Dead Leaves Pull Harder

Trees have leaves; obviously. Though have you ever noticed that sometimes it’s just as hard, if not harder to pull a dead leaf off than a fresh one?
This is sort of how life works; newer things in your life are easier to separate yourself from, whereas something that’s been in your life for awhile is harder to detach from. I thought to myself that all these leaves, are attached to trees that give the leaves life; even still, leaves die. It reminded me, that not all things that appear to benefit you, truly do or will in the long haul. As far as people go, we sometimes cling to what we want or what we need; in the most harsh of cases we lose our morals, our minds, our hearts, or our life. Sometimes it’s not even our choice to be a leaf on a certain tree.

There is an upside though.. While leaves die, and crunch under your feet during the Fall, don’t they also come back in the Spring? You may lose your color and be a detached leaf on the ground, but there’s a new bloom just around the corner. Maybe you’re meant to be knocked down to be picked up.

Truth be told, you can crumble like a leaf many times attached to your tree of life. You just have to decide whether or not to bloom again.

Memory of a Moment

It is an odd feeling, to be the one who remembers the most.

I remember people I only spent a day with; they cling to my brain with a tight grip, refusing to let go. It’s a mortifying thing to remember all, yet also a gift when you use it correctly. Memory serves us in a way, that we choose the moments we wish to dwell on. I always find myself riddled with remembering people. I’ll never forget people I spent a few measly hours with. I don’t forget the tone someone used to talk to another, and it will haunt me till morning. I dwell on a memory of a person, because I feel some people should be remembered. Maybe I don’t know them, and perhaps I will never see them again; but I’d rather have a great moment captured in time with an acquaintance, then have never had the moment at all. It is also quiet fascinating how one moment from one person will stick in your head; that moment had such an impact, it never leaves you. I always remember being at a family friends birthday party, and one boy came up -who had been very reserved most of the night- and just introduced himself. We didn’t talk later that night, nor did we talk after it; though I remember his confidence, and the subtle intrigue he had to know who I was. I remember a neighbor who I only saw for three days, before they stopped coming to my house; they taught me how to whistle on a leaf of grass. I remember they were reserved, but filled with knowledge of little things. Neither of these people might even remember me, but both memories serve me very well.
The boy who introduced himself taught me that it is worth that one moment in time, to just have no fear; even if the only words spoken between two people is their name.
The neighbor taught me that not all knowledge should be shared; some mysteries shouldn’t be solved till the person gives you the clues.
People are fascinating, and the only way to preserve them is through memory, however tiny. Don’t be afraid to be the only one that remembers, be afraid of being the one who forgets.

Each tiny moment in time is significant, if you let it be.

Tinted Glasses Can Lead You Astray

Looking at people, at the world, you can’t help but wonder if you’re really seeing it for what it is. Everyone wears a set of glasses; a pair of spectacles that paint the town for what they wish it was. There are those who wear the famous “rose-tinted” lenses, who see love in the atmosphere and see tiny fairies doing good deeds through the kindness of others. There are those with crisp mint lenses, who wish to better the world; they see everything needs fixing -even things that don’t need it- and think everything needs improved upon. There are those in a violet haze, who see the subtle changes in tones, the difference in body language; these are the interpreters of the world. There are those with deep ocean blue, and they see everything for its deceit; they see into the depths of things, they look beyond the good and only acknowledge the bad. They are honest, but often misguided by their view.
The harsh reality we live in, is that no one truly lives in a clear view. We all see an obstruction of an obstruction, and we color it how we want to see it. Sometimes the haze changes color; it may take years, or it may take hours. Truthfully though, if everyone saw through clear glass, it would make us less of an individual. So what if I see through rusty orange spectacles? I can see pain in all its magnetism, I can see the goodness where there is some, and I can find beauty where there is none. Those glasses allow me to be me, and to possibly switch pairs with someone someday, so they may see my side of things.
It doesn’t matter that we all can’t see clearly.

What matters, is which color we choose to see the world with.

Wisteria Tag: Get to Know Me, Again

Big thanks to the lovely Grace and Leah for nominating me, and anyone I may have missed.
Going to answer both sets of questions, so be prepared for alot of information.

Do you write for yourself or for others?
I definitely write for myself, though I sometimes touch on subjects I think others think about; sometimes I even get inspired by what I see my fellow writers write, and often add my own intake.

Who has helped you improve your writing?
From a technical stand-point, a big thank you goes to all my past English teachers; without them I’d have many run on sentences and broken thoughts. From a poetic stand-point, I’ve “perfected” my writing on my own, creating my own style that I prefer.

Name three books that have been central in your writing (as in, they inspired you to write, or write a specific story, etc.)
I was always inspired by classics; my Dad used to read my “kid” versions of Frankenstein, Pride & Prejudice, Three Musketeers, and even had me do book reports on them. As I grew older, I was fascinated by the ability someone had to create a whole other world in their mind and put it onto pages, and I wished to do the same. Books like The Fountainhead, Way of the Peaceful Warrior, and many others have been creative influences of how I’d love to write.

