Posts tagged writing
Posts tagged writing
***I wrote this for class and I can’t tell if I even like this to revise it and really work on it. I wrote this in 15 minutes so I’m sure there are plenty of errors and mistakes and it just sucks, but is the idea even worth exploring?
You want to come out and scream at that girl sitting by the window to shut up. She’s twirling her hand on her finger again. Just like every other day. Every. Damn. Day. Here comes James. Perfect James with the wavy blonde hair gelled so stiff that a hurricane wouldn’t move a hair. You watch him sit down in his chair and put his things under the desk. He too is watching everyone. Everyone except you. He doesn’t even know you exist.
“Hey, James.” The voice cuts through the air and pierces my body like a knife. It’s Stacy. Beautiful and talented Stacy. She is sitting down next to perfect James and I can almost hear the angels begin to sing. You clear your throat and I feel myself doing it too. Not yet. “Have a good weekend?”
“Eh,” James replies. He is fiddling with his blue notebook. The one with all the writing all over it. You want to move to read the words. I can feel the urge down to my toes. Just move. One step. One step. “How was yours?” Eye contact. The room goes silent as you watch them continue to walk. There’s only a slight buzzing in your ears letting you know that he’s not talking to you.
“Hey, Briana.” Joseph plops down next to me, dumping his crap all over our table. “Sorry,” he mumbles and he attempts to organize his things. “You get all your homework done?” I nod. “Lucky, I’m so fucking behind.”
“Way to go,” I whisper. The instructor comes in late and tells the class to pull out a sheet of paper for a quiz. The class moans in unison, including you. You watch James rip a sheet of paper out of his notebook perfectly. He hands it to Stacy and rips out another one.
The professor asks a question and I answer quickly while you sit there, pondering about James. What kind of gel does he use? Isn’t Stacy seeing someone? Slut. Does James like her? Why won’t he look over here? Is my hair a mess? Next question. I tuck my hair behind my ears as I continue to write like a madman. How old is he? Why won’t he look over here? “Pass them forward when you’re done.” I scribble my name in the corner before passing the paper to Joseph. You cough loudly and look around the room, making eye contact with a few people. James doesn’t look over. I laugh. “How’d you all do? Was it that hard?”
You stare intently at James, trying to burn a hole through his skull. Still, he does not look over. Stacy whispers in his ear and he chuckles. BITCH. “It was the usual,” I answer.
“Can you elaborate Briana?” Professor Nit-Wit asks.
“Sure. Uh… It wasn’t that hard since I read, but there was a lot that I couldn’t remember. Like the part about the duck? I can’t remember what he was wearing. But then again, it was just a duck.” The class offers a few laughs. James smiles, but doesn’t laugh. You smile. You fidget in your seat, trying to pose without making it obvious you’re posing. You toss your black hair over your shoulder and sigh.
“What is wrong with you, Bri?” Joseph asks.
“What d’you mean?”
“You can’t sit still for five minutes. Damn.” Joseph puts his attention back on the professor who is now writing notes on the blackboard. Your eyes narrow at the back of his head, but you quickly erase the emotion and glance over at James who is staring at us. He smirks and nods a ‘hey.’ You begin to melt and I smile back. He looks down at his notebook and begins writing down the notes on the board. I pull out of my own notebook and begin writing while you think of a million reasons as to why he was looking over. He looked at me. He looked at me. He looked. At me. He looked at ME.
Us. He looked at us. I watch as you take notes on the paper and scribble his name in the corner of the sheet inside of a heart. A few smaller hearts go around it. You nudge Joe and he looks over at it, rolls his eyes, and writes on his own paper ‘Good luck with that.’ You reach over and scribble it out on his paper and draw a smiley face next to it. He chuckles and goes back to taking notes. I scream at you to focus on the notes, but you just write James over and over in different fonts that I didn’t know I knew how to write, and I know, as do you, that I will be getting a D on the next exam while you get an A in calligraphy.
Ever since I was about 6 years old, I’ve been acting.
I acted in the church Christmas pageant ever since I was 2. Yeah, that’s right, 2 years old. Me. A sheep, an angel, etc. As I started getting older, I got more talking roles. I ended up playing every main female character and then ended up playing males.
