Comments to My Fellow Compatriots in the Art of Writing

To the Esteemed Taylor Marshall:


Your scary story was about a person who is lingering after death, at first planning to torment the person who caused their death, but then moving on to a content afterlife after seeing the person's look of guilt.


Your story was one of mood whiplash! One minute I think the ghost person is going to do something terrible, the next he's content with  beer and hot dogs. The description of being in a casket and being aware of it was totally creepy! I also like the backstory of the character's death being included as well.


I love this whimsical little story! The consequences of being able to read minds here are pretty realistic, and I love the image of the little glowing people. I also love how straightforward Claude is: "We're from a magic place, and we would like for you to help us save it." Just awesome!


I appreciate and agree with the truths about us seeing our parents as idols rather than people, and the part about your dad's nickname is totally sweet. I also like the advice to parents about listening to their kids. Good communication can't be stressed enough! The pictures concerning teenagers were an excellent touch.


To the Compassionate Meghan Zengel:


The frightening story you wrote was about a girl encountering a frightening nightmarish version of her younger self, only to learn that her mother is aware of this version of herself.

I have so many questions, and this story certainly seems to have more to tell! Why did the mom seem to already recognize the little girl? Did something happen to her daughter a long time ago? Why does the creepy version of the girl have her mom's bracelet? The use of imagery was really, really good. You really illustrated how grotesque and nightmarish the kid was. I almost think the mom made some kind of deal with the devil from her reaction.

Creeeeeppy! Keep that freaky shapeshifting thing away from me, thanks! Anyhoo, good work with the gorgeous imagery. I loved the description in the beginning especially with the old man sitting on the bench. You wrote this incredibly well, and I am suitably creeped out now. The part with the hellish landscape under the little boy, good grief that's horrible. In a good way horrible, in that you wrote it to be horrible and it was. Excellent job!


The Mortal Instruments quote is good, it reminds me that faith can really help a person's mindset. I love the quote about infinity, as infinity is presented as a sort of infinite paradise in this context, and that's an idea I entertain as well. The quote from National Treasure is one that made me laugh. I often have the feeling of "Why can't things be simple and easy?" when things seem needlessly complicated so I identify with this quote. I need to know the context around the "fade" quote, for


To the Magnificient M'Kenna Breckenridge:


Your Halloween story detailed a person living in a house that has the dark aftereffects of witchcraft on it. The narrator notices scratching sounds in her house fairly often, but it's only at the end of the story she discovers they're from terrible animals with spells on them.

We can all relate to the "run fast to the next room in the dark so the monsters don't get you" feeling, and the prompt you chose about scratching sounds in an empty house: ugh! So eerie! I like that the character would buy a house with interesting legends around it, because I would, but at the same time I want to scold both her and myself for this notion. Buying houses with legends around it never seem to end well! Those animals, especially the Cheshire cat were quite an unsettling thing to read about. That's what you intended, so good work. I also like how the story is open-ended, and you don't know if she escapes or not.

I loved the line "Jean thought that there was no construction that day, and was pulled out of her philosophical trance by curiosity. "  I really want to learn more to this story, as I'm wondering how on earth an ocean liner got into the streets  of Venice, and why it did! I liked the characterization you gave Jean with her parents working a lot and what kind of music she likes. I also love the description of Jean's breakfast and the streets of Venice.

I love that you shared this family tradition! I love pumpkin-carving too, but it seems you do it on an industrial scale! I just had an idea that you could write a pumpkin-carving ideas book or write a children's book about this tradition! It would be awesome, but that's just as suggestion! Thanks for the pumpkin links and telling us about this!

Just Desert

She lowered the knife and it grew even brighter. Astonished, she took in a breath, and her eyes widened further still. The fruit she had cultivated all these years, fed with the herb of despair and the tears of the wicked, deceptively shone in her dark kitchen. An accomplished practitioner of the art of dark sorcery would be awed at what she was about to do. Baked into a pie, the juices of this herb would create an oasis of melancholy in the heart of a bright individual, if said individual would partake in a piece of it.

Although she had no enemy for which she reserved this treat for currently, she probably would in the future. The woman had spent so many years honing her skills of dark magic, and dark magic always came with consequences.

Deftly, she slid the knife into the fruit, cries and screams echoing from the cut she had created. Without further delay, the now darkened fruit had scoops of its innards removed from its walls. The sorceress combined the fruit, sugar, and eggs, satisfied in her work. It wasn’t that she truly wished for her magic to harm someone, oh no. It was simply that the darkest parts of magic were the most fascinating, unpredictable, and powerful. As a child she had wrestled with the question of whether or not someone could be a good person and yet practice dark magic. The woman still didn’t know the answer.

A knock at her kitchen door stopped her actions, and she moved from the bowl.

