I wrote a story based on the one by Jamaica Kincaid for English class. I loved it so much I decided to post it here!

“Girl”

            Don’t read books, they damage your eyesight; don’t drink hot tea with cold fruit, they hurt your belly; don’t disrupt your sleeping habits, it’s unhealthy, you know; keep promises, it’s polite; always say “thank you”, “ you’re welcome”, and “good morning”, “good afternoon”, and “good night”; drink a glass of water in the morning; take the stairs whenever you can; this is how to have a whole conversation about nothing; this is how to have some talk about something; this is how to wish you could have a conversation but pretend it doesn’t affect you; I expect that you will play the piano; I expect you will learn your other language; I still expect that you will play the piano and learn your other language; do your work; study before all assessments; if you did poorly it meant you didn’t do your work; if you did poorly it meant you didn’t study; this is how you sow; this is how you crochet; but you never did teach me how to crochet, it was my friend; and I expect you to learn how to cook; help your elders; help your teachers; help your mother; don’t help your friends; you shouldn’t leave work to the last minute, daughter, haven’t you been punished enough?

Here are a few trending songs right now on the radio that I love:

We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together by Taylor Swift
Blow Me (One Last Kiss) by Pink
Too Close by Alex Clare
One More Night by Maroon Five
Everybody Talks by Neon Trees
Some Nights by FUN

THIS IS A TRUE STORY

I was at school, and I was ticked. Majorly ticked. I'd had a hard day, already having taken two quizzes, and it wasn't even lunchtime! Crazy teachers.
     Anyway, I has walking down the hallway with long strides, dodging between people like a taxi driver in New York City. I waved as I passed one of my friends. Looking up, she waved back, then grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the river of students. "What?" I asked, glancing at the clock nervously. The last thing I wanted was to be late for 5th hour.
     "Have you . . . um . . . been to the bathroom lately?" Her face reddened as she said it, realizing how weird the question sounded.
     I stared at her. "No."
     Her eyes brightened. "Go in really quick, and take a look."
     I tried to pull away. "Look, I've gotta go--"
     "Just look." She steered me toward the girls bathroom and gave me a little shove. Groaning, I stepped inside.
     What I saw made my jaw drop.
     Covering the ceiling, floor, walls, and stalls were sticky notes. Sticky notes of every shape, size and color. All over the girls bathroom!
     I first thought It was a prank. I mean, that'd be really mean, but hey, it's middle school. Then I started reading the messages. You're beautiful - know this, and anybody who says otherwise is lying. Stand up for who you are. When life gives you lemons, make apple juice and let the world wonder how you did it. Hold on to what makes you warm inside. If you're happy, then why leave? Loving can cost, but not loving can cost even more. Smile - it intimidates your enemies. You can't fix what isn't broken. Stay strong. Wipe of that make-up . . . you're more than that. Never let people bring you down. No one's ugly or pretty, we all look different, so shut up, society. Do what you love and love what you do. Girl, you're amazing, just the way you are.
     My head spinning, I dashed out of the bathroom. "Who . . . ?"
     "I don't know," she said, closing her locker door. "Apparently there's some competition on Instagram about taking pictures of encouraging sticky notes . . . I think we've won."

     Eventually the sticky notes were moved out of the bathroom and onto a whiteboard outside. So many pictures were taken, and teachers were buzzing with excitement. The ironic thing was that they were always trying to have us encourage each other (though perhaps not by putting sticky notes all over the girls bathroom) but in the end, it was the students that made a difference.

     The sticky note vandals will be remembered, though their notes may be peeled off and trashed. But what really matters is that their messages of hope and beauty will live on in our hearts forever.

by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Night is for sorrow and dawn is for joy,
Chasing the troubles that fret and annoy;
Darkness for sighing and daylight for song,--
Cheery and chaste the strain, heartfelt and strong.
All the night through, though I moan in the dark,
I wake in the morning to sing with the lark.

Deep in the midnight the rain whips the leaves,
Softly and sadly the wood-spirit grieves.
But when the first hue of dawn tints the sky,
I shall shake out my wings like the birds and be dry;
And though, like the rain-drops, I grieved through the dark,
I shall wake in the morning to sing with the lark.

On the high hills of heaven, some morning to be,
Where the rain shall not grieve thro' the leaves of the tree,
There my heart will be glad for the pain I have known,
For my hand will be clasped in the hand of mine own;
And though life has been hard and death's pathway been dark,
I shall wake in the morning to sing with the lark.

by Robert Frost

I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,
On a white heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth --
Assorted characters of death and blight
Mixed ready to begin the morning right,
Like the ingredients of a witches' broth --
A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,
And dead wings carried like a paper kite.

What had that flower to do with being white,
The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?
What brought the kindred spider to that height,
Then steered the white moth thither in the night?
What but design of darkness to appall?--
If design govern in a thing so small.

by Amy Lowell

You are ice and fire,
The touch of you burns my hands like snow.
You are cold and flame.
You are the crimson of amaryllis,
The silver of moon-touched magnolias.
When I am with you,
My heart is a frozen pond
Gleaming with agitated torches.

by Amy Lowell

Cold, wet leaves

Floating on moss-coloured water   

And the croaking of frogs—

Cracked bell-notes in the twilight.

by Gertrude Stein

A cool red rose and a pink cut pink, a collapse and a sold hole, a little less hot.

by Gertrude Stein

A purse was not green, it was not straw color, it was hardly seen and it had a use a long use and the chain, the chain was never missing, it was not misplaced, it showed that it was open, that is all that it showed.

by Carl Sandburg

Chatter of birds two by two raises a night song joining a litany of running water--sheer waters
showing the russet of old stones remembering many rains.

