed and I squinted, unfamiliar with the single question I avoided being timelessly asked. I lied and told her that I was from the middle of China and she started telling me about how she was also from the same area. It was such an obvious lie because my face gave it away – my wide forehead, my strong jawline and my flat nose told her that I was from the South. After a couple moments of silence, I spotted my ride. I wordlessly slipped away and rumbled down the sidewalk to the family van. My dad quickly launched into tell me about what the family was up to, occasionally turning towards my stoic face for a response. I gave him short answers because my mind was too occupied to think that even as I traveled through my hometown and even as I talked with familiar faces, I remained a foreign matter. I felt like an outsider to myself. I watched my friend’s houses fly by like I was a tourist just stopping by. I arrived at my doorstep feeling the chill hit my face like the first time I walked into a local museum. Foreign again, I take my first step.
This poem is called “Writing a Story”, I hope you enjoy!
I was writing a story and it went a little like this:
my vision went dark and
the ground granted me permission
to lay on top of it
and I forgot to ask in the first place
you came quick
and you shunned the ground away
you swept in and
I collapsed into your arms
I was dreaming of a situation and it went a little like this:
my hand was no longer alone and I had a greater reason to smile.
A fourteen word story
could say so much
like my silent lips
and my quick glances
Where could I go with this?
This unedited, raw and open story.
Is it an invitation
for new change?
I was writing a story and it went like this:
I saw you in the distance
and you told me that my
smile was too foreign, so
I pointed out that you were sitting too close.
What’s too close?
And I pointed at you.
You put your arms around me
and everything became brighter.
I was writing a story.
What sounds right?
This poem is an interesting one. It feels like it has no direction, but there’s a reoccurring theme throughout the poem. Basically, it’s a poem about an internal dialogue. It could either be of a writer’s mind or of a hopeless romantic.
It starts with the narrator writing a story followed with a short story that is about someone catching the other person after they’ve fallen down. In the next stanza, the narrator takes control again. They prompt if it’s an invitation for change whether it be for a new story or a new relationship. In the next line, instead of writing a story, it’s dreaming of a situation. The scene is just a line and it could even be mistaken as a line from the narrator. It basically talks about how they found someone as depicted by holding hands. The narrator steps in and prompts the reader again about how the little story is a reflection of the internal dialogue of the writer or lover. Either way, it’s being expressed through writing. Here, we see overlap between the narrator and the scenes.
The narrator continues and questions the reader with the same line as before, prompting for change. The narrator begins another story and this time, it’s the same length as the first story with a slightly different connotation. Instead of being longing, they are more cautious, but in the end, they are open to the circumstances.
In the end, the narrator prompts the reader for one last time – whether or not they’re making the right choice.
This poem has many different interpretations and personally, I found it difficult to write because I couldn’t just freely write it after I’ve established my theme. I needed to stick with the theme with the same tone and also having a sense of ambiguity.
Let me know what your interpretations of the poem are!
Thanks for reading!
It was the blog’s second birthday yesterday!
What an incredible journey this has been and thank you for coming along with me! I’ve spoken at a English conference, gotten published in my school’s literature magazine and most of all, written so much!
This year, I’ve…
published 24 short stories.
published 17 poems.
And among balancing school and this blog, I must say, this is a pretty good feat! Also, I didn’t count the Quick Piece Breakdowns! As many of you know, summer is my high season for the blog, so stay tuned for more regularly scheduled posts!
It took me a while to realize this, but you don’t need a degree to be a writer. You just need to write in order to be a writer and you’ve got to enjoy it because how else would you call yourself something if you don’t enjoy it? Any advice that I would give to writers would be the same as any other published author would say: keep writing. You have the ability to define yourself whichever way you want and you don’t need anyone to tell you otherwise. You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone, just yourself. Therefore, I’m proud to call myself a writer. I’m not the greatest writer and I definitely have a lot of things to work on, but that doesn’t stop me from continuing to practice this art. If I can incorporate it into my career, then that would be great! If I can’t be a full-time writer or a freelance writer, then it’s no big deal. I’m still a writer and I’ll definitely find time to continue writing even if it ends up not being published.
Just keep writing!
Here’s to more years of writing!