tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90586245622247724742024-03-13T00:56:53.938-07:00An Aspiring Writer's Blog - Mandy Calvin's QuillMChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.comBlogger71125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-91440399637827650992012-08-14T07:23:00.000-07:002012-08-14T08:02:49.734-07:00A Clean Start<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FVFAqN7deYk/UChEqiUifEI/AAAAAAAAAbA/H0EsYLIpEQk/s1600/A_Clean_Start.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="258" mda="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FVFAqN7deYk/UChEqiUifEI/AAAAAAAAAbA/H0EsYLIpEQk/s320/A_Clean_Start.jpg" title="A clean Start Short Story" width="320" /></a></div>
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This certainly was not a part of my plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sighed and stepped out of my old, rusty car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the driveway, I looked up at the second story of the Ingram family’s house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a beautiful work of architecture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The skirt of my dress rippled in the breeze as I walked from the carport to the front door of the job I never intended to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I slaved away at college for years to get my degree, only to come here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I glared bitterly at the doorbell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My features relaxed as I thought about how we all had to start somewhere, and this was my start.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lifted my hand to push the bell but before I touched it the door opened slightly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked in and saw nobody.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked down the aperture of the door to see a blue eye gazing up at me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hello,” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The eye blinked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Are you Ms. Louis?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I nodded affirmatively.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The eye disappeared as the girl turned her head and shouted back into the house, “Daddy, the maid is here.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>The maid</i>, I repeated in my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sighed and with the exhale I felt my pride deflate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I heard a man’s voice holler back, then footsteps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The door opened fully and I looked up to see Mr. Ingram who welcomed me into the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man seemed pressed for time as he handed me a detailed list of things that I was suppose to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He rushed me to the downstairs utility room and showed me the equipment there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The little girl followed us silently; her eyes trained on me like I was an exotic animal in the zoo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We then marched up a flight of stairs to find the other utility room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a speedy introduction of my duties as maid he left me in the upstairs utilities room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked at the instructions in my hands for guidance of what to do first: clean and vacuum the bedrooms. </div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I pulled a bulky vacuum out of the closet into the hallway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The little girl was there to my right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I smiled at her and said. “You can call me by my first name, Jenny.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The little blue eyed-girl swayed on her feet indicating contained child energy waiting to be unleashed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“So what’s your name?” I asked uneasily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The girl giggled and vanished through the door of a nearby room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Peculiar child I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I heaved the vacuum to the end of the hall and to the door of the large master bedroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I opened the door and I blinked for moment at what I saw.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This room was a complete contrast to the appearance of the beauty and luxury of the exterior of the house and the entrance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The master bedroom was a wreck, so much so that vacuuming was an insane proposition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Things were strewn all over the place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Skyscraper stacks of paper sat on the floor, on top of the nightstand, and on the chest of drawers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Articles of clothing, not sure if clean or dirty, were laying on the bed and floor, unfolded and disheveled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently, the room not only was used for sleeping but as a trashcan too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were dirty dishes, empty bottles, cups with unfinished drinks, and wadded up napkins on the floor and any other surface that something could be sat on.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My body quivered slightly as part of me wanted to drop the vacuum and dash out the front door and the other part, my character, knew to stay and do the job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who am I kidding; character had nothing to do with this. It was my desire to get paid and have a good job reference that made me stay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is where I have to start, I reminded myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I put the vacuum cleaner to the side, since I didn’t need it yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was able to vacuum an hour later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was near relief to take a break to just move the vacuum sweeper along the carpet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was unplugging the vacuum from the electric outlet when a little girl, not Blue Eyes, appeared at the doorway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She seemed younger than Blue Eyes, and was wearing a puffy pink princess costume dress and a tiara.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was watching me from the doorframe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Princess spoke with an adorable voice and asked me, “Ms. Louise, can you come and help me and my sister.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How could I say no to such a precious child?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I followed her to what appeared to be a playroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The room looked like Toyland had been attacked by a series of natural disasters and anarchy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to kick cloth dolls and plastic cars out from under my feet so I could walk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Are all the rooms this messy?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Princess said only a few.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Blue Eyes sat crossed legged on the floor, playing with some plastic animals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Princess pointed at an open closet door and said, “There is a toy on the top shelf we can’t reach, could you get it for us.