Sometimes when she reads, it's to honor the dead.
451
The Fates decided we'd be strangers
but I hear our echoes back and forth
your footprints are my footprints
even as we're walking separate paths
but I hear our echoes back and forth
your footprints are my footprints
even as we're walking separate paths
450
She's all straight lines and angles
He's spirals and backtracks
She's as the crow flies
and he's scenic Sunday drives
He's spirals and backtracks
She's as the crow flies
and he's scenic Sunday drives
Pen on Page is a blog for writers
My friend and I started a blog for writers, Pen on Page. It's a place to share resources, ask questions about writing, and build a community.
Please check it out and pass the link on to your writer friends.
Please check it out and pass the link on to your writer friends.
Am I to blame?
Inspired by The Great Gatsby and "Young and Beautiful" by Lana del Rey
I loved you after I thought I knew you
And not before
(No, never before)
I fell in love
I could have stayed there
But you went away
(I fade away)
Some nights I dream about us
And we're never more than friends
You found your One
She's perfect for you
I couldn't be
(I'd never be)
These days I think about you
I miss you, friend
(I need a friend)
But you're far away
I'm happy for you
Why did we fade?
(What made you leave me?)
I fell in love
I could have stayed there
But you went away
(I fade away)
I retrace our steps
There's nothing left here
I should go away
(Just run away)
Some nights I dream about us
And we're never more than friends
You found your One
She's perfect for you
Are you in love?
(Am I to blame?)
These days I think about you
I miss you, friend
(I need a friend)
Were we kidding?
We lost ourselves
(Do we go on missing?)
I fell in love
I could have stayed there
But no, not really
(Oh no, not really)
We were always fading
I wake up and know I'm alone here
Are you still sleeping?
(Was I just dreaming?)
I loved you after I thought I knew you
And not before
(No, never before)
I fell in love
I could have stayed there
But you went away
(I fade away)
Some nights I dream about us
And we're never more than friends
You found your One
She's perfect for you
I couldn't be
(I'd never be)
These days I think about you
I miss you, friend
(I need a friend)
But you're far away
I'm happy for you
Why did we fade?
(What made you leave me?)
I fell in love
I could have stayed there
But you went away
(I fade away)
I retrace our steps
There's nothing left here
I should go away
(Just run away)
Some nights I dream about us
And we're never more than friends
You found your One
She's perfect for you
Are you in love?
(Am I to blame?)
These days I think about you
I miss you, friend
(I need a friend)
Were we kidding?
We lost ourselves
(Do we go on missing?)
I fell in love
I could have stayed there
But no, not really
(Oh no, not really)
We were always fading
I wake up and know I'm alone here
Are you still sleeping?
(Was I just dreaming?)
446
Cinema is her religion—a pantheon of goddesses, warriors, mortals, and fools on the silver screen.
Seven Times I Wish I Would Have Said Something
1. We played soccer in the neighborhood park until the sun went down
and the street lights came on. We still had to do the last bit of the
party, the birthday cake, so the end of the game snapped into a race
back to my friend’s house. He was wearing two shirts that night, and he
had taken off the outer one during the game. At the thrill of the race,
he forgot his t-shirt (running was his favorite thing), so I picked it
up. It was damp, a mix of sweat and the night chill, and maybe gross.
(Probably gross, actually, but that sort of thing didn’t bother me.) I
sprinted after the group, found him outside the kitchen door, and handed
him his shirt with a simple “You forgot this at the park.” He glanced
at the shirt, as if for a moment he didn’t remember it was his, and then
took it with a smile. “Thanks.” That turned to a frown. “Ah, it’s
sweaty and that’s gross. I’m sorry. You didn’t have to–” I said, “No,
it’s fine–” but he was already in the kitchen, maybe too embarrassed to
stay?
2. When my grandfather passed away, everyone was at his house. His wife, all of his children, all of his grandchildren, and the priest. My grandfather was sick for a while, and we knew it was just a matter of time, and then it was that time. Almost everyone was crying, everyone was passing tissues, and from the other room, I watched the priest go over to my dad. There were whispers and quiet noises in the house, but I could hear the priest perfectly fine. “Why isn’t she crying? She knows it’s okay to be sad, right? That it’s normal to grieve and to show that with tears.” I was sad that night but I didn’t say anything because for me, tears are wired to anger, not grief.
