NaNoWriMo and Other Thoughts

It feels good to be blogging right now. I've been taking a break from vlogging due to school, and although I'm glad I've done so, it can be really hard to take a step back from creativity for the sake of sanity, especially when creativity helps keep me sane in the first place. 

I never really use this blog for anything except posting some stories and poems, or book-related stuff, but today I'm just going for it. I feel like I have a lot of random thoughts. 

First: 

NaNoWriMo is here! Glorious November, why must you be my busiest month? (That's an exaggeration. October was definitely my busiest month.) But for real, why can't NaNoWriMo be during the summer, when I have ample time without schoolwork to be writing and thinking and creating? I've heard though that the busier you are the more prolific you will actually be, because you're more prone to forcing yourself to manage time, and that in turn helps you be more productive. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise after all? 

I do have some advice for my fellow NaNos:

Now is not the time for second-guessing. 

I'm serious. No second-guessing, no backspace--nothing like that. This is a sprint. Not a careful curation of words. It's a burst, an outpouring, a vomit of words onto a page that gets you from idea to creation. Genesis to... maybe not quite apocalypse, but maybe halfway there. The hardest part of writing is getting that first draft out there. Everything after that is rewriting, fine-tuning, etc., which inevitably is challenging in its own way. But fine-tunes, rewrites, rearrangements, red pens, are all a labor of love. And there's time for that. For now, just write. 

Second: 

Lately I've been extra into history, literature, and folklore. As these are all intertwined in my major, this is no surprise. But a particular class I'm in right now has been eye-opening to many subject, and I'm feeling a renewed love affair with these subjects. 

Some of the fun/interesting/exciting content I've been ingesting these days: 

The Modern Lives of Medieval Monster Scholars

I'm obsessed with anything that connects old folklore to modern conversation. If we aren't finding those little commonalities, why study old literature and history in the first place? It's "interesting" isn't really a compelling argument for scholarship or academia. It's something more. And this article sums up that need pretty well. 

Unboxed

I've never been into podcasts, but the last couple of weeks I've suddenly found a great love for them. This one, Lore, in particular deals with cool historical phenomenons, such as creepy folklore and unsolved mysteries. Aaron Mahnke, the man in charge, does his research, and always makes compelling psychological arguments. 

Third: 

I've neglected "making" for the last little while. One of the ways I used to "make" was sewing. So, I sew again. I just made a cool polka-dot jumper dress, and this month I've got all the pieces cut out for a space-print dress. Stoked about that. Next year, I hope to tackle my sewing Everest: a suit. Specifically, a velvet woman's power suit. Google one and you'll fall in love. 

love, 

Sarai 

PS: 

Media Naranja (Prose Poem)

Media Naranja

In the beginning we were all just whole—we were sweet oranges, rolling around, content. But all it took was one divine decision—a split—and now we search every wrinkle of the earth for our Media Naranja. But if you were anything but an orange, that’d be okay too. If you were a tree, shocked to the core by a lightning strike, left smoldering and broken—or if you were one half of the grand canyon, yawning and yearning to be reunited. Or even if you were half of a grapefruit—I would just want to be a grapefruit too.

A Toast

A Toast

For all the times I baked a pie for you

Knowing you’d tilt your smile my direction—

For all the times I asked and you said soon,

And by avoiding you thought that you had won.

For all the times I slept against your breath

And hoped you’d stay to keep my feet warm.

For all the times I thought I’d fix that mess

Of spines and blinders without getting torn.

But even with the blinks and all the smiles

That never quite rang true, I know I tried—

But even with your heartless, heatless guile

It wasn’t ‘til you left I learned to cry.

            We both had orbits never quite our own—

            We caused the brick walls to crumble and drown. 

The Salt

The salt-sea

Breeze and the

Sea-salt spice

Make up most of the summer.

I watched a little red buoy hoist himself up up and up

Into the waves.

Tumble, tumble, head over toes,

Only to start the climb again.

His little journey

Is never-ever-ending.

I think I hear him calling

Over the rumble of the ride.

Nothing smells quite like

The sea-salted breeze

Or the faint, far off

Linger of a

Long-dead crab.

And how can I do anything

But lay like a stone,

While my skin starts to

Darken and my lips

Start to sting,

Until I can feel them crackling under my tongue.

Until I dissolve into the sea-salt waves.

Until I am the sea salt too.

Above

I don’t know if you have ever looked at the sky—

Sometimes, when I do

All I can see are rabbits in the clouds,

Or mermaids.

Or even mammoth creatures.

But usually, just clouds.

