That's pretty much the motive behind my hobbies. Theater, singing, blogging/writing, art - not only do I get to be creative, but generally I also get all sorts of praise for doing it.
I suppose that's not the only reason. I do get a thrill knowing I actually entertained someone else. Knowing that I made someone laugh is more of a reward than anything I can think of (well - besides money - if anyone wants to pay me for doing what I love, I'm there)(wait - that doesn't make me a whore, does it?).
Hmmm...that's not very long for a post - I suppose I'd better go a little more in depth. With theater, I can act like the biggest idiot onstage, and as long as it's part of the character, I'm not vulnerable to ridicule for acting that way. That, and well, theater people in general act like complete idiots around each other, so I can get away with it even when I'm not onstage. It's a nice break from having to act all smart, resonsible, and nice when I'm at work - cathartic, if you will.
The same can go for blogging. I can vent all the frustrations I have and then pretty much forget about it. Or, if I can't forget about it, I can generally present it in an amusing way that makes the situation not seem as bad as it is. It's also a great way to let all my friends know what's going on in my life without having to write each of them individually. I'm terrible at keeping in touch, so odds are without my blog, I wouldn't hear much from any of my friends. (Alright, that may be a little bit of a lie - myspace and facebook help me keep in touch as well)
As far as art goes, I hate to call that a hobby. It doesn't seem like I should, since I have a BFA and all. However, as time goes on, I'm spending less and less time on my artwork. I make time for everything else, and I suppose this is one more thing I should try to make time for. But I don't just do it to entertain others or for the praise - that makes it sound like I put more value on the opinions of others than I really do. I don't suppose that's why I do any of these things. Something in my soul just needs it to get by.
But don't get me wrong - I'm still an attention-whore despite that.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Sorry I'm late!
My apologies for posting late and for posting a lame story. While I love writing, short stories are simply not my medium at all. You might note that this is less of a short story and more of a prologue to some sort of disco/sci-fi epic. Well, enjoy. Or not.
***********************
Close your eyes and imagine the future. No, wait. Back up. Imagine the future the way they did back in the 1960s. You know, that dated look of short polyester skirts and gogo boots, gaudy upholstery and extraneous fins and tubes of no practical use whatsoever tacked on to various household appliances to make them appear futuristic.
On the off chance that you’re picturing a future similar to that found in the original Star Trek, well, you might just be on to something. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Star Trek got it right. Well, except for those ridiculous outfits the men wore. I mean, if we ladies are to be traipsing about the galaxy in miniskirts and knee-high boots, our male shipmates damn well better show some skin. So remove any images of a future in which some sort of Captain Kirk sits commandingly in his captain’s chair in an unflattering yellow polyester top. Just pick that thought up and toss it. Replace that chair with a gold velvet couch, and upon it place not one, but two muscular young men, naked from the waist up. And you may as well picture them with their muscular flesh nicely oiled. Space can be a sticky place at times; it’s good to be greasy. (Don’t scoff; I’m the one writing to you from the future. What would you know about it? Trust me; their oiled chests are just as much a necessity as my short skirt.) Now, go ahead and place me – short skirt and all – on the couch directly between these young men.
Our sofa sits amidst a room of various control panels, much like those on the original Star Trek, analog and everything. You twenty-first cats think with such smug superiority about your digital this and your digital that, but just try to break the light barrier with that nonsense and see what happens. Analog is the wave of the future my friend.
So, you got the image? Good. Now lower the lights, turn on the disco ball and get ready to rock the galaxy. And whatever you do, don’t sneeze, or you’ll blow this image smithereens. I’d hate to have to explain all this again. Now, hold on tight, and let me show you what the universe has to offer.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Spin Me A Yarn
This week's topic is more of a challenge, so I'm going to go ahead and post now to give you time to think.
The idea is that the person ahead of you will pick a genre/style of writing, a prop, and a line (dialogue or non), and you must use these to write a short story. Since I was the one picking the topic, I called up Caitlin to pick for me, and this is what I got:
Genre: Romance/Bodice-ripper
Prop: Marshmallow Peeps
Line: All of her loneliness and confusion welded together in one upsurge of devouring yearning
I'm still in the middle of writing it, and I'll post it as soon as I can - probably tomorrow morning, but I figured the earlier I posted this, the better. Keep in mind who is writing after you, and pick accordingly. Since Glenn has taken creative writing classes, I would have no qualms about giving him the most outlandish crap I can think of. However, I'm not giving myself much time to think of anything, so here you go Glenn:
Genre: Horror/Thriller
Prop: A used condom
Line: If only I had my toothbrush.
Update: The Smoky Mountain Rogue
Amelia would never trust another man again. At least that’s what she told herself as she cleared the plates from her tables. She had been hurt many times in the past, but now was her chance to start over with a clean slate. She had quit her job in Chicago, tired of the hustle and bustle, the stress, and more importantly the lies that it seemed every man she had been with had told her. She moved to Copperhill, Tennessee, and desperate for something to distract her, took a job waiting tables in a local restaurant called the Iron Horse.