3. In high school, my freshman English teacher was really good at playing to people’s learning styles and personalities. Sometimes, he’d ask us to have a classroom discussion and besides talking, we had to write down our responses. Then he collected our papers so he could see how we were thinking, even if we didn’t say anything in class. He wrote nice comments on mine and on the third one, he added a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson: “In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts; they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty.” I had excellent ideas to add to the discussion, but he couldn’t figure out why I didn’t raise my hand and share with the class. During my college freshman seminar, my professor wrote the same quote on one of my essays. By that time, I figured out what was happening: I couldn’t sync with the flow of the discussion. I thought of things too early or too late to make sense with what everyone else was saying, so I didn’t say anything at all.
4. “No, seriously, I want to marry a pastor some day.” I had known this girl for two days and she was telling me about her marriage plans. And expecting me to be excited for her. “Do you think there’s a club?”
“Sorry?” I said.
“A club for girls that want to be pastors’ wives. Maybe I’ll start a Facebook group!”
5. My friend Alicia graduated from high school a year early. On one of the last days of junior year, we were hanging out after school and she asked me to write in her yearbook. I’d see all of my friends again in the fall, but Alicia was going away to college, so for her, this was the last yearbook. I’m not a nosy person but I glanced over the other well wishes and goodbyes written by our classmates. I wrote my note, signed it, smiled, and handed the book back to her. It wasn’t goodbye for us yet—we would see each other over the summer—but the yearbook signing felt official, ceremonial.
“Did you see what Dave wrote?”
I shook my head.
She flipped a few pages into the yearbook, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and handed it to me. Dave had written an entire page. I looked at Alicia for a moment. Was it okay to read the whole thing?
She nodded. “Yeah, read it.”
Dave was a mutual friend and I knew that he was a very private person. He and Alicia were close friends but I still didn’t expect him to write a letter like that. He thanked her for being such a great friend, for being there to talk, to listen, to help him when he needed advice or to vent. He said he would miss her and he hoped he could find a way to visit her at college. He wasn’t sure what senior year would be like without her, if he could find another friend to be what he needed. He had opened up to Alicia and he was afraid of shutting himself in again.
I handed the letter back to her and whispered, “Wow.”
“Yeah, I know.” She tucked the letter back into the yearbook. “Listen, will you look out for him next year? He’s going to need someone.”
And I only nodded because I couldn’t tell her that I didn’t know if I could help him. I didn’t know how I could be that friend for him.
6. I went to a liberal arts college that required every student to take classes in every discipline, regardless of your major. The one I didn’t want to take was history, but I got it over with during my sophomore year. Near the end of the semester, I passed my professor in the hallway and he asked if I had considered majoring in history. I shook my head and said something about already settling on my major because I couldn’t tell a history professor who’s standing in the history department that history is my least favorite subject.
7. “So which movie do you guys wanna watch?” It was movie night at my friend’s house, and the great thing was, she essentially had a library of DVDs in her house. For the most part, I’m not picky about movies so I let everyone else say if they felt like watching comedy or action, fantasy or drama. I commented on the movies I had already seen, but I didn’t say anything to steer the discussion. An hour later, we were still trying to pick one movie and I wished I had set up voting or some process of elimination from the beginning.
2. When my grandfather passed away, everyone was at his house. His wife, all of his children, all of his grandchildren, and the priest. My grandfather was sick for a while, and we knew it was just a matter of time, and then it was that time. Almost everyone was crying, everyone was passing tissues, and from the other room, I watched the priest go over to my dad. There were whispers and quiet noises in the house, but I could hear the priest perfectly fine. “Why isn’t she crying? She knows it’s okay to be sad, right? That it’s normal to grieve and to show that with tears.” I was sad that night but I didn’t say anything because for me, tears are wired to anger, not grief.
3. In high school, my freshman English teacher was really good at playing to people’s learning styles and personalities. Sometimes, he’d ask us to have a classroom discussion and besides talking, we had to write down our responses. Then he collected our papers so he could see how we were thinking, even if we didn’t say anything in class. He wrote nice comments on mine and on the third one, he added a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson: “In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts; they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty.” I had excellent ideas to add to the discussion, but he couldn’t figure out why I didn’t raise my hand and share with the class. During my college freshman seminar, my professor wrote the same quote on one of my essays. By that time, I figured out what was happening: I couldn’t sync with the flow of the discussion. I thought of things too early or too late to make sense with what everyone else was saying, so I didn’t say anything at all.
4. “No, seriously, I want to marry a pastor some day.” I had known this girl for two days and she was telling me about her marriage plans. And expecting me to be excited for her. “Do you think there’s a club?”
“Sorry?” I said.
“A club for girls that want to be pastors’ wives. Maybe I’ll start a Facebook group!”