“Speak your name, or I will be your bane.” She hoarsely intoned the incantation over the door, placing a hand against its cedar wood.

“Hector.” The deep voice made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. The door opened without either person touching it, and her mentor entered, his visage flickering like that of a candle or a wayward phantom. He was large, broad-shouldered, and strong, his eyes black as coal, his head bald. She felt dwarfed standing in front of him, with her short poufy black hair and substantially smaller frame.

She bowed to him, and adjusted her apron quickly and quietly. Hector approached the mix of ingredients on the counter and appraised it.

“Not acidic enough.” He commented, staring at it hard. Nonetheless, he dumped the ingredients into the pie crust his student had ready.

 “But not bad.” The sorceress smiled ruefully. A man of few words, but valuable words.

“I have so little time to experiment, I have to take it while I can get it.” Although she wanted to, the student didn’t lean against the counter or slouch in her mentor’s presence.

“Indeed.” The slip of paper he handed her was a patch of ebony, emerald writing in an elegant hand adorned it. The woman slipped the pie into the oven and took the epistle.

“What is it?” She asked as she glanced down at it.

“Certification.”

The note fluttered to the floor. The sorceress was speechless.

“Present that pie to the elders, and it’s yours.”

Hector was a man who rarely offered praise, and she’d believed he’d never give her certification. In doing so, he would be saying she had skills that matched his own and was now capable in mentoring the dark arts to her own students! Trembling hands clasped over her heart. The elders would see the strives she had made in this branch of magic!? It was too much!

Hector leaned against the countertop, almost weightless in his action. He hadn’t raised an eyebrow at her stupefied countenance.

“…Thank you, Hector.” She finally managed to say.

“…..Your pie is burning.” He noted.

Beauty is Painful

"Kill me first..." A whisper.


"Kill me once if you can, kill me twice if you can't...." A soft sweet voice now crooned.

 The doll's lips weren't moving, but I could hear her singing about. Her jet black buttons had been cut from her face long ago, and now all that remained were dangling strings. Her stitched mouth twitched up as she shambled forward.

Just minutes ago she had been a messy pile of cloth limbs in the shadowy corner. It was nighttime, and I lay silently in my bed. I couldn’t move, and the sheets were soaked. She moved like a puppet whose strings had been cut, a boneless sagging mess. Her steps were with abandon, flopping one foot forward then another, all while shaking like she was giggling.

Snip, snip. The scissors were in her ragged hand.

“You killed me once because you could…”

RUN, RUN, RUN! My mind was screaming crazily.

Snip, snip. I swear I didn’t know it would hurt her!

Snip, snip. It’s not like she needs them to see!

Snip, snip. I was just a kid, ok!?

“Kill me twice…” My scream would curdle blood as I threw myself up from my helpless stupor. Without a thought, I attacked the one that had been advancing towards my bed. I fell over her, expecting to wrestle her for the knife, to grapple and win my life from her. But instead of landing on top of her, I kept falling….and falling….and falling….down into the darkness below.

Snip, snip, snip, snip, snip, snip…..

I fell on to my back, the fall seemed an eternity and an instant. Gasping my sweet relief I laughed. The doll had vanished. She couldn’t hurt me, I wasn’t helpless! I killed her twice! I laughed and moved to push myself to sit up. Except I didn’t.

Wait.

My pajamas were gone. I was wearing a ragged old dress.

Snip….

My hair was a matted series of curls. My head wouldn’t move, neither would my arms.

Snip…

None of this was right.

Why were my arms made of felt!? I started to scream and cry, but the tears wouldn’t come, and the screams wouldn’t leave my mouth. I would lay here for an eternity, I thought, helpless in the dark.

A spread of warmth quieted my despair, just beneath my head. The warmth was coming from something soft and alive, and I felt relief for some reason. I knew that I was safe. I realized now I had been laying on a giant’s knee for some time now, like it was where I had landed.

I stared endlessly up into the darkness…the darkness of a laughing gaping mouth. No! This wasn’t right! That’s my face! Give it back!

The face above me laughed, and lifted a pair of long terrifying scissors. Snip, Snip.

“I’ll just fix that….” The scissors move down towards me.

No! Stop! I need those! Don’t do this to me!

AAAAUUUGGGHHH!!!!

“There.” The little girl lifted her rag doll and smiled at it. Strings hung uselessly from the doll’s face.

“Now that those buttons are gone, I can put some eye shadow up there.” She declared proudly.

Killed me twice….

The "Dullahan" and the Fire Sprite

As I looked at the Jack-o-lantern, it seemed to be looking back at me.

