Half Hour to Create

In one of my writing classes, at the end everyone has a half hour to write. You can write any story you choose, it could be something you're working on, or something totally new. Or even just whatever comes out since you only have a half hour to jot down a fair amount of words. Please keep in mind that this is a very rough and raw first draft. This is what I had from my last class:

~~~~~

It was supposed to be a good day. That cold early January day when the snow wouldn’t stop falling and the traffic to work was horrendous.  Ted didn’t notice any of it, all he thought about that morning as he shaved and got dressed was that today was the day he would get the raise. The one that was due. As he walked past his dresser he picked up the crinkled white piece of paper that in cold business wording told him that after fifteen years of service he would receive five more vacation days and a raise that would put a smile on any mans’ face. 

His smoothed out the paper that was well onto one year old now. He had been patient. He had waited for fifteen years to receive his dues. Had worked for psychotic egotistical men who hardly even knew what they were doing and then took the credit for his work. But Ted couldn’t even feel angry about that right now. His thoughts centered on what he and his wife of twenty years would do with the extra money. Maybe they’d go on a vacation to the Caribbean.  Or perhaps he would buy a deck for the patio out back. They could get a new car; that old rust bucket that he been driving for the past 7 years was on its last leg. So many possibilities were at their feet now!

As he left the house in the early morning fog of flurries, his smile continued and the sound of humming came as he walked from the house with a quick step. He peeled out of the driveway like a man on a mission and drove just a little too fast down the highway for the tall building that housed the international accounting firm. This was the day. He just knew it; the paper said so. The promise was there in black and white; all that time of being a cubicle drone for the big wigs was going to pay off today.  He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as the traffic crawled by and zoomed off on his exit the minute he had an opening. His regular parking spot was open, just as it should be today, and he nearly hit the curb in his enthusiasm.

“Good morning Melody!” He said to the young receptionist at the front door. His only acknowledgement was a curt nod. Ted continued to walk briskly to his grey cubicle that sat two people. His cubicle buddy being a rather thin and balding young man straight out of college, who found it hard to keep from checking his FaceBook page while at work. 

“Morning Dan!” And at the sound of mumbling, “Whadya say Dan?”

“Nothin’ Ted. Good morning to you too.” The junior accountant forced a smile and turned quickly back to his computer. 

“Nice day out, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, real nice.”

Ted rambled on, “Wasn’t traffic awful though? I thought I’d never get to work today.”

“Mmhm”

“So, did you have a good weekend?”

“It was fine.”

“That’s nice.” Ted took his coat off and laid it on the back of his chair. This is going to be a good day. A great day. Yup, this was it. Deep breath; in and out. Steele yourself for when they call you in. Turn on the old computer. Maybe with the raise they would also get him a new one. That would be nice. All the young pups coming into the office recently had been getting cutting edge gear, while Ted sat there with his ten year old chunky desktop and scratched up monitor. But this was the day that would all change.

By ten that morning Ted thought he would just die if management didn’t come and get it over with soon. What could be taking so long? Well, this was business; you have to act with initiative. Maybe he should go to them.  Yes, that’s it, I’ll go right to Jack. He thought to himself as he stood and looked across the cubicle jungle to his bosses’ glass office at the west side of the building. He could see Jack sitting there at his sleek desk and high tech computer.

He waved through the glass to Jack who sat low down in his black leather executive chair making it look like he was closer to snoring than working on high level financial issues. Jack’s eyes went from his computer screen for hardly a moment before waving him in.

“Hi Jack. How’s it going today?” Ted tried not to sound too excited as he walked into the office.

Jack was silent and didn’t acknowledge Ted for what felt like ten minutes. Ted looked around the cold office with it’s glass walls, oriental carpet on the floor and Picasso wanabe on the wall.

“Ok, sorry about that Ted. So much going on in the management level meetings lately; lots to catch up on.” He seemed to wait then for Ted to show some interest in the managerial duties but when he said nothing Jack sighed and sat himself up straighter for a moment. “Sit down Ted.” He motioned to the hard modern design of a chair before the desk, “So, Ted, what can I do for you?”

“Well, you might remember that at my review last spring we came to an agreement.” There he stopped hoping to see some recognition cross Jack’s face. When nothing came he continued, “The issue of my fifteenth year of service? That I would get the raise? And the five extra vacation days?” With each mention of a promise he saw Jack’s face scrunch just a little between his dull brown eyes.

“You know Ted, I was actually hoping to speak with you sometime this week concerning that little problem.”

“What problem?” What could Jack be talking about? What issue was there? He had done everything they had asked; every late night project that kept him at the office for 14 hours a day. Every time they came to him for the dull and monotonous work that would normally be done by a temp they hired for a week. He did it all, everything they ever asked of him he did. With no question. All for this day. For this moment when, as he knew Jack would, an office announcement would be made concerning Ted’s promotion and dedication to the company through hard work. He was an example. He was who those new young whelps out there should be looking up to. “What problem?” he asked again.

“There seems to be some concerns coming in from management. They seem to think that it would be best to get young blood in here. Too many old fashion ideas about accounting are keeping us back from being at the top.”

Work in Progress

So, I haven't really been writing for the past year - but that is all going to change! I have decided recently to honestly pursue the art of writing. Which has meant taking classes and MAKING myself write. I thought I would go ahead and share just a short first draft of something I've been working on in the past week.

~Enjoy

*******

The iPhone flew through the air and hit the brick wall as the clickety-clack of her black stilettos echoed on the linoleum tiles. She strode to where the loathed object now lay and with a smirk on her face, lifted her five inch heel and gave the final killing blow.

Dan sat there in stunned silence as his lover picked up his phone and threw it into his lap.

“There Dan,” She said with steel in her voice, “Date that. You and I are finished.”

