Sunday, October 17, 2010
After two Months...
My parents took me out of catholic school and enrolled me in an internet school. The catholic school wasn't accredited and I'd already taken half the classes anyway so it was a waste of time. I'm kinda mad because those are the same reasons that I gave to not go in the first place, but whatever...
Monday, October 11, 2010
Thursday, September 30, 2010
What Keeps me Writing pt. 2
I am what I write. I write what I am.
Writing is not simply putting pen to paper, it is more. When I write, I do not simply etch my pen to whatever pops into my head. No, I sit there ready while faceless shadows creep up and tell me their story. They slowly become people, wondrous, terrible, people. The Brutes, Judas, Ephiliates, Benedict Arnolds. The Hercules, Ceasars, Aragorns, knights in shining armor. The Achilles, the Romeos, Odesyus. They whisper in one ear, dictating their tales. In the other, Shakespeare, Tolkien, Carrol, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, guide my mind, my hand, my pen.
These people, the shadows, and the grand Authors, they strike when least expected, but when they do, it is wonderful. When they leave, they leave a void that aches to be filled. It must be filled. And so I must write. They return when I do, They return to their grandeur, to their prime.
They live in the pen, the ink, the page. They live forever, if but I only give them a chance. And so I write.
And I will write. Until I can no longer feel the pen. Until I no longer hear the click of the keyboard. Until I can no longer smell the crispness of a new book. Until I can no longer see the pages, the letters. I will write. I will write so that I can live forever, to join the ranks of great authors, writers, poets. I will write
Writing is not simply putting pen to paper, it is more. When I write, I do not simply etch my pen to whatever pops into my head. No, I sit there ready while faceless shadows creep up and tell me their story. They slowly become people, wondrous, terrible, people. The Brutes, Judas, Ephiliates, Benedict Arnolds. The Hercules, Ceasars, Aragorns, knights in shining armor. The Achilles, the Romeos, Odesyus. They whisper in one ear, dictating their tales. In the other, Shakespeare, Tolkien, Carrol, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, guide my mind, my hand, my pen.
These people, the shadows, and the grand Authors, they strike when least expected, but when they do, it is wonderful. When they leave, they leave a void that aches to be filled. It must be filled. And so I must write. They return when I do, They return to their grandeur, to their prime.
They live in the pen, the ink, the page. They live forever, if but I only give them a chance. And so I write.
And I will write. Until I can no longer feel the pen. Until I no longer hear the click of the keyboard. Until I can no longer smell the crispness of a new book. Until I can no longer see the pages, the letters. I will write. I will write so that I can live forever, to join the ranks of great authors, writers, poets. I will write
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Bicentenario
Tonight is the 200th anniversary of Mexican Independence. There's a big party going on practically right outside our hotel, but my family is boring and think it will be more fun to stay inside and watch the tube. Oh well, At least I might be able to see some fireworks.
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