The town was small, one of those where everyone was related to or at least known by everyone else. It was quaint, and the people felt honest. However, in such a town it was glaringly obvious that she was a stranger. Still, the people were friendly and welcomed her as one of their own. One person in particular seemed to take a keen interest in Amelia.
His name was Grant, and he was the owner of a local rafting company. He was arrogant, stubborn, and used to getting his way, Amelia thought, but certainly easy on the eyes. He was a little over six feet tall, with sun-kissed blond hair, eyes that made the sky look pale, skin a golden bronze from working outdoors, and a smile that could break the heart of anyone in close proximity, male or female. And though she had never seen it herself, she was confident from the way his shirt hugged his muscular shoulders, and the way his butt looked in a good pair of jeans, that country living had sculpted his body into a shape Adonis would envy. But her life had changed now, Amelia reminded herself, she didn’t need a man to come and ruin her life now that things finally seemed to be getting back on track.
Grant came into the Iron Horse daily, and always sat so he could watch Amelia work, fascinated by the show she put on for other people. He had seen women like her before, utterly vulnerable, yet putting up a hard exterior for the public to see. She intrigued him, yet every attempt to talk to her was shot down before he got beyond a greeting. Still he persisted, and every once in awhile he would get to see her let down her guard before she realized what was happening and snapped it back up again.
This went on for months - Grant charming Amelia into opening up, and Amelia admonishing herself later for letting him get to her. She was repulsed by his conceit, and yet, as time went on she began to see something past that, as if his bravado was a show of his own. She wanted more, but just didn’t think she could risk getting hurt again, as if her heart would literally break if it happened one more time.
One night, Amelia was sitting in her living room, getting ready to settle down with a book and some marshmallow Peeps she had bought at the Piggly Wiggly earlier that day, when there was a knock at the door. She wasn’t very social, so she hesitated, unsure of who could possibly be calling on her. She opened the door a crack, and there was Grant, his body silhouetted by the setting sun. Instantly, panic swept over Amelia. This was so unexpected that she didn’t know how to react, not to mention she was wearing some old track pants and a faded t-shirt.
In her moments of indecision, she ended up just gawking at him until Grant had to ask if he could come in. Dumbfounded she stepped aside and opened the door, letting him in. He sat down on the couch, and, surfacing out of her daze, Amelia offered him some tea. He refused, and she sat down opposite him, unsure of what to do next as his eyes burned into her. Finally, he spoke. “I don’t know how much longer I can play this game.”
Amelia was frozen - was she that transparent? She wanted to give in, but instead stood up and turned away from him. “ I think you need to leave.”
She waited to hear the door shut, but was surprised instead by a gentle touch on her arm. “I don’t think I can stand to be away from you any longer. If I walk away now, I don’t think I could ever come back. You’ve become my reason to get up every morning and I don’t know that I could stand living here anymore if I didn’t have you.”
With that, she melted. Amelia turned, and as his lips found hers she wondered if this was a mistake. Just then, his warm arms encircled her with his gentle strength, all doubts vanished. The kiss deepened, and she allowed her hands to wander, caressing his broad shoulders and rippling abs. In those moments, all of her loneliness and confusion welded together in one upsurge of devouring yearning, and she quickly started to undress him.
In her haste, her clumsy fingers fumbled every button on his shirt. After agonizing minutes, she removed it, and worshiped the body that was underneath. It was as if he had been chiseled out of the mountains themselves. Grant, enjoying every minute of her cute flustering, made no move to help, but rather, once she was done, whisked her t-shirt off in a second, and carried her to the bedroom. He laid her on the bed, and teasing her just a bit, slowly removed her track pants, relishing the tension it created from her frustration. Unable to wait any longer Amelia practically ripped off his jeans and pulled him on top of her. It was nice to feel the weight of a man on her again, she thought.
Grant, his lips gently brushing her neck, softly traced the curves of her body this his fingertips, her breasts, her thighs. Amelia arched against him in longing. She could feel the stiffness of his member, and she couldn’t contain herself anymore. “Now”, she said, and Grant, relieved to able to stop restraining himself, slid into her. With each thrust any misgivings Amelia might have harbored were washed away, and she gave herself over to the mounting pleasure. She was glad she lived in the country, for now she screamed with such pleasure, anyone close by would have heard it. They both climaxed, and as she lay there basking in the ecstasy, Amelia thought that the move to Tennessee had definitely been a good idea.
The idea is that the person ahead of you will pick a genre/style of writing, a prop, and a line (dialogue or non), and you must use these to write a short story. Since I was the one picking the topic, I called up Caitlin to pick for me, and this is what I got:
Genre: Romance/Bodice-ripper
Prop: Marshmallow Peeps
Line: All of her loneliness and confusion welded together in one upsurge of devouring yearning
I'm still in the middle of writing it, and I'll post it as soon as I can - probably tomorrow morning, but I figured the earlier I posted this, the better. Keep in mind who is writing after you, and pick accordingly. Since Glenn has taken creative writing classes, I would have no qualms about giving him the most outlandish crap I can think of. However, I'm not giving myself much time to think of anything, so here you go Glenn:
Genre: Horror/Thriller
Prop: A used condom
Line: If only I had my toothbrush.
