I Am the Pollen and You Are the Petals

We are delicate works of art, enchanting the world one by one. Your pastel colours paint the earth. You are mesmerizing. I have never seen something as visually stimulating nestled among nature’s finest. You kiss the sky and have the ability to blow the heavens into stars with your beauty. Without you I am nothing. We complement each other in a heavenly nature. When they see you they complement your breathtaking stature and majestic soul. They wouldn’t dare to take a second look at me. But I can change you. I help you adapt to the world around you, I will always protect you because I am the pollen and you are the petals.

Reasonable Doubt

Writing is hard! But to me, what’s even harder is putting your work out there for the world to criticize. Writing is a big insecurity of mine. I believe that when you write, you carve a piece of yourself out onto a page for everyone to see. It’s rare that I let someone see a piece I’m working on before it’s finished in my eyes. Recently I submitted a short story of mine to be adjudicated by two judges. I decided to apply for the District Authority Award. This is a $1000 scholarship that every grade twelve student in the district can apply for. The students that apply are put under categories such as: Dance, artwork, photography, Writing, ect.

With this being said, I was the only student to not get this scholarship in my school. My school has had a 100% winning streak and I broke it. It was probably the worst feeling I have ever felt in my entire life. Going to an Arts school the pressure to win this award/ scholarship was insane. I was up against some of the best dancers, photographers and writers in my school. My school has a waiting list for every grade and you have to try out and have an interview to make it into the school. I made it in under the category voice and creative writing. I let everyone in my school down and I honestly don’t know where I went wrong with my short story. Watching all my classmates who applied cross the stage killed me inside. The faculty looked at me in disappointment as I was the only one who didn’t cross the stage and I was basically a disappointment to my school.

I have no idea where I went wrong with my story! I had two mentors at the time. My English teacher and a author, who never taught me, but works within my school. I was the only student to have a mentor, let alone two. I spend every waking hour working on my story. In fact there was never a time that I didn’t think of it. My mentors told me that I would have wiped the other contenders away in the recent years with my story.I had even read some of my competitors work, only to find that my work was much better than theirs. Hands down… I hate being mean but, I know good writing when I read it. I had never felt as happy about a piece of work in my entire life. I thought, there is no way I wouldn’t be one of the ninety students who gets this. But, I was wrong.

I found out that I wasn’t picked due to the content of my story. For those of you who don’t know, my story was about a sociopath. There was no rule against that. My story didn’t have swear words or anything sexual in it. My adjudicators seemed to love my story but, they were surprised to meet me as they assumed a girl like myself could never write a story as I did. It was almost as if they thought I didn’t write it.

There was more money than applicants this year, so everyone just had to get over 60% on their adjudication to qualify. If there happened to be more applicants than money, then they would single students out by their top four grades in classes. The rules were that you had to had to spend a minimum of 100 hours to qualify.

It wouldn’t be as bad if I hadn’t spent every waking hour thinking of my story and meeting my mentors every day and meeting with them in the early hours before school. I know peers who spent barely any time on their stories that got the award. It kills me because of the fact I worked insanely hard and I had never spent as long on a story as I had on that one. So many people asked me if I had the chance to redo the theme of my story, if I would. I wouldn’t! I wouldn’t fix something that wasn’t broken. Just because I didn’t win, doesn’t mean I’ll give up. My adjudicators were a librarian and an English teacher. Just because my adjudicators have something against my theme and the fact that they didn’t think I wrote my story myself is almost like a compliment. I’ll never stop writing and I just needed to get this off my chest. I’m done with my rant now…

Glass Girl

When I create characters, I try to get into their mind by writing pieces such as poetry or a monologue as if my character wrote or spoke what I wrote themselves. The piece below is a little something which showcases my main character Sienna’s thoughts through a significant life event that I’m going to write about in my story “Glass Girl.”

SIENNA: I’ve felt things. I don’t know what it was exactly. But I have felt things, and they were warm, and they were kind, and they were beautiful. I know that there’s something more, something that’s missing from my life. No, not missing, but something that has been stolen from me, and from you.

I remember looking into the mirror one last time. I saw tears stream down my face. I had never seen myself cry before. I looked away while I brushed the offending cheek with my hand. At that moment a cold feeling overcame me. The tears stung my eyes and I screamed as they seeped into my open cuts.

I have felt things and they were cold and they were cruel and they were tragic. Like shards of glass embedded into my heart. It hurts, and it’s not a normal hurt. It’s a soul hurt… Their words were torches that burned holes in my skin. I have felt things… but no one believed me. Not that it mattered anyway.

As the hours passed, it sank its roots through my perfectly mended, but fragile heart and wrote itself in permanent marker into the veins of my brain.

Soon the sound of the radio was drowned out by the slow thumps of my heart. I don’t remember much from that night. I sat down with my back to my reflection and buried my head between my shaking knees. My bottom lip quivered as I felt around the cold, hard floor for prescription drugs to ease the pain.

I was back at the start and the colors disappeared. The skies faded to black and the heavens cried drops of hell and my soul absorbed every ounce of it. Shivers moved down my shoulder blades. I laced my fingers together and I made a little prison and I locked up everything that ever hurt me.