And with that she turned to leave the small coffee house. The baristas watched with wide eyes and open mouths.  Patrons tried to look as though they had not just witnessed the spectacle when in fact they were hanging on every word from the troubled couple.  Everyone suddenly seemed very much involved with stirring their coffee and looking at the table intently.

“Wait! Ayla!  Hold on a minute!” Dan was shouting at her from his seat at the round table in the corner. Their table. ‘Not anymore’, She thought. Although he was calling her back he still had not moved; hadn’t even stood up from his seat to come after her. He had to have known that this was coming. This couldn’t be a shock to him.

Ayla stopped at the door and turned to look at Dan. His eyes seemed confused but at the same time he was quite calm. She shook her head and pressed herself against the cold door of glass and walked out into the flurry of snow that was falling on the city.

Ayla took a deep breath and let it out as a ragged but happy sigh. Free at last; why had it taken her so long? Dan and she hadn’t been right for a long time. Too long actually. Ayla smiled as her black heels clicked on the sidewalk. Heels always made her feel prettier, smarter and gave her a sense (perhaps false) that she knew where she was going with her life. And tonight they had been her greatest weapons. Dan hated it when she wore the five inch heel pumps. Not only did they make her taller than him, but he did not find heels attractive. Or so he said. Such a ridiculous excuse for his real reason: that they made her taller than him. Well, that’s what you get for dating a man whose height was 5’8” with shoes on. Ayla shook her head and walked faster to the main street where she could pick up a taxi to her loft across town.  

November Memories

November seems to bring out the nostalgic in me – perhaps the beginning of cold days and nights trigger memories. Novembers of past years all seem to hold very sentimental events in my life thus far; from the end of school (possibly forever!) to my trip to Paris.

I still cannot believe that it was really a whole year ago when I took my last test, wrote my last essay and received my last grade. Sometimes I feel as though we have been so conditioned since birth to education that it is like a cup of cold water to the face once said education is over. Of course, the argument will be made that our education is never over, and I do agree. But school does have an end. Isn’t it amazing that something that was once such a horror and a drain (and so complained of) can be missed? All the while through High School and then College I yearned for the day that freedom would come. No more forced tests and no more learning of subjects that held no interest whatsoever. But after the first shock of no school ended, I soon found myself trying to contrive some plan of getting back into the classroom. The grass is always greener, and we never know how good we have it till we are thrust out of our so called prison.

For the past few days Paris has been on my mind; the streets, shops, café’s, rain, river and voices through the alleys. Perhaps I have romanticized it since it’s been ages since I last roamed the streets there, but I suppose that’s what Paris, France really is – a bit of a fairy tale. It has been a while since I last thought of my trip there, as I was 16 when I went, but it makes me smile and sigh for the sights and sounds once more. Paris is one of a kind and once you’ve been you have to return – or else spend your life dreaming of it. Sometimes I fear going back to places that have strong memories tied to them. Not that I have any bad memories of Paris! But more out of fear that the memories have a rosy glint over them.  And so I spend the week with my thoughts in French accent, craving the authentic French restaurant down the highway and dreaming of crowded streets full of starving artists, scribbling writers and the fashionable.

And so I sit here listening to the strains of Brooke Fraser and thinking of Thanksgivings gone by. Over the years I have much to be thankful for – and many blessing to thank God for!

Happy Thanksgiving and God Bless,

~Aithne Someris

* Enjoy:

Brooke Fraser Song Playing Now

The Scraps

Just a few scraps of the poems written tonight:

~October~

Fall has come but Summer laughs

The warm breeze is heavy with Summer memories

And the pond smells of fish and sun

But the leaves still dance

Gold and red in the sun

*This next one was put into my head after the church sermon tonight on insecurity :)*

~Enough~

Most of the time I feel

Less

Less than I should be

Less than I am

Not enough for this

Definitely not enough for that

And sometimes I feel

Enough

But rarely

Does that happen

A compliment

Might satisfy for a moment

Praise can last a day

But in the end -

Not enough

But - Always 'but'

He can give 'enough'

The Lord is always enough

And He makes me

Enough

~A Name~

a name

is such a curious

thing

small and common

yet precious

to a select few

owned but freely given

to so very many

souls

hidden meanings

full of

obvious traits

a name is you

but are you the name

in the end?

~Aithne Someris~

Just Strummin' Along...or Not

So I’ll confess it: I always wanted to be a singer/songwriter.

I can just see it – sitting there on the street corner with a scuffed up love worn guitar across my jean clad knees while I strum and sing lyrics that I scribbled in pencil. I sometimes wonder if real singer/songwriters have this same dream in their head. I think not. They probably see what they do as normal as they way I see going to work 8:30-5:00 every day and making it in the daily grind; as novel as making my morning cups of coffee.

I always loved the idea of making a living off of writing poems and making them into songs to share with the world… or at least my little corner of the world. But then again, this is just not my calling. Or so it seems at the moment.  The fact that I couldn’t play the guitar to save my life is one obstacle in my path. And then there’s my poem writing….esh…no songs coming from that region!

Yes, I’m one of THEM.

I really do love how shocked some people are when they find out that I was homeschooled. The popular stereotypes for my ‘type’ are so prevalent among ‘normal school’ kids/adults that I sometimes think that a book should be written for them to peel back the curtains and see what we really are like.

Although, on the other side: many of our stereotypes are pretty accurate. Like social skills for example. We really don’t have any. Since we’re locked up in our room with a thousand thick text books to make us into geniuses there really isn’t time for being out and making friends.

Haha, not really. But honestly, one day I will write that book. The one that dispels all of the rumors that go around about us poor unsocial homeschoolers. And I won’t even have to leave my room!

Au Pairing…um…no. Not now. Not ever.

A good friend of mine just got the marvelous job offer of au pairing over in Europe for the next few months to a year. The lucky girl wrote to me about all the details which sounded so exciting and wonderful coming from her. She ended her message saying that I should honestly look into au pairing and that it would be a wonderful opportunity to travel over to Ireland perhaps and make money at the same time.

She meant well, but what she didn’t know is that I honestly could not au pair. Well, I mean, I could , but I won’t.