It was the greatest night of the year, All Hallows’ Eve, Halloween, Sanheim, whatever you choose to call it. However, I learned something that night that changed my perspective on it. No longer was it simply a night of fun hauntings and frightening eyeball candies. It was late, and my friends had just crossed the corner to their houses across the street now that our collections of candy had been properly divided. I was standing on the threshold of my own house, fake cobwebs and a bubbling cauldron of dry ice and warm water combined waiting to greet me. I had been peering into my pillowcases of sweets to decide what I would eat first.

 My costume was fantastic. I wore a suit of old fashioned armor my antique-dealing uncle had designed after a real suit of armor he owned, and a black caplet around the shoulders. A fake headless neck had the armor and caplet concealing the place it met my head, and so no one saw a girl with my long brown hair. Instead they saw a headless rider, looking for a steed. I was so proud of it. Then a tiny voice broke my concentration in looking at the lantern's details.

“Hey Dullahan, did this house give you safe passage as well?” I blinked, my confusion paramount.

“What?” I choked out. A tiny little person, like a doll, looked up at me. Her hair was made of flames, and her body was smoldering like embers. When she pushed the lid of the jack-o-lantern out to look at me, she shivered.

“What?” She asked crossly. “Never seen a fire sprite before?”

“N-no. I can’t say that I have.” My head was spinning.

“Well, you must be new then. This house put out the pumpkins tonight, so that means it’s safe for us here.” She was obviously freezing and quickly retreated to the warmth of the jack-o-lantern.

I sat down on the steps beside her, and peered into the jack-o-lantern.

“You know, those human kids freak me out every time they come up. Little brats dressed like what they think zombies and vampires are like. Hah! If only they knew.”

“…Right….” I trailed off. Apparently I had a fire sprite, whatever that was, taking shelter in the jack-o-lantern I had carved with a smiley face earlier that evening. What did she mean by safe passage? Before I could ask this question gnawing through my brain, she spoke again.

“At least they provide us camouflage, dressed like that. The reapers can’t sense us when we're mixed with fake magical beings, stupid things.”

“Reapers?” I echoed, feeling more and more confused by the minute.

“Boy, you are slow. This same night every year, those phantom reapers come out to snack on any being with magic, in other words people like you and me! Over the centuries, a few sympathetic humans figured this out, and started giving us shelter at places where lanterns were placed. Did you granny Dullahan not tell you any of the old tales!?” She growled.

“What’s your name?” I was suddenly struck by this question and hoped to prove the situation more real by having it answered.

“Combustia. You?” I was about to answer, when suddenly a dark shadow passed over us both, and we froze.  Combustia let out a horrified gasp, and clung to the flame from the pumpkin’s candle more tightly. She sent up a shower of nervous sparks.

“T-they’re here. W-why are they here!? I thought they couldn’t find us!” The air, which had been a slightly chilly autumn temperature, dropped to below freezing in an instant.

The perspiration on my skin from the hot and sticky armor froze to little spots of ice.

I stared up in horror at the beings standing in front of me and the fire sprite. They had no eyes, but they were looking at us. Looking back on it now, I can’t describe what they looked like, only vague edges dark as the deepest cruelest ocean, and a feeling of going insane if I looked at them too long. I had never touched insanity before, but now I knew what it felt like to skim that surface.

Combustia was going crazy inside the pumpkin, flailing against the gooey walls, tears of ashes running from her eyes as they advanced. My legs were literally frozen, iced over onto the porch to hold me in place.

The reapers can’t sense us when we're mixed with fake magical beings…. I gasped and grabbed the jack-o-lantern. I held it in my lap, too frightened to think, drawing it into the folds of my caplet and hunching over it.

Ba-toom, ba-toom, ba-toom.

Blood roared in my ears, when I felt the reaper’s one slimy cold claw touch my knee. I stared stubbornly down at the jack-o-lantern, knowing I couldn’t afford an attempt at looking into its face. Combustia had fallen silent.

I swear the leading one cocked its head as it looked at me.

After an agonizing period of time I later realized was two minutes, they were gone.

Just like that, and so was the ice.

Combustia lay gasping on the floor of her shelter before crawling on her hands and knees to look out the eye of the lantern at me.

“Why are we still alive? They should have eaten us.”

My trembling hand removed the capelet and fake bloody neck.

“It didn’t want me.” Combustia stared at me uncomprehendingly for a minute, before her eyes enlarged by about five times. She groaned and fell onto her back on the pumpkin floor. The fire sprite covered her face in her hands.

“I can’t believe I was just helped by a stupid human kid. How humiliating.”

“You could say thank you.”

“Nah, it’s not in my nature.”

“Want to come inside and explain all this in a little more detail?”

“Is there candy?”

“Trick-or-treat.”

“Awesome, I will….”

I gathered up the Jack-o-lantern, and retreated inside. Such was my first taste, that Halloween was actually a safe-haven for magical beings, rather than a night for humans to protect themselves from magical beings.