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked around at the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t you have enough toys out already?” I asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Princess passionately explained that this toy was a limited edition Barbie and was very special.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shrugged and stepped into the closet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stretched upward to feel along the top shelf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Are you sure it’s here?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was answered with the closet door slamming shut, and the laughter of Blue Eyes and Princess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the darkness I gasped, realizing I had been tricked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I grabbed the doorknob and tried to twist it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was locked and the lock was on their side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I demanded they let me out, but they only laughed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The monster has been captured, my queen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What shall we do with it?”</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“For now we will leave it where it’s at and think it over.”</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I think we should roast it and make stake for the entire kingdom,” claimed a voice of a young boy.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I crouched down on the floor of the closet and peered through the crack beneath the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw three pairs of feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How many children did Mr. Ingram have?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I reached up for the doorknob and felt a pin-sized hole in the center of the doorknob.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I smiled; it was only a childproof knob.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I needed was something that I could poke in the hole.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I groped around on the floor and the shelves, searching for a bobby pin or a toothpick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suddenly remembered that last night I had dinner with my parents at a restaurant wearing this same skirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we were leaving I had pocketed a free toothpick from a bowl on a table next to the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I rummaged through my pocket, finding the toothpick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I grinned at my luck; those kids were in for a surprise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knelt at the door and carefully found the hole and stuck the toothpick in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a few frustrating tries I heard a click and could turn the knob.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The three children sat in the center of the room having a powwow to decide my fate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They froze and stared at me as the door opened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Princess theatrically exclaimed, “ Oh no! The beast has escaped.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She fled from the room screaming and leaving her brother and Blue Eyes at my mercy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I crossed my arms and said impatiently, “My job is to clean, not to play pretend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leave me alone and I leave you alone, ok?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They nodded under the influence of my wrathful glare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I nodded with satisfaction and left the room, straddling over toys and junk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I finished my day at the Ingram home with no other excitement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mr. Ingram went to the front door with me to let me out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, why are some of the rooms so. . .”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt bad commenting on it, and hesitated to insult a man’s home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t need to finish, as he understood.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“My wife, who is currently in the hospital, has been sick for a very long time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have been juggling her care, my work, and my children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maintaining the house has not been very important, and things start to pile up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, my wife is going to be home in a few days and I wanted her returning to the house she left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope it wasn’t too much for you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought about mentioning me being locked up in the closet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked so tired and what would look worse that some maid complaining about his kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I claimed it was easy and that the house will be completely clean by the end of my service, which is five days.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After the first day, the shock of the state of the inside of the Ingram home was gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew to expect it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I didn’t expect was for the Ingram children to persist in their pranks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one point of moping the kitchen my bucket of water went missing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went to go look for it, and giving up I came back to the kitchen and the bucket had been returned, but empty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They put silly putty on my car keys so that when I reach into my pocket at the end of the day and grabbed my keys I had an unpleasant surprise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made the mistake of leaving my list of chores in another room once and they artfully drew on it with crayons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never saw them do the acts, but I knew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were like little trolls, sneaking around doing mischief while no one was watching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There were no pranks on Thursday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The house was silent when Mr. Ingram let me in, no children running around or screaming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went about my routine; I was to clean the bathrooms and kitchen sinks and counters on that day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I completed the downstairs, had lunch, and then went upstairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was in the utility closet when I heard the murmur of voices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Supplies in hand, I walked down the hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the door of the master bedroom, which looked much cleaner since that shocking first day, I saw Mrs. Ingram for the first time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She rested under the sheets of the bed, her brown locks of hair spread out on the pillow and her face pale but for the glow of joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Princess was cuddled up in her mother’s embrace while Blue Eyes and their brother sat on the bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They all turned when I entered and I felt like an intruder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I excused myself and went past them to the master bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Blue Eyes followed me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Mommy says that what we did was wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re sorry.” I looked down into her clear eyes and accepted her apology.