I'm more of a poet than a story writer. And that sentence is a gross understatement. When I sit down to write a story, all I have are images in my mind. Like silent films. Abstract thought. And phrases. Concepts. Metaphors. And it's my responsibility to put it all together for it to make sense and for it to have an underlying extended metaphor. So different than when I write poetry.
Stories of only a few paragraphs take me hours and headaches and cups and cups of coffee and trays and trays of cigarettes while I can write five poems in half an hour if I really wanted to.
But the stories I've been writing lately are so much more than what's there. The Execution of Light from a Lamp. Just the title alone is symbolic. There is this one outlet in my kitchen. And in it is always plugged in the microwave and this useless lamp. The lamp doesn't put out much light but my mother always has it on. So when I go to do dishes or cook, I have to unplug the lamp and plug the stereo in. I want music, not light. It's an execution for the light. And the characters in the story represent people, loved ones... "lights" in the main character's life. I'd continue but you'd have to read it for yourself. =]
Stories of only a few paragraphs take me hours and headaches and cups and cups of coffee and trays and trays of cigarettes while I can write five poems in half an hour if I really wanted to.
But the stories I've been writing lately are so much more than what's there. The Execution of Light from a Lamp. Just the title alone is symbolic. There is this one outlet in my kitchen. And in it is always plugged in the microwave and this useless lamp. The lamp doesn't put out much light but my mother always has it on. So when I go to do dishes or cook, I have to unplug the lamp and plug the stereo in. I want music, not light. It's an execution for the light. And the characters in the story represent people, loved ones... "lights" in the main character's life. I'd continue but you'd have to read it for yourself. =]
- Last seen on Nov 2 8:22 PM. Member since March 25, 2006.
- I am a girl from Indiana (United States)
- When I'm not writing, I'm playing bass and singing.
- I have 6 comments
My Stories
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All was still as the ghostly tones faded from the eerie hallway. Davis sat still, as though the air were made of thick sheets of parchment
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It was June, early June. School had let out a few weeks ago and my friends and I were looking forward to a few days out of town. The big ev
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She had been anorexic for years. There wasn't a time she could remember eating guiltlessly. She was also bulimic, for a little less time. It got to the point that the only time she could remember what chocolate ice-cream tast
My other items
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- Yellow and Green at allpoetry
The pigeon is on the tower
With his fingers all in knots - Delicate at allpoetry
He is leaving this place in a few days.
She lies beside him, in his arms. - Runaway at allpoetry
It's disappointment
Sweeping over the heart