Questions for Life from Dan in Real Life

10. I think family should be involved only if they have the person's best interest at hear, and only if the person doesn't have a very good handle on dating. If someone has a terrible streak of romances, the family should encourage them to take a step back from dating and take a break for a little while. If the person is feeling lonely and is too shy to date or is struggling to meet new people the family could support them and suggest someone nice they know. However, if the person handles dating very well or simply isn't interested in romance, the family should never get involved in that person's dating life.

7. You can only know you love someone if you're willing to sacrifice for that person. If you're willing to do so, and you care about them, then you probably do love them. Therefore, you can know you love someone in three days, if you can apply such things to your feelings towards that person.

12. Illicit love isn't truly more appealing to us, because we all want love that we can actually have, and a person we can actually be with. We romanticize illicit love, and think of the danger from it as more exciting, and that is how it appears in movies and books. However, to experience it in real life, is a very unhappy thing, as the two people can't be together and are caused pain from such things.

30. I am a terrible bowler.  I enjoy it, but I'm not very good at it. I have anxiety dreams about sending a bowling ball into the ceiling, or nailing an innocent lane manager with a bowling ball.  That wouldn't happen and is pure exaggeration, but I really am not good at bowling at all.

13. Well-traveled people like Marie are often more interesting than people who don't travel, but not always. People who are well traveled, usually have vibrant, open-minded, and curious personalities that lead them to travel, and that makes them great company. Also, people who are well-traveled have experienced a variety of cultural experiences they can talk about, and more international friendships to detail. Overall, I want to be well-traveled too so I'll have stories about my travels and experiences to share.

8. Since Marie wants a book that “pulls her in” I would recommend a good mystery by Agatha Christie, or “The Secret Life of Bees” by Sue Monk Kid, or “Dead Witch Walking” by Kim Harrison, as any of these have deep meanings to their plots, and are very easy to place yourself into as another character.

4. Dan certainly has a “do as I say, not as I do” mentality towards raising his kids, and this is completely unfair. You should never ask someone to do something you wouldn’t do yourself as a principle, and you should always teach by example, as kids learn this way very well.

14. I think you can have more than one soulmate, but only one at a time. You only need one wonderful partner in your life, but there are so many wonderful people out there capable of that role, that you can decide your own soulmate is the person you’ve come to love. There are many people out there you are capable of loving, it is only the matter of finding that person, and naming them as your soulmate.



Movie Quotes to Adore

Fantastic and Not-so-Fantastic Films

My favorite movie of all time is Forrest Gump starring Tom Hanks. I love it because it's hilarious (who else busted a gut when Forrest revealed the Watergate Scandal?) and heartwarming with the main character's love for his family, friends, and his Jenny. Forrest Gump is a character who apparently isn't very smart, but if everyone thought the way he did, the world would be so much better. I love the constant themes of love that never ends, and not underestimating other people as they usually have more to give than you might think. Not to mention the depiction of various events in history as Forrest meanders through life is interesting to anyone who enjoys such topics.

I dislike movies in which more attention is paid to explosions than character personality, and movies that are lacking in plot. Horror movies that don't have any psychological aspects and just gore, or Sharknado are good examples of this. I like movies that have great acting and interesting plot, not movies that have terrible acting or a nonexistent plot. Effects matter very little to me, but I will appreciate them if they're good along with the rest of the movie.

I watch movies about once a month, in my own home on my first floor couch with my dad and mom. We turn off the lights and turn up the surround sound for a movie none of us have seen, or a movie we've all seen before but like a lot. I'll go to a movie theater about once every six months.

For movie viewing, I don't mind having food, but I like to have a cream soda or cherry coke to drink when I'm watching. The audience needs to be quiet, except for occasional whispers, and I like the room to be dark with comfortable seating.

According to the survey I watch movies for pleasure, socialization, and nostalgia. I  don't watch movies for catharsis or avoidance of boredom much though. My personality for watching movies is one of someone who prioritizes social interaction. I am a fairly emotionally stable, and very extraverted and open person when it comes to watching films.

If my life was made into a movie, I'd want a 17-year-old Ginnifer Goodwin to play me. My life would include my visit to Disney World when I was young, my sister's high school graduation, my own high school graduation, as well joining my school's orchestra. My life movie would have a happy ending, with me going off to college, since I haven't lived that part yet.

My Dream Future

Two interesting things Mr. Odom shared with us is that he gets inspiration from a variety of sources, and the variety of ways you can publish your work. The publishing information was especially interesting to me, because I hope to be a published writer some day and I was unaware that you could self-publish your own work. I hope to put this information to work some day.

However, I do wonder, is Mr. Odom thinking of ever writing fiction for an older audience some day? Also, what is the best way to find a publishing agent?