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She smiled and hugged my legs before disappearing into the bedroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mrs. Ingram’s voice came from the bedroom, “I wasn’t expecting a college girl when my husband told me he hired a maid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was expecting someone, older.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had a calm, soothing voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I began wiping the counter dry.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“This is definitely not my career choice. I hope to get a better job soon, but until then I have to do something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I graduated from college last spring and have been on the job hunt ever since”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What did you major in?”</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Journalism.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I see.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I began cleaning the faucet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The children were telling me about all the things I missed while I was gone and it slipped that they locked you in the closet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am very sorry for that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They can be so spirited at times” I reassured her it wasn’t much of a problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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The following day was my last day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The children were actually pleasant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They talked to me and stayed out of trouble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Princess even drew me a goodbye card.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she gave me the card I realized that it was her artistic handiwork on my chores list.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the last hour, Mr. Ingram examined the house and was pleased.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He handed me my check and walked me to the door, but paused before opening it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He handed me a piece of paper with his handwriting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“My wife told me that you majored in journalism and that you’re looking for a career in that field.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a friend who might be interested in hiring you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is his number and his company name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From there you can get an interview.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked down at the card.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hope was bubbling inside of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It manifested itself into a smile on my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thanked him and waved goodbye to Blue Eyes who was watching from the staircase.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I reached my car, but stopped with my hand on the door to look back at the Ingram house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From this whole experience I gained only three tangible things: a check, a hand made card, and a paper with a phone number.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked down at them in my hand, three pieces of paper with hope I got in my car and drove away never to return, never needing to, but glad I had come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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-------- The End<br />
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I had written this a year or so ago as a guest blogger and I thought I'd share it. Please share your thoughts in the comments; they're very appreciated. Also if you like this story please share the link on twitter or facebook or whatever social media you fancy.</div>
MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-9643259144150102552012-08-09T14:20:00.000-07:002012-08-09T14:26:49.068-07:00One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/332613.One_Flew_Over_the_Cuckoo_s_Nest" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" border="0" src="http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1285822225m/332613.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/332613.One_Flew_Over_the_Cuckoo_s_Nest">One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest</a> by <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7285.Ken_Kesey">Ken Kesey</a><br />
My rating: <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/338117605">5 of 5 stars</a><br />
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What inspired me to read this book was the movie. I had seen the movie years ago and really liked it. When I found out that there was a book, I had to read it. The story is about Randle McMurphy, a wily and rambunctious man who gets himself committed into a psychiatric ward to spend the rest of his prison sentence. Chief Bromden, a fellow patient in the ward who pretends he’s deaf and dumb, narrates the story of McMurphy’s antics and rivalry with the authority of Nurse Ratchet.<br />
I was really excited before reading the book and my expectations were well met. The first few chapters were a bit slow. However, by the middle of the novel, I knew I was giving this book five stars. Seeing the ward through Chief Bromden’s eyes and his internal dialog was great. It gave the story a very unique edge. The writing is marvelous as the little isolated world of the ward and the patients are painted before the reader. As the plot progresses, the story also explores themes dealing with the human spirit. <br />
I loved this book and highly recommend it.<br />
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/list/9836552-mandy-calvin">View all my reviews</a><br />
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"You had a choice: you could either strain and look at things that appeared in front of you in the fog, painful as it might be, or you could relax and lose yourself." -Chief Bromden</div>
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Musings & Trivia:<br />
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<li>Book(1962) & Movie(1975): The movie and book are generally the same, but of course some things are changed. The biggest difference is that the movie is not narrated by Chief Bromden. It is more of a third person presentation of the story and the Chief is just another character. Not to spoil anything I'll only say there are other various elements that are re-arranged and merged together in the movie. No major plot elements are left out in the movie. In the film Jack Nicholson plays McMurphy and won an Academy Award for Best Actor for this role. Actually, in total the film won five academy awards and was nominated for four others. Quite a decorated film.</li>
