Sketch #7: Y

Warning: Puns abound.

A curious figure, the letter y. Though g may constitute the end of everything, y sums up a good number of words. Most delectable when scripted calligraphically, it can drip and twist, splattered with a quill. It can stand straight and rigid or curl a whiplashed tail. The slide of its slash is often exaggerated to underscore its predecessors in a word—apparently being at the end of a term or phrase demands that the attempt is made of the last letter to merit distinction for the rest. Is it a vowel? Or does it weigh enough to be admitted to the ranks of consonants? At times it can be sharp, but very often it is rhetorical; we ask the question why so many times a day, it seems to supersede the importance of the remaining characters of the alphabet. Granted the letter y is not synonymous with the query, even if, together, they build the word. Imagine the confusion if everyone began asking, “Twenty-fifth letter?”


Fiasco Friday: Writer’s Block

This poem netted me third place in a community youth poetry contest. I think that accomplishment is less attributable to my abilities as a writer and more an indication of the limited number of candidates in the contest. I thought I was so clever when I wrote it. Continue reading

Plan or Pants?

It’s the question lurking in the most ancient annals of writing lore: do I plan my novel before I write it, or do I figure it out as I go? It’s the question I ask myself before one of the crazy NaNo challenges starts up. Some people find a combination of planning and pantsing to be the ideal method. Others cannot survive without their detailed outlines.

But I wonder, is such a question necessary to ask? Continue reading

Experiential Writing: Transposing the Reader

There are so many blogs, books, and articles written about the writing craft that I figured it wouldn’t hurt if I pitched in some of my own thoughts. Like stories, no matter how many times they’re told, ideas are always expressed in different, potentially perspective-changing ways.

When you write, you have a responsibility to create a fictional world. This doesn’t necessarily mean worldbuilding (that’s an entire discussion in itself). Readers expect to be taken to a place other than their chair or bed or the bus, or wherever they happen to be reading. The story has to be believable, engaging, and engrossing. The story and the writing together must transport the reader into this fictional world you have created.

This belies the necessity of writing invisibly. There are two ways in which this has to be accomplished: words and author interruptions. Continue reading

Sketch #6: Kinkadian Arcadia

My schedule has been quite hectic (isn’t everyone’s?), and so one night I decided to sit down and visualize a pastoral paradise to slow the pace of my life for a while. I notice in my longer works that I take little time to depict setting and nature, so I’m once again playing around with descriptors, which may come across at times as a bit purple and passive. I visualized a lot of Thomas Kinkade paintings.    

Peach clouds cast purple shadows on their eastern brethren, rising like soft mountains of blossoming apple orchards. Golden fire limned their scalloped edges. With contented exhaustion, the sun sank ever lower until warm shadows cradled everything in a cozy embrace, challenged only by the sharp-edged moon rising in pale splendor above the clouds. From those cotton bolls in the firmament, distant flashes of lightning pecked the earth with shy kisses. Continue reading

A Dragon Named Dee

A limerick I wrote some years ago. I’ve edited it from my original fourteen-year-old edition to improve the meter.

There once was a dragon named Dee

Who was fond of drinking her tea.

She arranged a tea party,

But her guests were all tardy,

So she ate them and then drank her tea.

Fiasco Friday: Dawn of Moon

I was riffling through some of my works today, most of which are cringeworthy. The only reasonable thing to do is to post them here, of course. And so I give you Fiasco Friday!

I wrote this poem sitting in my dad’s office in the summer between 5th and 6th or 6th and 7th grades. At the time, I had a marvelous obsession with the moon. It features in just about everything I wrote at the time. My eleven- or twelve-year-old self was amazed at my seeming prowess with the English language and vocabulary, as you can clearly see demonstrated in the poem below. /S

Dawn of Moon

Fields of sunset mourning noon

Will watch the stars play glitter soon,

And in this darkening purple hour

Arises the coming dawn of Moon.

The oceans live with dancing tuna,

The mysteries they say are true now,

Behold the glowing orb above,

And all shall hail the mighty Luna.

And in this inexplicable hour,

All who live in fear shall cower.

The transcendental demilune

Will show all life its dictated power.

Slowly she sinks into the water,

Time has come and Time has got her,

Sun rises to start the day,

Because he is here, the air is hotter.


Fields of sunset mourning noon

Will watch the stars play glitter soon,

And in this darkening purple hour

Arises the coming dawn of Moon.

Midyear Check-in

Clearly my strength does not lie in blogging, a grievous fault that I hope to correct (and not to grievously answer).

Six months ago, I posted a blog about my personal challenge: to write 2,000 words a day. I’m happy to report that I have succeeded in attaining that daily goal since sometime in mid-November (I could have said the first of November if I had not gone to Disney one day during NaNo14, when I only managed about 1,300). Continue reading