Forget dieing . . . I dare to live

"You can never begin to live until you dare to die." - Unknown {well. . .unknown to me}

They never told you the things you'd do different. They never explained how much it hurt .. . No use living in the past.

I greet the two teen girls. Their bright skinny jeans and skin tight t-shirts beg for attention. But that doesn't define them. Their more than their clothes and boyfriends, even if they don't know it yet. I help them find a game and convince them to take advantage of some ridiculous offer.

I hate my job.

A boy walks in the store and the two girls giggle and look over at him. A boy, a child. Seventeen on the outside, so much younger on the inside. I stop these thoughts with another, I was once the same way. Feeling so grow up and yet never understanding what I fool I was. I looked the fool. I acted the fool. I believed that I was a fool and took pride in it. Pride that I was well liked by teens and thought a fool by adults. I try to forget the fool, but yesterdays loves playing games. Letting my memories disappear and letting smiles dance on my lips. Then poisoning my mind with yesterday.

I ignore the costumers and go on with my job. I go on with my life. I go on. Why? Maybe it's the insane idea that one day I'll be free. Free from regret. Free from the nightmares that haunt my soul.

- excerpt from my current writing project

"One of the saddest things in life is the things one remembers." -Agatha Christie


I dare to forget the past so I can have a future.
I dare to be crazy
I dare to use big and fun words no one understands anymore
I dare to rebel against the myths that society pushes at us
I dare to make a fool of myself by being different
I dare to have fun {it's harder than you think}
Forget dieing . . . I dare to live.

Rapunzel's Diary {excerpt}

April 1, 1506

Dear Diary,

Wow! Only five more days until my birthday day. It's going to be so weird to be eighteen. I've always thought of eighteen to be so far off even now being seventeen. Mother says even though I'll be eighteen I will always be her little girl. Mother is so sweet and I don't mind being little for to her.

~

I look down at the small post and think whether I want to add anything more. Mother's call distracts my attention and I forget about writing more.



April 6, 1506

Dear Diary,

Today is my birthday. Well, today was my birthday. It is already 10 o-clock at night and I am tired from all the good times I have been having. Hm...Were to begin?
Today I am eighteen years old. This morning I woke up and had a wonderful breakfast of blueberry pancakes with maple syrup. Mother used up the last of the apples and I had apple juice for breakfast. Mother also gave my a beautiful dress that was blue with cream lace and stitching. I wish I sketch, then I would draw a picture of it. Alas, sketching is not one of my strong suits.
It seems that even the earth knew it was my birthday for it sent a little stray kitten to me. I named her Snowflake because she is very white and seems as delicate as a snowflake. Although she was scared at first, after some milk and warm bread Snowflake is one of the family. Mother isn't very fond of animals but because it was my birthday and because Snowflake was just too cute Mother said she would think about letting me keep her.
I loved birthdays. Mother said I didn't have to do any chores or wash and set up the tower because it was my birthday. Can't you tell I love birthdays? It's a very fun word to write too. Birthday, birthday, birthday, birthday!
I too tired to write any more. But I promise to finish writing about my birthday tomorrow.
*laugh*
Look at me, promising a diary to come back and write in it. How silly I can be sometimes.

~

A yawn escapes my mouth and I lay me head on the back of my reading chair. A reading chair that can also be used as a writing chair as well.



April 9, 1506

Dear Diary,

Sewing is such a bore. Mother said I need to . . . how did she word it?
I need to "learn the skills of proper lady".
I do love Mother so much and I don't wish to disappoint her. But sewing is another things I am dreadful at. Well, I guess it's not sewing but embroidery. I can sew simple things quite well, and when I do that while Mother reads aloud I have quite a good time. But these embroidery patterns Mother is expecting me to finish are horrifying.
Dear Mother, she always knows how to get me to like something. I have been reading a book about a lady who does stuff like sewing and embroidery. I mentioned to Mother how wonderful it would be to just slip through the pages and enter the characters world. Mother had read the book and thought now would be a perfect time to teach me embroidery.
I would not mind "learning the skills of a proper lady", as long as those skills did not included embroidery.
Remember the bunnies I told you about a month ago. Their fur has come in and they are so cute and fluffy! Two of them are brown with white spots, one of them is all white, and the other two are a mix of brown, white, and black. Their mother looks after them and I'm trying to get her to let me hold and pet them.
I do not think Snowflake has a mother. She is too young to be by herself, or so the science books tell me, and she has spent these three days with me. In fact, she is cuddling next to me on my reading chair right now in the living room.
It is time for lunch and I must go.