What is your least favorite genre and why?
I suppose I’ve never been a fan of literal works; things like biographies and such. I like that books can take you anywhere, whether it be magical or grim. Books like biographies or true stories are harder for me to read, because there is no room for imagination, there is just words on paper telling a hard story.

If you could, would you try to change the landscape for young adult novels of this generation? How? (if this question is confusing: the norms of young adult novels today are pretty obvious–would you want to change them with your writing and how?)
I would love to change them; I have a difficult time reading books that are popular with my age group, because I find them to be too simple. The modernization of books makes it so that the words are simple, the descriptions are bland, and the story is predictable. There are few modern writers who write for teens that I can say live upto the standard of achieving the mix modern writing with classic writing. This is only my opinion though; I may just be entirely to picky with what I choose to read.

If you could write/collaborate on a novel with one author, who would it be?
James Patterson has been a favorite of mine since I could read, so I’d find it an honor if I could collaborate with him on a novel. Now, I’ve never read a Steven King book -sadly I’ve only ever seen movie interpretations- but I would love a chance to write with him, if only to understand how his writing process works.

What’s your writing process?
I think, then I type. All of my writings on this blog are all spur of the moment; there was no planning, no rough-drafting. Simply typing, revising, and post. I find that when something is revised and edited again and again to perfection, the soul of the writer just goes missing. So in order for my writing to in any way resemble me, I keep it fairly unedited.

What do you do to get out of writer’s block?
I paint, or I go walking. Usually my writers block happens when I feel mentally blocked in general. Imagine a waterfall, and at the top there’s mossy boulders blocking the water from tumbling down; I go for walks and paint in my room to help clear the boulders, and allow the water to flow free.

Do you like to listen to music when you write? Why or why not?
I’ve tried, but it never works. Whether I’m reading or writing, I have to have complete silence. I’m in such a trance once I start writing, that anything that cuts of my concentration also cuts off the flow of creativity.

How has writing changed your life (if it has–and it’s OK if it hasn’t!)?
I wouldn’t say it’s changed my life, rather it has let me see another side to my life. Looking back through old post from when I first started to now, I can see the difference in how my mentality has changed, how I’ve grown as a person. Whether or not I have writing to thank for that, I cannot say.

What keeps you writing in spite of everything?
It is still a great way to be open. I’ve never been judged on anything I’ve written, I’ve never felt worse for posting something, I’ve never felt like the things I post go without purpose. All of my writings mean something to me, and therein I can only hope they help someone else. Part of my purpose in writing is to help myself, but also others if I can; and that is what keeps me going.

Did you always love writing?
Yes, but grew up rather frustrated at my inability to create stories from nothing. I’m better at writing from what I know in my heart, rather than what I come up with in my head.

Favorite/recurring theme you enjoy writing about?
I enjoy writing about people the most. People are the most complex subject I can think of, and that gives you an endless supply of things to write about. I also enjoy writing about somber things; not because I am a sad person, but rather once it is written out of my head, I no longer worry about it.

Poetry/prose or creative non-fiction: which do you prefer write? Which do you prefer to read.
I love writing all these things, but I suppose my top choice is poetry/prose. That kind of writing works like my real life words do, giving you just enough detail so you’re satisfied but also vague enough so you don’t know everything. As far as reading goes, on this site I actually prefer reading the poetic things; however, in books I prefer to read creative fiction.

What in nature inspires you?
Absolutely everything. Inspiration can be taken from the simpler things, like the color of bark on a tree or a breeze on a cold night; or it can be taken from grander things like a sisters laugh, or fireworks bursting. The world has an endless source of inspiration in every turn.

Are there any musicians who inspire your writing?
I think I may actually be somewhat influenced by Eminem; his style of music reminds me somewhat of how I write my -what I like to call- rant posts. The words are still poetic, but it’s simple enough to sound like a normal conversation, and -in my opinion- always carries a strong emotion through every sentence. So while not all my writing is inspired by music, I would say some of my posts are inspired by the rap genre, and in particular Eminem.

Favorite poet, and why?
I don’t have one. Picking a favorite poet is like trying to pick a favorite artist; each one is so different from the next, and how can you compare apples to oranges to know what is best?

Least favorite book you’ve read?
Their Eyes Were Watching God. The one book for English class I actually suffered to read through, for many reasons.

Do you like typewriters? Do you, or does anyone you know own one?
I would LOVE and ADORE anyone who would give me a typewriter. I don’t know anyone who has one, but every-time I see one -whether in real life or in a movie- I want it even more. The clacking of the keys, the rhythm of the slider as it moves across, the ink pressing into the paper, nothing sounds more satisfying than that.

