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The Writers Block


Mr.BS

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I can definitely see the beautiful mind influences... having only seen the movie I can't speak for the book, but there are parallels there. And yeah, it is fairly wide open where you can go with it... practically anywhere. I know you aren't ending yet, but I'm guessing you like wide open endings? Let the reader answer the questions instead of answering them yourselves?

 

Mhmm. I see no point in telling the reader everything, for then very little thinking would be involved.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Hey guys... I am very pleased to see this thread is alive and well! I've been quite busy lately, but hope to post soon. I haven't finished reading everything you posted after my last login, but I have enjoyed what I read so far. Keep up the good work!

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A poem I wrote when I was 16.

 

Desired Constellation

 

Remember when we were angels

We played ice hockey in heaven

We touched the stars and sat on the moon

And one time, we ate fish with five forks

Yesterday I picked flowers for you

While you studied runes

Sleeping on the sun, we didn't even burn

Traveled to Pluto, never to return.

 

I really like writing "poetry" (I guess it's poetry, I only write prose-like things in my journal. I don't think I've written a proper journal entry in four years), but I don't think I'm that great at it. Sometimes I don't even understand what my own words mean.

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This may sound quite odd or rude, but you know that Scolls and Revelations fic 2 people on here wrote? Well I've sort of started a Yaoi version involving Matt and Dom that one of the original writers was meant to work with me on (but she pulled out because of other commitments), and was wondering if anyone would like to help me write it? It'd be more fun and varied that way.

 

Shall I post what I've got so far? I hope this isn't copyright infringement lol tell me if it is.

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Aye. There is so, so much planning that needs to go into a novel if it'll be any good. Certaintly is a brain drain just the creation of the plot and outlining it, much less filling it all in...

 

Any frequenters have any suggestions for plot organization/outlining or whatnot? I've already gotten my novel more or less plotted out, but this being the writers thread, a nice debate might be in order.

 

Don't know about you, but I think, for me, it needs to be character driven; if the characters don't intregue or endear themselves to you, it doesn't matter how good the plot is, you won't get sucked in to read and be curious about what happens next, you have to care about the characters in the story.

 

Agreed, I've always tried for an agent first, I just went through the ones who seemed like it might be appropriate to contact in The Writers and Artist's Yearbook (or international equivalent), first two or three chapters plus a 5000 word synopsis. I was always pessimistic about it but I found myself quite pleasantly surprised, the responses I got for the most part were friendly and positive, and (more surprisingly) personal. But sadly, no agent as yet and as I say, I've more or less given up for now, or at least until my kids go to school....

 

I know it's hard but you really do have to disconnect yourself from your writing when you're sending it out there, it's a product you're marketing and nothing more. Try not to take it too personally. The way I look at it, they're not rejecting me, just a product I suggested to them.... if I were to suggest anything, I'd always remind people that the editing and rewriting is a process as important, if not more, then what you wrote in the first place. And ALWAYS research the publisher and find out what their house style is regarding italics, paragraph indents and stuff, if it's not in their house style they won't even look at it usually.

 

Ta for the tips on getting an agent or at least trying to do so. I've written a book too and it's just sitting around and ultimately I'm a bit too scared to do anything with it. I don't know quite how to emotionally disconnect, even though I know it needs to be treat as a commodity to sell, it just feels a bit like my baby I suppose.

 

How do you get over this and get the courage to go out and try and get it published?

 

LJ has been suspending people who write/draw situations that involve incest [such as Fred and George Weasley together] or sexual situations with a minor [e.g. 14 year old Harry and Prof Snape] and people are COMPLAINING?! Not complaining that the stuff was there in the first place, but complaining that people are having their freedom of expression taken away! But seriously, wtf? A heck of a lot of them seem to find those sorts of situations a turn on...I'm sorry, but if I had that sort of kink, I'd keep it quiet!

 

:wtf::noey: It does beg the question...why broadcast that?!

 

Thread resurrection!

 

Ok, so a question to all writers and readers alike:

 

Do you prefer a)well written stories or b)well plotted stories? Since authors more oft than not seem to fall into one of those two camps, do you all have any personal favorites of the two? Ideally it'd be both, but out of the two.

 

And I'll just go ahead and ask the next question too: plot driven or character driven stories? As in does the plot move forward because the character makes it, or do things happen to the character to make it move forward?

