What is a stage but a pedestal
They belong to life
To freedom
An actor to the stage
And I just want to play the part that’s belongs to me
I want to surround them
To pull them into me and never let go.
That would satisfy only for a moment
A split second of selfish desire
It’d bring the whole thing down around me
Isolation and freedom in ruination
That I could have just one piece of them.
What would I do just to know.
Just to understand.
Just to know their name.
Things have been pratically unbearable at work and honestly the only thing that’s been getting me through is writing every night. I’m shattering my earlier records and really putting my all in this. I want to take up freelance writing I hope that’ll help me improve. I know I probably say it enough to make it cliche but I feel like I’m getting better but I won’t stop.
I have a friend that’s always trying to get better and I want to be like them. Plus they have given me a special bit of motivation. Find someone who will give you that boost that’ll fit you. It’s hard for me to get motivated by myself but knowing that I have to turn in my progress to someone who’ll praise me when I do get something right and not scold me when I don’t do it has really put the onus of progress on me.
Mechanically, the way I put my sentences together seem to be improving. I’m always listening to new stories to see how they bring things together how their dialouge work furthers their character growth and trying to understand the story structures I like. I opening up old works and trying to hone them a bit better. One day they should see the light of day. Please be paitent with me dear readers. Good luck out there!
What do you do when someone puts into words a fantasy you didn’t know you’d long for? I mean everything else around you is just so complicated and this seems so right your breath catches. Is this what affairs are made of. Can two unattached people have an affair?
Have you ever wanted something so much you felt guilty? Like you were somehow cheating on all your dreams, things you used to want. Now you’re typing this and you can’t forget the words they said… Were you just settling for a life you thought you wanted?
Maybe it’s a pattern for me. Is it weird that I knew I wanted to write books in elementary school when someone else wrote one? Maybe I only wanted something because I watched someone else enjoying it. While that might be how it started, I know writing was made for me. Finishing a page makes me happy in ways I didn’t know I could be. The closer I get to completing a project the better I feel about my abilities. Now if only I could finish something.
Okay readers, I hope the start of your week goes well and your tax returns come swiftly. My friend is starting a new job and I’m so proud of her. It’s just nice to see that her hard work is finally being realized in the major way it should be.
Wandering,
Wondering,
Wonderland Wren.
Has left the Earth,
And returned again
Waring,
Wearing,
Wrathful Wren
Fears no more
And yields even less
Worrying,
Waiting,
Warm-hearted Wren
No longer will shrink,
Won’t even try
Wading,
Waxing,
Willful Wren
Soars in on wings,
of ambition and desire
Winging,
Wringing,
Witty Wren
Don’t let them catch you
Whatever you do
Wandering,
Wondering,
Wonderland Wren
Has left the Earth,
And returned again.
I have spent much of this day mulling with my feelings of grief of what exactly I wanted to say. We lost a king last night. A man who through his own determination he lived with cancer and became a hero to millions of people. With his ability he helped to start a movement, shatter a long held myth in Hollywood. All of this while fighting for his life. All of this while fighting for his life. I will always look up to Chadwick Boseman.
I know he had other impactful roles, like Jackie Robinson, James Brown, and Thurgood Marshall; I also found him one of the best parts of Da 5 Bloods but, Black Panther changed my life. For the first time in an extremely public way I was out and proud to be Black. Not just with my family but, on social media, on the street, in my friendships. I felt proud of my skin, my culture, my history, and our culture. It healed some broken part of me. I’ve become way more outspoken on Black issues and began fighting for them in my every day. Thank you Chadwick Boseman.
When I see all the art and the pictures of people crying I can’t help but to share their pain. I was foolish enough to believe death couldn’t hurt me anymore but, last night showed me I was wrong. My deepest condolences to his family and everyone who’s in mourning. You gave us Wakanda,you will be missed, Chadwick Boseman.
Rest In Peace to our King. Rest In Peace to our Black Panther. Wakanda Forever!
I wrote a blog post a while ago about Black Heroes. He is one and he will always be. I borrowed this artwork from Vicbazaine. Thank you.
I’m confident in a lot of things about me. If you ask anyone close to me they’ll probably tell you how I can talk about myself for hours. Which is probably true. I am not afraid to talk myself up. I don’t mind putting my best foot forward and I think people actually respond fairly well to it. Am I a little cocky? Probably. Does that make me a bad person? I don’t think so. But to get to my point there are a couple things I’m not too confident in.
I don’t think I have much to offer people. It’s probably the last dregs of that teenage low self-esteem angst but, I’m not sure how much I add to people’s lives. I mean they tell me they like having me around but, everyone lies. People get into relationships (all types) because they want something from someone else. Whether it’s companionship or because the person is smart and they can help me get ahead or do good on a math test. Whatever that is they offer something. I don’t know what my thing is and I overcompensate.
I try to be a big part, helping them through their pain and troubles. A shoulder to cry on when they’re in need. If they need something they can always count on me. I push myself way too hard to be available and ready with the right thing to say. Not that I’m bad at that part but, it weighs on me. There’s sometimes when I’m an absolute mess and there’s no one to talk to. They tell me their problems and I try and fix them. It’s easy not because it keeps me away from my own problems because it makes me feel useful. I like feeling useful. I like knowing that no matter how low I get someone’s life would be worse without me in it.
Does that make me selfish? Probably. Do I tell them? Yes. I tell them that I’m self-centered that I do most of these things for myself. Do they believe me? No, they just think I’m being humble. If there’s anything you learn from reading this blog, other than the fact that I’m an overthinking basket case, it should be that any bit of demureness that comes from me is due to uncertainty.
The other thing is my writing, it’s not as interesting as the earlier topic, not much to analyze here. I guess I’m the same as everyone else here. We’re all just trying to get through the next project and hopefully, one day write a hit. I know I’m not alone in wanting this so bad you lie awake at night hoping just hoping that it’s good enough. That the right person thinks highly enough of it and tells all their friends about it. That it somehow gets on the right person’s blog and they read about it and love it. And everyone is just clamoring to get their hands on your book like it’s the only one out there. They read it all in one night or savor it over a week. They love your world so much they dream up their own characters to fill it. (Deep breath. I actually did this while writing this.)
I want what every writer wants. What every person wants. To be loved for what I bring in the world. To be admired for what I can do. And to be cherished by the people who love me.
PS. Sorry, this is so heavy but, I had a lot get off my chest.
I had a dream a couple of nights ago about my brother. He died three years ago. That’s all I usually say about it. He died. I mean people ask all the time about it. How he died and I tell them and there’s a pity in their eyes.
It’s not that I like talking about him, it’s not that I like there sympathy. I guess it helps keep me grounded. Centered on the fact that it happened and that I’m okay. Maybe that’s wrong, using him like that… I mean it probably is… It’s just I need to have it be there in my life. I need to know it was a fact and that it happened. That he’s gone now and I loved him.
So back to my dream. He was dying again, this time longer this time we knew. This time I wasn’t angry. This time he was older. As old as he would have been today. He was just sitting in the car. I guess for privacy to get away from everyone. This time I had a chance to say good bye.
I told him just how much he meant to me. How sad I was going to be to see him go. I guess my mind hadn’t quite gotten their yet. I held him tighter than I’ve ever held anyone. I cried so much and when my mind had finally caught up. I told him we’d be okay. That we’d be fine. We already had been. That we’d be torn apart and forever changed, but we’d be okay. And he cried for the first time. We cried together.
I think in then end this dream was good for me I needed to get it out. It was cathartic. I don’t know if dream me got to be with him in his final moments but, I finally got to say good bye.
Warren Dalton 