I babysat consistently from the time I was 11 to age 18. And I have all the horror stories that come with watching of children for seven years to make a buck: Getting locked in a room with a three year old and a baby for hours. The dog attacking me. Blowing up the popcorn. The cat that screamed like a human child and had the tendency to get stuck on high ledges. The kid that spilled blue milk on the suede lazyboy. The child that threatened to tell her mother on me for punishing her and her little sister.

Yeah, I’ve seen it all. And I’m just a bit convinced that seeing the same in a foreign country would not rid me of my lack of enthusiasm for watching strangers’ children.  But don’t get me wrong – I don’t see all children as little monsters. I just think that I am not the best person in the world to put in charge…something WILL go wrong.

Just thought I’d share:

I recently discovered that the beautiful song “How He Loves” done by the David Crowder Band was not in fact written by David Crowder (what can I say? I’m always assuming that the guy singin’ was the guy writin’!). But that song was in fact written by the talented Southerner John Mark McMillan after the sudden death of a good friend.

As I said above: I always wanted to be a singer-songwriter. But even though I will never be one, the singer-songwriter genre is a bit of a favorite for me. After I found this guy I bought his latest CD “The Medicine” and have been playing it ever since. I never really share music that I love here (well, besides the few songs below) but this guy is wicked talented and you can listen to his songs again and again. 

And now I leave you on this chilly fall night that is really only made for cozying up with a cup of coffee and a good book~

~Aithne Someris~

The Woes of an Empty Coffee House

It's way past my normal bed time, but after spending over an hour at the local coffee houses near me I’ve still got just a wee bit of a buzz going. I started at one local coffee shop tonight, but in the end I was back at my Starbucks (yes, mine – the amount of money I have thrown at the place should make at least my table mine).

Originally I had gone to the local Caribou Coffee not too far from my house, and I had sat there for at least 20 minutes with a pom-a-mango frozen drink in my hand and a pen in the other. But the fact was that the place was deserted! It was 7 PM and there was no one there. I had never really realized just how much the social aspect of a coffee house effects your enjoyment in the coffee and atmosphere. Suddenly the décor which normally is a perfect start for a novel (comfy and homey) was…boring and dull. I sat there for twenty minutes with the hope that someone interesting would come in so that I could people watch, but nothing. I nearly went home, but then I decided to go back to the old stomping grounds of the local Starbucks which is always hopping – and if not always has interesting characters brewing the coffee.

I walked in the familiar door with new decorations, but still the same old Starbucks that I have spent countless hours and pennies on in the past four years.  There really is something about always going back to the same-old-same-old. As I expected it was very busy; I almost thought I wouldn’t be able to find a table! It was quite a contrast to go from an empty coffee house to one that was thriving. I love people watching and this was going to be interesting. Sometimes I wonder if the staff at Starbucks takes hits of espresso in between making drinks – the level of happiness at times is quite shocking! Suffice it to say, between the good black coffee and the very nice guys working as baristas tonight I have to say that I’m not quite sure if any of my money is going to Caribou any time soon.

I recently finished the third and final book in the ‘Hunger Games’ series by Susan Collins and it was wonderful to be reminded of how a book can just suck you right in. Since I have been working full time there has really been limited time for reading. And as I am no longer working at the local library no longer can I get to see the new books traipse onto the shelves for my reading pleasure.  But I had the delight of spending a lovely twenty-four hours deep in this book – although I did have to go to work during the day – but within one day I had finished. When a book is well written it can take you over. Suddenly you find yourself looking out to space thinking over what a character would have said to the comment the person sitting in front of you just made. And impossible things can suddenly seem only too probable. My favorite books are the ones that make you think. The ones that leave you with questions on what you believe about the world long after you’ve closed the pages. The book that forever changes how you see something; whether it be pearls or forks. The kind you have to read two or three times to grasp everything that the writer was trying to say with that one character or line of thinking.

And that’s all for the moment,

~Aithne Someris

The Blog Post That Was Never Written...

I get a new blog post idea at least three times a week. But do I act on them? No. Sadly I get many ideas and then never have the time to type them out. Or, I get an idea and after smiling to myself over what I would say or how I would phrase this thought when all of a sudden I just loose it – both the desire to write out that post and the imagination to do so. I have no clue as to why that is, but tonight I thought that it would be a great idea to write a blog post with ‘excerpts’ of blog posts I could have written…it’ll be like I actually wrote them out completely! Or not….

What Would You Do? So a few weeks ago I became just a wee bit addicted to this television show. The premise is half Candid Camera (anyone remember that one? Or am I too old?) and half news reporting(ish). The show will set up scenarios that all center on the general public having to make a choice of what to do. I must admit it is interesting to watch – because you sit there in your comfy house and you’ve already judged what you would do. And you wait for that one (or ten) person who will actually do what you believe is the right thing. Of course this show mainly centers on trying to get a reaction; many time the show producers will amp the tension by telling their actors to make a bigger scene…

The funny thing is – that sometimes I’m not quite sure that there should actually be a reaction. Many of the more ‘tame’ issues and scenarios are really not that big of a deal. And I do not honestly see society falling into decay over them. But that’s just me.

Venting. Yeah, it’s not pretty. But sometimes it’s needed. Ok, so that last sentence was false.  Venting our problems seems to be quite addicting and contagious. I’ve seen it first hand and how it can just tear apart an otherwise grand time with people. One minute you’re commenting on how the weather sucks and the next thing you know the person in front of you is telling you all that is REALLY wrong with the world. Like their job, their manicure, their car or their life in general. I’ve noticed one alarming trend – or affect that this can have:

The person you vent to now has a sudden urge to vent to someone else. Now, it’s not only the weather that sucks. Work is horrid too. Their nails are chipping. Their car needs work that they can’t afford. And life is just….suckish. I say all of this from experience – it happened to me only everyday this past week. After listening to people list out faults I would drive home in silence. And then give my mum the whole spiel on why life/work/car sucks right now.