 

For the first question I'd say plot; you can overlook a bit of clumsy writing, it may jarr as you read it but it wouldn't necessarily make you put down the book whereas a rubbish plot would every time.

 

There's also the issue of what constitutes well written. Readable and accessible or evocative and artistic (and dare I say it inaccessible, but impressive to look at). I'd go for the former but I dare say there's different schools of thought on this one.

 

As for the other question you asked, reckon I already answered that further up this post.:D

 

Pardon the Interruption

He was leaning against the window, his shoulder blades jutting into the cold, hard glass. He brought his hands to his face and sighed. Did he really want to do this? He peered through his fingers, his roaming eyes hesitantly stopping on the telephone.

“I’ll do it,” he told himself with force, starting towards the phone. He picked it up, but quickly set it back down, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. His shaking hands reached for the phone again, this time bringing it to his ear, while his right hand started to dial. Just as he heard it ring on the other end, he heard a knock at the door.

He set down the phone, and slowly walked to the door. He didn’t know whether he was relieved or frustrated at the interruption. To his surprise, as he opened the door, he saw his longtime friend, soaking wet.

“Julia, what happened?” He stepped aside to let her in.

“Rain,” she simply said. “Rain happened.”

“Why didn’t you get a taxi?” he asked, leading her to the couch.

“Oh,” she sighed. “I didn’t feel like it.” She started to sit down, but quickly stood back up. “Were you in the middle of a conversation?” she said, noticing that the phone was off the hook.

He was taken aback. “Oh. That. No, I wasn’t.” He quickly hung up the phone and nervously busied himself with straightening the magazines on the coffee table. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Water, please. I’m so thirsty!” she said, taking off her coat and throwing it on the couch before sitting down.

As he walked into the kitchen, he grabbed a glass and turned on the faucet. Julia came in a few minutes later and leaned against the doorframe, watching him intently stare at the wall as her glass of water overflowed.

“Daniel, are you okay?” she asked, hoping to wake him from his reverie.

“What?” Daniel snapped his head around. “I’m fine.” He hastily turned off the faucet, wiped the glass off, and handed it to Julia.

She studied his thin, handsome face for a moment. He looked worn and anxious. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m just tired.” He leaned against the counter. “Are you sure you are okay? You’re the one who walked ten blocks in the rain,” he said, smirking.

She laughed, “I don’t know what it was, why I walked that much in the rain.” She took a large drink of water. “Rain has always made me feel…” she stopped, searching for the right word, “clean.”

“Do you want to go out for dinner? Have you eaten?” he asked, ignoring her comment, not exactly knowing how to reply.

“No, but I’m not hungry.” She set down the now empty glass with a thud that reverberated throughout the room. “I was only stopping by to see how you were.”

He didn’t want to go through this again. “Julia, I’m fine, for the last time.”

She moved closer to him, peering at his eyes, trying to catch his lie. “You know I don’t believe that. You’ve been acting odd for about a month now. Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” she pleaded.

“There’s nothing to tell you because there’s nothing wrong.” He turned away from her and roughly pulled open the refrigerator, showing his anger. He slammed it shut.

“See what I mean!” she said indignantly.

“Listen,” he started, turning towards her, his gray eyes piercing hers, “you can just leave if you’re going to bother me with pointless questions!”

“What?” she asked, dumbfounded. “Why are you so upset?”

He saw the confusion on her face, and he knew he was wrong to get so angry, but he felt it was too late to apologize. “Just leave. I have things to do,” he said, suddenly deadpanned. He lowered his head, staring at his fingers. He didn’t see the hurt on her face or the livid look she gave him as she stormed out of the room. But he heard her mutter under her breath, saying something about how much he’d changed.

 

......that's up through page three

 

edit: I don't know why the style is messed up. It looked fine when I copied and pasted it, but now it's screwy.

 

Hey Erin, that's really good. It really draws you in and you wonder why he's like that, what's happened to him and on his mind. Very readable stuff :D:)

 

Anyway, good to find this thread, never seen this before. I write a bit when I have time and the muse finds me, so to speak. The book I mentioned I'd done earlier virtually wrote itself, it was like I was attached to a lightning conductor or something, it just poured forth, and I had the whole thing done in less than 3 months.

 

Since then I've had ideas and even got about 50 pages into something and have a good story line but I don't seem to have the spark to go forward at the moment. Anyone else get this? Was the fact that I got my first piece of work rattled off that quick something strange or is this just how the writing thing goes?