<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">You know, in print you find typos every once and a while. It happens but this is something else:</li>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_2p-7HFGrhw/UCQgPtUAjLI/AAAAAAAAAaw/WQkvgPY9OUc/s1600/OFOTCN_typo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" kda="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_2p-7HFGrhw/UCQgPtUAjLI/AAAAAAAAAaw/WQkvgPY9OUc/s400/OFOTCN_typo.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">About the Author: Anyways, after some googling, page 5 was the correct one. Ken Kesey was born September 17, 1935 in La Junta, Colorado and then his family moved to Oregon. In 1957 Kesey received a degree in speech and communication from the University of Oregon's School of Journalism. In 1958 he enrolled in Stanford's creative writing program. <em>One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest</em> was inspired by Kesey's experiences as an orderly at a veteran's hospital in California in 1959. He passed away November 10, 2001 at the age of sixty six from complications after a surgery.</li>
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Next Book Review: <em>A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man</em> by James Joyce<br />
Curious to know what other books I'll be reading? <a href="http://takeupinkandquill.blogspot.com/2012/05/my-summer-reading-list.html">Click here to find out</a><br />
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Have you read this book? or seen the movie? If so what do you think? What is the worst typo you've ever found? Feel free to reply here or on twitter @MandyCalvin . Comments are appreciated.</div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Cited:</span></div>
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<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0073486/awards"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0073486/awards</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ken_Kesey"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ken_Kesey</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/One_Flew_Over_the_Cuckoo%27s_Nest_(novel"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/One_Flew_Over_the_Cuckoo%27s_Nest_(novel</span></a><span style="font-size: xx-small;">)</span></div>
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<a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0450181/"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0450181/</span></a></div>MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-72630452121606234562012-07-14T09:36:00.000-07:002012-07-14T09:36:29.026-07:00The Postman<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/889284.The_Postman" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="The Postman" border="0" src="http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1327932678m/889284.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/889284.The_Postman">The Postman</a> by <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14078.David_Brin">David Brin</a><br />
My rating: <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/338109137">3 of 5 stars</a><br />
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The Postman by David Brin is a science fiction adventure set in a crumbled United States during the aftermath of war and disease. Society has been blown back to a primitive age where survival is the only priority. Gordon is a drifter traveling through the wilderness when a series of events led him a long abandoned postal truck. He puts on the uniform and takes the bag of mail and thus begins his role of a Postman going from clan to clan exchanging hope for food. However, what begins as a ploy for Gordon to get food becomes something greater as his role inspires a call for change in others and in himself.<br />
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The plot is intriguing and sees the reader interested to the end. The book over all was ok. There were moving moments, but some of the suppose-to-be-epic moments came off as more trite than epic. The characters were diverse and memorable which I found to be a redeeming highlight in the book along with the progress of the story. Brin plays a bit with philosphy and some social issues in his book, which was more of a sideshow than an addition to the story.<br />
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There is a movie out there with Kevin Costner, which is good. However the movie and the book are extremely different. Aside from artistic changes during an adaptation, the plots are two completely different animals. Characters are given different roles or missing completely in the film and multiple key factors are changed. So watching the movie would not replace the book, not in the least.<br />
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Next Book Review: One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey <br />
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Curious to know what other books I'll be reading? <a href="http://takeupinkandquill.blogspot.com/2012/05/my-summer-reading-list.html">Click here to find out </a>Have you read this book? If so what did you think? <br />
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Feel free to reply here or on twitter @MandyCalvin . Comments are appreciated.MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-83153796256118097912012-07-03T21:50:00.002-07:002012-07-04T11:31:03.971-07:00Pop Crackle Boom- Happy Fourth of July<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Happy Fourth of July to everyone in the USA- Mandy Calvin</div>MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-18241888089466825222012-06-15T15:46:00.003-07:002012-06-15T15:58:59.976-07:00The Murder of Roger Ackroyd<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/16328.The_Murder_of_Roger_Ackroyd" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="The Murder of Roger Ackroyd (Hercule Poirot #4)" border="0" src="http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1166722645m/16328.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/16328.The_Murder_of_Roger_Ackroyd">The Murder of Roger Ackroyd</a> by <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/123715.Agatha_Christie">Agatha Christie</a><br />
My rating: <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/338118272">4 of 5 stars</a><br />
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I will ascend that I had been spoiled by a review before I read the book. It probably robbed me of some of the suspense, however I'd like to think I was able to better assess the quality of the story. Despite that I knew the ending, I did find the journey fascinating. There is no doubt that this was a brilliant murder mystery; the plot twisted so many times, it's dizzying. The characters were developed and memorably charming. My only qualms were that it was difficult to really get into the story due to lack of imagery in the writing. If you are looking for a good mystery with an outstanding plot, this is with out a doubt a perfect story to read. <br />
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"Understand this, I mean to arrive at the truth. The truth however ugly in itself, is always curious and beautiful to the seeker after it." -Hercule Poirot</blockquote>
Musings & Facts:<br />
<ul>
<li>It's interesting how all the little clues come together when you figure out the end result. Especially in this mystery, almost everything was a clue. Although all the clues were there, the answer was still elusive. That's what I think makes a great mystery; the answer is stuck to your forehead.</li>
<li>About Agatha: She was born Agatha Mary Clarissa Miller in the UK on 15 September 1890. She worked as a nurse during WWI. She married her husband, Archibald Christie, on Christmas Eve 1914. Six publishers rejected her first book, <em>The Mysterious Affair at Styles</em>. However, she was not discouraged and almost five years after writing the book, it was published by Jone Lane in 1920. She divorced her husband in 1928 after finding out he was having an affair. She then remarried to Max Mallowan, in 1930 whom she shared 46 years of marriage which ended with her death. Agatha Christie wrote 66 mystery novels, short stories, plays, and under the pen name, Mary Westmacott, 6 romance novels.</li>
