mynight is shapes,
three moons, and hard lines
running
thoughts running
one over the over
over the other one
running over
sleepless dreams
or faces and names
blur
ringing
into colored lines
like barcodes
that won’t
ringing
up at the register
where i’m standing in a hard line
counting in threes
the people ahead of me
running one over
the one running over
the other one running
over
who will get to sleep
theirnight
while mynight shapes
my eyes around
three moons, and hard lines
I’m writing a book. It takes place in this city that I’ve heard a lot about, Spokane, WA. It’s a decent sized city. My cousin moved there a few years back. Then, about two years ago, my sister went to live with my cousin for about 6 months to nanny for my cousin. When she came back she had a good number of very insane stories about things that happened there. She told me about witnessing a man chase a girl through the park, people following her, very odd electrical problems, and unexplained smells. But the most interesting bits of her stories had to do with the strange behaviors of the people around the city.
Well this past summer my cousin moved back to town. I believe she’d been trying to leave the city for a very long time. She finally decided to pick up and leave. She sold everything and drove across the country. When she got back to Texas she stayed at my mum’s house with my family and fueled the fire with her late night stories. Some of the things she told me seemed almost unbelievable. The most interesting part? The curse on the city… hmm.
I started to write a story based on what I’d been told. Fictional for the most part. Last week I decided to do some in-depth research and found out about the city’s history. I was surprised by a lot of what I read, but mostly because my story fit in perfectly with the history.
To sum up this dull explanation, I didn’t know if I should go ahead with writing the story because there’s a lot of truth to it, but I figure people can write about NYC, LA, and other real cities, so why not Spokane?
So, I’ve decided to write it. I think I’ll post bits here for feedback.
Art comes naturally to me. Maybe not art, but doing “artsy” things. It frustrates me that people call me artsy or the creative type. I feel like that’s usually used to described those girls who try to be artsy, who intentionally mismatch so that people pay attention, or in order to make a statement. Those girls make me laugh. But I don’t really want to be considered among them.
You would never necessarily know by looking at me, but I do have talent. There’s nothing wrong with admitting that, right? Because we all have talents, they just differ from person to person. For instance, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m hardly a critical writer. I can create interesting stories and characters and pretty strings of words, but ask me to analyze a story or a poem and I can’t necessarily see the point in it. To me, writing things that are obvious to me are a waste of time. (Only because I always have a new story in mind that has yet to be written.) For instance, telling my professor things they already know or have already heard a hundred times is useless to the both of us. I suppose that’s the challenge – to write something new, something they haven’t heard before. At least, this is what I’ve been told.
I suppose there’s a schism in that logic. No idea is new. We’re always writing about what someone else knows, especially when we’re writing about what’s been written for hundreds of years like a poem by William Blake. So, is anything organic? Perhaps my challenge in life is to create something original, to have an original thought. It seems like a legitimate challenge.
I ought to get to work on that.
cc: me your thoughts on this.
Welcome to my blog! This is my first post on WordPress and I’m liking things so far. Keep checking back for updates. I should be posting daily.
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