Being a writer. It’s awful really. Once you’ve discovered the joy of writing down your thoughts and wistful story plans, not writing is like death. Something is just missing. And sadly this whole writing thing takes time to do; time to think it through, time to type it out, time to get the courage to post or send to an editor.

Suddenly, if you’re not writing – you feel like your entire mind is mush. Blank. Useless. And if you don’t have the time to write….

Although at times I know that I really DO have the time. It’s just being used in different ways right now. Like sleeping, reading, and zoning out after work (normally with my laptop).

*my word, reading this a few hours later I see that I am quite the over dramatic writer when the mood and coffee strike...*

Traveling the world. Why do I get such a strong sense that the few states and countries (France and the UK) are not enough for me? I can feel my feet itching so often now. Even the city seems to call to me.  Sometimes I’m not quite sure if my mother ruined me. I grew up with all of the stories from her about the many places she went to after leaving home at 17. Switzerland, Africa and Nepal are among that many countries that I can see in my mind due to the stories that have been my heritage.

She has ruined me. For now the one week vacation to Paris when I was 16 is no longer enough to satisfy my lust for the new and far away. The glips I saw of London when we went for one day is but a teasing memory.  I honestly have no idea what the travel is supposed to do for me. It’s not like I ‘need’ to go. I could probably become a fairly well rounded person if I just stay in my small town within an hour of the city….but what fun is that? Here I am at 19 a college graduate with a full time job and life is becoming a bit stagnant. I’m thinking an overseas adventure is needed…

And that’s about all from me for now.

Till the next thought takes me captive,

Aithne Someris

p.s. I never re-read this post before publishing it - forgive any typos :)

Just a Little Post About Nothing and Everything

Tonight I sat in the local Starbucks with two newly purchased books in front of me while my left hand held my favorite blue ink pen and scratched across the blank pages of a 'random thought' journal. The grande mocha sat to my right as I alternately read, wrote and sipped. The two books before me were already holding a place on the book shelf at home. But I often feel that when Borders sends a 40% off coupon it is my duty to use it. And so before heading off to Starbucks I made a quick stop and picked up a new version of some books I already owned. Although in my defense – I like these versions better for the quality of the books. These come with soft supple pages and covers that make it easier to sit up half the night in bed reading your eyes out. Which in my opinion is a good thing.

The first book I repurchased was ‘Mansfield Park’ by Jane Austen (don’t even get me started on Ms Austen!). I know that I’ve read it before (most likely ages ago), but I have been in quite an Austen mood for the past month or so: re-reading “Persuasion” (my absolute favorite) and “Pride and Prejudice” (Mr Darcy, anyone??). Although ‘Mansfield’ has never been a favorite I feel that that alone should make me read it again. I always disliked Edmund…to so miss Fanny who was right in front of him for so long! And for Fanny to sit by as he ran after another woman! Although the more you learn about the culture at the time the more the story makes immense sense. And so I have decided that it is time to give Mr Edmund another chance – and another reading.

On the opposite side of the spectrum sits my other book. “Wuthering Heights” by Emily Bronte; such a contrast! With its dark, brooding and at times dubbed satanic ‘hero’ and the willful, selfish and fierce girl he loves to obsession. A wee bit different from Ms Austen, eh? This is a book I love and hate at the same time. I have yet to fully read through the whole thing. I have started ‘Wuthering’ twice only to come to the part of the book when Heathcliff comes back mysteriously rich and begins to take out his revenge on the people of his youth. For some odd reason both times I ended my reading at that moment. I love the early part of the story, but the ending is a bit of a downer.  I once picked up the book and paged to the end just so I could read what happened to them all.  I suppose Heathcliff’s end is not so surprising…. It’s just as dark and mysterious as himself. But now I plan on actually reading the whole thing through – the good – the bad – and the horrid. But I have to say that I love the dark mood of the book at certain times. When I read it it’s like I can feel the wind wiping the trees into a frenzy and rapping against my window. I see the dark moors laid out before me.

I fear I’ve been quite out of ideas for writing in the past three to four months. I’m not quite sure why that is. At times I can begin to see the outline for a story in my head, only to find an hour later that I have dismissed it for some reason or another. Writer’s block perhaps? It’s bad when the only things I can think to write of are my recent book purchases and sitting in Starbucks.

But, in life news: I am still working full time. Which is quite a change from full time school – but I’ve adjusted to it just about completely now. The good thing about working full time is that it has given me a chance to save up for some things I’ve been dreaming about doing for a long time now. The first thing on the list is to travel to Ireland. So I’ve been setting that up for next Spring – I’m pretty excited! Although this trip will be a bit odd for me: I will be going alone and I’ve never really done that for a long trip. Add to that the fact that it’s in a country I’ve never been to and I’m a little nervous! But I’m 99% sure I’ll be fine J.

Until the next time my random thoughts get down on paper,

~Aithne Someris

~ Revival ~

Revival

Like a breath of wind through sturdy trees

With the power to bend, but not break

Like the current of a green stream

That can smooth a stone but not crush a tadpole

Revival comes upon us all

The call, the voice, the urge

To change, to grow, to strengthen

Determination

To pursue with greater passion

To run with longer strides

Awake

Eyes bared to see the world as it is

Not as we wish it was

Like fingers of lightning touching the soul

Revival comes in a moment

A New Beggining

Well, I fear every time I write a new post I am apologizing again for not having done one in quite a while. So, I have decidedly chosen NOT to apologize since I have been one very busy woman! To give you a bit of an up-date: I recently got a full time job which would be why my writing went from a few poems/story lines a week to just about nil. But I have made up my mind that I do not want to leave writing all together, and since I know that I need loads and years of more practice - the best time to start would be now!

Here is a poem hot off my Word program written exactly two minutes ago. It's a very dramatic poem basically about my poor wee clover plant that recently started to die. Thankfully I put it in a newer and bigger pot today and am hoping that all will be well and I shall see more green clovers soon. On that note - Here is "Withered" (a word I do quite enjoy, don't you?)

