My Inferno

I walked into my room, exhausted from a long day. I peered around looking at my bed, my closet, the dresser, the annoyingly bright light, my brother laying on his bed reading a book, “What are you reading?” I said, casually.

He lifted the book, just enough for me to see the cover, and kept reading. I looked at it and did a double-take, there he was, reading one of my favorite books. An inferno of hate, jealousy, and disgust coursed through my mind. He dared read it. He dared pick it up without my permission.

It was mine. I couldn't stand the fact that he had intruded into the world that belonged to me. I hated him for it. He read it, not comprehending the plot, mispronouncing the characters' names. They were mine.

He read more of my books. The inferno raged.

I couldn't stand it, I felt like he was picking off my body parts, I clung to the books I had left,dreading when he would take them. I learned that the hardest thing to share is a book.

I'm from Earth

I'm from Earth,
a wonderful planet
I've never lived
anywhere else long enough to call it "home"

I 'm from everywhere,
I go where I choose
I live where I am,
I am where I live

I remember
where I've lived
I remember
Where I've been

I yearn for
somewhere else,
I dread leaving
this place that I live

I learned to
put down
shallow roots
so when I'm replanted, I'll go easily

I don't mind
where I live
so far as
it is ready for me

I'm from Earth,
a wonderful planet
I've never lived
anywhere else long enough to call it "Home"

What Keeps Me Writing

Writing. The unrecognized art. The beauty of the ink leaving the pen, the wonderful clicking sound of the keyboard. The words that rush through my head seconds before they leave my hands.The enthralling stories that spring from my head, like Athena from Zeus's. The sense of purpose.The different, more exciting life that lives in my head and communicates through the page. The power. The amazing stories I write, not knowing where they come from, not knowing where they're going.

I write because I can, because I must. I write because I have an obssesive cumpulsive behavior that makes me write. I write because the pen is not mightier than the sword. It is a sword, used to etch stories on the souls of those who read them.

I write because of the smell of a new book, the slight crispness of the pages, the worlds that spring from their grasp, haunting me untill I pick them up again.

I write because there are places unexplored, people without names who wait for their stories to be told. I love joining the great ones, the authors, writers, and poets who pluck these stories from beyond, like picking fresh rasberries from the bush, giving them their own twist, telling the world the stories of the heroes, the lovers, the villans. They tell the stories of The princes, the knights in shining armor, the soldiers, the militia men, the freedom fighters.

The reason I write: I can.

To Whom It May Concern...

To Whom It May Concern:

School. A pseudonym for thirteen years of pivotal work. While it’s purpose is to teach students to be resilient in a turbulent life, some fail excruciatingly. It is despicable to see how many kids go out into the world having learned nothing, it would be better for them to stay home and attempt to emulate their parents, clad in lies and nothing but a cursory knowledge of the world they were derived from. They are an abrasion in society. It makes me grimace; what is the point of succumbing to mountains of work for nothing, simulating a real person? The problem is, in some cases, not in the student or parents, but in the schools who attempt to extricate themselves from the work of teaching, their gruesome sacrifice of the learning of children resides in the methods they teach with. “No Child Left Behind.” The guile of teachers leaves them, not instilling in them the imperative knowledge for life. Something is amiss. The despondent truth is that the education system’s problem is as interminable as that of the economy and health care. We must be conscientious rather than audacious, the system must be fixed.

Please Help,

CYBORGG

Rules of Writing

I love books. I can't live without them. To me, Heaven would be some kind of giant library with no late fees. Every time I see a book store my heart skips a few beats, I could live in one, surviving off words and coffee shop cookies. The only catch to this is that the book has to be written well.

I read a book (let it go unnamed) two years ago, this book had no plot until the last fifty pages (It was like six hundred pages long) and that plot was resolved by a small prank that was hardly related to the first five hundred pages and wouldn't really solve anything. This book violated my first rule: A book must have a catchy and relevant plot.

My second rule nixes out many other books: The plot and characters of a book must be original, or at least not extremely similar to another author's ideas. Have you ever noticed how after a novel sells extremely well and gets a large fan base many other authors write books with similar plots and characters? Take The Lord of the Rings for example, many fantasy novels have elves dwarves(Tolkien invented this spelling of the word) and hobbits fighting alongside humans, all of which were used in J.R.R. Tolkien's great work. Another book like this is Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling's novel was hugely popular, but soon after it came out a whole new wave of fantasy had wizards and witches battling it out. My last example is Twilight, though I have never read it, I have nothing but respect for the series. The same cannot be said for the many new vampire novels, they use Stephenie Meyer's type of vampire in their own romance novels.

My third rule is more for a case-by-case basis: swearing in books should be kept at a minimum, should be used only when necessary, and there should be limits: some language hurts the story rather than helping it. I am currently reading an anthology of short stories, the stories are well written, but the F-word just keeps popping up. This type of vulgarity makes me pop out of the story to think: "Did it just say that?", which makes me get lost for a few sentences afterwords. This is an example of going to far. Other word choices would be better