 

Would love to hear what others out there think:)

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Hey Erin, that's really good. It really draws you in and you wonder why he's like that, what's happened to him and on his mind. Very readable stuff :D:)

 

Anyway, good to find this thread, never seen this before. I write a bit when I have time and the muse finds me, so to speak. The book I mentioned I'd done earlier virtually wrote itself, it was like I was attached to a lightning conductor or something, it just poured forth, and I had the whole thing done in less than 3 months.

 

Since then I've had ideas and even got about 50 pages into something and have a good story line but I don't seem to have the spark to go forward at the moment. Anyone else get this? Was the fact that I got my first piece of work rattled off that quick something strange or is this just how the writing thing goes?

 

Would love to hear what others out there think:)

 

Thanks.

 

At least you can get about 50 pages. I get about two and then I'm like, "Eh, I don't like this." :LOL:

 

It's rather annoying, actually.

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I'll sue your arse off! Hahahah

 

Um...on a serious note, I'm not 100% sure. I mean if you write your own 18th Century fan fiction thats fine but we'd prefer it if you didn't take our 'characters' based on Stacked Scrolls if you catch my drift?

 

I'm not sure if it's really using "your" characters - it's only involving Muse lol no Isabelle etc.

 

Unless of course you'd want to be part of it and it could become broader? :D:unsure:

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I'm not sure if it's really using "your" characters - it's only involving Muse lol no Isabelle etc.

 

Unless of course you'd want to be part of it and it could become broader? :D:unsure:

 

Hahah if it's just Muse and not Isabelle and Sofia then go for it. I'm still writing SS&R so I can't help you sorry. Nearly done tho haha

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Here's a poem I whipped up recently.

 

Lines bending inwardly upon themselves

Distorting to a point that can’t be fixed

Deeper into chaos the lost shape delves

To a point of destruction it’s transfixed

Sucked helplessly towards the empty black hole

Maimed and battered to a horrible state

Torn apart by the furious wormhole

Consumed and forgotten, leveled to hate

Left to drift endlessly through a dark space

Lonely and angry, giving up the fight

Floating pointlessly in a hopeless place

A figure appears, constructed of light

Reaching out with a touch that’s icy cold

Giving new life to the mass, now so old.

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Hey, hope you guys like humor! :O

 

Inside the Mind of a Teenage Girl

 

Little Alex Westbrook studied her big sister for one week.

She then proceeded to write a report about the thoughts that seemed to go through her sister’s head.

Once published, psychiatrists were impressed by the accuracy of Alex’s speculations.

 

OMG. It is, like, morning. Okay, hair time. If my hair is not straighter than it is naturally, I will most definitely be a social outcast. Now I must draw thick lines around my eyes. Without thick lines, nobody would be able to locate my eyeballs, and my color would not pop. It would be awful if my color ceased to pop. I would faint.

Now, since I spent the whole night texting, “ILYSM,” to my friends, I’m way tired. Starbucks to the rescue! I could never be my cute, peppy self without my daily ingestion of espresso. For breakfast, I will have nothing. Eating nothing makes me healthier.

I can’t believe that Mom won’t let me wear my jeans. They are extra cool, since I bought them pre-ripped. I have no idea why she would object to such awesome jeans. My mother is stupid. I will tell my friends about her stupidity on MySpace tonight. My friends have no interesting things going on in their lives and I’m sure that they only care about my issues.

OMG. Kelsey is so hilarious. I know what she means about Mrs. Crawford always saying, “I think teen girls are, like, stupid. Time to, like, punish you for no reason at all.”

There is a hot guy. I’ll act like I’m stupider than usual and talk about popular music around him. He will definitely take me to the dance, because I am so great.

For dinner I will have a piece of celery. I will not run in gym class when I am supposed to, but I can’t risk getting fat either. Good old celery will keep me healthy.

Wow, this new soap opera easily relates to my life. My friends and I always fight like these girls. I love my friends so much.

Hmm, it seems to be 12:00 A.M. Time to text my boyfriend, even though he constantly begs me to stop. We have been together for two whole weeks, so I am positive that we will get married someday.

Tomorrow, after school, Kelsey and I should go to the mall. We can terrorize bored cashiers and flirt with guys that we will never see again. Tomorrow will be the best day of my entire life.

