Nothing feels half as sweet as wielding a finely honed word.
Steel and iron are of no use to me when I can bring battle-bled soldiers to their knees with a single sentence.
Releasing a well-aimed arrow can not compare to the adrenaline rush of unleashing a battalion of bitter words on an army outfitted in ebony armor.
The swing of a thousand swords does not deal nearly as much joy as showering a deserving party in good news.
Yes, words are my weapons.
But they are also my poison.
Nothing but paper,
crumpled up and tossed away-
used and rejected.
Leafed through and let loose,
I sift through the wind’s hair
as my contents clear.
Erased and released,
my words are tossed off, for I’m
nothing but paper.
From you
I’ve learned that no fish
is too big to be reeled in,
so long as the rod you wield
doesn’t splinter in two
in the process.
From you
I’ve learned that sneaking
snapping turtles into the back of your car
and driving them home to show
off to the kids is a perfectly
normal thing to do,
so long as the bugger doesn’t
bite your heels off
before you get there.
From you
I’ve learned that growing
potatoes is no planting venture for the faint of heart,
and that when over-encumbered with spuds,
there are countless ways to cook them,
so long as you use your
imagination.
From you
I’ve learned a lot of things,
like how to talk to science fair judges
without melting into a puddle on the spot,
and how to gut a fish without
getting the intestines all over my fingers.
I learned that softballs don’t fly when
I don’t keep my eye on the prize,
and that you have to be very quiet
when stalking night-crawlers under the stars.
But from you
I’ve learned perhaps the most important lesson:
that no matter where you are, what age you claim,
what wisdom you boast and what knowledge you name-
you are never done learning.
This poem was specially written for my incredible father. Happy Father’s Day everyone!
Diversity.
We all know that it’s desirable, and necessary to create a society of open-mindedness and acceptance. So why, in 2014, is fiction with diverse characters so hard to come by? In my perusals of the bestselling bookshelf, I’ve found that protagonists are mainly comprised of white, heterosexual, ‘attractive’ characters. That’s not to say that there aren’t books with beautifully diverse characters and concepts (because, trust me, there are many gems out there), it’s just that compared to the norm, they are in short supply.
Before I jump headfirst into the issue of ‘diversity’ in literature, let me say that I’m not condemning authors and the way they write. A big part of writing is the freedom to express one’s inner musings and designs without risk of conviction. So, please, write to your heart’s content about what you want- but all the same, take into account diversity.
What I classify as a diverse character is (but not limited to) someone who:
Obviously, diversity isn’t limited to just race, though race does play an important factor. We live in a world swimming with different cultures, languages, values, and mindsets. So why shouldn’t literature reflect this? As the renowned English crime writer, D. L. Sayers, said:
The vital power of an imaginative work demands a diversity within its unity; and the stronger the diversity the more massive the unity.
Diversity doesn’t diverge characters: it unites them. It’s a bringing together of the beautiful, the ugly, the easy, the tough, the different and the similar elements of life. Writing is in many ways the most powerful relayer we have. When we read, we are impacted. We are impressionable creatures, and whether it be voluntary or not, we absorb what we read. That’s why diverse characters are so important.
This is important in all literature, but especially so in YA. May it be fantasy or science fiction, historical or contemporary, young adult books play an essential role in shaping the younger generation’s minds. Being a young adult myself, I always get excited when I come across a book with a main character of Middle Eastern descent, or one that centers around the life of an individual who is genderqueer. The reason? Life is diverse. The world is diverse. And it’s about time that people start growing up accepting this fact.
Above all, diverse characters shouldn’t be written for the sole purpose of being ‘diverse’. They should be written as people. I’ve come across many novels that throw in a few diverse side characters just to make some statement about ‘culture’ or ‘society’. This is all well and good if done in moderation and good taste- but if you are going to incorporate characters like this, make them more than just a message. Make them people.
When it comes to diversity in fiction, there are no end of arguments and comments that can be made. I could go on for another ten paragraphs about the lack of diversity in fantasy alone, or detail the reasons why some writers don’t feel ‘qualified’ or ‘obligated’ to write diverse characters. But perhaps I’ll leave all that for another post.
In the end, write what you want to write- just remember to write widely and diversely.
Do you think there is a need for diverse books and characters? Do you try to write diversely?
The smile I see reflected back at me
can not be mine, I know.
For long ago
I stitched my lips
and drained my skin of glow.
The laughter in the pool’s ripples,
is not my mirth, you see-
For I don’t laugh,
at least not anymore,
and my eyes are all but empty.
My reflection does not reflect me,
for it’s just a mask I wear.
I smile and laugh,
and play along well,
but it’s a heavy disguise to bear.
The smile I see reflected back at me
is my golden gag, the slickest scheme-
for beneath the layers
of smiles and shine
warbles a lonely and chilling scream.
They left me folded in sheets
of sand- wrapped in molding bandages
on the bed of the shore, with the surf
licking my frozen toes.
The gull who weeps for his friends
long dead is much like me- a nomad
with no name and no clan;
a roamer rejected by rose-ravished
words. Here I waste away,
repeatedly bitten by the wind’s sharpened
teeth- left to rot.
Yesterday I finally surpassed one hundred followers on my blog! Please excuse me while I squeal in excitement: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!
So I know that one hundred followers really isn’t that many compared to some of the fantastic blogs on this site, but it’s kind of a big deal for me, seeing that I am someone who has never had any followers on anything. Since joining about a month ago, I’ve had a lot of fun, and hope to continue to share my writings and ramblings with all of you wonderful people.
I joined WordPress with absolutely no idea what the heck I was doing, and really, I didn’t anticipate anyone looking at my stuff. So to know that at least one hundred people are interested in what I have to say- well, that’s kind of a confidence booster, if you know what I mean.
My blogging plans for the following month include more than just poetry (which I know I’ve been posting a lot of lately). I’ll probably go into some detail on my own personal projects, writings, and ideas.
So, thank you to everyone who’s visited my blog, liked my posts, and followed! You’re the best!
I watch you slip
through the cracks
of consciousness,
and it’s killing me
slowly and
steadily,
as the light
in your eyes evaporates.
Now all you offer me is a blank stare;
no notions, no understanding-
you see me, but don’t see me,
and you ask me my name.
You wonder who I am.
You wonder where we are.
Don’t you remember?
As we sit on the bench,
I watch you slip
through the cracks
of your own mind,
and it wrenches me to see
you point in the distance,
directing my attention
to something that’s not there.
I try to see, I say I see-
and you smile, saying what
a nice young person I am,
what a nice, pleasant stranger.
I cling to your words, hoping
that within one of them I will
find a glowing ember
that will ignite
a spark, a memory-
anything.
But nothing’s there,
and we sit on the bench,
no more than strangers
in a world shifting with
ghosts.
Paper tears
but cotton snares-
and like cotton your words
cling to the dust in the air,
sucking the silt and sand
close to its fleece,
and slurring wet promises
slick with grease.
Cotton clings
but paper stings-
and like paper your lips
shred sour notes that sing,
bleeding your words of
all wealth and truth,
and ripping the life from
the throats of the youth.
Have mercy on my moratorium,
for I’ve been a bumbling, busy bug-
traipsing through the trails of time
and slipping in slops of sludge.
Pardon my postponement, please,
but the yawning year is yearning to end-
and work without end waxes wide
and splits all my senses in shreds.
Well, it’s that time of year again…I know this poem is short and not-so-great, but I’ve been piled high with work lately. By next week, I should be back on a regular schedule…I hope.
Stellular Scribe 