Timed Writing

This morning I took a workshop on Timed Writing. At the end of the hour, we practiced. Here was the prompt:

Many of us enjoy reading, going to the movies or just listening to stories told to us by friends or relatives. Usually, our favorite stories or movies have a strong impact on us. Write about a book, fable, or movie that has affected you. Explain why it is important to you and how it changed your life or how you think.

Here's my response:

The Harry Potter series is important to me because it sparked my interest in reading in the fifth grade, causing me to pursue my current career goal as a writer.

When I began the fifth grade, I was like most eleven-year-old students in my school: energetic, impatient, and did not particularly enjoy reading. I never bothered to read very much, which is why I did not enjoy it. I hadn't found anything to love in it. So, when my teacher began to read Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets to our class, I was not eager to listen. Fortunately for me, however, something remarkable happened: I became enamored with the characters. Harry felt like a kid my age whom I could relate with; the Dursleys were despicable monsters that I didn't mind respecting--after all, they did raise Harry, for better or for worse; Hogwarts, Harry's scholastic home and sanctuary, was just as real as my own school. Once we finished Chamber of Secrets as a class, I returned on my own time to the beginning of the series--Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. I found more to love in books by reading it. By the time I finished, I had already started the third installment. Once I finished the fourth book (at that time there were only four published), I began to hunt for more literature. Spending lazy afternoons on my blue couch in my sunny living room, I devoured hours of books throughout middle school, and once I entered the ninth grade, I began to write my own.

-----

I don't want anyone to think I didn't read at all before fifth grade, because I did. But Harry Potter was the first time I read religiously. I owe many thanks to J.K. Rowling, as well to Jerry Spinelli, Louis Sachar, Franklin W. Dixon, etc.

For me, it is everything I read and love that inspires me to write.

Earth Night

Everything is flooded through the night
as the Earth twirls in spacious darkness,
her clouded forehead cool
in the gravitas silence.

Outside My House

The air was cold outside; I puffed out a huge cloud of ice as soon as I stepped out. I felt the warmth in my chest dissolve like evaporating rain in that breath. A short walk to my car and my lungs were frost-bitten; the air was really cold outside.

Charles Manson

When we look at Charles Manson,
staring straight into his eyes,
we shudder and think to ourselves,
"This man is a wicked monster! Look at those cold eyes."
In reality, however,
there is nothing particularly cold about them.

The Ride

Our lives rush toward us
outside our windshields;
we can't wait for this time to pass.
Then, when we pass it,
we see life isn't more special up the road--
just more of the same.
We realize we make the ride special now.
But, it's too late,
because we see everything rush past
in our rear view mirrors,
as shadows of power lines run across the pavement,
resembling curved skid marks.

Hm.

I seemed to have missed four days in my posting schedule. Darn. Looks like I'll have to post more than once a day to catch up.

I think I just needed a break. I think that last poem about Jeff Goldblum kinda wore me out--in a good way, of course. I felt satisfied with my accomplishments. But I'll be getting back to writing now. I have quite a few ideas for new poems!

Man? No. Beast!

Stories of lightning, hard thunder and steel.
Jeff Goldblum, you are my mother-flippin' hero!
A chin like Roman Nero, a modern pharaoh;
Your bod is a feast for eyes--for real.
Stallion hair, wild tan eyes; when you arise,
My day, the way I embrace life, gives birth
To wings that lift and fly; my worn eyes
Do surf the Earth; there is but mirth
In this hurting world. Your rhino-thick arms
Carry my lungs like a hot air balloon
Up to the azure sky, way past the flying barns.
My breaths lay in golden oceans, festooned
In the nebulous outer space. Woe! My heart fumes
because I can't see my dear Goldblum!