Halatia

I get nostalgic for deviantArt in the same way I get homesick. There are just moments that flash in out of nowhere, memories of ridiculous conversations, of passionate critiques, of affirmations so strong they would buoy me for days. In my mind, dA is a physical place as much as my childhood  home, a place where I grew more than I thought I ever could. And it calls me back just as much as that home, too. I always feel as though there is something to reclaim, to remember, to relearn. 

But like that childhood home, I've been away for so long that I'm not even sure where to start, where to look for the awesome people, the awesome stories. 

I just know I miss the old guard. And I want to meet the new guard. There is always some part of me that longs for that moment of stumbling upon the most perfect story buried deep in someone's gallery. 

And it's nostalgia leaking, but I love y'all. And miss you. 



Meg

I turn 29 tomorrow. 

In the past five years, I have written more than I ever thought I would. Two theses. Countless articles. So, so many papers for school. 

And I am happy where I am. I am still a science journalist. In the fall, I begin the next chapter of my academic career which I'm sure will heap boundless more writing opportunities on my plate. I write every day, and I am so blessed for the chance to do so.

But I look at my pages of pages of writing, enough to fill a book, to fill two (after this semester, gods, maybe three),  and I love them, but I do not feel as though I am writing the right words. 

A voice tells me there are other stories to be told.

And it reminds me, none too subtly, of a promise I made to myself when I was twelve. I would be a writer. Not a journalist, not a academic. A different sort of writer. One who crafts characters, who takes risks on the page, who finds a way to create worlds. 

That voice has been louder than ever in the last few months.

It's time to start listening. 

 

Meg

Ohgawd.

The worst.

The worst.

First of all, what the hell were you thinking, Meg? A prompt about symbolism? You knew you were never going to write something for that because symbolism scares the crap out of you. And on top of that, you were prepping to go out of town to a conference, and so there was no time to do anything at all. And then...

And then.

And then I get back from AWP (THE BEST), and I feel this thing in my throat, like I'd pounded down a whole container of Pringles in one go and all of the salty goodness is just lumped up there, hanging out for funsies. And I choose to ignore it, because it doesn't really hurt. It just feels weird and makes my ears itch like hell. But by day two, it's starting to feel a little more scratchy, a little more raw.

And by day three, I'm basically dead.

I have no ruddy clue what that sickness was, but it was the worst thing I've ever experienced. It was basically a cold plus a sinus infection plus hell. I didn't get out of bed for a few days (it might have been three, but I think it was four) and I still have no voice, though I feel a ton better. Though now I am so freaking far behind on school work thanks to the conference and the death!sickness fun. So I'm drowning. And the only thing to do when you're drowning in school work? Futz around on the internet of course.

Which is when I discovered the DD! Thank you so much to neurotype-on-discord for the feature. It means so much, especially on that piece, which I hope to take even further soonish. I think it could really be something special, and that DD makes me feel all warm and fuzzy about it. And thank you to everyone who faved and commented on it. That means so much to a sickiface Meg.

More prompts for will come soon! And don't worry. We'll make up for lost time during Flash Fiction Month and/or the poem month one that I absolutely can't remember the name of at the moment. I blame the insane amount of snot still shoved in my sinus passages.



Meg

So I volunteer in my sister's first grade classroom.

And one of those ankle-biters totally gave me pink eye.

This would not be so bad if my vision weren't so terrible. I wear contacts every day. But when you have pink eye, contacts aren't really an option.

Which still wouldn't be so bad if I had kept up on my glasses prescription. Which I have not. So for the rest of the week, I'm rocking glasses that were super fashionable when I got them over a decade ago. Also the prescription is pretty far off, so I can't see long distances like at all, so my mom gets to drive me to school (ha!).  Also, also I sat on them once so they are totally bent. And also, also, also, they are totally missing one of the nose pads.

Basically, I'm a pink eyed rock star right now.





Week six is in the bag. I'm so excited to see some new faces this go around!

:thumb434870700: The Prompt Was LossThe loss of who you are is a powerful thing.  You think you know yourself—perhaps not completely, but pretty well, like a friend.  But then, then… You find something within yourself that you never realized was there.  It shakes your life.  It shakes your soul.  And you feel so, so ashamed.  You wonder how this could happen to you.  These things only happen to other people… right?  You refuse to accept it, at first.  “That’s impossible,” you think.  “You’re lying to yourself, or maybe it’s just a passing period of life.  Regardless, it won’t stay long—don’t worry,” you tell yourself, grasping at straws for any comfort at all.  But really, you’re only lying to yourself by not admitting it to be truth.  It is a part of you.  You just don’t quite accept it.  Once you realize this, you start accepting it whether you like it or Disappointment.I'm beginning to realize the world doesn't think like me.
The world goes by its own clock
tick
     -tock
tick
     -tock
Blissfully unaware that there are few/
                                                  some...
                                             ...one
that care and feel
                         -together in one-
so deeply
The world doesn't go above and beyond for the sake of one.
              doesn't stop for them to get their sea legs
                                               :thumb434128717:

I'm behind on commenting on all of these lovely pieces, but I hope to get caught up soon!

Week Seven: Let's write about Symbolism

Ok guys, we're going in deep. We're going heavy. We're going to do something that I absolutely, 100% suck at.

The dreaded....

The feared....

Symbolism

Undoubtedly, symbolism is an important thing in any form of writing. My latest creative nonfiction professor put it like this:

You should be able to answer two questions: What is the story (or poem) about? What's it really about?

Think of Harry Potter. On the surface, it's about a boy wizard that has to kill a snakeman. But it's about so much more than that. It's about racism. About prejudices. About loyalty. About friendship. And often times, symbolism is what brings us to these realizations. Dobby? He's not just a super weird plot device! He's there to teach about humility, loyalty, good intentions vs smart intentions, etc, etc, etc. That super hard to catch snitch? Not just something we all wish we could see zooming through the air (beckoning us to Hogwarts); it's there to teach us about luck and perseverance.

While I've always been sort of ok at picking symbolism out of readings (though only sort of), I have never been good at working it into my own writing. And I know that if it's something I took a stab at more often, I'd have a better chance of achieving the "what's it really about" feeling in a story.

So I'm going to give it a shot. I'm going to pick something -- a character,  a location, an object -- and I'm going to turn it into a bloody symbol if it kills me. And I hope all of you try to do it as well!

And when you are done, please submit them here! I can't wait to see what you come up with!

And after this tough week, we're going to do something with revision again. I had a super great idea this weekend and then totally forgot it. Here's hoping I remember in the next seven days!



Meg