Oops, it’s already time for school, and I never slept. I guess I’ll just have to down enough energy drinks to kill me. Thank goodness for energy drinks. It’s amazing how far modern science has taken us. We can go the rest of our lives without sleep and it won’t be a problem. Wow, I feel lightheaded. Wait, am I blacking out? Oh my god, I think I’m about to pass out. Must…find…energy…drinks…now!

 

NOTE: my sister then had to be escorted to the hospital. To the surprise of her concerned family, she was angry. From what I could tell, she was fuming about the doctor’s lack of hotness.

 

Ha, I had fun writing that!

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Huh, one of the reasons I worry about my association with fanfic has reared its head again. I don't mind NORMAL fanfic, heck I'll even accept slash [and sometimes read it if it isn't too graphic] but there's some weird people out there...

 

LJ has been suspending people who write/draw situations that involve incest [such as Fred and George Weasley together] or sexual situations with a minor [e.g. 14 year old Harry and Prof Snape] and people are COMPLAINING?! Not complaining that the stuff was there in the first place, but complaining that people are having their freedom of expression taken away! But seriously, wtf? A heck of a lot of them seem to find those sorts of situations a turn on...I'm sorry, but if I had that sort of kink, I'd keep it quiet!

 

GIVE US BACK OUR IMAGINARY INCEST/CHILD PORN!

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Here's a poem I whipped up recently.

 

Lines bending inwardly upon themselves

Distorting to a point that can’t be fixed

Deeper into chaos the lost shape delves

To a point of destruction it’s transfixed

Sucked helplessly towards the empty black hole

Maimed and battered to a horrible state

Torn apart by the furious wormhole

Consumed and forgotten, leveled to hate

Left to drift endlessly through a dark space

Lonely and angry, giving up the fight

Floating pointlessly in a hopeless place

A figure appears, constructed of light

Reaching out with a touch that’s icy cold

Giving new life to the mass, now so old.

 

It looks like a very suitable example of 'poetry by a Muser' ;) I think I have a suitable example of 'prose by a Muser', will post sometime, if I manage to finish it in short story format, it seems to extend to unknown lenghts.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Ok dokes, so this is a little blurb I wrote for a side story I've got going on. I guess it's kind of like American psycho, but that's just one point of reference. Haven't been writing too much lately unfortunately.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"Well hey there darling, I saw yous was lookin' pretty cute over ther in the corner", and yes, she is really saying corner like coh-nah, "and I figured I'd come up and say hello."

 

Technically, this is the part where I put out my hand and say "Hey there deliah, wanna bum?" Don't get me wrong, she's got those shrug whatevers on, and her rack's just bout popping out, and her eyes are big and blue, but there's nothing there. Full of sound but no fury or frequency. And I'm pissed.

 

Silence.

 

Pissed.

 

Silence.

 

Pissed.

 

Soon enough she turns aways. Now 'Delilah' is by no means the only chick in the room, in fact she's every chick in the room. Each and every one of them. I see her move onto the next chap in line. Let's call him 'Dave.' 'Dave' too is every guy in the room. In fact, lacking boots and a James Bond five o'clock shadow, I'm the only non-'Dave ' in the room. You could say this isn't my normal hang out.

 

Which is why I'm pissed off.

 

It's my fault in part. I had gotten a little bit clumsy. One body here, another body there, and soon enough the shit hits the fan. BUT, and I stress that, IT WASN'T ALL ME. It wasn't just chicks, or parts of them that the fuzz started to find. They found ball sacks and male nipples and hairy backs.

 

I don't swing that way.

 

Someone else does.

 

Anyway, the police started asking questions, and the flock started acting skittish: no more easy kills for this wolf. But it doesn't change the fact that someone else was poaching on my territory, and frankly, that's very upsetting. Psychologically damaging. Yeah, snort, right. But seriously though, those bodies weren't found until AFTER I had taken a slight break. Following LOGIC, either there was a FUCKING COPYCAT or... something. I don't know really. I wouldn't mind it if, say, locks of hair and the occasional finger with a long, cherry red fingernail popped up instead of SCROTUM and BEEFY PECS. I could look up on such evidence as friendly competition. He, I'm incapable of the leap of imagination that gay folk would leave BEARDS and BALLS in various dumpsters, they're all invariably of the Queer Eye for the Straight guy mold and have a hard time killing mosquitoes and all that shit.

 

Anyway.