Later:

Mother said I could keep Snowflake! I am excited I can scarcely breathe. It's so nice being about to lie on my bed with Snowflake curled up next to me and to know that won't change.
I feel like a heroine in a book with her trusted cat companion and ready for the adventure that awaits. And there will be adventure. Mother said I could explore our back woods as long as I didn't travel to far. I hope I get lost. What fun that would be. I can imagine it now, I'll look around and wonder why it got so dark so fast and then I would know. I was lost. I would hear a noise and get so scared. Snowflake would then come walking out of the woods and with her help I would get safely home. Well, that's what I hope will happen, which is much different then what will most likely happen. But even then I can't wait.

Rapunzel's Diary my 2011 NaNoWriMo novel by Lèrowen

Hello Inspiration {excerpt}

Hello Inspiration,

My name is, Lèrowen. I've been seeing allot of you lately. And let me tell you you are welcome at any time. Would like some tea, coffee, cookies? Anything to make you comfortable and productive.

Signed your fan,
Lèrowen


Don't you just love it when inspiration starts to lean in your favor. Well, it leaned today and I got out a bit of writing for my current writing project, the one with my main character Amy. I did and Beautiful People post on her a few days ago if your curious.

Here is a short little excerpt on my book if any of you would like to take a look. I LOVE comments and opinions.

       A mechanical noise signals that someone has opened the door, that annoying, same, humdrum noise. That someone is me. Dreaming about the day when I can quit this job, this annoying, same, humdrum job. And the bell rings again, the customer is the typical teens looking for a video game. That's my job, helping people find things to waste their time. The time they don't realize is fleeting. I remember those day, those teen-age years. I shake my head to get rid of the thought.

They never told you the things you'd do different. They never explained how much it hurt. No use living in the past.

I greet the two teen girls. Their bright skinny jeans and skin tight t-shirts beg for attention. But that doesn't define them. Their more than their clothes and boyfriends, even if they don't know it yet. I help them find a game and convince them to take advantage of the buy one get one half off deal.

I hate my job.

just blah {your opinion needed}

It's so  funny the way random paragraphs that just come to you every once and a while. Oddly enough mine are all depressing and...well...random. But since I have had this bit of writing in my folder for longer then I can remember I thought why not share it with someone. That's right, you my readers are the first to view this bit of writing.

  There they were again. Walking the streets as if they believed what they shouted, "We protect the people. We help the people." Those ridicules "uniforms" they wear would be a thing for complete ridicule if the guns they wore weren't so oftenly used. In fact, I think they invent reasons to shot. And I think our so called government approves of it.   

    

    I sat on the floor looking out of the clear plastic that's meant to be a window. But I'm not fooled. It's not a window, like the so called food we eat is not food. Like the so called life we live, is not living. We are trapped by our own thoughts and the people that encourage them...And the people that encourage them.

First, I know 'oftenly' isn't a word but it fit. I am an artist and must, every one in a while, set aside the rules.

Second, please be painfully honest. Whether this is cheesy, heartwarming, or just blah.

a sneak peek (my current writing project)

Although my current writing project is unnamed, it still has a special place in my heart. And after some thought I decided to post an excerpt from it.

*nervous laugh*

What have I got to lose?

We will just call this bit; coffee & bubbles.

The cream seems to dissolve as it swirled into the coffee. I pull the spoon out of the cup and smile. I dip the wet spoon into the sugar dish. I smile again. There's no one to scold me for this silly act. There is no need for this silly act, but I do it none the less.

The smell of coffee fills the room as I bring it into my bedroom.

Oh, my dear lovely caffeine.

The coffee brightens up my morning as I sip it. I close my eyes once more and savor the the wonderful brown liquid. I sip it again and feel the warmth fill my body.

The October chill seeps through the walls in the bedroom. I look out the window. Beautiful colors dance as the wind blows. Red, orange, green and yellow.

I hold my coffee close to my face as I watch the trees blowing in the wind. Such a beautiful day. I look back over to my laptop. The few sentences I had written look back and seem to mock me. A groan erupts from inside me. Disappointment sets into my mind.

A smile set on my lips as I remind those words I am in control. I have the power of the backspace button. The power to delete. I am in control!

I am in control, right?

My subconscious mocks me. In control? No way! I may be able to push the backspace button but I have no control over inspiration. I search for anything to stop this lack of inspiration. Is there anything else I can do?

Well, as long as I have nothing to write I will take Agatha Christie's quote to heart.

"The best time for planning a book is while washing the dishes." -Agatha Christie.

I decide to take a shot at it and start washing the dishes.

The yellow dish soap becomes bubbles as the contact the water. Sweet bubbles. Yellow bubbles. I take a handful of them and blow. They float around before allowing gravity to work. They all sink; all but one. The stray bubble dances on air. Swinging to an invisible beat. I reach my sudsy hand and catch the bubble. It pops.

I wish I could be like that bubble. Defiant of all writing rules and just dance. Swing to the invisible beat of a good story and just write.

It's a little more poetic than a normal novel but I find I like the style of it. So there it is. The first draft of an interesting piece of written work. Although I don't plan on editing it until I finish the book I would love to hear your impute.