<li>I loved the character of Hercule Poirot and Caroline Sheppard. They both had very distinguisable characters.</li>
<li>The story is written in first person from the point of view of Dr. James Sheppard. However most of the story is dialog between the characters and some in between action. It didn't include much imagery like I said in the review above. I've read that a writer should balance the amount of dialog in their writing. Too much or too little could be bad, but I think it depends on the subject your writing about. If you're writing from first person you can get away with less dialog since you are in the head of a character, they can kind of dialog with themselves. Too much dialog can get a bit boring and sidetracked if the write isn't careful. Of course that goes back to the rule that every sentence must have a purpose pertaining to its story, dialog or not. The dialog in <em>The Murder of Roger Ackroyd</em> was well done and every bit of it was crucial to the development of the plot. but there was just not much in-between all the talking. However.... no no no, I don't want to spoil anything if you decide to read the book.</li>
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Next Book Review: <em>The Postman</em> by David Brin<br />
Curious to know what other books I'll be reading? <a href="http://takeupinkandquill.blogspot.com/2012/05/my-summer-reading-list.html">Click here to find out</a><br />
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Have you read this book? If so what do you think? What do you think makes a good mystery? Do you think that too much dialog is bad? Feel free to reply here or on twitter @MandyCalvin . Comments are appreciated.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Citation:</span><br />
<a href="http://agathachristie.com/about-christie/christie-records/75-facts/"><span style="font-size: x-small;">http://agathachristie.com/about-christie/christie-records/75-facts/</span></a><br />
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Agatha_Christie"><span style="font-size: x-small;">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Agatha_Christie</span></a>MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-1210816214768192012012-05-25T12:38:00.004-07:002012-08-09T14:52:01.755-07:00My Summer Reading List<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The sun is shining, the temperature is rising, the bugs are buzzing, and I decided it's an ideal time to sit indoors and organize my reading plan. I spent the past few days googling lists of books trying to sort out a few that I wanted to read this summer. I jotted down ten titles and then painfully whittled them down to six, a goal possibly attainable. When making this list, I focused on a getting a diverse set of well-written books. This isn't ordered in any particular way, I have yet to decide which one to start with.</span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><em>Breakfast At Tiffany's</em> by Truman Capote. The goings on of a female city socialite narrated by a man who is a tenant in the same apartment complex. I'm not quite sure what to expect out of this novella, but Capote's work is well respected for his mastery of prose. This novella seems to be mainly character driven, so I'll be getting a taste of that.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><em><a href="http://takeupinkandquill.blogspot.com/2012/07/the-postman.html">The Postman</a></em> by David Brin. Set in post-apocalyptic America, a cold and hungry man finds a United States Postal uniform, and sack of mail and poses as a post man for food and supplies but also gives hope to the people. I've read that the touching plot is what makes it worth reading. I know there is a movie out there with Kevin Costner, but surprisingly I've never seen it.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://takeupinkandquill.blogspot.com/2012/08/one-flew-over-cuckoos-nest.html">One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest</a> by Ken Kesey. A man fakes insanity to escape a prison sentence and instead goes into an insane asylum. I've seen the movie and now I'm even more excited to read the book. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><em>War and Peace</em> by Leo Tolstoy. Through he eyes of five Russian aristocratic families we see the story of Russia during the Napoleonic era. The book delves into many <span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">philosophical discussions </span>along as a historical narrative. I am pretty sure I'll save this book for last and will likely finish it sometime before I die. <em>War and Peace</em> is one of the longest books ever written somewhere over a whopping 560,000 words.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><em><i><a href="http://takeupinkandquill.blogspot.com/2012/06/murder-of-roger-ackroyd.html">The Murder of Roger Ackroyd</a></i></em> by Agatha Christie. A detective murder mystery that investigates the death of Roger Ackroyd, if you didn't catch that in the title. Agatha Christie is considered the best of the best when it comes to detective murder mysteries, so I hear. On top of that this novel is considered her best work. So I deduce that when it comes to detective fiction, this novel the best of the best of the best.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><em>Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man</em> by James Joyce. A story about a boy growing up in Ireland who discovers that he wants to be writer and his struggles grow as an artist. This story is suspected to be semi-autobiographical of James Joyce's own life. It's said the style of writing in this novel is spectacular; that's why I'm reading it. </span></li>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I sure have my work cut out for me. After I finish each book I'll do a review and analysis post. For the lack of content in the last couple of months, I apologize. I'll be getting back to my three posts a month in June.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Have you read any of these books? If so what did you think? What's on your reading list? Which book do you think I should start with? Answer in the comments below or tweet me @mandycalvin . I love feedback.</span><br />
*edit- links added Aug 9, 2012MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-28231371073297214102012-04-22T20:24:00.001-07:002012-04-23T18:17:43.422-07:0060 Uses for a Fork: Divergent Thinking Practice<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cmypFtzUVpQ/T0EqHKNgdrI/AAAAAAAAAXk/IS9x21Q_jMU/s1600/lateral_thinking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cmypFtzUVpQ/T0EqHKNgdrI/AAAAAAAAAXk/IS9x21Q_jMU/s200/lateral_thinking.jpg" width="200" zda="true" /></a>This challenge is an indirect writing exercise. Indirect because I'm not actually going to write but it's a practice in creative/divergent thinking which is the life source of fictional writing. I was inspired by RSA's video <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zDZFcDGpL4U&list=PL39BF9545D740ECFF&index=4&feature=plpp_video">Changing Education Paradigms</a>. They mentioned a test in which they asked people to think up as many uses as they can for a paper clip. Some could come up with 200 unique uses. I've always been meaning to give it a try just for the fun of it. However, instead of a paper clip I'm going to use a fork. This exercise is untimed and you stop when you can't think of any more ideas. It's also fun to set a number goal or to make it a game between friends to see who can come up with the most uses. Feel free to try it yourself with whatever object you wish. If you post your list on a blog or website please leave a link below in the comments. I'd be great to see all the ideas you guys come up with. </div>
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<li>Eat . . (I won't list every food on the planet)</li>
<li>Feed another person or animal </li>