 

This male, !!!, competitor would be no copycat. He is someone I could observe from afar, obviously he'd be new to the game, less experienced, and watch. He'd be no threat, but he'd be... entertaining to watch. His struggles would no doubt mirror my earlier ones, and maybe, just maybe, I could mentor him. But no. NO. There are MEN, or close approximations, dying and I know it's just some FUCKING WOMEN who's behind it.

 

So not only am I in a room full of 'Delilah's, not one of which would offer any intellectual stimulation, no only am I off my fucking comfort zone and ideal target group, but I'm damn sure I've got some fucking femmo-nazi imitating me. For fucks sake.

 

And I think that pretty accurately conveys my attitude right now. Fucks sake.

 

Between 'Delilah' and 'Dave' and 'Dave' again, I'm about ready to call it a night. Go back home, get on the internet, and virtually sodomize some pretty young things. Almost sounds like a meaningful substitute, except I can't quite release emotionally like I can with the real live thing. And so another beer is in order. It isn't like the arrangement I had with the bartender at the club I USED to go to. I'd order a vodka and he'd just put water in it. It's all about looking the part really. But here I have no arrangement, so here I have to drink real beer. Yech.

 

And so I saunter back over to my corner. With my real beer. Watching the real 'Delilahs's and 'Daves'. This sucks. I've got to get out of here. Then I'm gonna begin my own investigation. I'm gonna find out which BITCH is killing my fellow men, and I'm gonna find her, and I'm gonna... oh boy. Some people dream of crashing waves on lonely beaches, others dream about roaring fires and comfy blankets, but I on the other hand, dream of screams and yelps and things far too gruesome for metaphors. Be kind of sadistic I think to drag metaphors and other descriptions in with my dreams. I've always kind of liked them too much for that.

 

I'm about to call it a night when the door opens, and in walks a black haired goddess. Probably volunteers for PETA or the ACLU on the weekends. That type. The anti-'Delilah'. And she's making a beeline straight for me.

 

All revenges should be so sweet, all bars so polarized, all plans so malignant.

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So not only am I in a room full of 'Delilah's, not one of which would offer any intellectual stimulation, no only am I off my fucking comfort zone and ideal target group,

 

Then he is looking for an intelligent woman? I find this odd because he seems past the point of wanting a woman for her "intellectual stimulation." Unless he is so far gone that he feels the need to murder?...Would he kill a woman if she presented him with his ideal?

 

And yes, this is very much like American Psycho.

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Though I might as well post this here..

 

The Unfortunate Man: The Prologue

 

Something changed that night; a ball of anxiety in the pit of my stomach made itself known and raged on as if it couldn’t escape. The air felt thicker and smelt of lies and deceit. This haunting premonition danced around my mind in a never-ending circle, and then I realized that nothing in my life would be simple anymore.

The ticking of the clock echoed in my ears like the sound of an old man’s walking stick in an empty hallway. The constant sounds reverberated off of the dingy walls of my one room apartment as I waited. I sat in a stoic trance upon the wooden chair that had been placed in front of the window. She walked alone on the sidewalk, the people around her spreading them selves far away from her negative energy. She stopped short, just under my window, in a sort of confusion. She wasn’t meant to be here, and she knew it. This strange unfolding of events was leading her in the wrong direction and there was nothing she could do to deter it.

Muffled sounds escaped from the buzzing nightlife and twirled toward my open window, the smell of alcohol heavy on the air. She was still standing there, just short of being caught in the streetlamp’s fluorescent glow. Her sea green eyes wandered up the shabby vinyl siding of my apartment building, finally landing on my face shadowed in the dim light that hung dully around me. Her gaze quickly escaped mine in embarrassment but she did not move from her place on the pavement.

She wore a pair of cut off shorts and an old stained tank top, she looked a mess. Old flip-flops clung to her feet by a thread as I watched her walk hesitantly toward the door of my apartment building. I knew she would make the move eventually; something in her character struck me as spontaneous, yet brainless. She had no idea who I was, perhaps that excited her more, knowing I could easily be a murderer or rapist. Maybe she wanted those things; maybe she wanted to escape her life of poverty and destitution. I sat and waited with wonder as she opened the door and entered the building.

 

____

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The Unfortunate Man Part I

 

Her footsteps were light and hesitant on the creaky wooden stairway, she knew she didn’t want to be here. What was it that compelled her to come here? I hoped to soon find out, curiosity pulling at me from every direction.