Withered

Once so full of life, now you break apart in my hands

Crumbling into fragments of what you were

Translucent and pale, without the green blood of life in your cheeks

Crinkling when I reach my fingers to caress your white skin

My heart breaks for the lost glory of your full beauty

Has death claimed the final victory over you?

From my hands I pour life water into your dry mouth

Hold onto it with all that you have

Lifting you, I take you from your confined prison – placing you in a seat of healing

Is that a spark of life I see? Or just a glimpse of what used to be?

This picture above is of my little clover plant in its infancy. But now it has out grown my red coffee cup and I had to go and buy it a larger pot. Hopefully it will survive!

An Up-Date and a Wee Peep at a New Storyline!

Hello All!

It has been quite a while since I last had time to write...and I still don't really have the time. But today I decided to indulge in a day of typing away at some story ideas I've been inspired with in the past month.

As you know from my last post - my main focus these last few weeks has been to put 100% of my efforts into finding a job. This meant that I had goals every week - such as to make 15 contacts a day. Whether that be filling out an application, sending in my resume, or speaking with a company that had an opening; I did my best to fulfill my goal each and every day. As you can see, keeping my current part time job AND trying to get in 15 contacts a day easily ruined any possibility of writing or creating new plots.

But, about a week and a half ago I finally got another part time job which helped greatly in freeing up some time that I had before spent trying to find another job. Unfortunately, this job is part time, so I am now trying my utmost to find a way for these two jobs to work together. 


Anyway, I suppose that that is the long and short of why I have been unable to make time for writing. But I have missed it quite a bit! Today I sat down for about 45 minutes at Starbucks and typed out a rough draft for a new storyline that I have been thinking about pursuing. Just to give you a rough idea about what I would like it to look like: I'm writing a story told from the perspectives of two people - both of whom are Lighthouse Keepers. One is a young female named Jenna who has just lost her father (isn't that original?). The state (South Carolina) has told her that if she wishes it she may take over her fathers job since he never had the time to apprentice another person before his death. The other is a young man, James Granger, who is also the keeper of a lighthouse, this one in Florida. The young man was a good friend of the girls father - they wrote each other for about 5 years. Jenna and James begin writing each other starting after Jenna sends a letter to James letting him know of her fathers passing. 


So far I am still trying to think through the entire storyline, but it felt good to get a wee bit of it on paper. I haven't done much fiction in a while, so please bear with me and keep in mind that not only is this a rough draft, but also that I wrote it in 45 minutes without much of a guide as to where I was going with it. I feel awful that I do not have the time to clean it up and polish it to the sheen I would like before thrusting it before your eyes, but I fear that at the moment that would not be time well spent. So, be kind ;), and let me know what you think!


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                With a glance out the window, Jenna picked up the pen and began to try and write the letter. This letter would be very different from any other she had ever written. Father is dead. Her last living relative was gone. Just like all the rest, he had taken one last breath of life before closing his eyes to the world. 

                It was now one week later and Jenna was the only one left to write to her father’s few friends and tell them all that had passed. He didn’t have many. Being the keeper of a lighthouse was a lonely life. Jenna had been his closest confident, friend and keeper of the house below the light. But Jesse, her father, did have a small circle of friends that he had kept up with over years. There was Ben O’Riley the lighthouse keeper in Maine. Sam Garfield the lighthouse keeper in South Carolina was another man who had been Jesse’s friend ever since they met at the National Convention for Lighthouse Keepers in 1834.  Jenna tapped the pen on the paper; wasn’t there one more? Or right, James Granger in Florida. The lighthouse keeper. Being a lighthouse keeper meant that it was hard to make friends in the outside world. A lighthouse keeper was continuously busy keeping the light going. No one had time to go out into town and meet the boys at the local pub. Which meant that lighthouse keepers did the only thing they could; went to the bi-yearly Lighthouse Keeper Convention and meet up with other lighthouse keepers. After the convention they often wrote to each other for years.

So here sat Jenna, looking at the blank paper before her trying to figure out how to break the news of a death to men all over the country. 

                Dear Sam Garfield,

It is with a heavy heart that I write to you. I know that you and my father – Jesse Mayfield – were great friends for many years. This past week we had an accident here at the lighthouse. As my father was changing the oil in the light his cigar fell from his hands into the oil. This produced a devastating fire that my father was unable to put out. After trying for a few moments to put out the fire father began to descend the stairs to the house for a bucket of water. Unfortunately, he tripped as he was going down and fell from a great height all the way to the bottom of the flight of stairs. He retained great damage to his head, arms, and both legs were broken. I’m afraid he only lasted the night. By early morning’s light he was gone. I would like to thank you for your great friendship to my father and all I ask now if that you send up a prayer for me as it is looking like I will be taking over the lighthouse, as he never had time to train up an apprentice to take over his work here. Please ask the Lord on my behalf to grant me guidance in this new area of life.

In grief with a hope for a better tomorrow,

Jenna Mayfield~

                Three letters did Jenna write so. Signing her name to each with a sigh of heartbreak. Loosing father was devastating. But being charged with the lighthouse by the state was a miracle of utterly gigantic proportions. Not many women worked the lighthouses; only three females that Jenna had ever heard of, and out of that only one remained now still the ruler of the light. The keeper of the light; that was the general title for those charged with retaining a bright yellow beam from the tall instrument of rescue. If the light went out even once you could easily lose your job. And then where would you be? Many men who worked the lighthouses were unable to ever leave unless in the day. Some loved it; the tie that bound them to the lighthouse and the sea. Mainly the sea, that call was often stronger than the call of duty the bound them to the lighthouse.