<li>Scramble things</li>
<li>Mix things</li>
<li>Stir stuff</li>
<li>Poke things or people</li>
<li>Give it to a small farmer as a pitch fork</li>
<li>Give it to to a small mermaid to use it as a trident</li>
<li>Use it as a make-shift comb</li>
<li>Dig around in the dirt</li>
<li>Use it to catapult stuff</li>
<li>Bend it and make modern art</li>
<li>Scratcher</li>
<li>Get something out of a fire</li>
<li>Cook marshmallows</li>
<li>Murder weapon</li>
<li>Tool of torture </li>
<li>Use it as the stick for a musical triangle</li>
<li>Stick it up into the sky during a storm as a lightning rod</li>
<li>Pry open stuff</li>
<li>Stick it in the ground and watch the shadow like a sun dial to tell the time</li>
<li>Conductor's baton</li>
<li>Marker in a really big book</li>
<li>Stick it in a wall and hang stuff on protruding end</li>
<li>Use it as a toy and imagine it whatever you want it to be</li>
<li>Pick your teeth with</li>
<li>Take a picture of it</li>
<li>Play spin the fork</li>
<li>Stick in a time capsule so that it may be preserved for future generations</li>
<li>Melt it and use the metal to make something else</li>
<li>Wand</li>
<li>Be a hungry monster for Halloween and use it as an accessory</li>
<li>Prop in a play</li>
<li>Throw it away</li>
<li>Donate it</li>
<li>Give it as a gift</li>
<li>Practise telekinesis</li>
<li>Inspire a blog post</li>
<li>Draw it</li>
<li>Tie it on a string and use it as a Christmas tree ornament</li>
<li>Bend it into an oval and you have a bracelet</li>
<li>Glint it in the sun as a signal</li>
<li>Bend it into a horse shoe shape and play horseshoes</li>
<li>Go up to a person who speaks a different language and point at the fork and learn what fork is in their language</li>
<li>If the fork is made out of wood you can burn it</li>
<li>If the fork is made out of an edible material eat it</li>
<li>Set the table</li>
<li>Weight</li>
<li>Make a texture on a soft surface by impressing the fork on it</li>
<li>Use it in a science experiment to test metal properties</li>
<li>Make a wind chime with multiple forks</li>
<li>Kite handle</li>
<li>Handle can be a straight edge to draw a line</li>
<li>Break off middle prongs and you have a difficult field goal for paper football</li>
<li>Break off all the prongs but one, dip it in ink and you can write a little</li>
<li>Card holder for desk(Stick the handle in a wad of clay and weave a card through the prongs)</li>
<li>Make a small rake by spreading prongs and bending the ends</li>
<li>Become super famous and auction your fork off to your fans</li>
<li>Prop something open</li>
<li>Form a code with a series of tapping using a fork</li>
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<br /></div>MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-10057257635560806622012-03-31T23:14:00.002-07:002012-03-31T23:23:47.224-07:00April Fool<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We writer's can be so cruel to our characters can't we? We just dump them into a world of terrible conflict. Anyways, happy April Fools Day! What pranks do you have up your sleeve today? Tell me about it in the comments below.</div>
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Mandy Calvin</div>MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-18818453076752676232012-03-24T16:11:00.000-07:002012-03-25T06:55:53.780-07:00Out in the Rain<div style="text-align: center;">
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Some days it rains<br />In a unpredictable way<br />During those days<br />I watched the downpour from inside<br />But I was soaked<br />With all of my limitations<br />But not today,<br />I will not remain indifferent<br />Into the storm<br />I go, my eyes looking forward<br />I am still soaked<br />But by rain water, not by tears</div>
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All comments, question, and constructive criticism are welcome. Thank you for reading and watching.MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-73915744990700059222012-02-25T11:24:00.003-08:002012-03-03T13:43:39.651-08:00Sip of Iced TeaToday I'm going to write a <span style="font-family: inherit;">short story inspired by The </span><a href="http://oneminutewriter.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One-Minute Writer's</span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> prompt for Friday: Lie</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was one of those days, when the sky was perfectly clear and the sun was ridiculously bright. Just by looking the world would seem to be a warm and inviting place. In the reality of standing amiss the bright light it was frigidly cold. The wind would hit it gust so violent that your very soul was knocked out of you. I scurried from my car, battling the mischievous wind to keep my skirt from flying up. Any onlooker watching would see a much less graceful version of Marilyn Monroe. Finally I reached the doors of a familiar restaurant and entered.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> I was here in part monthly ritual concocted years ago in which my three closest friends and I would meet for lunch or dinner no matter what. When they (being all three since I was apparently the last to arrive) saw me, a clamor of squealing and laughter arouse to greet me. I hugged and politely said hello to everyone then sat in the remaining chair at the table. We ordered our food before commencing to talk.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Janet, not able to contain herself, started talking about her upcoming wedding that we all were already aware of. Her fiancée had proposed no less that a month ago. I happily listened as she blabbered about color schemes and dreamy marital plans. Kelsey was next talking about her job, then Hannah about how her houses seems to be falling apart with a recent termite infestation. Janet turned to me and commented that I was awfully quiet today. I shrugged. Hannah asked me, "So how's life going for you?" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> I smiled on the outside. Inside I reflected on how terrible I really felt. This past month a multitude of </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">small incidents seemed to conspire against me. I felt so frustrated with myself as I go through the daily grind of life. I feel like I'm going nowhere, that all this effort I put into making a better future is hopeless. I don't remember what the epicenter of this quake of misery was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just feel the aftershocks. I looked into the eyes of my friends, with a feeling that they would not understand especially since I don't completely understand. Nobody likes a whiner.</span><br />
I took a sip of iced tea and said, "I'm doing good."</div>MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-41270979712410024992012-02-12T17:11:00.000-08:002012-02-12T18:00:56.616-08:00Things You Shouldn't Write on a Card<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-knhsPUbzucs/TzhGPLeGr3I/AAAAAAAAAXc/OFb-PVKlr0U/s1600/valetinebear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" sda="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-knhsPUbzucs/TzhGPLeGr3I/AAAAAAAAAXc/OFb-PVKlr0U/s200/valetinebear.jpg" title="Teddy Bear Reading Card" width="200" /></a><br />
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Ah, Valentines Day, the official day of material affection. Numerous cards, flowers, and chocolates are exchanged between sweethearts on this day and many people find it a swell time to get engaged or married. Commercials and ads are in full swing suggesting that their product will be the best gift for your valentine.</div>
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What I find unappealing about this whole charade is how unoriginal it all is. It's like one giant cliché in a 24-hour period. There are 324 other days that are probably way more meaningful to you and that special someone than February the 14th. Aside from everyone deciding to be especially affectionate on the same day, they are all doing it the same way: Roses, chocolate, balloons, teddy bears, hearts, cupids, red and pink everywhere, ect. Bleh</div>