Every once in a while the sky

Turns purple. And we all have

To wait awhile

Before climbing trees.

Even oftener still,

The sky lets loose

A magnificent barrage

Of water.

And we should all stand in amazement.

But,

We don’t.

All of this,

To say that I will always love you. 

Saturday Morning Showers

I

Saturday morning showers

Are my favorite.

With not a care in

The world

At only nine years old

I already used

Showers to

Contemplate.

II

Plinking and dropping

All over my

Hair and my

Face and my

Eyes and my

Teeth.

Water, water, everywhere.

I’m much too happy

To ever care

If the hot water runs into my face

Or if the water turns cold

For even one split second.

Because I secretly like

The cool, clear streams for just that one moment

Pouring down and down and down

Enough to make me shiver

But not enough for me

To cry.

But only in a Saturday morning

Shower.

III

I always complain

About showering at night.

Mornings are better.

IV

The air is

Always too cold

After a long

Saturday shower.

There are goosebumps everywhere

When I step out.

I quickly run,

Light-footed

With towels galore

Wrapped tightly so

As not to sneak a peek.

And land myself in a still and shivering pile right on the carpet in the living room in the sunspot of sunlight as it slips through the pulled back curtains and the dingy glass window so that I can warm myself like a cat because even cats need baths every once in a while when they get themselves all slippery and slick with the mud of a brand-new day.

V

I have to move

From my sunspot

So that mama

Can vacuum.

She puts on some old

Synthesized music

And begins to dance,

Swaying her hips back and forth

To the time.

Her hips no longer slim

Like a youth

But widened.

A badge of honor

For birthing four

Screaming and

Laughing

Babies

Into a world

Of Saturday morning showers

And lilac trees

And dead-end streets

With blackberries to pick and

Thorns to scratch.

She always cleans on Saturdays.

Snip Snip Snip

You set to work, like a painter at an easel, or a cellist with his instrument—and I the work of art.

Hours pass, me posing, both of us reading

The world slipping by in an endless tunnel of

Your walls and my heart.

This large and looming circle of love with your name written on it,

And the minuscule square you expect me to work with.

A snip snip snip here,

And a snip snip snip there.

I cut down my circle of love to fit inside the square.

The changes are gradual, but the

Possibilities are endless.

I close my eyes in an effort to stem

The terrifying thought that I am less than a person

To you.

Each limb has been redrawn on drafting sheets, with pattern pieces

Cut to fit my oddly shaped person.

And on the assembly line I go—

You charge it up,

Cutting me out as I move through the stages of production.

Snip snip snip here.

Snip snip snip there.

One night I fall asleep with your words

Painted on the inside of my eyes

And I awake with the sun,

Unblinking—

Because my eyes no longer blink.

They’re just open.

Painted bright and painted happy

On the flat face of a paper doll

Arms not meant to move

And heart not meant to beat

And blood not meant to flow

And eyes not meant to cry

And a smile as permanent as

A mountain.

I can feel the flutter of the paper birds as their wings move me up

And up and up and up.

Towards the sun where my new wings will melt

And the ocean will catch my gently

Dropping paper

Body.

Snip snip snip

Snip snip snip.

I was too human for you.

The Dive

All around me girls dove hands first, head second, followed lastly by the feet, all creating a smooth, arching slice through the air and into the dark water. Their feet took them up and off the dock, propelling them into the coolness beneath us. Sunshine walked across the dimpled surface that their heads broke through when they finally came up for air. Each time someone dove, from the moment they bent their legs and thrust themselves deep into the lake, until the moment they surfaced with a gasp and a shake of their hair, I held my breath in anxiety.

The water didn't scare me. I had slid from my sitting position on the dock many times, first slipping a toe in and then pushing myself carefully off the wood and lowering my torso into the water. There were salamanders in the water, and sticks that sometimes cut my feet. I spent hours moving through the shallows, playing in the canoes, and floating slowly across the surface, dipping my ears just below the waterline to block out the noise. The water didn't scare me.

When I was five years old, or somewhere around that age, I stepped off the edge of a pool, jumping in eagerly, without reservation. Five feet of chlorine and water closed over my head, four feet of water below. And I just kept sinking. My little thighs worked with all their might, picking me back up towards the surface until I frantically came through and opened my mouth. My lungs filled to their breaking point with the air around me, causing coughs and sputters and general movements of relief.

