Love is no flower

Afraid of the cold

Love will not wither

Neither grow old

Love is not frail

Love is not weak

Love is a heart hale

With quiet feet

- Icon courtesy of Iconizon

Today I tried to write. Today, once more, I failed. So I turned to Google. (FYI, I love Google! Honestly, I am addicted to Google, when I’m bored or blocked it is Google I turn to, or Merraim Webster:) They are faithful helpers…)

So, anyway, today, when I was trying to write and feeling blocked, over-whelmingly so, I typed in a search : ‘figuring out my writing’ and this is what I found…

http://menwithpens.ca/writing-voice

…a WONDERFUL piece about finding your writing voice. It has awesome excercises to help discover/develop your writing voice. For example…the excercise I chose to do first was :

“Write a love letter. Pretend that you’ve been twelve days at sea (or in prison), and you think you might never see your loved one again. Let this one go and pour yourself onto the page – I guarantee your true writing voice will show up somewhere around word 437. (Either that or you’ll have started your first epic novel. Win either way.)”

I ended up writing roughly 740 words.

Which I will now copy and paste below…Note: I should warn you all that this is like a oneshot, I wrote off the top of my head and have done NO editing. Still, constructive criticism is welcome.

***

Dear M.,

It has been twelve days and I’m starting to believe that I might never see you again. But how could that be a problem? It wouldn’t had I taken the opportunities that have come my way over the past several months. Had I said what I felt, without fear, or restraint, without trying to be coy and desirable, there would be a great deal less difficulty in my life ending now, this far away from you. But I haven’t said the words, those that now stretch and pound in my heart, threatening to burst it. I have wasted so much time. I am drowning in a sea of regret.

The blue of this ocean reminds me of your eyes. The hues changing with the weather and time. Much like your own oceans of blue grey. I love your eyes. That is one of the things I have wanted to say. I love the sound of your voice, that is another. Here in this dingy, the lapping of waves has desensitized me, and the only thing I can hear are the sounds of my memories and that of my dreams. Dreams and memories of you, dreams of the memories I could have made with you. If I could just have that time back, I would change so much. I would have not been so worried and embarrassed, I would not have let those insignificant circumstances come in between us. Perhaps then you would have known you could trust me enough. Perhaps, if you had known how I loved you, you would have loved me in return.

There, I have said it. I love you. Without logical reasoning, cause, without cumbersome logic, I love you. The way you smile, smirk, the way your hair curls, the way your name tastes on my tongue, the way you say my name. The way you hide that tenderness of your heart, playing the bad boy. It is only a defense. You are much too nice, and I think that is why you have trouble sleeping sometimes. I would love to have talked you to sleep, to have spent those late hours listening to the sound of your voice over the phone, or on the sofa, in your arms…Pleasant dreams. I have spun them but never tried to weave them. I have never acted, only thought. I have thought too much and acted too late – if I have acted at all.

Can writing this confessional really be considered an act? I’m afraid that it is only a desperate attempt. I am afraid that I have lived my life motionless, fearing to move, fearing to act.

Had I been fearless, I would have grabbed you and kissed you. I would have pulled you out into the rain and danced. I would have sung my favorite songs for you to hear, laughing with you when you laughed at me. I would have written poetry on your skin. I would have…had I been fearless.

Now my fear is gone. It has drowned in this sea of awakening. But I have awakened too late. Regret is more bitter than acrid salt water. Regret is more deadly than a lungful of ocean. Had I no regrets I could have lived forever. Had I no regrets, I would have had you.

To have you…I want you to know how wonderful you are, how magical, powerful, beautiful you are. Your soul. So many have missed it, you guard it too well. But I know why, I have felt pain like yours. I never told you. I should have told you. We would have been stronger for it, both of us. We could have healed. Now, you will heal, and I will regret that I never took the chance, the medicine, the risk.

I love you. I would have been your lover. I would have been your friend. Your ally. Your own. Yours alone.

You will never be afraid. You will never have regrets. You are stronger than me. I wish that I had learned faster. I wish that I would have tried.

I would cry now, but I do not want to cry. I do not want anymore salt water. I do not want any more regrets. I will sign this letter, and then I will jump into this ocean. I will not drown any longer, I will swim. I may not make it, you might not see me. But I will try, I will take the risk. Either way, at last you will know the truth. At last you will know me.