~~~~~~~~

Ughness....just re-read what I had written after copying it here, and I must say - it needs loads of work! So, sadly I do not have time for that now - but with any luck I will soon have time a plenty to dedicate to this story.

With Craic and much Love, 

~Aithne Someris~

~ Only an Irishman Will Do ~

I feel utterly horrid for not posting anything for the past...uh...month! I'm afraid that I have been quite busy trying to find a job lately. After graduating college it seems that the next thing expected of you is to either marry or to find a full time job. I have chosen the later. This means that I have not had much time to write, although a week or so ago I had a funny thought for a poem/song (although I fear it is not song worthy) and I quickly typed it out. I feel that the first three stanzas are the best, I seem to have 'lost' it after that. But it was only done for fun in honor of my Irish lovin' friends. So here it is! Be kind, it was only done as a light little rhyme with no real purpose.

~ Only an Irishman Will Do ~

Only an Irishman will do

With sparkling eyes and a heart so true

I say no to all the others

Useless, useless lovers

‘Cause only an Irishman will do!

With heart as stout as his drink

And always ready with a wink

Hair as blonde as the barley waves

Or as deeply dark as the moorland caves

I care not, only be him an Irishman!

Blood as green as the ocean coast

And wit as quick as he can boast

As stubborn as the day is long

Firm arms to wrap me where I belong

Safe with my Irishman!

Eyes that shine with flecks of gold

Or glitter with the green and blue of old

Freckles across his nose

A crooked mouth from which flows

Only an Irishman’s lilt!

A swagger filled with daring

A fellow who is bravely kilt wearing

Always kind and sharing

Is my Irishman!

Lines from smiles worn on his face

That my fingers can gladly trace

Broad shoulders to carry a load

Whether it is my hand or heart that I bestow

For only an Irishman will do!

Enthusiasim

Well, here I sit sick. I seem to have finally succumbed to the cold that my siblings had last week. So, what am I to do while my head pounds and my throat aches? Why, write of course!

I suppose we’ve known each other long enough (or not) to let you in on a little tidbit about myself:  I am quite sorry to say that I am a hopeless Enthusiast. Ok, I can see that you haven’t a clue as to what I am talking about.

To put it plainly, I am quite easily excited about new/old things that I come across and can end up seeming like an obsessive. But I’m not. I struggled with myself this year when I began to worry about my seeming ease as becoming obsessive over something I like. Do not fear for your safety! I have, as of yet, never obsessed over a person. It seems that my strong love of something leans more towards dead authors, musicians, period dramas, and books than it does actual people.  But, as I was saying, I decided to diagnose myself seeing as I knew for a fact that I was not and am not an obsessive.

I term it: an Enthusiast-Who-Takes-Action.  One interesting thing about my Enthusiasm is that it takes action (pity the person who tells me that they wish they could go to that concert….for I will find a way!). Many a pay check has been spent in buying up all of Jane Austen’s books, all of John Keats’s works, or on that stray concert I just HAD to go to.  And I will pull any and all in with me!

Yet, the saddest part about being an Enthusiast is that at some point the great excitement and enthusiasm slows down to a mere simmer. You suddenly realize that you don’t really want to live in Narnia. That the Lord of the Rings movies are NOT the best movies ever made. That Jane Austen is a dead authoress who will not rise from the grave to write one more book.  That the Phantom of the Opera was a bit of an obsessive stalker. That your life dream is not to play the guitar on street corners.

But one only thing makes an Enthusiast happy – the friends who egg us on, join us on those crazy adventures, buy those over priced concert tickets, and all in all make life as an Enthusiast-Who-Takes-Action worth it. So here’s to you my friends – I raise my glass!

With lots of craic, sniffles, and coughes,

~Aithne Someris~

The Chasm of the Future

I stand at the edge of a chasm

My steps halted by uncertainty

My eyes unable to behold the bottom

The future could be lofty

The future could blossom

But for now I stand

Stuck upon the sand

Frozen in quiet confusion

Unsure of my next step

Awaiting a sign

Two options are spread before me:

One, to build a bridge

Across this chasm of life

To the other side which holds

Stability?

The second is more daring:

To leap

Into the darkness that encroaches

My eyes look down below:

Is the darkness fear?

Or is it death?

The ruining of my soul?

Or the creation of a life lived to the full?

I being to pace

The edge of this canyon

Threatens to swallow me up

I search for guidance:

A word

A sign

A picture in the sky

To leap or to build a bridge…?

(not really sure if this is done yet....)

~Blindness~ >>>------------> Expanded to video version!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-0xkaHufFCA

I recently found the Windows Movie Maker on my computer and I've taken to playing around with it. I decided to spend the last two days trying to get my poem 'Blindness' to pictures and music, which ended up being harder than I thought! Buuuuut, this is what I got. Be nice; it's a first try!

But please, go ahead and check it out - let me know what you think....I may do another one but use different music for it. Still working on my movie making skills.

Bits & Pieces

Well, here are a few scraps of poems that have never really been finished....or maybe they have and I jut don't know it yet.....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~The Future ~

Blinding in brilliance, yet full of fear

My heart beats faster as it draws near

So high to climb yet far to fall

My life is but a flicker on this celestial ball

 Before a plan was always held

Every step already decided and beheld

Now the road is gone

My feet are now frozen in the bog

My eyes veiled by heavy smog

Reluctance joins with anticipation

My journey started with hesitation

I feel bipolar in my joy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Straining against the ties that bind us here

On this celestial sphere

The divine magnet pulls us near

Pleading with us to hear

Throbbing, my soul draws to him

With luminecent face

Christ wipes away my disgrace

Bringing about from ashes - lace

With eyes unveiled, I gasp in awe

The Lord smiles at my open maw

Laid out are His wonders

Beauty and splendor without number

A thousand splendid summers

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~ Good & Evil ~

Evil stirs, sure to inflict burns

A tower of light, to be seen in the night

Truth and love, all of the above

One dark lord will bring the sword

One King of Light will fight the good fight

The fight brings a clash, then a slash

The dark lord seethes, lies he flings

 Light shines forth truth, lies it will smooth

Darkness creeps forward, ever moreward

And yet Light prevailes, ever on it sails

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~ The Darkness Assails Me ~

Long taloned fingers grasp my head and heart

For a moment they latch on, tearing at my soul

But He raises in my defense - throwing them from me

In righteous anger He banishes them

Turning his face to me He sooths my terror

I am secure in His arms - His hold will not fail

I tell Him all, and emotions flicker over His face

Joy, pain, laughter, hurt, pride, and sighs

"Stay ever with me" He repeats to me

"Keep my letters close to your heart" He says

"Clutch My words deep within your soul" He pleads

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest I fear is not worth getting on here. I hope to have some more new stuff soon!