And the long willows drowse on the shoulders of the running water, and sleep from much music;
joined songs of day-end, feathery throats and stony waters, in a choir chanting new psalms.

It is too much for the long willows when low laughter of a red moon comes down; and the willows
drowse and sleep on the shoulders of the running water.

by Wallace Stevens

Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.
II I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.
III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.
IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.
V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.
VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadows of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.
VII O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?
VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.
IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.
X
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.
XI
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.
XII
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.
XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.

by Hilda Doolittle

 

Whirl up, sea—

Whirl your pointed pines,

Splash your great pines

On our rocks,

Hurl your green over us—

Cover us with your pools of fir.

I am the summer spent at the library,

Sunscreen beneath chilled sweaters

Where we drew until the lights blinked shut.

I am the autumn covered hills,

The walk where I shared my identity musings

Through a poem with Mother,

And it padded down with us on cat paws.

I am the raindrops on my car window (like tears),

Waterholes for the dinosaurs.

The black and gray mingled fatally.

I am the swing on the ceiling,

Blue like the wide wide sky,

Blue with my simple joy.

I am the store overflowing with shoes,

The floor tumbling with sneakers, heels, boots,

Where I hit an old lady (by accident, of course,

But does she care?)

I am the wedding night of the weeping moon.

Dark with the absence of sleep.
Bland like the strawberry and cream cake.

 I am the museum with the stairs

And automobile fried chicken, The hands with one band each.
I am the carbonated water with ice,
The turtles sleeping in the pond,
And the foreign farewell.
I am the cold night beneath covers,
The cat under the truck,
The secret revealed.

Hey all! Sorry, I haven't been on in forever, but I think I might have some more time nowadays. There are so many new members! Welcome, and I hope you enjoy participating in Blog for Joy!

My choir just got music for our fall concert. Among these include a SSA (Soprano 1, Soprano 2, Alto) piece called Life Has Loveliness to Sell. It's a beautiful song, and the lyrics are from the poem (also called Life Has Loveliness to Sell) by Sara Teasdale. Here it is!

Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things;
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And children’s faces looking up,
Holding wonder like a cup.

Life has loveliness to sell;
Music like a curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And, for the Spirit’s still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.

Give all you have for loveliness;
Buy it, and never count the cost!
For one white, singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost;
And for a breath of ecstasy,
Give all you have been, or could be.

Here's the link for the song:
http://www.lorenz.com/med/sample/15_2702H.mp3
Please listen! 

Anyway, I'm glad to be back!
Vale, amici!

“Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts.” –Rachel Carson

“An animal’s eyes have the power to speak a great language.” –Martin Buber

“Keep a green tree in your heart and perhaps a songbird will come.” –Chinese Proverb

“In the wilderness is the preservation of the world.” –Henry David Thoreau

“We do not inherit the land from our ancestors. We borrow it from our children.” –Native American Proverb.

“One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.” –William Shakespeare

“Study nature, love nature, stay close to nature. It will never fail you.” –Frank Lloyd Wright

“All good things are wild and free.” –Henry David Thoreau

“We do not see nature through our eyes, but with our understandings and our hearts.”

 –William Hazlitt

“Let nature be your teacher.”  –William Wordsworth

“The earth does not belong to us. We belong to the earth.”  –Chief Seattle

Hi everyone!
It's Juliet again with my second post. You can check out my first post here (it's a bit from my novel in progress!) and read my blog here!

OK, so today I'm going to talk about a struggle that every writer goes through.

Writer's block. It's every author's nightmare, wouldn't you agree? It certainly is mine, and it happens to me all the time.

So what are some cures?

1. Breaks. If you've been sitting at the computer or at your desk with a pencil in hand for longer than five minutes, and haven't written anything, take a break. Go eat some chocolate, watch America's Got Talent, do what you got to do to get your mind off of writing for a while. The times when I have a great idea are when I'm not constantly thinking about my work.
2. Writing excercises. Look up some writing prompts on Google and get the writing juices a-flowing. Who knows, something you write in a prompt might be used in your work OR could give you an idea for a character, plot, etc.
3. Written? Kitten and Write or Die. OK, so that sounds really threatening, but those are two great websites. The first one, Written? Kitten! (click on it above) Is where you set a word count and if you achieve that word count you get an adorable picture of kittens! Who wouldn't want that? Write or Die (click on it above) is what I use during Nanowrimo season when I absolutely HAVE to get 1500 words a day. You can set the level of consequences and strictness. If you stop writing in Gentle mode, a box will pop up to remind you to continue writing. Normal mode; a really annoying sound is played. Kamikaze mode? your words will start being deleted one by one so you have to keep writing or else! It's a great tool so you don't stop. Even if you keep writing crap, you can always edit it and more than likely, you'll get a great idea!
4. Music. And no, I don't mean listen to a song and plagiarize all their lyrics. That's not what I mean at all. A great tip that I've learned on many writing websites is to listen to a song and try to create a character that you think of when listening to that song, or write a short story based on the song. This, once again, will be sure to get the writing juices in your brain flowing.

Thanks for reading, what tips do you have to cure writer's block?

julietspurplesky@gmail.com

Two short free verse poems I wrote when I was waiting for a program to start. xD

Wish It's Forever

Twilight

Summer midnight

Gently falling blossoms

Whispers flitting through the endless

Time hushed

Heartbreaker

Wretched peer

Anxious longing

Clenching, unclenching grip

Oh, what are you trying to find

In me?

Blog for Joy's original header

I doll I got from my friend.

Crafts I made for Easter. I just hot-glue gunned plastic eggs and cutomized them with my imagination!

I love this bunny. I call him Fred.

A jounral I made at the library.