Writing Woes

A new assignment of mine is to write about what it's like to write a short story. Without getting into the 'colorful' language I might use to describe it, I will say that it can be very...frustrating at times. I have a problem with deadlines- hate them. They always make me stress out way more than I have to and I fret about finishing everything in time. Often I'll rush to get it done, which is a bad thing; I end up leaving out good details that I would have put in if I just took my time. I have to give myself the time and everything turns out better when I do that.
Another thing about writing a short story is the fact that I have to keep it short. I am notorious for expounding a bit too much on minor details. I want the reader to understand what it's like to be in certain places, but then I end up describing things that no one cares about, like how dirty some one's shoes are or how dusty the floor is or something trivial like that. I like doing those things, but I have to bear in mind that I'm writing a short story and not a novella. I have trouble keeping things concise and to the point. I like to expand on what I write, get as detailed as I can, and even a bit melodramatic in some cases. I like to write about places other than what I'm used to, and if it's some place far off, I'll research it a little to get a feel for the place.
I like to have at least three characters that I work with in a story; that way it's not completely over-the-top and convoluted. I no longer restrict myself to writing from one character's point of view, or writing from a girl's perspective.
It can get crazy sometimes, and I'll go through the editing process numerous times, chopping out what I don't need or no longer like. I definitely avoid cliches as often as I can; nobody likes to read a story and figure out what's going to happen in the first three chapters.
With short stories, it's a little more difficult, because you have to conform to some of the 'writing rules.' It can't be too long, because the reader might get bored, but it can't be too short, because then it's like 'what just happened?' You have to find a comfortable medium between the two, and that's always a pain in the butt.....

A Quote to Live By...

Let's see... A quote I live by or follow... Well, I certainly like quotes. I have a lot of them. I do this weird thing- if I don't have anything to do or whatever, I'll collect quotes. I have several of them, but can I pick one that I would live by? If I had to choose, it would probably be: "Gonna scrape the trouble off my boots." This one's another Joe Strummer quote, but I do think the guy has quite a way with words. I like this because of the metaphor; the trouble is viewed as something so insignificant that it can just be scraped off your boot like mud. I like that outlook. Don't get so worked up about something so stupid or unimportant. Sometimes I wish that I could definitely get rid of my troubles in that way. I would live by this quote because the way I interpret it, is that there are more important things in life than worrying about the little insignificant things that don't matter. They might preoccupy your mind and worry you, but what you should do is just scrap them off your boots and stomp on them. I'd do something like that...
Another one of my favorites is "Lead, follow or get out of the way." This was said by General George S. Patton, a great figure in history. I like how he's brutally honest with this quote. Don't stand there and be all indecisive, just do something! I could live by that one, too...
Just for fun, I have other favorites:
"When someone asks you, A penny for your thoughts, and you put your two cents in, what happens to the other penny?" -George Carlin.
"I believe in individuality, being yourself, and to hell with what anybody else thinks about you."- Billie Joe Armstrong. (I could live by this one, too).
"An apple a day keeps anyone away if you throw it hard enough." -Stephen Colbert. ;)

That is all I have for right now. I'd love to hear some other ones! ...I guess all of these quotes I could live by in some way...even the crazy ones....

Guitarist

A punk, self-righteous and with a message.
On a hot night with stars that gleam bright.
In a field, on a stage, spot lights burning.
A concert for thousands, yet so intimate

Just for the hell of it.

Angel's Twenty

Soaring over soft seas,
The sun winks teasingly
From behind cotton clouds
The air is icy; the sky is deep;
The stars shimmer brightly like miniature cities.
Above the world, it is silent.
Gliding through the silky sky, as if in a dream.
Here, the colors show their brightest;
Ribbons of pink and gold lead the way to
That endless horizon.

*******
Engines roar onward;
The lights blink furiously around
The chill of the night has passed;
The scent of leather and fuel remains.
Through the dirty glass, the pilot stares.
He hopes to catch that horizon yet.
The radar is angry now; he holds her steady.
He talks to her gently to stay on course.
Ahead his eye catches the glinting of silver.
His heart leaps to a pound.
But he keeps her steady as the
Silver flashes again and again.
Ready and waiting, the pilot glides on
At Angel’s Twenty.

Cutting Loose

Sometimes things happen, and I can’t do anything about it.
I’ll try and try, but it’s no good; it turns out wrong all over again.
I guess I’ve come to grips with that; how nothing in life ever seems fair.
I’ve done what’s left to do, and now I just have to leave.

She looked at him, and he looked at her.
She could sense the distance between them; but there was still something left to feel. Something left that was unspoken.
Whatever they had was now broken.

The door snapped shut and she was gone forever.
He just sat there and stared at the walls; he felt like it was all a dream.
An endless dream that had been haunting him for months.
He heard the car sputter to life and the motor fade into the morning haze.
He opened the window and breathed in the fog, a smart-alec grin across his face.
Now he was free to roam the streets again; to follow the 'shit town lights' to independence.

He stepped out on the pavement, walking down the street.
He stared at the converse sneakers that covered his feet
And smiled.
As he walked deeper into that mist,
He started to sing all the tunes that he’d missed.
The ones he couldn’t sing around her, because she hated them.

He followed the shadows to the end of the Bay.
He heard the echoes of music somewhere along the way,
Realizing how much he’d missed it; how much time had been lost.
He watched his reflection twist and bend.

He left the Bay the day after.
He packed his things and drove off in a cloud of exhaust
With the dog in the back seat
And the guitar lying beside him.
He never looked back.

Lexi: A poem about my dog...

Always running about

Sniffing things with that inquiring snout.

A tail that curves and bends;

Ears that stick up, and pointed at the ends.

Eyes of amber and a little wet nose;

Runs in a frenzy, not caring where she goes.

She doesn't bark, but she'll let you know

Wherever it is she wants to go.

*So cute, right? She was really starting to annoy me that day, so I decided to use that as inspiration....

First Assignment: Poems

Hey. I have to type up some of the poems I turned in for my creative writing class. Here's the first one:

Friday Night at Juanita's

The sun sets over the street;

In a convertible car, with the wind in my hair.

There is the smell of rain, the stink of cigarettes that comes

With the flash of light from a match.

A half-moon glows dimly above;

Orange reflects brightly off of white-rimmed sunglasses.

Crumpled papers scratch the sidewalk in a breeze.

Fireflies float about like tiny beacons.

Excited voices buzz together in a dull murmur.

Motorcycles rest in their places, chrome gleaming.

The riders sit atop them, leather jackets loose on their shoulders.

Heavy doors open.

A pool of ruby-tinged light appears on the ground.

The calm has now lifted;

We swarm into the club, a waiting what we traveled so long to see.

Stars glitter and fade above

As music blares throughout the night.