Update: The Smoky Mountain Rogue
Amelia would never trust another man again. At least that’s what she told herself as she cleared the plates from her tables. She had been hurt many times in the past, but now was her chance to start over with a clean slate. She had quit her job in Chicago, tired of the hustle and bustle, the stress, and more importantly the lies that it seemed every man she had been with had told her. She moved to Copperhill, Tennessee, and desperate for something to distract her, took a job waiting tables in a local restaurant called the Iron Horse.
The town was small, one of those where everyone was related to or at least known by everyone else. It was quaint, and the people felt honest. However, in such a town it was glaringly obvious that she was a stranger. Still, the people were friendly and welcomed her as one of their own. One person in particular seemed to take a keen interest in Amelia.
His name was Grant, and he was the owner of a local rafting company. He was arrogant, stubborn, and used to getting his way, Amelia thought, but certainly easy on the eyes. He was a little over six feet tall, with sun-kissed blond hair, eyes that made the sky look pale, skin a golden bronze from working outdoors, and a smile that could break the heart of anyone in close proximity, male or female. And though she had never seen it herself, she was confident from the way his shirt hugged his muscular shoulders, and the way his butt looked in a good pair of jeans, that country living had sculpted his body into a shape Adonis would envy. But her life had changed now, Amelia reminded herself, she didn’t need a man to come and ruin her life now that things finally seemed to be getting back on track.
Grant came into the Iron Horse daily, and always sat so he could watch Amelia work, fascinated by the show she put on for other people. He had seen women like her before, utterly vulnerable, yet putting up a hard exterior for the public to see. She intrigued him, yet every attempt to talk to her was shot down before he got beyond a greeting. Still he persisted, and every once in awhile he would get to see her let down her guard before she realized what was happening and snapped it back up again.
This went on for months - Grant charming Amelia into opening up, and Amelia admonishing herself later for letting him get to her. She was repulsed by his conceit, and yet, as time went on she began to see something past that, as if his bravado was a show of his own. She wanted more, but just didn’t think she could risk getting hurt again, as if her heart would literally break if it happened one more time.
One night, Amelia was sitting in her living room, getting ready to settle down with a book and some marshmallow Peeps she had bought at the Piggly Wiggly earlier that day, when there was a knock at the door. She wasn’t very social, so she hesitated, unsure of who could possibly be calling on her. She opened the door a crack, and there was Grant, his body silhouetted by the setting sun. Instantly, panic swept over Amelia. This was so unexpected that she didn’t know how to react, not to mention she was wearing some old track pants and a faded t-shirt.
In her moments of indecision, she ended up just gawking at him until Grant had to ask if he could come in. Dumbfounded she stepped aside and opened the door, letting him in. He sat down on the couch, and, surfacing out of her daze, Amelia offered him some tea. He refused, and she sat down opposite him, unsure of what to do next as his eyes burned into her. Finally, he spoke. “I don’t know how much longer I can play this game.”
Amelia was frozen - was she that transparent? She wanted to give in, but instead stood up and turned away from him. “ I think you need to leave.”
She waited to hear the door shut, but was surprised instead by a gentle touch on her arm. “I don’t think I can stand to be away from you any longer. If I walk away now, I don’t think I could ever come back. You’ve become my reason to get up every morning and I don’t know that I could stand living here anymore if I didn’t have you.”
With that, she melted. Amelia turned, and as his lips found hers she wondered if this was a mistake. Just then, his warm arms encircled her with his gentle strength, all doubts vanished. The kiss deepened, and she allowed her hands to wander, caressing his broad shoulders and rippling abs. In those moments, all of her loneliness and confusion welded together in one upsurge of devouring yearning, and she quickly started to undress him.
In her haste, her clumsy fingers fumbled every button on his shirt. After agonizing minutes, she removed it, and worshiped the body that was underneath. It was as if he had been chiseled out of the mountains themselves. Grant, enjoying every minute of her cute flustering, made no move to help, but rather, once she was done, whisked her t-shirt off in a second, and carried her to the bedroom. He laid her on the bed, and teasing her just a bit, slowly removed her track pants, relishing the tension it created from her frustration. Unable to wait any longer Amelia practically ripped off his jeans and pulled him on top of her. It was nice to feel the weight of a man on her again, she thought.
Grant, his lips gently brushing her neck, softly traced the curves of her body this his fingertips, her breasts, her thighs. Amelia arched against him in longing. She could feel the stiffness of his member, and she couldn’t contain herself anymore. “Now”, she said, and Grant, relieved to able to stop restraining himself, slid into her. With each thrust any misgivings Amelia might have harbored were washed away, and she gave herself over to the mounting pleasure. She was glad she lived in the country, for now she screamed with such pleasure, anyone close by would have heard it. They both climaxed, and as she lay there basking in the ecstasy, Amelia thought that the move to Tennessee had definitely been a good idea.
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