Around the age of 6, though, I was introduced to the local high school theatre club. They did plays & musicals outside of the student body every year. One musical during fall and winter, and a play in spring and summer. I always got to the play the cute little girl in the plays. Never anything but chorus for musicals. I KNOW my voice is awful so I never even bothered auditioning for the lead roles.
That started something amazing. At age 13, I got my first huge role as a younger sister to the protagonist. It was amazing. I would do the play at the high school over the summer and then come winter, I would do the Christmas pageant at church and sing and dance at the school. The next year, I got a lead role in a school play in middle school. STOKED.
I ended up hating the theater director for the high school and stayed away from the plays that the students put on. I always worked with the community that put on plays during the summer. They had way more shows and actually had audience attendance. The talent always pushed me.
My senior year of high school, I lost two people very dear to me and I turned away from all things drama. I barely played my music. I didn’t write. I didn’t do anything my senior but sleep. I lost friends and didn’t enjoy half of the perks of being a senior. I was severely depressed. I’d never been so miserable in my life.
After that, I went to college and continued to not write, act, play music, etc. No creativity came from me and I was lonely and sad. No one made me happy.
Then, my best friend Beckie slapped some sense into my head. When Steve died, I became a bitter person. I still am. Every person who has helped me with finding my faith had died, painfully. I lost the three people teaching me.
I’m a very cynical person and I don’t like people. I’ll be straight up honest with you. I hate almost everyone deep down. I barely love anyone. I don’t want to love anyone or get close. They die. People die. The end.
Now, back to acting…
I started acting back to my college and remembered how much I loved it. I loved being someone other than myself. Same with writing. Through writing I get to envision a persona. I can be someone else. I don’t like my personality all that much so why not be the better me through my writing? Why not be someone crazy on stage?
Crazy on stage. WHEW! If that doesn’t describe me perfectly on stage. In middle school, I always played the lead girls when they were nice and friendly and popular. Once high school hit, I didn’t want to be the leads anymore. Half of them were so bland and boring, I didn’t feel like I was acting. I wanted a challenge.
I started getting cast as every villain female if there was one. If there wasn’t, I was the tough one, or the funny one, or something that really pushed me past being this lead girl that always seems to BORE me.
This will be my final acting at my school. So far, I’ve been the mean characters. They’ve always required me to REALLLLLLY push me past my limits, especially this last character. The director made it seem like he wanted the whole first act rely on MY acting and not the main character. Fine by me, baby! This play we’re doing now bores the heck of me. Look it up. Cinderella Waltz. Oh joy. The main girl is so boring and rambles on and ruins the play. The directors and every English major who has read it, hates the lead. I want to be the wicked, stupid stepmother or the crazy drunk, but not drunk, fairygodmother. Sure, neither one are on the stage as much. But hey, when the show’s over, you think anyone’s going to be talking about Rosey Snow? No. Worst character in a play. Ever.
One story is done for the magazine. AHHHH!
That was a 12 draft story and it’s finally done. It feels amazing. I’m going to work on this poem for a bit and then go dance with Eleni on Just Dance 3. It’s funny how she keeps asking me for help with the smallest things for her English paper. I remember those days. College was SO easy back my first two years. I’m glad that’s over.
So I want to work on my “stoop” essay some more next week and really finalize that for the magazine. Definitely one of my favorite things I’ve ever written. Not the best thing, but the one I enjoyed the most.
I’m really excited to graduate. Is it here yet?
I tend to write about 6 drafts before I let anyone see it. I don’t understand how those few people can write something and just show everyone and not edit it. I couldn’t do that. My writing is full of many typos. I see so many stupid mistakes after I reread my work. It made sense in my head, but it didn’t exactly work on paper.
Enough of going through old pictures, time to edit my new short story called “Familiar Strangers.” I’m so happy with it! I really think it could be the one I submit to the magazine. I’m so glad it has a title now, though. YAY!
You can never finish writing something, only abandon it.
I got my new schedule for this semester! FINAL semester of college! Well, right now anyway. I can’t wait to graduate!
I can’t wait to start on Tuesday! I miss school. My brain misses the knowledge intake.