At some point in my childhood I read a scary story—the kind your parents don’t let you read but you get in an under-the-table manner from the kid at school who wore the same sweatpants every day and always looked defiant. A high school boy in the story told a girl he loved her, and later that night she came to his house. He was outside by the pool, waiting for her in the dark. “Jump” he told her—and she obeyed him. She dove into the pool, and hit the empty floor with a crack. Unsuspecting and now dead on the floor of a pool.

Camp only lasted a week. At times it felt like an entire glorious summer, stretching forth forever. Other times I could feel the seconds slipping by, and I wondered how time could move so quickly away from me.  The days had escaped me, and my time at camp was coming to an end. The last day was emotional, despite having only spent a week with these people. On that final day I spent my time at the lake, sitting on the edge with my toes dipped into the water, letting the wet lap against my heels as they swung suspended above the surface. All around bodies were leaping into the air with shrieks of laughter that ended abruptly when they plunged deep down beneath the water only to resurface with eyes shut tight and smiles stretching from ear to ear. My heart pounded in response. None of them were scared, and nothing was holding them back. They were happy. They were brave.

Unbidden, I was suddenly standing, walking backwards from the edge. I stood, poised and ready to jump. My legs bent, my arms stuck out awkwardly above my head, and I threw myself off without thinking. I flailed slightly, my legs couldn't straighten, and my mouth was open when I dropped below the surface. I went down and down, losing sight of the light above me, and eventually turning myself to drift back up. A feeling of panic shot through me as the graceful and malicious stems of seaweed wrapped themselves around and around my ankles. Panic was unnecessary—it took a few kicks to free myself from the tangles. The feeling of slime and darkness lingered even as I made my way desperately to the sunshine. I clawed out of the water, choking and self-consciously aware of the giggles of anyone who had seen my ungraceful attempt at diving.

The dock loomed next to me and I pulled myself up, hand over foot over leg over head over toes until I collapsed in a heap on the ancient wood. I spread my body out, and lay in silence, letting the air cool my burning skin and blinking up into the sun. Spots of light danced across my vision and in my peripherals the thick trees burst upward towards the clear sky, permeating the magnificent blue that hung in a perfect suspension. My heart rate slowed to a soft meandering pace, allowing me to breathe again. In and out, and in and out again, my lungs welcomed anything but water. I was stillness, even though around me the chaos charged on without a second thought. Suddenly, I felt a longing to rise. I stood carefully, peeling my body away from the boards and checking my bare thighs for slivers.

The lake sparkled out in front of me, beckoning me to join, to try again. I raised my arms in triumph and bent at the knees to prepare. I couldn't help the grin that rose up from my heart as I jumped forward and down, into the leagues of beauty below. 

I Can't Take my Mind Off of You

Nothing about you caught me off-guard. Not the way you held yourself, or the listening face that most people did not expect. I wasn't surprised by your fear or the crinkle of your eyes when you smiled. But only when you smiled at me. Me, me, the glorious me, the me of dreams and puppy tails and snails and Mary Quite Contrary, and the public railway line.

“I can’t take my eyes off of you

I can’t take my eyes off of you.

I can’t take my eyes off of you

I can’t take my eyes off of you”

I can see the noises of our farewell rising from the sidewalk with a vengeance. Was there anyone else home? Any soul to see my severely miscalculated attempt at religious freedom? But I did escape, unscathed, an unsightly, esoteric Esther. With a seat before the King, or the Queen.  With my head held high and my hands held higher, praising the tears I cried and the hardness in your voice. O, lo and behold, I can’t be what I've been. Not anymore.

Take a look at me, and where I’m standing. I’m nothing, just a ghost of what used to be, and all of the artifacts that my fingers and toes dug into with all I knew. With the wind blowing one way, and the trees blowing the other, I’ll be tossed around in the middle.

Can you take your eyes off of me?

A quick, gray, dip into the sea for me. A dip and a swim, and a cold unfettered jump away from you, until the salt and the seaweed and the sand are my bones, and my blood, and my hair. Now I can move, now I can breathe; now I can run away from the prying eyes and the sightless stares into my shivering soul and the sighing, the sighing, the sighing that breaks my ears at night.

“I can’t take my mind off of you”.

There’s so much to open, and so much to fear. And so much to find, and so much to hear.

So much to learn, so much to be near. And so much to love, and so much to mirror.

“My mind… my mind…

‘Til I find somebody new”.

Diary Excerpts Series: Part One

I wonder what will happen if we do this. Will he wake up and roll away from me in the morning, and make it obvious that I am intruding on his perfect morning world, where he always eats Lucky Charms, and now feels obligated to share those Lucky Charms with me? Or will he sleep and sleep until I’m finally already showered and dressed, and he rolls over in confusion, and then falls back quickly to sleep before I can say a word?