~ S.

***

I found this wonderfully inspirational, and even theraputic. I feel so much closer to actually having a vision for a story – at last! Something more than a vague impression and disconnected scenes bobbing like buoys in a changeful ocean…Obviously the ocean metaphor stuck :)

I hope, readers, that this is useful to you. It certainly has been to me :))

Till next time…
Aranel

Thus I read instead of clean.

And the question is…why do I write? My work sucks! It is so full of flaws, you should have seen my face, wrinkled with disdain, snarling at those pages. I soooooo needed a red pen. The work would have been bloody with ink!

Honestly, I know why I write. I simply love it and can’t stop. But what do you do when all you can see is the mediocrity of your work?

My own self-criticism is killing my inspiration like Round-Up…Help?

Anyway, I am watching Mansfield Park! Yay! The one with Johnny Lee Miller, James Purefoy, and Alessandro Nivola – yeah, that GOOD one! lol. Today was a good day – a normal day, filled with the emotional fluxations, fear, happiness, and arguments that any twenty year old should enjoy. Thank God. So, hopefully, I will find some inspiration for REDBRIAR…or maybe something new. I feel the need for new. Bear with me please.

Hope you are all doing well. June! I’m so excited for you! Steph, I need to read your stuff! I’ve been sacrificing good lit for lesser pursuits, aka. money. Bleh. ‘Nough said.

As a final note: Regret is the enemy of Dreams…Dream on beautiful…

<3,
Aranel

FORBIDDEN OBSESSION
by sllyrabbit360

This passionate story about a teacher and student’s obsessive relationship is one of the best I’ve read on fictionpress, and honestly it should be a published book. When Danni, recently graduated from college, is given the opportunity to teach at a prestigious middle school she has no idea what the future holds…or who is waiting for her there. Logan Pearson, captain of the swim team and prince of West Forest high, doesn’t take no for an answer – and that includes his teachers too.

In this story sllyrabbit360 takes the somewhat cliched student/teacher relationship and gives it a new twist and a life all it’s own. Introducing characters and situations true to life; faceted and filled with shadow and light. Exlporing the temptations the heart must face and the consequences of resisting as well as sucumbing. Forbidden Obsession is a real treat, filled with consuming detail and real and fresh dialogue, making it easy to get wrapped up in the lives of the protagonists - who are not forced or stilted, but flowing and alive. Overlooking some minor grammatical and spelling hiccups, I found Forbidden Obsession to be refreshingly original and the author to have a spellbinding voice. (Of which I’m glad to report we will be hearing more of, with particular interest in FO’s sequel entitled Eternal Desires. Big Grin!) This girl has oodles of talent.

Subtly layered, and working on a plot that you only realize how grand it is till at the end – I highly recommend this story for anyone who wants to read a smart, witty, sarcastic, and passionate story that deals with moral and social issues of our world today, and how lust and love really work. Five stars! 

Click on image to read!

Is this a new discovery? No, not discovery, perhaps just a new understanding…hmm…I know random huh. But that’s what I CAN say…

Has anybody ever felt like this?

A balance of imbalance

Nightmares and dreaming

All part of one…

Sensations of drowning, burning

Empty and full

Power and weakness; both consuming

Your ravaged soul

You cry, you laugh, even bleed

You try, you fight, then you leave

But now you have a need

So you go back for more

A poison you gladly drink

Thirsting for the transportation

It takes you to the brink

Yet, has no limitations

What fools we mortals be

Tying our lives to one

Saying chains make us free

Flying towards the sun

Love is a great deal hurting

Yet, we hunger for the pain;

Like the pheonix burning

We feel life coming again

In my eyes you can see my soul.
But do you know my truth?
My soul has shadows of the snake,
The sands of my mind are etched
with writhing steps,
My breath hides them.
The light of faith and hope unite
with my darkness,
Like the stars and the night.
They fight with each other,
waiting for the dawn,
Waiting for the star of life,
For the truth.

With my words you hear my heart.
But do you understand?
Foreign is my heart,
Longing for another world, its home.
It is holy and pagan,
Rife with danger,
Ripe with light.
It is the fruit waiting to be picked,
On the verge of spoiling,
Hanging…
in the balance.

- – -

Written last night around 10:00 pm. Copyrighted to me :)