I could hear her nearing my floor. I felt my legs carry me to the door, and my arms and hands reach toward the doorknob. I pulled the door ajar and went back to my place in front of the window, seemingly watching the night fly by. Her presence was unmistakable in my doorway; the energy exuding from her body flooded my small apartment. A sudden feeling of sadness ran through my chest, my heart heavy with the weight of her sorrow.

She gazed at me inquisitively for a short while before opening her mouth to speak, full lips separating to form words that fell into silence upon the floor. There was nothing for me to say, a casual ‘Hello, how are you?’ would certainly not do in this situation. We were stuck in a bizarre moment that no words could possibly aid. I could see the gears turning in her mind, a bright realization shone in her eyes.

“I should go…” she murmured and turned, “I shouldn’t be here.” I nodded in agreement despite the fact that she couldn’t see me. Her curves slowly faded from my vision until I couldn’t see her, but I knew would soon meet again.

It was preposterous to think that this would be the end, I only wish I could believe it was over. I had no desire to feel her distress, no need to take on the disaster that had become her life. The fine lines etched in her young face were enough to show the trouble and heartache that had consumed her; I wanted no part of it. But I cannot change what I know has to happen.

She doesn’t remember me, and no matter how hard I try to feel insulted, I cannot. I don’t want her to remember, she doesn’t need that extra weight on her sinking shoulders. The impact that I had had on her life was with out a doubt minute, but just enough to make her life hell.

We knew each other in high school, well, knew of each other. Our school was so large it was hard to really know anyone beyond your own group of friends. I can’t say that I was the friendliest of people toward anyone, let alone her. I was as insecure as a 17-year-old boy could get, my only salvation came in the tormenting of peers and constant demeaning of various racial groups. I wasn’t racist at all, but I had this idea that people would find it funny, as I look back now I know it wasn’t and it never will be. I had made a fool of myself, given of the lasting impression of an ignorant racist would couldn’t give a damn.

She was hurt the most by my conquests to cause nervous laughter. Her family had legally emigrated from Honduras, to me Honduras was the same as Mexico, and legal was the same as illegal. Needless to say I tortured her daily about her background, shoving various stereotypes and racial slurs in her face. It gave me a great sense of power and made me feel respected among my friends. They laughed at the time, but what I didn’t realize was that they were laughing with a nervous air that should have told me they didn’t find my words at all acceptable.

I can only look back now and recognize the grief that remains in her face. I feel guilty, wholly responsible for the trouble she has been through and will continue to encounter. She quit school not long into our senior year. Any one who quit school in our town was practically handed their life of impoverishment on a broken plastic platter. As she walked out the door of our school that final time she looked at me with a lingering glare that sent shivers down my spine, and as she stepped freely on to the pavement of the parking lot, she smiled brightly. It was the last smile that would ever grace her lips. She was liberated from the binds of apathetic high school students who spat in her face everyday.

Now she lives in the dank and dirty slums of the city. I cant say that I’m much better off.

___

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"Something changed that night; a ball of anxiety in the pit of my stomach made itself known and raged on as if it couldn’t escape. The air felt thicker and smelt of lies and deceit. This haunting premonition danced around my mind in a never-ending circle, and then I realized that nothing in my life would be simple anymore.

The ticking of the clock echoed in my ears like the sound of an old man’s walking stick in an empty hallway. The constant sounds reverberated off of the dingy walls of my one room apartment as I waited. I sat in a stoic trance upon the wooden chair that had been placed in front of the window."

 

I understood that he feels sad and hopeless in the first sentence...then you just give examples of it...which I suppose is okay, but ...je ne sais pas. Do you understand, sort of?

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"Something changed that night; a ball of anxiety in the pit of my stomach made itself known and raged on as if it couldn’t escape. The air felt thicker and smelt of lies and deceit. This haunting premonition danced around my mind in a never-ending circle, and then I realized that nothing in my life would be simple anymore.

The ticking of the clock echoed in my ears like the sound of an old man’s walking stick in an empty hallway. The constant sounds reverberated off of the dingy walls of my one room apartment as I waited. I sat in a stoic trance upon the wooden chair that had been placed in front of the window."

 

I understood that he feels sad and hopeless in the first sentence...then you just give examples of it...which I suppose is okay, but ...je ne sais pas. Do you understand, sort of?

Yeah, I understand. Was just wondering which parts in particular you meant. Thank you!:)

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