~The Pen~

~ The Pen  ~

Scratching across the page

A best friend in the worst of times

Repeating my words and rhymes

My heart flowing from me in black lines

An instrument of my soul

Meets with paper to make music

Lyrics of my thoughts

Yet, unable to fully relay my words

To their complete meaning

I stop

My pen raised my in hand

My brow wrinkled in thought

I begin to chew the end, till

I smile again with a new thought

Scratch goes the pen once more

Again the meeting of the pen and paper

Give off satisfactory results

The words become me

And I become the words

With only the pen between us

My grip tightens and my heart expands

Before my eyes the hand and pen become one

~

~The Call of the Sea~

I see this poem as being what a retired sailor felt as he looked out over the sea from a cliff - knowing that his time was over, but still feeling the call of the sea ringing in his ears...a bit melodramatic, I know...

~The Call of the Sea~

Roaring, crashing, calling my name

I long for her, I yearn for her

Her salty aura will not leave my nose

The visage of her roiling depths engraved on my soul

My heart beats in time with her rise and fall

My gnarled hands can only feel rope

My feet cannot traverse a floor that does not shift with the wind

The suns’ rays glint off her – teasing me

“Come away with me” she calls

It pains me to see her O’ so close

Blues, greens, grays and blacks

Ever changing – as moody as a mermaid

A sailor I was and a sailor I am

My blood is tainted by the water

My skin roasted by the sun

My eyes are ever glued to the horizon

But my time has passed – I am now exiled to land

I am suffocating – slowly suffocating

This air is foul and filled with humanity

O’ to again feel the caress of a sea sigh

~Blindness~

I spent all day in Starbucks and Panara with nothing but pen, paper, coffee, and an iPod set on Ludovico Einaudi (AMAZING composer!). This poem is basically inspired from parts of the Bible that talk of how ones eyes are closed to Christ until He opens them for you to see His glory.

*this has not been edited and I don't think I'm finished with it....maybe a revised version will come soon*

~BLINDNESS~

The world is plain for all I see
Shadowed with despair is the vision I see
Sharp, cold and cruel with no majesty
Filled to the brim with tragedy


Black, brown and grey confusion
My head spins with delusion
Hope is suffocated by dark fears
My soul sits in a corner while darkness jeers


What hope is there for my veiled eyes?
Shrouded in wait for my demise
No power on Earth can bring light
No Earthly idol can grant me sight

Suddenly, a soft glow draws near
A warm voice begins to whisper in my ear
The crushing darkness slowly fades
His words leave me amazed

As His soothing voice grows louder
The darkness recedes at His power
Light begins to stream through me
The curtain is drawn back, now I see

A symphony of colors threaten to overpower
My virgin eyes with the shower
His utter grace and beauty revealed to me
My unworthy eyes are awash in a tumultuous sea

Who am I that sight is granted?
I whose sight was stranded
Upon the isle of death and darkness
My eyes only seeing starkness

An yet with a word He has given
Me the clean sight of the forgiven
The glorious vision of His love
Gives me the power to push back darkness with a shove

A new short story! (unamed as of yet)

I apologize for not having posted anything in the past few months, but life has been utterly crazy! This next post is only going the be a short story. This will be part one and I hope to have part two ready for viewing soon! And please keep in mind that this is a short story, so if things seem to move rapidly - it's supposed to be that way.

~***~

I clutched my ragged blue cloak closer to myself. Shaking with cold, I pushed through the branches of the forest. Deeper and deeper I trudged; so deep that I was soon engulfed in the dark green fog of branches and tree limbs. The old giants towered over me and the knowledge that the wood was thousands of years older than me was becoming more and more obvious. Tears blinded my eyes as I continued to stumble through the forest.


“Bring me a basket of fresh strawberries, Lily. A whole basket full.” My mistress had ordered. Never mind the fact that it was the end of summer and now nearing the middle of the Autumn season. “Bring me some by tomorrow.” She had demanded with eyes narrowed to small slits. If I did not bring her the desired berries, she would have her fiery husband to beat me within an inch of my life. Disobedience was not tolerated with the Lord and Lady of whom I had been sold.



With her words echoing in my ear, I had gathered up my worn out cloak and wicker basket to set out. As I proceeded across the fields to the woods, my eyes had been caught by the sight of an ominous storm moving in from the east. Was not even the weather on my side?

Exhausted, I collapsed at the base of a large oak to rest my weary limbs. I had been walking all day. No berries had been seen by me so far. I shook my head, as if there would be any out at this time of the year. My mistresses’ wish was obvious: to kill me in a way that would allow me to suffer before death. False hope was her choice. Find berries: live. Don’t find berries: die. My heavy eyes had only just closed when I heard a voice directed to me.

“I say, what are you doing out here?”

My lifted eyes revealed a young man high up in the tree at the base of which I sat. He seemed to be of my own age, and devastatingly fair. He sat on a tree limb with a mischievous grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“I… I’m looking for strawberries.” I managed to stutter out. The damp air had chilled me to the bone. Yet, the young man looked none the worse for wear despite the rain.