5. My friend Alicia graduated from high school a year early. On one of the last days of junior year, we were hanging out after school and she asked me to write in her yearbook. I’d see all of my friends again in the fall, but Alicia was going away to college, so for her, this was the last yearbook. I’m not a nosy person but I glanced over the other well wishes and goodbyes written by our classmates. I wrote my note, signed it, smiled, and handed the book back to her. It wasn’t goodbye for us yet—we would see each other over the summer—but the yearbook signing felt official, ceremonial.
“Did you see what Dave wrote?”
I shook my head.
She flipped a few pages into the yearbook, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and handed it to me. Dave had written an entire page. I looked at Alicia for a moment. Was it okay to read the whole thing?
She nodded. “Yeah, read it.”
Dave was a mutual friend and I knew that he was a very private person. He and Alicia were close friends but I still didn’t expect him to write a letter like that. He thanked her for being such a great friend, for being there to talk, to listen, to help him when he needed advice or to vent. He said he would miss her and he hoped he could find a way to visit her at college. He wasn’t sure what senior year would be like without her, if he could find another friend to be what he needed. He had opened up to Alicia and he was afraid of shutting himself in again.
I handed the letter back to her and whispered, “Wow.”
“Yeah, I know.” She tucked the letter back into the yearbook. “Listen, will you look out for him next year? He’s going to need someone.”
And I only nodded because I couldn’t tell her that I didn’t know if I could help him. I didn’t know how I could be that friend for him.
6. I went to a liberal arts college that required every student to take classes in every discipline, regardless of your major. The one I didn’t want to take was history, but I got it over with during my sophomore year. Near the end of the semester, I passed my professor in the hallway and he asked if I had considered majoring in history. I shook my head and said something about already settling on my major because I couldn’t tell a history professor who’s standing in the history department that history is my least favorite subject.
7. “So which movie do you guys wanna watch?” It was movie night at my friend’s house, and the great thing was, she essentially had a library of DVDs in her house. For the most part, I’m not picky about movies so I let everyone else say if they felt like watching comedy or action, fantasy or drama. I commented on the movies I had already seen, but I didn’t say anything to steer the discussion. An hour later, we were still trying to pick one movie and I wished I had set up voting or some process of elimination from the beginning.
FYI: My reading list is now on my other blog
I moved my reading list. Now when you click on the "Reading List" tab above, you'll be redirected to the list on Mythical Type, my other blog. It made more sense for me to have it over there, so that's why I made the change.
Magic Paradise
The earliest memory I have of a family outing is the first time I went to Magic Paradise. Magic Paradise is a kid-sized amusement park with rides, games, and actors who dress up and walk around the park. It was divided into four sections. The east was a winter wonderland with a cheerful Snow Queen, elves, and animatronic reindeer. The west end was a Jurassic jungle with dinosaurs, a volcano, and recorded animal sounds that chirped and roared as you walked between the boulders and over-sized plants. The north side was outer space and alien-themed. Astronauts greeted you and showed you swings that orbited Earth and a shuttle headed for Pluto. The south side, where the entrance was, hosted a carnival with games, a Ferris wheel, a petting zoo, popcorn and cotton candy stands, and a miniature train that you could ride through the rest of the park.
I went to Magic Paradise with my parents and my cousin John. He was nine years old at the time, and I was four. We visited the Snow Queen first and ate snow cones, and then we headed for the volcano.
There was a man-made lake around the volcano, and then the mountain towered on its own island in the middle of the lake. You couldn't actually walk to the volcano, but there were log boats that took you around the island.
I know now that the log boats were part of a ride and were attached to tracks under the water. But at four years old, I thought you could actually steer them, and so I was a little concerned when my parents let John sit at the steering wheel.
He took us (or so I thought) along the edge of the lake and the animatronic triceratops roared at us because we were too close to her nest of eggs. John didn't even flinch and twisted the steering wheel and we went back toward the island.
The volcano looked like it was erupting but no lava spilled from the top. The "lava" was a combination of clever lighting and smoke but even so, it looked cool. John drove us past models of huge blue and green birds with moving beaks and recorded chirping. After we rounded the island, the boat came to a stop. We stepped back onto the pavement, and I was impressed with my cousin's captain-ship.
The thing about Magic Paradise was, I probably knew these things couldn't exist together in the same place. The carnival was ordinary enough, but I knew there couldn't be snow-covered sleighs in the middle of summer. I didn't think NASA could actually launch a spaceship from the park, and I was pretty sure humans couldn't make it to Pluto in a real spaceship. And of course, I knew dinosaurs were extinct.