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However, if you <em>must </em>do something on Valentines Day, please try to put your own twist on it. Cards are the easiest things that can be very personal. You can hand make them and write what ever you desire. There is an art to card writing. A good card is brief, poetic, personal, and heartwarming. I've written up a few examples of what you shouldn't write in a card.: </div>
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span>Sweet heart, you are so lucky to be my Valentine.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span>Roses are red . . . you know the rest</div>
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span>We are meant for each other, like a criminal in prison.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span>There are a lot of fish in the ocean but you aren't a fish. You're more like a really awesome dog.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span>I almost forgot to send this card, but my e-calendar reminds me of these little things.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span>You are the most beautiful person, on the outside.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span>I believe that love is the romanticization of the chemical reaction responsible for the procreation of our species. I would be delusional if I said I love you, but I truly want to procreate with you.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span>You are worth a lot to me, especially your wallet</div>
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span>I owe all my joy to you and $5 for this card and the chocolates</div>
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span>I'm not inspired enough to write this card myself, that is why I bought a pre written Hallmark card to express how much I care for you.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span>Love is definitely blind</div>
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Any ways, on a serious note, your card, for whatever holiday would mean a lot more to someone the more personal it is. If you're reading my blog you more or less likely to be a writer/ poet so this shouldn't be so hard. Write up a memory of when you first met or a poem or if you're more artistically inclined draw something. Make it something that only you can do and means something to the other person. Sometimes the best gift is you. Spending time together could be worth more than any object.</div>
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Happy Early Valentines Day,</div>
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Mandy Calvin<br />
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Do you have any (appropriate) funny things that shouldn't be in a card? If you do please share them in the comments.</div>MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-10744321284148912982012-01-30T19:01:00.000-08:002012-01-30T19:07:58.061-08:00In the Arctic<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UlMX-U9g5Ck/TydS6Ble35I/AAAAAAAAAXM/hx5Lusy0nMs/s1600/In+the+Arctic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" sda="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UlMX-U9g5Ck/TydS6Ble35I/AAAAAAAAAXM/hx5Lusy0nMs/s1600/In+the+Arctic.jpg" /></a></div>
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I have been watching animal planet a lot recently. Watching the simple life of animals is a refreshing break from action packed, super explosion movies drugged up on special affects. On a few of the animal shows I found myself poking fun at the narration. Some of the things the narrator said were melodramatic and/or cheesy. It really took away from the sincerity of story being filmed. I think there is a lesson in that. When you have story, don't try to force more drama than there is. Let it be, as the Beatles so nicely put it. Tell the story the way it is and it will be more realistic than phony.</div>
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I hope you enjoyed my little comic and I would love for you to check out other comics, poems, and stories on this blog. All comments and constructive criticism are welcome.</div>
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Yours Truly,</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Mandy Calvin</span></div>MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-55512943032850092542012-01-11T20:49:00.000-08:002012-01-21T14:06:29.952-08:00Something out of View<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tilTnQCLGhM/Tw5l6sn3wwI/AAAAAAAAAWw/qzpuyXgciMo/s1600/Out+of+view.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" kba="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tilTnQCLGhM/Tw5l6sn3wwI/AAAAAAAAAWw/qzpuyXgciMo/s200/Out+of+view.jpg" title="What do you see?" width="200" /></a></div>
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I thought I saw something<br />
Glinting in the sunlight<br />
Like an unearthed diamond<br />
Laying there just for me</div>
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I thought I saw something<br />
A shadowy figure<br />
Its eyes seeing the fear<br />
Simmering in my heart</div>
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I thought I saw someone<br />
A familiar face<br />
I longed to see again<br />
Driving their car past me</div>
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But things I thought I saw<br />
Out the edge of my sight<br />
Were not there when I looked<br />
But had they ever been there</div>
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Or only in my mind?</div>
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-1/21/12- Award from the <span style="color: #333333;"><a href="http://promisingpoetsparkinglot.blogspot.com/2012/01/perfect-poets-award-week-60.html">Poetry Palace</a></span></div>
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<a href="http://promisingpoetsparkinglot.blogspot.com/2012/01/perfect-poets-award-week-60.html" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" nfa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizYV2rsKWnSkWKgDqsIf08oJh2QUHI-jy8J_VrgmYaNORaTkYlIqYHWGP5LOUR3RQ1EYLMftlnB1h6qPGbx5DgN7dHFXi0womPNYtDBedNcrC7oz94PUn3wfvlvDM2EZycYaO6eVJDWR9L/s200/perfect+poet+award+week+60.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Colorful feathers</div>
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If I look inside your soul</div>
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is there color too?</div>
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I nominate: <a href="http://iambeingme.com/">iBeingMe</a></div>MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-15948401051379236952011-11-29T17:41:00.001-08:002011-11-30T16:54:10.332-08:00Sometimes We Take Life Too SeriouslySo here's something to make you smile:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/bqj9xrhGpoc" width="420"></iframe></div>
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I don't know if it is possible to actually cheat at blogging, but I feel that I haven't put any effort into this post. <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">However I’ve been strung out lately. So you just have to settle for a p<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">hilosophical title </span>and an adorable talking dog video from YouTube. Goodbye November, hello to December.</span></div>MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-18053828928518199572011-11-24T14:25:00.001-08:002011-11-24T14:47:59.339-08:00Thanks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wjbtzdYVhSY/Ts7EQfvo8XI/AAAAAAAAAWc/URRj0JJpnXc/s1600/Butterfly_Thanks_%2Bpoem_Quill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wjbtzdYVhSY/Ts7EQfvo8XI/AAAAAAAAAWc/URRj0JJpnXc/s200/Butterfly_Thanks_%2Bpoem_Quill.jpg" title="butterfly" width="200" /></a></div>
