Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Storytelling, Or Something Like That

Hello, everyone! Welcome to my stop on the blog chain! Now, if I were a gracious host, I would offer you all some lemonade and freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies, but alas, this is the internet, and any cookies I could offer you are some form of browser download that I don't fully understand, not being a web developer like my father. Also, I'm sure at least one of you is allergic to gluten or dairy or eggs or something in said hypothetical cookies, and I would hate to make you ill. That is, shall we say, rude

Forgive me if this post is a little shorter or less eloquent than usual. Today I took my state's standardized writing test, and I'm also finalizing my credo for Coming of Age at church, so I'm a little worded-out. (Ha! As if that's even possible!) We'll see how this goes.


“What is your ultimate goal as a writer?”

I have always been a little baffled as to why I love to write. They say that writers tend to be people who like to be behind-the-scenes and generally dread the spotlight. ("They", of course, being other authors with somewhat influential powers.) They say that authors and performers are about as different as any two people can be. Apparently I break the rules: I love writing, and I love the stage. The reason I don't get to spend more time with my characters is because I spend so much time at dance and theatre. Next year, I'm taking both Choir and Orchestra at school, along with Honors English. 

This prompt is actually very closely related to something I've been thinking about a lot lately. Over the past year or so, I've been struggling to figure out the common theme between all the things that I love to do. I guess I had some sort of epiphany a month or so ago (if epiphanies can occur while sitting on the couch in sweaty dance warm-ups, eating double chocolate brownie ice cream and watching Worst Cooks in America*) when I realized that what I love is storytelling. I love being passionate about things and being able to portray that in a way that other people can share my excitement, whether it be through writing, singing, dancing, acting, or playing violin, or any other strange method you can think of. And when I'm not doing one of these things, it consumes me. I believe it was Ashley Clements who said something like, "Once you discover that you love storytelling, you never want to do anything else."** (That's definitely not a direct quote. Seriously. I mean it. Don't look it up because you won't find anything.)

So I guess my ultimate goal as a writer is to tell stories. (Duh.) I want to make people hold back tears while reading in class, or laugh out loud while curled up on the couch at home, momentarily startling their sleepy cat.*** I want to make people feel emotions so fervently that they have no idea what to do with themselves, so they obsess over it until it takes over every fiber of their beings, and then they finally realize what the entire  purpose of the story is and are able to tell it better than I ever could, so they tell it in their own way that makes it start all over again.

You see, it's a cycle of creativity and of sharing and of storytelling, and my goal as a writer (and a dancer, actress, singer...) is to be a fully functioning part of this cycle. If that makes any sense whatsoever.

I apologize for the lack of cookies. As I mentioned, I've been busy! 

...I know, I know. Still no cookies. Next time. 

So, thanks for reading this. I'd really love to hear your comments on the topic, or critiques for my writing. Keep being the supercool person that you are. :)



*I'm not sure it was actually Worst Cooks in America. It could have also been The Amazing Race or The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. 

**Actually, I just discovered that it was a Reddit user on Ashley's AMA from the other weekend. But she has also said a lot of things pretty close to that, so.

***Don't worry, I don't wish any harm to any cats. Ever. I mean, have you SEEN my tumblr dashboard?

Follow the April TCWT Blog Chain!

5th – http://miriamjoywrites.wordpress.com/

6th – http://www.inklinedwriters.blogspot.com/

7th – http://www.paulinaczarnecki.wordpress.com/

8th – http://insatiablebeforedeath.wordpress.com/

9th – http://musingsfromnevillesnavel.wordpress.com/

10th – http://avonsbabbles.wordpress.com/

11th – http://theloonyteenwriter.wordpress.com/

12th – http://insideliamsbrain.wordpress.com/

13th – http://kirstenwrites.wordpress.com/

14th – http://creatingtherenaissance.wordpress.com/

15th – http://charactercentral.wordpress.com/

16th – http://realityisimaginary.blogspot.com/

17th – http://www.novelexemplar.wordpress.com/

18th – http://charlieeatmybook.blogspot.co.uk/

19th – http://zarahoffman.tumblr.com/

20th – http://thelittleenginethatcouldnt.wordpress.com/

21st – http://theangelicauburn.wordpress.com/

22nd – http://eatwritedie.blogspot.com/

23rd – http://writerbewildered.blogspot.com/

24th – http://veewhoa.wordpress.com/

25th – http://www.alwaysweavingwords.blogspot.com/

26th – http://anqiyu.wordpress.com/

27th – http://bloodoverithaca.wordpress.com/

28th - http://incessantdroningofaboredwriter.wordpress.com/

29th – http://teenscanwritetoo.wordpress.com/ (We’ll announce the topic for next month’s chain)

Monday, April 1, 2013

Spring, Or So We Call It: A Poem

Hello, everyone!

It's that time of year again. The endless drifts of snow are slowly melting into sludge. The calendar says it's spring, and yet, Minnesota weather forecasts insist otherwise. Oh well.

Regardless, I thought I would share a poem that I wrote around this time of year in 2011. It could be my single favorite piece of poetry that I have written. (Yet!) Enjoy!

Spring, Or So We Call It 
By Jane

The bare-boned woodlands of frozen wasteland
Glinting, evilly, in the near-darkness
Where drops have dared step, then iced inside
Without the pureness of a fairy-dust white.

Instead, the matted, browning fur of the Earth
Is littered with parting gifts from trees,
Paul Bunyan’s footsteps brimming with sludge
An indecisive slop of a thing.

Ghastly gray heavens show no hint of a smile
While whispers weave cruelly through branches
Tracing bare skin with merciless claws
Herding all beings into traps of despair.

Defying the very name it received so long ago
There is no spring in the trudging step of pedestrians.
There is no spring in the nonexistent growth of dead shrubbery.
There is no spring in this depression of depression.

So yeah. Um, feedback is cooler than a can of pop that has been sitting on the deck for an hour in February. Just saying. :)