At my answer his eye brows lifted and a rich laugh filled the air, “Well then,” He said as he swung down from his perch, “I’m afraid that I have to inform you that you’re in sore luck if that is what you seek.”

“That is something I already know, sir. But I must find some.” I stated this with much more determination than I truly felt.

“Well then,” said the young man as he offered a hand to help me to my feet, “There is another storm fast approaching, and I know someone who can help you with that which you seek.”

I sat for a moment in indecision. His hand in the air, a question in and of itself. An icy wind blew through the trees and my mind was made up. What did I have to loose anyway? My hand rose up and was clasped in his large one.

“Do you really know someone who can help me?” I questioned in a doubtful voice.

He brought me to my feet and his mouth turned up in a smile, “Yes.” He said it so confidently that I almost believed him.

“If that is so,” I said smiling back at him, “Lead the way.”

With a flourish, he grabbed up my wicker basket and offered his arm to me. After I took it he led me deeper into the woods at a fairly fast pace. In fact, the rapidity of his walk only solidified the knowledge that he acted as though he had lived in the woods his entire life. Sense of direction seemed to be as innate as his sense of sight.

“Won’t be much farther.” Fagan (for that was the name he gave me) said after we had walked for a quarter of an hour. The words had barely left his mouth when we reached a slight knoll in the midst of a small clearing. The rain had just begun as a light drizzle, but the worst was yet to come. For a moment I stood there awkwardly, I could not see anyone there who could help me. And there was no area of shelter in the clearing that would be a reason for us to be here. But Fagan just smiled and knelt at an out cropping of rocks and began to push aside the leaves that covered them. As I watched, a crack soon appeared between two large boulders. This widened to become a large slit through which a human could squeeze.

“Come.” Fagan said as he motioned for me to go down into the depths of the Earth with him. For a moment I stood frozen. My mind was arguing against Fagan, but something deep within my said yes. Even today I can’t tell you what possessed me to put my pale hand into his as he led me down into the darkness.

Down down down we went until I couldn’t even see him as his warm hand pulled me deeper.

“Almost there.” His deep voice echoed in the thin air of the tunnel.

Before I knew it, there was light. Light and sound. I was momentarily blinded, and as I stood there with hands over my eyes my ears listened to the most inhuman sound. Music that I couldn’t even begin to describe was wafting through the air to my unworthy ears. Played on instruments that I am sure no human has ever dreamed of or brushed their hand against. A low hum of voices also permeated the area, lilting accents dominated until all grew into a hush as I realized that more and more saw a stranger in their midst. As my hands nervously fell from my eyes, the sight that met them was utterly breath taking.

My eyes fell greedily on the array of colors and patterns before me. The lightest reds, the most vibrant yellows, the richest browns, and every color in-between were thrown into my face. All these colors clothed creatures my mind raced to name. In one corner, I could see Fauns sipping a deep amethyst liquid from tall thin vials. On the other side of the room hovered Fey Folk of every shape and size knowable and unknowable to man. These were lapping up a richly golden liquid from large cupped flowers. At the head of the hall sat a royally adorned couple on thrones of Autumn leaves and branches. As I looked on at the creatures assembled and how they were clothed I quickly came to the realization that this was the Autumn Court of the Fey Folk. The great king that sat enthroned with the regal woman was the King of the Seelie Autumn Court.

Although all took note that I was there, none approached us. Taking my hand in his, Fagan gently pulled me through the crowd. I soon became self conscious of my state of apparel. Here I stood with dirt and rain streaked down my face. My ragged blue cloak hung limply on me from its time in the rain, and I pulled it closer to myself. I felt utterly unworthy to be here among the angels who filled this place.

“Father,” Said Fagan as he dipped in a shallow bow before the Autumn king. I started in shock at his reference to the king. He was the son of Autumn and his faerie queen? As my head swiveled from father to son I soon saw that the resemblance was not between father and son, but between mother and son. Everyone in the village of Clun knew how the Autumn king had come to be, and my mind went back to the tale.
The story goes that a young man had gone off from his family to find his place in the world. He traveled the country, traversing old roads and forging new paths, but never was he able to find his true place. One night as he sat resting from his wonderings a beautiful woman came to him from out of the thick wood by which he sat. She carried no bag, was escorted by no man, no shoes were upon her feet, yet she walked confidently towards the lone man sitting alone staring at the night sky. His eyes soon landed on the delicate woman who walked to him but made not a sound. Once she approached him she lifted on white arm in a gesture of beckoning. Without knowing why or how, the young man soon found himself following the ethereal beauty into the woods. The legend goes that the mysterious woman was actually a faerie of high rank who sought a mate to hold the Autumn throne and in return she gave a longevity of life that no man reached today.
But all this was just a story told around the fire during the long dank dark months of winter. I blinked at the dignified king seated before me. Could this be the same man who dared the world to give him a place? I looked toward the Fagan, their son. How old was he? The story of the Autumn king had been around for generations. Where did this place their offspring?
All of a sudden, a thudding clap of thunder rocked the hall in which we were standing. My eyes went strait to the ceiling, expecting it to crash down on us at any moment. But the Fey Folk merely tittered to themselves while the Fauns refilled their now empty vials of the purple drink. The prince (for that is what he was) did not even stop mid speech regardless of the storm that raged above us. Fagan told them of how he had found me and brought me here for safety from the storm and for help, while his parents listened on with such blank faces that I truly could not fathom what they thought of their sons’ actions. When at last Fagan had finished, they sat in silence for a moment.
“A basket full of strawberries, you say?" And with that, the Autumn king burst into a fit of laughter that rumbled across the hall.
“Yes Sir.” I answered timidly. Getting laughed at was something I was used to, but at the same time it never lessoned the sting of it.
“And why, might I ask, are you looking for strawberries at this time of year?”

~***~

More to come soon! Comments are welcome!

~Aithne Someris~