I love writing and I sincerely hope it will be a large part of my future. In one year, I'd like to be celebrating a friend's birthday party after we get off from our Missouri State University college classes where I'm pursuing a communications degree and texting another friend who's moved away for another college but still keeps in close touch. I hope to feel confident and happy about the future. I'm also meeting lots of new people and learning lots of new things like how to speak Italian or Spanish and how to kick-box and practice yoga. I'm involved in student organizations like volunteerism and the college radio station or college journalism.

In five years, I want to be traveling in a yellow slug-bug car somewhere awesome, across the countries or overseas sending postcards to my loved ones and international friends. I'm collecting lots of souvenirs and I have a great traveling companion with me, a boyfriend or a best friend. I'm having a great time, and I graduated college with my bachelor's degree.

In ten years I want to be married, maybe with my first kid I've had or adopted. I'm content with an awesome career I love and feel is worthwhile, and I share a nice home with my family. It doesn't have to be huge, but it's comfortable. I'm saving lots of money and I love my husband and child a lot. I've also published or am working on the first book I've written. I have lots of friends I eat lunch with on Saturdays, new and old. I've passed down my necklace to my child.

In 50 years I'm sitting at the beach watching my kids and their kids floating in the surf or playing in the sand. My husband is still the first one, and our wrinkled hands are intertwined. I'm happy, worn out from running around with the grand-kids, but happy nonetheless. I've traveled and done a lot with my life, I've published lots of books. I also have a master's degree or even a ph.d. I'm a member of the red hat club. I'm retired with enough money to live comfortably.

Never Challenge the Clown

It was a cold October night, and for the umpteenth time the two men in black cursed themselves for their stupidity. How could they ever think getting involved with him was a good idea?

“What do you think he’ll do to us?” The one of lesser intelligence asked.

“Shut up. I don’t want to think about it. You just let me do the talking, ok?” The man with the beard irritably lit a cigarette and puffed a few times. It was his coping mechanism in the illicit-activities-ridden life he had led up to this point. He called the shots between him and his partner-in-crime in that life, but at the moment he had all the power of a new born kitten mewing for mercy. Then again, that’s exactly what he would be doing tonight. Mewing for mercy.

They were meeting in a public place, a restaurant with floating lanterns and families out for Halloween, for crying out loud! The bearded man tried to reassure himself that these things would prevent that monster from doing anything….unseemly.

Crack, crack, crack.

The world lost color and both men had misplaced the mechanics of breathing somewhere in the recesses of their memory.

Slowly, the man with the beard turned, ashen-faced. The woman with dark soulless eyes smiled at them, lounging in her tight black dress sitting on the fancy outdoor railing of the restaurant. Her entire being radiated that you were an insect and she was an all-powerful, all-superior goddess. In this moment, neither of the men doubted it. The dark dame was cracking her fingers, the telltale sign that something terrible was going to happen, as it was a habit that always announced the arrival of the only man she had ever followed.

“Oh.” The clean-shaven man rasped, sounding like a fish in desperate need of water.

His legs shaking in their dark trousers, the leader of the pair turned back to face the correct direction. The cigarette fell from his mouth.

The new arrival’s eyes were directed away from him, studying the table. The moment their gazes met, the bearded man would see the insanity within a chained  specter. He knew it. In different circumstances he would be guffawing right now, as the new arrival was dressed in honor of the holiday, in a pure white clown costume, complete with makeup. The fact that he wasn’t guffawing was what kept his health intact.

“So.” A single syllable, softly spoken. Eye contact still hadn’t been made. Electric nerves were screaming inside the pair.

“Don’t you know there are consequences for all actions?” The question was aspirated in a gentle tone as well.

Immediately clean-faced man of the two partners went to pieces.
“We’re sorry! We’re sorry! On my mama’s and grandmama’s graves, we’re sorry! We’ll do anything we want. We never should’ve taken your money! We only wanted to make you happy! I swear! We’ll lick your shoes to make up for it if you want!” He was a complete gibbering wreck, sobbing like a child, bug-eyed like an annoying fly.

“No.”

The stricken men tensed.

“You’ll give me all of your money. You’ll get out of my city tonight. You’ll never contact your family or friends again.” The words were said with complete certainty. They were not requests or even orders, but facts. The sky is blue and blood is red.

Neither of the men dared to respond. The woman they wished they could forget behind them giggled behind a hand, her eyes sparkling.

“Or I will leave you broken shells of men, mere mannequins of what you used to be. You will not even have the ruins of life.” The clown stared into the glass of champagne that had been brought by the waiter, tone still conversational.

Both of the men believed every word. They had seen the fulfillments of such threats up close. Dead-eyed gazes of those who had dared to defy the one in front of them. Guzzling whiskey at all hours, weeping hopelessly in the twilight. The partners had prayed to never have the anger of this one person directed towards them, for nothing could measure that cruelty.

