Posted in Fanfiction, Humor, Poetry, Written Works

Oh, Winter

I find myself writing about the weather once more.  This was written in the midst of an unexpected winter blizzard.  Here’s hoping the weather’s a bit more springlike by the time this post comes out!

 

My goodness, Winter

You said you’d never come back

After our last fight

After that last flight

You ran away that night

 

Yet here you are, Winter

Hurling daggers from the clouds

At my smug smiling face

At this maddening pace

A swirl of white, icy lace

 

Oh, Winter…

 

Please learn to share, Winter

With your seasonal sisters

Fall’s mournful cinders

Springtime’s hush

Fair, beautiful Summer’s blush

 

I’m glad you’re back, Winter

In honesty, I enjoy your company

But time’s passed along

I’m afraid I’ve moved on

Find someplace else to snow upon

 

Posted in Poetry, Written Works

Why I Stand for You

Standing for you puts me in a box

In which I don’t, won’t ever belong

It suggests I endorse bold, brash stupidity

Eye to eye, you and I rarely ever see

But I stand for you anyway

Because no one else will

 

I stand for you because you’re family

Even though we don’t always agree

You’re my spirited sister, going alone

My wayward brother, off on his own

My love for you is as thick as blood

Blood others tried (and failed) to spill

 

I don’t stand when your goddesses sing

I sit in protest of our misunderstanding

You’ve hurt me greatly

You’ve broken my faith

But I still stand for you

When no one else will

Posted in Miscelaneous Musings, Novels, The Writing Life, Uncategorized

Another Excerpt from ‘Elite Falcons: The Hunted’ feat. Tatiana

Late last year, I dug Elite Falcons out from the bottom of the “Unfinished WIPs” pile.  To borrow a NaNoWriMo term of art, I “pantsed” my way through the planning process, didn’t take any notes, and thus have long since forgotten how the plot was supposed to go.  Judging by what I’ve written so far, most of the young leads get kidnapped except Max and another kid named Elliot.  How they were to get from this point to being recruited into a top-secret spy agency for teenagers remains a mystery I hope to crack this year.

Other themes I was trying to cover, judging by what past-Allison had written, included racism, anti-bullying, and dispelling ethnic stereotypes.  I don’t think I was too effective and I need to rethink how I’d written some things so my past self’s good intentions carry through.

At the moment, I’m writing a scene which picks up where Max left off.  Some time has passed since he got into that car with the awkward social worker lady (although nowhere near as much time has passed in the real world).  But it’s not done.  In the meantime, here’s a decent (albeit melodramatic) scene I’d written two years ago about another character, Tatiana.

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 From her bedroom, twelve year old Tatiana Dean watched the people stop underneath the brightly-striped awning just below, peer through the front window expectantly, and ultimately walk away looking dismayed.  She, too, wondered why the bakery her parents ran so attentively was still closed at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning.

They’re probably sleeping in, Tatiana reasoned, stepping out of her room and eyeing the closed door across the hall.  It happens to the best of us. Continue reading “Another Excerpt from ‘Elite Falcons: The Hunted’ feat. Tatiana”

Posted in Absurdity, Humor, Mystery, Short Stories, Uncategorized

Death by Peanut Butter – a short story (finally!!!)

I wrote this short story for school, based on the writings of Canadian humorist Stephen Leacock.  Leacock wrote a hilarious piece outlining the essential cliches of 19th-20th century serialized detective fiction.  It’s available online under the name “The Great Detective.”  (An even funnier version of the discourse exists under the name “Frenzied Fiction,” which I found in my grandpa’s well-worn copy of Leacock’s Laugh Parade.)  The punchline of my story is that, once again, the butler has “done it.”  This time, however, he has done it is to himself.

On the subject of Canada, I’d also like to thank my aunt for bringing three huge jars of Canadian peanut butter when she visited the week I received this assignment, as they served as my inspiration to write this. 😀

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The Great Detective and I were sitting down to a hearty breakfast when we heard the frenetic pattering of footsteps in the stairwell.

“A visitor, I presume,” my ingenious flatmate remarked as he spread a generous amount of peanut butter on his crumpet.  “It must be – and surely, he must be distressed, for the way he mounts our staircase is uneven and heavy.  Either that, or he is a drunken lout who has read too many of your stories, seeking my autograph.”

“Perhaps,” said I, fondly recalling the last case I’d dutifully chronicled for The Brand.  (You ought to read it after this one!) Continue reading “Death by Peanut Butter – a short story (finally!!!)”

Posted in Poetry, Written Works

Sinking Ships – a poem/song/thingie

Honestly, I’m not sure what to call this piece.  I think it’s a poem, but the words to a chorus popped into my head as I was putting in the finishing touches.  If I had a tune to go with it, I suppose this could be a song.  I don’t know. 😛

 

A late night phone call, beating the time zone at its game

A late night conversation about valuing one’s life

A late night post about what’s on your mind at two AM

A late night mistake you can’t remember by day

I must’ve said something wrong

Done something wrong because

All the ships are sinking now

And I know I’m to blame

 

An early morning browse through the Web

An early morning feeling, everything has changed

An early morning shock kills the whole entire day

An early morning text saying it’s over now

Somebody’s not speaking to me

Somebody must hate me because

All my ships are sinking now

And I know I’m to blame

 

Sinking ships bring me down below the sea

Sinking ships, ships are sinking all because of me

Sinking ships are sunk by simple little words

Ships are sinking, life preservers don’t come free

 

A late night message beating fate at its cruel game

A late night resolution about implementing change

A late night aspiration to sleep long before two AM

A late night apology, hopefully not in vain

Posted in Poetry, Written Works

My Time to Fly? (a poem)

There’s that sense of awareness you get

When all the birds you knew as friends

Whose times you thought would never end

Have taken flight for the winter, forever gone

Of course they’ll return again in the spring

With degrees of knowledge or a diamond ring

 

There’s that nagging feeling in your heart

A question perhaps, a pull to something

Like a teenage crush on a pretty face alone

Without much thought about whether your

Thoughts, ambitions, and values would clash

That’s how many bygone ‘ships fall and crash

 

You wonder if it’s your time to fly and follow

All of the others who have flown away from you

And the ones, so much younger, who did it too

Because sisters, girlfriends, moms and aunts

Felt the calling of their instinct and flew away

Though you’ve never, ever felt it, not in any way

 

There’s an old saying that’s been long forgotten

In a world which says be different but the same

This timeless saying goes, “To each their own”

Don’t be pressured by what others have done

I assure myself, my time will come someday

But that time, make note, is not this day

 

 

Posted in Poetry, Written Works

Real Deal People – a poem

I’ve had a request for happier, more positive poetry, to match the happy theme of my blog.  Indeed, a majority of my poems are of the moody, broody, angsty variety.  I’m a teenager, but be that as it may, angst isn’t the only feeling I have words to describe on paper.  This isn’t exactly happy, but it’s in a more positive vein than other poems I’ve written.

I dedicate this poem to the cool people, the “real deal” people.  The ones who are themselves in a seemingly elite society of robots.  The ones who haven’t let fame get to their heads.  The ones who are humble and genuine to themselves and to the world.

 

You can nail a song live, sounding better than machines

You read your mail and reply when you’ve got the time

You write the words in all your works, original and true

The world’s still real sometimes

And it’s all thanks to you Continue reading “Real Deal People – a poem”