What if he wakes up before me and kisses me awake? What if we both stay awake all night, pretending to sleep, but wanting to be a half inch closer, and being too frightened to move?

Or maybe, we’ll wake up slowly, calmly? He’ll smile lazily at my blinking eyes whilst yawning. I’ll giggle nervously before burrowing deeper under the covers, and he’ll roll onto me, pinning me beneath as he reaches across the bed for his phone to check the time. Then he’ll nibble my ear and mess with my hair on his journey back to his side of the bed.

O Nymphet

O fighting Nymphet!

Your passion is still burning

And on your knees I fell.

I’m glancing into broken mirrors

Where nymphets cast their spell.

O lovely Nymphet!

Lights of twisted solitude

Are the background to my gain,

And all you see is my stone face

Because you’ll just ignore the pain.

O angry Nymphet!

Be scared! Be sad! Be your old-fashioned

Dreams! Be the fear of being right!

Sweet girl onstage, take a bow and stay,

For he is running from your sight.

O broken Nymphet!

Not enough, and not too far,

You’re falling short of him.

She mesmerized his wandering gaze,

And now she dances on his whim.

O drunken Nymphet!

O the web is real and the bond is tight,

And you’ve surveyed all you thought you could.

The race is won, and you’ve waved the flag,

Just like everyone knew you would.

O precocious Nymphet—

You’re the fire and light of nobody’s world,

So lean your chest towards me.

The heart of this, is your saddest gasp—

There is nothing left to see.

O graceful Nymphet.

I look at you with your eyes here

But I’m drowning in the rush.

Good luck, sweet girl, for it’s all a blur—

And sometimes, the world is too much.

A Study in Character

I had to write about myself as though I was a character in my new writing group. It was... revealing.

The door of the café opened with the delicate ringing of a bell and a girl bustled through. She was small, but not in a child-like way—merely diminutive. She made her way through the crowded room, her dark hair glinting under the overhead lighting, her feet taking small but deliberate steps towards a table full of familiar faces. Her eyes disappeared when she smiled at all of her friends—her cheeks were round enough to obscure all other features. She took her seat and immediately fretted over her decision—should she order the turkey on rye? Or the BLT—the sandwich the shop was famous for. And although she was parched, and wanted a cool glass of coke, she resigned herself to water with lemons, as was the acceptable order. The pressure of ordering overcame her for a moment and her hands fluttered about, flipping pages while she asked around her what everyone else was eating.

The waiter was her constrict, and when he arrived she made a snap decision—chicken Caesar salad it would be. The conversation picked up after he left, and the woman found herself involved in several different debates and tangents, turning quickly from one face to another, trying to hear everyone at once, but of course, being in a seat at the far end of the table she was excluded from many a story, and she found her tales falling on deaf, far away ears.

As the night wore on, the water in her glass was refilled many times. Lack of alcohol did not stop her behavior from descending into loudness and exhibitionist tendencies. The effect of social gatherings on her mannerisms was detrimental. Determined to be noticed, she resorted to behaviors more akin to drunken women seeking the attention of the man at the bar. Her coat was shed in the ever-warming room and her skin glowed bright and soft in the light. Her voice rose above the din, while everyone else had settled into the calm of the evening. Although they were tired, her friends smiled at her antics and allowed her to enjoy her night; they slowly tuned her out and gave way to the distractions in their pockets. She left the café on the arm of a man she had met that night, peering into his eyes with hope and optimism. 

My Funeral

I’m the one who’s here to mourn—

And you seem like you’re fine.

Though all these thoughts have held me down

You and I have reached sublime.

We’re humans, and we feel the world,

It dances round our toes

With leaps and twists and grand jetés—

Emotion is what we chose.

You’re unwelcome here, near my crying face,

Because my heart can’t take the weight.

You’ll keep your place and make them laugh,

But I’ve never believed in fate.

I’ve seen it all, and I held back—

The world is not for me.

I’m ready to hold all it is to my heart,

And maybe that can make me see.

The mask I wear is a child’s game,

Indulgent of my fears—

I’ve got my love, I’ve got my shame,

And I’ll smile for all the mirrors.

The right is earned, so privilege it is—

To don my shattered face,

I’m here to mourn, at this funeral,

So leave—this is my place.

An Ode to the Lost Boy

If I never see your face again,

I’m not sure what I’ll do.

Your timidity to smile at me

Was charming to a fault.

Each word you spoke gave me

A spark of something to be learned—

And then again I felt so young

When glancing at your gaze.