At the lack of instant compliance, the clown finally looked at them.

Bloodshot and completely unhinged.

“O-of course. How reasonable.” The bearded one finally spoke. He grabbed his partner, and the two tripped over themselves as they rushed out of the restaurant. The din of conversation slowly resurfaced in the outdoor seating, although nervous glances were still cast towards the clown sitting there.

The glass of champagne was lifted and toasted towards the black-clad companion, still full of delight as she sat upon the wall.

“To good health.”



Just Another Morning

Always an acrobatic attack

A baby pouncing upon the bed

Mama merely musing motherhood

while her child enjoys the comforting warmth of

Blankets bounced back

resulting from the sudden new arrival

Father's fresh fruit

had been picked for breakfast

Kind kitchen coffee

has been delivered to Mama's side table

Groaning grunts galore

when she forces herself from the bed

Child chided

gently, then Mama sips from the mug

Poem for The Reader

Soft candlelight pierced the dark

A soft smile brightened the face

As the young girl turned the page

Of a tattered old friend from her childhood

That was whispering and shouting the gallant adventures

Of knights, ladies, and wizards away

In an adventurous world

She knew not

It was her favorite pastime

Sharing secrets with this overlooked companion

Her damp red hair and nightgown marked the time of night

When she snuck away to meet this silent ally

Paper had more patience than people

And she had more people than paper

While this dear little mate had it all

Settled into this old sofa, she could be safer here than anywhere

When she had this reliable one in her warm hands

Recollections

When I was a little girl, I always looked forward to the weekends, even more than I do now. My sister would get into our truck first, then my parents would load me into my car seat. They’d strap me in snug in a coat or blanket with my little feet dangling and off to Grandma’s and Grandpa’s house we’d go. My mom was close to her parents, and unlike the hustle-and-bustle pace that comes with the lives of a family with older children we had a quiet enough pace that we could visit them all the time. Their house was huge, with a wooden staircase painted pale red leading up to their porch. I remember thinking it was like a castle.

Behind the house however, was my grandparent’s property with the timber in the back. While the inside of the house was always warm and inviting, with a loving pair of arms always offering to hold me, the woods behind the house were a Dark Forest starting at dusk. During daylight hours, it was my Enchanted Forest instead. Autumn was the best time of year in the Enchanted Forest I played in. The leaves fell teasingly in bright ochres and I could jump and hide in the mountains they formed.

Sometimes I would lay on my back on the piles of leaves, resting my head and ignoring the chill of fall brushing across my face. Above me I could stare at the blue sky peeking through the labyrinth of tree branches tinted with oranges, reds, and yellows. It made me feel so very small, as did everything else then. One of the few constants of that time to now, besides the love from my family, is that same feeling. Laying back and looking up at the sky through autumn leaves still reminds me of how small I am in the grand existence of everything, and for a moment nostalgia strikes and I can simply resume a comfortable quiet pace again.

For only a few moments now, and many moments then, I cherish that forever.

Artist Profile

Mary Cassatt was an American artist born on May 22nd, 1844 to Robert Simpson Cassatt and Katherine Kelso Johnston in Allegheny City, Pennsylvania. She was one of 7 children, and her father was a successful and wealthy land speculator as well as investment broker. Due to their affluent status, Mary was allowed a good education that included teachings in French and English. Throughout her lifetime, Mary Cassatt would travel in Europe for her studies of art and her own life decisions.

A member of the Impressionists in a time when women were discouraged from art and independency(even at art institutions such as the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts Cassatt attended) Mary Cassatt was a rare female artist who focused on the social and home lives of women. As such, many of her subjects are mothers and their children, or simple female past-times. Her medium was painting in oils although she used other materials, and she was also a printmaker.

Famous pieces by Cassatt include  Woman with a Pearl Necklace and the Boating Party.

Blog Comments

Hi there Taylor:

I read your "The Mighty Pharaoh Laid Low" newspaper headline piece, Salvation piece, If I Were in Charge of the World poem,  your 7-line poem,  and your color haikus in that order. My favorite piece was the Salvation piece because you are fabulous in creating its dark atmosphere and conveying such powerful emotions within the writing. It is not a flat piece as anyone can write, but a piece that is incredibly descriptive for the feelings of the narrator. I loved it.