But for that afternoon, I could believe in all of these things, all at the same time. I didn't have to worry about what was real or not because we were in Magic Paradise.
The summers in between high school, I worked at Magic Paradise and I could see how the park's reality-bending delighted children. The magic didn't work for me anymore, but sometimes I wish it would. Some days I wish there was a Magic Paradise for adults to visit and forget about what did and did not fit into reality. Sometimes a complete suspension of belief was exactly what I needed.
I went to Magic Paradise with my parents and my cousin John. He was nine years old at the time, and I was four. We visited the Snow Queen first and ate snow cones, and then we headed for the volcano.
There was a man-made lake around the volcano, and then the mountain towered on its own island in the middle of the lake. You couldn't actually walk to the volcano, but there were log boats that took you around the island.
I know now that the log boats were part of a ride and were attached to tracks under the water. But at four years old, I thought you could actually steer them, and so I was a little concerned when my parents let John sit at the steering wheel.
He took us (or so I thought) along the edge of the lake and the animatronic triceratops roared at us because we were too close to her nest of eggs. John didn't even flinch and twisted the steering wheel and we went back toward the island.
The volcano looked like it was erupting but no lava spilled from the top. The "lava" was a combination of clever lighting and smoke but even so, it looked cool. John drove us past models of huge blue and green birds with moving beaks and recorded chirping. After we rounded the island, the boat came to a stop. We stepped back onto the pavement, and I was impressed with my cousin's captain-ship.
The thing about Magic Paradise was, I probably knew these things couldn't exist together in the same place. The carnival was ordinary enough, but I knew there couldn't be snow-covered sleighs in the middle of summer. I didn't think NASA could actually launch a spaceship from the park, and I was pretty sure humans couldn't make it to Pluto in a real spaceship. And of course, I knew dinosaurs were extinct.
But for that afternoon, I could believe in all of these things, all at the same time. I didn't have to worry about what was real or not because we were in Magic Paradise.
The summers in between high school, I worked at Magic Paradise and I could see how the park's reality-bending delighted children. The magic didn't work for me anymore, but sometimes I wish it would. Some days I wish there was a Magic Paradise for adults to visit and forget about what did and did not fit into reality. Sometimes a complete suspension of belief was exactly what I needed.
432
He makes me want to run through the streets, throw stones into the dark river, hold my breath and listen to the night hum, squint at the sky to see the stars beyond light pollution.
This, for a dead man from Illinois who wrote about spaceships on Mars and heartbroken dinosaurs on the beach, secret libraries of unread books and full-room glowing screens that mesmerize people. His characters always seem trapped but reading them, I felt free.
I wondered if I would build prisons for the people in my imagination, if I would dare, if they would lock themselves in, if they could set others free.
This, for a dead man from Illinois who wrote about spaceships on Mars and heartbroken dinosaurs on the beach, secret libraries of unread books and full-room glowing screens that mesmerize people. His characters always seem trapped but reading them, I felt free.
I wondered if I would build prisons for the people in my imagination, if I would dare, if they would lock themselves in, if they could set others free.
430
Half drunk with sleep, she waded through the blue sea of carpet and onto the chilled tile islands. It was three in the morning and her mind asked her a question: How do you march on a static cloud?
429
They had water color conversations, ideas with no definite boundaries that easily blended together.
428
I'm learning how to drop off the grid like you do. I'm learning to let friendships go and ignore attempts at reconnection. I don't feel angry; I barely feel guilty. The part that scares me is, I like the separating. I like the freedom.
Is this what it's like for you?
Is this what it's like for you?
Not in her world
It's a completely different world inside her head,
when she's tired in bed,
and what you don't understand is,
she will never let you in.
She won't tell you about
the stories she writes
or the characters she dreams,
of anything she creates in her headspace
Because it's all in the world she creates
and you do not belong there.
Do you know what you are to her?
You are anger, ignorence, defeat, disappointment,
illogic, arrogance, prejudice, immaturity, lies, malice.
Her world is not perfect but she does not welcome you there.
She leaves you here in this broken, screaming world
Not as punishment but because you belong here
And you have the nerve to persecute her?
when she's tired in bed,
and what you don't understand is,
she will never let you in.
She won't tell you about
the stories she writes
or the characters she dreams,
of anything she creates in her headspace
Because it's all in the world she creates
and you do not belong there.
Do you know what you are to her?
You are anger, ignorence, defeat, disappointment,
illogic, arrogance, prejudice, immaturity, lies, malice.
Her world is not perfect but she does not welcome you there.
She leaves you here in this broken, screaming world
Not as punishment but because you belong here
And you have the nerve to persecute her?
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