I went looking for yesterday because I was looking for the memories, the memories that bound me together. Now I was breathing in the moments I couldn’t let go of.

I built up all these defenses so that it could never reach me. Feelings take hostages. It burrowed inside of me. It ate me from the inside out. It burned my soul.

I remember thinking I know it, I know my heart. And I know what it wouldn’t do to hurt me. But I didn’t realize, feeling so great about myself, feeling so confident and then it being completely shattered. By one thing, by something so stupid! But then they made me feel crazy, they made me feel as though it was my fault for feeling the way I did.

You know, they say that suicide is “taking the easy way out.” But from previous experience I’m not proud to say that it’s not that easy. It’s insanely difficult to tell the people you love “I want to disappear forever.” So I would spend my days pretending I was normal… I was in pain.

Have you ever felt? Horrible, isn’t it? You open your chest; you open your heart so it can overwhelm your soul without notice. You give it a piece of you just so it can get inside you and mess you up, it makes you so vulnerable.

I remember picking up my gun and placing the barrel to the side of my throbbing head. My finger wrapped around the trigger. Memories terrorized me as I whimpered softly and breathed in stale air. My thoughts were just cocoons hanging from dripping branches in the grey woods of my mind.

Do you know what it’s like? To stand on the edge of a cliff, looking out into the distance and wondering if you should take the final leap? You know, to end the suffering? I’ve been there… because I’ve felt things.

I remember waking up in a hospital bed. Honestly, I was in relief. Not because I hadn’t succeeded, but because I didn’t have to fake it anymore. Fake “normal.” I cried myself to sleep. Thinking now they know, they know that the pain I was feeling wasn’t “just a phase.” Or that what I was doing wasn’t for attention. I’m human and I hurt.

I was tired of running, tired of trying, tired of fighting a battle I could never win!  I was trying to push my problem up the hill. When it was just too heavy to hold,

I thought now’s the time to let it slide. So I said hey you want me, come and get me.  I told them, go on and throw your knives at the target on my back. Break down my suit of armor, shred my mind, do it, drop my heart just to hear it break, and then drag me through every level of hell because I’m just a drop and you are a hurricane.

The Fuel to Her Fire

I just graduated from an arts school that I had been enrolled in for three years. Being an artist/ writer I believe that art is really about the relationship between the artist and the object we create. To me writing is something that showcases a piece of the writer. Writers carve a piece of themselves out and put it on a page for the world to criticize.

With this being said, I recently gave up on a short story I was writing called “Fuel to Her Fire” that was about a sociopath and how she transitioned through life. In the end I couldn’t find a way to connect with my main character Vienna. I had only spent seven months on the story, but that was enough to know that I needed to move on with a new story. At that time I had felt as though I had let Vienna down by not finishing the story. I had formed bonds with my characters and its something beautiful that I will cherish forever. I felt so guilty about putting “The Fuel to Her Fire” aside and finally moving on. Eventually I wrote a epilogue to Vienna and recited it for my English 12 class to find some closure. I won’t write what I said in the epilogue as it makes me insanely emotional, but I can tell you that as I recited the epilogue it was like for that moment n time she was there for a moment and then she was gone. When I read the epilogue to the class I could feel her presence and I became emotional because I came to the realization that Vienna’s story was finally over.

No one could understand what my relationship between Vienna was like, unless they had that connection with a fictional character themselves. I honestly feel horrible I let my characters down. As a writer I felt as though I needed to find a way to make it work. I knew that the guilt would stay with me until I wrote my next story.

After mid-March, I started writing a new short story “Glass Girl” that ended up turning into a novel that I’m currently working on. I think that it works better as a novel rather than a short story. I will continue working on my novel throughout College while taking in everything college has to offer.

The First Step

The air was much warmer than I remembered, but what I didn’t remember was how old I’d become. Or rather how old I feel. I have made it through the easiest part of my life… high school. I feel as though I am still in tenth grade, not a graduate! I still remember my middle school self and it seems as though I remember my middle school years better than the present year. I am so nervous and I can’t imagine what can or will happen next. Life’s am adventure and I’ve always loved the destination better than the journey. I hate surprises and I don’t know what I’ll do without my school friends everyday. Summer seems very bitter sweet at the moment. I like having the break but, I’ve finally come to the conclusion that it’s finally over. The teachers, the school friends, lunch break and much more seems to have vanished in an instant. Sometimes I wish I could take summer school so that I could still feel young again. I know that I’m really not old at all, it just seems so strange that it can all be over. It’s like I blinked and everything was gone.

I miss everything dearly and I don’t know if I’ll enjoy College and the drama that comes along with it. I don’t know if my dorm mate will like me or hate me, as I don’t get to meet my room mate until September. I have been shopping for everything a dorm student would need. I just figured out my meal plan as of yesterday and I have already picked my courses. I feel as though life is going according to plan and for the first time in a long time I’m unsure of what to expect next.

On a lighter note, I’m currently working on a novel “Glass Girl” that isn’t near finished. I’m thinking of reading “Moby Dick” as I’ve read great reviews about it and I’ve also been writing small amounts of poetry to waste away the summer. Nothing spectacular…