My comments, in the order of the pieces I read:

Don't be so sure you'll never be famous, my dear friend! Yeah, I think we all know the feeling of disappointment and heartbreak when we see that our heroes or the ones we see as inspiration are not proven infallible. There's a sort of comfort in the fact that we're all limited beings though. This fact means we can all relate to one another on that front at least. Maybe glory days end, maybe they don't. Maybe they just transition from one kind of glory to another. Sure, sitting on the porch watching a sunset with your grandchild may not be as exciting as winning an Olympic medal, but that could be a glorious moment I think. What's relevant in remembrance is who remembers you and for what, not how many people remember you I feel, so we should not despair when a person is no longer famous but allow them that anonymity to seek themselves in new ways, even if other people don't know they're doing it. Wow, your article got me thinking a lot. I appreciate it, and I appreciate the questions you've posed in your piece.

I've mentioned this many times, but jeez oh Pete you're awesome at writing dark stuff! I'm shivering at the descriptions of this person's despair and decay. Your piece makes me wonder if this would be something other writers like Edgar Allen Poe or Slyvia Plath could relate to, and this is how I imagine depression might feel.

The fact that you can convey such emotions as raw anger and grief and then brief moments of relief at night is amazing. Excellent, excellent, excellent. Desiring detachment is something that is also an interesting and well illustrated theme within this work. I wonder what it is that the narrator is so desperate to get away from that they desire sleep and dreams over real life.

Please, I will elect you Madam President of the earth, if you can make the world this way. I love the issues that you bring up within this piece, especially the parts about mass hysteria, prejudice, ignorance, and lies to ourselves. Those are all serious problems that I wish we could all solve with a wave of the hand.

I think a hamburger should be a vegetable too. Also, People really should just accept each other instead of being stupid like "Oh, well you're different, so you're bad!" "Nuh-uh, you're different and you're bad!" News flash people, we're all different, and we're not all bad, only the people who ridicule others for their uniqueness are causing problems. Ugh. Our world.

I love your vision for the world Taylor, and I wish it comes true some day.

 

What an imagery piece of a man being captivated by someone! Have you ever had a moment where you were just enamored by someone? You write as though you may know that feeling. You point out both the negatives and positives of being infatuated by someone in that you point out that he "smiles blissfully" and is happy, but also the question about "how can he escape now?" when it is a feeling you can't control.

I love how you use such interesting word choice, metaphors, and similes to create your imagery. Is it my imagination or is there almost an ominous tone to how she has caught his attention. What with "her eyes are Finnish lavender spikes, they have impaled him" and "She capture and devoured him" it seems this enchanting girl may be more than she appears.

This poem is overall awesome with its descriptions, and how it illuminates the feelings of the man within it. Love it.

 

Hi Taylor. I like your haikus. I like the contrasts of purple in three different instances within the first haiku, and I wonder who or what is the subject of the second haiku? A lost soul who wants to be remembered perhaps? Both haikus leave openness to interpretation and use the colors in an interesting way. I like how the first haiku rhymes in its first and third lines. The second haiku doesn't require any rhymes and I like that it's sort of ambiguous. It does cause one to wonder.

As usual, your work is very good, the haikus have good form, and I appreciate your efforts. Unlike so many people who attempt writing haikus you keep with the syllable requirements and I very much appreciate that. Nothing drives me crazier than when someone writes "haikus" and ignores the syllable requirements. Looking forward to more great writing!


Hi Mariah:
I read your Caged in a Storm piece, Freedom Isn't Free poem, Come With Me piece, Paint Chip Poems, and  your Six Word Memoir piece. My favorite was your Caged in a storm piece, as it made me eager to read the next part of your story and had great use of foreshadowing.


Here are all of my comments for your pieces


What an interesting concept! The grandmother figure received a pillow from her lover in a Dream World? I was smiling quite a bit as I read that, because I love it when someone blurs the line between fantasy and reality in interesting ways. Awesome! I like the realistic brother-sister relationship you made here, and the relatable instance of them creating a pillow fort during a frightening storm. There appears to be an excellent use of foreshadowing within this story if it were to be continued, especially with this mysterious "grandmother". I love the line "In the midst of the pandemonium that was producing havoc outside, I knew my brother and I were safe." I like the contrast between the huge storm and the cozy living room. Very good writing, and I like it a lot. Keep up the excellent work, I'll be glad to read more of your writing in the future.

You put forth strong images of a dark and terrible world very well. I like how you point out that while the world is often a horrible and dark place, that it is not one without hope. I also like how you point out that the worldly comforts will not last forever, nor will our bodies. The strong undertones of faith are noticeable, and the piece is very powerful in the message it has. Freedom truly isn't free, as someone must always pay a price for it, as everything else in the world has a price that comes with it. Your writing has a passion to it, and you should continue using it.  I love that you have such great vigor and perhaps a positive ferocity in your writing. You jump in feet first with your message and have no hesitation writing it down. Wonderful.