I sat right there at the info desk,

Hoping the second shoe would drop.

It didn’t though, and you made me laugh—

With your charming, witty smile.

Romance is my aim in life

And you fit every qualm of mine.

I hope I did the same for you

When you walked into my life.

But then you walked right out again

With a child upon your shoulders.

You smiled back and I held my tongue

When I should have shouted out!

O sweet boy, with a thimble kiss—

Let’s fly to Neverland—just us!

We’ll swim all day and we’ll scream all night

While the lost boys take our gold.

So take me away to Neverland,

You stranger, you fiend, you friend.

I’m waiting here, so patiently,

While you figure out our end.

O stranger who I want to meet,

I saw your face and fell.

Come back to me, and take me home

To the place we both want to go.

(Inspired by the stranger I met at work today. Let's just get married, okay?)

Let's Be the Naked

I want to know what makes you,

You.

Here’s a bone

Here’s a breath

Here’s the mighty sinew!

Let’s be the naked,

Be the brave, and the bold.

I’ll see all the fears that

Have made you feel old.

Shed all convention,

Let the loving flag fly!

All the world is your stage

When you’re learning to cry.

Let’s be the naked,

Be the bold, be the brave.

You’ve given so much,

Now it’s our turn to save.

I’ll see each old scar

And I’ll know of the new.

I’m finding out now

What a friend ought to do.

When you’re fighting for air

At the edge of a boat

Standing like you’re not scared,

When I know that you’ll jump.

Let’s be the naked!

Be the scared and the ready!

I’ll see all I see,

I don’t care if it’s messy.

Let’s be the naked!

Don’t you cover in shame!

For all the reasons you’re scared,

It’s not you who’s to blame.

Let’s not cover up

All that you have to share.

Let’s be the naked;

Let’s be real, if you dare.

Let’s be the naked.

Just be brave, just be bold.

You Are My Sunshine

From now on

You’ll just be another

Music box

To me.

“You Are My Sunshine”

Because that’s what

It comes down to.

You were the

Sun and the moon

The stars and the rains

The comets and the shooting stars

The planets and their shadows

And the beating of my heart.

You’ll forever be the

Crank-style box

As it sings our moments.

From now on,

You’re just a piece of

Metal making music—

And I’m finally okay

With that.

Halo

I miss my friend—

Is he in there somewhere?

And I miss the way you cared.

Life’s a dream when the color’s up—

All the world will stop and stare.

And that’s the worst!

I know how you think—

It’s their prying eyes

That make you compromise

The feelings I know that you feel.

An open shut case on my

Head and my heart are the

Most civilized of all.

That’s not how it worked

And I’m calling your bluff—

Don’t pretend that this isn’t a wall.

Run along coward

And try not to think.

You’ve gotten so tangled in this.

Blame I won’t share in our timely demise—

It’s your fault that there’s something to miss.

Running makes sense for someone like you.

A man who has shame to spare.

You weren’t alone,

But you made it that way

When you decided life isn’t to share.

Your halo was right there in my sight

And no one that I knew could compare.

But halos fall and that’s not all.

Please remember, it was you—

You’re the one who made me feel small.

For a Moment

I’m a little bit scared

You won’t like what you see.

Let’s cut me in half for a moment,

Shall we?

I have bones—

But more than a frame,

They outline the things that

Have helped me stay sane.

These bones,

O! These bones!

They’ve managed to make me

A woman, a shelter,

A trap, and a canyon.

These bones are a cage

And a lock and a key.

Stand alone, stand alone, stand alone

Free.

 O! So help me dear bones,

Help this soul to be saved!

Twist my arms down and then let me be brave!

Past the bones there are lungs,

Those sweet holders of air!

Take a breath and be smart,

Never let yourself change!

With the lungs there are veins!

O! Glorious veins.

Those maps of my fears cover every last

Inch

Of

Me.

But wait.

Don’t forget.

The heart.

Mine’s the one with the battered old engine—

A sick lass at best,

With no hope of rearrangement.

It still hops on,

Finding strength in the veins,

In the lungs,

In the bones.

In my words!

Well I’m okay,

And I know who I am.

But do you understand the great mess that I am?

They’re all just placeholders

For my hop along scars.

Life has always been hard

But I’ll keep seeing stars.

“As long as there are stars above me”.

Take my trap and my cave,

Take my hop along scars!

Take it all or I won’t know how to

Take all your smiles.

Here I am,

I won’t hide—

Here’s this sweet-tempered girl!

Just be kind,

and please know that

You might mean the world.