How do the current events influence your writing, or even just your thoughts?
Current events only affect my writing in the sense that I like to touch up on the subject of people; I feel if I get anymore in depth with what inspired me to write my posts, things get too opinionated or political. Especially with what has been happening this year. As far as my thoughts influencing my writing.. Well all I ever write is my thoughts, so you could say they are a very big influence. If I’m not thinking about anything, I don’t write. If I am thinking about something, you’ll find me clacking away at my keyboard.

Here are Leah and Grace’s blogs, go give these lovely gals a view.

melodypensandtea

Pens and Castles on a Cloud

 

Now I know I’m supposed to tag ten people, but instead why don’t I just out-loud tag everyone who reads, and wants to do this. If you choose to accept such a challenge, here are the rules:

Wisteria Writer Tag –
Thank the person who tagged you
Answer the ten questions given
Add your ten questions at the end
Tag ten people to do the challenge (or you know, tag everyone)

My Ten Questions:
Have you ever tried to write a novel before? Did you finish it?
Have you ever written/collaborated with a fellow writer? How’d it go?
Does anyone in your family write as much as you?
Are you inspired more by authors, or by people you know who write?
Do you have another hobby that influences your writing?
Have you ever not written/posted something, for fear of what others would think?
Is your writing more to help you, or to help others?
Is this something you want as a career, or simply a life-long hobby?
When did you first start writing, and why?
If you could trade your talent of writing for a different talent, what would it be?

What You Put Out, Must Be You.. Yes?

No.

It’s a harsh reality we live in where the only depth of a person we know is what they choose to dish out to the world; for an example, I post some sad things, some gloomy things, some have even put it as, “a bit serious for my age.” The truth is yes, at a fundamental level I do believe the things I put into the world, and sometimes I do drown in a puddle of bitter-sweetness called emotions; and if you want to consider me a one-dimensional person you may think I’m completely burdened by my life. The truth is that -as a dimensional human being like everyone else that rests on this planet- I’m not all doom and gloom; it’s human nature to rant about your day, and drawing and writing are both therapeutic ways for me to vent. I’m sorry that I find it difficult to write about how luminous the red flowers were in my garden today, and instead I wrote about how I burned my feet on asphalt; but pain has to come out somehow. On another personal note, I prefer to keep my happy memories to myself; those are cherished moments of my life, and I’d rather have them in my memory than be plastered all over the world; then that brings up, “Well, why would you only want your negativity broadcasted to the world?” Because it’s completely covered up through prose and poetic words. At least I can pretty up my wrongs with colors and words; you can’t cover up when the greatest moments of your life crumble beneath your very feet. Yes, this is a ramble, this is a rant; no pretty words or poetic prose.

It just needs to be said that the surface of everything is not where the greatest things lie or where the best is really revealed; the surface of the ocean can be indigo and flat, but it is the bright creatures underneath that tell the story.

Needing Myself

It’s funny how easy it can be for someone to tune out the world; to just breath in air that only gets filtered through their lungs.

I’ve always needed that.
To walk outside and feel a cleansing air, filled with the smells of freshly damp grass, blooming flowers; to hear the hum of bark around a tree, or the whistling song of leaves.

I’ve always needed that.
To feel the brisk short strokes of pencil across a paper, to hear the soft flick of paint against a canvas, to see the splash of water as I clean the bristles.

I’ve always needed that.
To get entranced in pages, reading a story that isn’t mine, realizing my life is a subtle story compared to these masquerading characters.

I’ve always needed that.
To have the minuscule moment in time where the only person in my world is me, and I feel the grand flush of red across my cheeks as my energy refills. To know that I’ve come back revitalized, filled with jovial aura once more.

I’ve always needed that.
To be my best self for the good of others, I must focus on being my best; by myself.

I’m In a Chameleon Suit

It can be an odd life for a people pleaser. I find that throughout my life I have tailored what parts of my personality are fitting for a situation, rather than just letting it all go. Now, with respect towards the obvious being polite to elders and respecting superiors, I truly believe someone shouldn’t have to tailor their personality. It makes it extremely difficult to find the person you really are, when you’ve spent your whole life blending into the crowds. Everyone has their own color palette that you pick colors off of, but you never show off your own.

You’re lost in a swirl of colors, and you begin to feel like the black abyss of what you should be, instead of what you are. This year has been one of discovery for me so far; I realized that this chameleon factor within myself is one that has plagued me for quiet some time. I’m an emotional person, but I’ve tailored myself to push feelings aside and often act jovial and aloof for others. I’m an opinionated person, but I’ve tailored myself to often be Switzerland and not intervene in most conversations. I’m an artistic person, but have tailored what I make due to fear of others opinions.

I have been finished with that since the start of this year. I’ve been making art more because of it; my mind has been lifted from its barriers and my creativity has soared. I constantly give my opinion when I get the weighted feeling in my chest from possible words yet to be spoken. My feelings still remain like closed books; though I am not trifled if someone wishes to read one. I used to feel so encapsulated in not only a veil of clouded judgement, but also a bubble I thought to dangerous to pop.

No more. This chameleon is going to make a palette of its own colors; and they will all stand out.