Very, very creepy. Often when a writer addresses the reader directly it make for a jarring experience. Even more so for this particular instance in that the narrator is clearly mad. I like that this piece points out the stigmatization of mental illness, but also what a frightening thing it could be. The narrator talking about being separated from others, but potentially harmful to others is a great example of both of these things.The last line is so chilling: "But right now, you are reading an account penned down by a dead man." Shivers down my spine. If I had found a note like this somewhere I would certainly be freaking out. This narrator reminds me of a mad cult leader hoping to make more terrible conversions to his practice. The eeriness and scary idea of someone viewing something "evil" as "beautiful" are really well written. What you were hoping to create was very well achieved, and very dark.

I want to go to this city you've created! I love how you used your paint chip name to inspire this great forest path that could fit into Lord of the Rings. Especially the part about the monsters in the black forest (because what is a fantasy world without fearsome monsters?). I love the line "gold lies in their hearts and excitement in their soul". I'm guessing the green forest is where good creatures dwell in contrast to the black forest where evil creatures dwell. I loved this and overall I want to visit this interesting poem's world.


I like your six words you chose for each life story. The feeling of 'don't talk to me' is one we can all relate to, especially during early mornings. You indeed paint a variety of pictures with words from what I have read by you. Dark, powerful, mysterious, or caring are the sort of paintings you've created and I've enjoyed writing them. Ah, yes. I know what you mean by "I don't make rules I enforce" in more than just a parental figure. Overall, you are good at saying a lot with limited words, and you never seem to say too little with too many words. I can't say that for all authors, as some never seem to reach their point no matter how many words they use. Thanks for sharing this piece with us and summing up yourself in such a good way. Your future works will be a treat.


Hello Maddie! I read your If I Were in Charge of the World Poem, Pillow Talk piece, 7 Line poem, First Line piece, and your Necklace piece. My favorite work was your Necklace piece, because you were genuine in your piece and you showed what was important to you in it.


Here are the comments I put for you:


My reply to the cancelation of standardized tests: YES! We really do focus way to much on test taking and not retaining what we learn, as well as more on technical subjects and not the skills of real life. This is a subject I'm very passionate about so I relate to your mentioning of it. Free education and better mental health care would be such awesome things to! I also like your comment about people using gay as an insult. People who do really need to rethink their lives and dispositions. The remarks about early classes and not being allowed retail store jobs are excellent as well. We get up far to early for what's healthy, and the young are restricted (or sheltered) from far too much. Especially 17-year-olds because that's just one year off from adulthood. Awesome job with this poem, there's so much truth within it.

We all know what you're talking about in this narrative! I totally agree with a love to be lounging in bed, especially late at night when stories, discussions with myself, and just plain stray thoughts are running around in my head. It's the best place to get inspiration if you ask me. I mean, doesn't everybody love climbing into bed after being weeks on the road, or groan and want to punch the alarm clock every morning, or silently cheer to themselves when it's a snow day and they can stay snuggled under the warm covers? Besides a hug from a loved one, or a nice hot meal your folks made, I think one's own bed is the most comforting thing of being home. I really like your piece because you make me think of all these things when I'm reading it. Thanks a lot for reminding me of all that.

Why do I feel like this belongs in a Victorian era story? People were kind of obsessed with flowers and their beauty and what they meant in that time, so I suppose it's because you describe this flower in such a pretty way. I just feel like going up to some mountaintops and smelling this "rock rose" because you illustrated it so well. The imagery is great because I can hear, smell, and see this entire scene with how you've laid it out. It's a simple and pretty piece, not using too many words to say too little, and I like this short poem overall. Describing and being in awe of nature is always a great subject of writing, and you do this incredibly well in this piece. You incorporated each paint piece in a way that didn't feel forced, and you weaved each stanza in a clever way.

Like you, I'm not a very big fan of very dark and sad stories, but the first line is certainly accurate and gets your attention, huh? The aspects I believe I could appreciate about the story however, would be the non-linear storytelling aspect(as I love this writing technique and it's not an easy accomplishment) and the time period. I'm guessing the book would delve heavily into the psychological developments of the characters from the sound of it, and it may even help us ponder why people do things like adultery so that we could understand it and prevent it. While I'm not sure I would read the book either, I think I could appreciate it for these things at the very least. I wonder what the time is within the book's setting, is it directly after or during World War I? That would make a lot of sense since many people were disillusioned afterwards. Thanks for sharing.

What a great story. The beauty's still there in the necklace, maybe not physically, and I appreciate that you were willing to share this with us since it's obviously important to you. This story is honest and sweet. Isn't it great that even if the object in our memories fades and crumbles we can still remember what it means to us? My sister and I had necklaces we would wear to her band competitions to support each other. Mine said "Little Sis" and hers said "Big Sis" and so I know how a necklace can represent a connection with someone special, although in different ways. My necklace is pretty worn out anymore but I still pull it out of its box now and again to admire it too. You put your feelings into your writing beautifully, and that's more important than anything else in writing.