Tag Archives: creative-writing

From the heart

Young and illiterate.

Since I was a little, small, petite, tiny, and infantile girl, I have loved words.

In particular the ones that were new to me and seemed too (or is it to?) complex for me to understand. I wish it was more socially acceptable to stop someone in the middle of their rant or retelling of their day and ask them what that impressive sounding word they used meant.

On my walk home I would dream of breaking into a soliloquy. I’d disturb onlookers by delving into madness, screaming of how many different ways you could call someone a pretentious jackass.

Of all the beautiful and pointless words that make sentences seem far too convoluted, “idiosyncrasies” is the first one I remember being intrigued by. I was in middle school, I forgot what we were reading or how I came across the word, but it stuck out.

Idiosyncrasies.

I thought at the time that perhaps the word described someone foolish or idiotic. Or maybe it had something to do with the syncing together of things. In reality the word “idiosyncrasy” is defined by a way of thought or behavior that is specific to a certain person.

So, there is a chance you have many idiosyncrasies, it seems mine is claiming to be a writer while struggling with my grammar. Still, I write, even if at times poorly.

I am not infallible however, so I did get a copy of “The Blue Book of Grammar and Punctuation” but I’m looking for some good editing tools as well (and I’m open to suggestions).

…..

Alongside improving my grammar, I wanted to talk about critique.

You will meet a million people with commentary on a life that is not their own.

Critiquing something is not inherently wrong, there might be those with more knowledge, whose two cents will finally make a dollar for you. However, there may also be others that will push advice through delusions of grandeur and clenched jaws. Who will shout boldly their unapplicable advice, dipped in high-minded contempt.

You do not have withstand degradation from anyone before receiving their guidance. Though you should keep an open mind, you do not know all, least you be the kind to dish out advice that is of no use.

You don’t have to take my advice either though, I have much to learn. I must have made at least twenty grammatical errors in this post alone.

Happiest Saturday.

A sincere question, is this considered prose?

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The Writers Block

A Young Amateur Writer

I woke up this morning with the worst realization that I am kind of lost and fearfully hopeful. Being organized (ish) has blessed me with a lot, and it has helped me immensely in surviving and making sure I “made it.” As I am aging, I’m surprised by how unsure I feel about what “making it” means or what survival versus “living” feels like, and if there can be a difference in an ambitious but often transitional society. Anyway, that’s something I want to get into next week.

This week I want to break down some of my perfectionism and write something imaginative. If it’s crap, at least I wrote something. If it’s amazing, it’s because I intended for it to be.

I was mulling over a possible character name during my T ride, but today, let’s say “Drapo” for our main character, since I write this looking over at the Haitian flag pinned to the wall above my desk.

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DRAPO, a fictional story

I.

I have always loved reading; it was my first sweet escape. Books have a particular smell to them, almost like aged clothes but with a hint of something I can’t describe that reeks of nostalgia. The worlds that can be painted through a series of words, paragraphs, and novels have always amazed me. On my worst days, the smell of books and library buildings’ gentle hums bring me comfort.

There’s a hum that buildings make when the AC is running, an artificial wind that makes a beautiful white noise. That’s probably the reason I always fall asleep; it’s like a lullaby. A sweet son—

“Are you homeless?”

A sweet song… interrupted by a stocky, pale librarian, with silverish wired glasses, locked on her target in mild disgust.

“I’m sorry? Oh no, I just, I just fell asleep.”

There is a pause before she answers, her wrinkled frown coming into focus as I am jolted awake by the increasing look of annoyance on her face and the reality of an empty library, left cold by more sensible patrons who left before the fluorescent signal of day’s end from the outer streetlights.

“Well, I see you sleeping here often and I’d like to talk to your parent when they come to pick you up.”

“Should you really be paying that much attention to a stranger?”

“Ma’am.”

“Fine, I’ll get him for you, but his English isn’t very good.

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That’s all I have so far, I’ll keep thinking about the character drapo, I hope you have a wonderful week.

-V

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