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If we were to never give thanks</div>
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In our hearts or out loud</div>
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We would consume to fill a void</div>
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That’s never satisfied</div>
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There would be no capacity</div>
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Inside our hearts to give</div>
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As we only care to receive</div>
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But not appreciate</div>
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In this state of ungratefulness</div>
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There would be little joy</div>
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In being, in doing, and life</div>
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As it losses value</div>
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With thanks, existence blooms open</div>
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To be all that it can</div>
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With a thankful heart what you have</div>
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Isn’t such a burden.</div>
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Of course, Thanksgiving inspired this poem as I was reflecting on the holiday and what it means. I want to wish all of those celebrating the holiday a Happy Thanksgiving. Also I appreciate your comments and constructive criticism.</div>MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-78742215049950654452011-11-13T08:08:00.001-08:002012-01-14T18:43:56.169-08:00Black Friday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uutHpu5istc/TsAsEG3yBiI/AAAAAAAAAWI/Hr5hDgsn0Nc/s1600/Black_Friday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" nda="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uutHpu5istc/TsAsEG3yBiI/AAAAAAAAAWI/Hr5hDgsn0Nc/s200/Black_Friday.jpg" title="Shopping" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Today I will be doing a fictional short short story inspired by Alana's writing prompt on <a href="http://writercize.blogspot.com/">Writercize</a> (awesome blog full of writing exercises). The prompt:</span><br />
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writercize #129: "Create a dialogue centered around a question of ownership."</div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">We are a consuming nation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We buy stuff we want, we need, and we get just because someone else has that same thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then there’s Black Friday. It's the single biggest day of low price sales. However shoppers swarm to the stores like all the items were free. Normally I just spend the day after Thanksgiving resting and eating leftovers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So how do I find myself sitting in the car in the wee hours of the morning on November 25th, driving loops in a parking lot?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of all the people in the world, my boyfriend caught the Black Friday Fever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were sitting together on the couch at his house earlier in the week and he said, “Cindy, I’m thinking about buying myself a new television set.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I nodded affirmatively unaware of where the conversation was leading.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He carefully mentioned he knew of a great Black Friday sale on HD flat screens and DVD players.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said it wasn’t a good idea, he artfully argued that I should come along with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">We eventually found a parking space at the far edge of the lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We trekked across the whole parking lot to the department store entrance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Passing the threshold of the automatic doors I was greeted with a roar of concentrated murmuring of the masses of people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being in the store I was suddenly grasped by a state of urgency by looking into the eyes of other shoppers rushing around with baskets of stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My boyfriend seemed completely in his element with a determined look on his face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">We decided to split up. He went to the electronics section while I browsed the women’s clothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to admit, the prices were very appealing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I soon found myself with a handful of blouses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was searching through a rack of jeans slashed to the tempting price of five dollars and ninety-nine cents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found an adorable pair that was my size.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lifted the hanger off the bar, but there was a resistance keeping me from pulling them off the rack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw a hand grasping it on the other side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked over the top of the rack and my eyes met with another woman’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Neither of us was letting go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I smiled faintly, “excuse me.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Excuse yourself,” the other woman scoffed and pulled.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I realize this is an awkward situation but that doesn’t mean you have to be rude.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Whatever, why don’t you go get yourself some other jeans.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“This is the only pair left on this rack that are my size.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“This is my size too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, you might do better by trying a size larger.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I beg your pardon!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Quick being such a stick in the mud and let go of the jeans.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked over at her cart.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“You already have a lot of items, I’m sure you can do without one pair of jeans.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Their mine, I found them first.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“No, I found them first.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She gave the jeans a jerk, which I returned with a pull. Another older shopper had overheard us and commented, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Ladies, where are you manners?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“This is none of your business,” the other woman snapped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other shopper quickly withdrew from us, her sensibilities insulted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sighed and let go of the jeans.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">“You can lose yourself over a pair of jeans.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other woman gave me a glare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the jeans she pushed her cart-full of loot away.</span></div>MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-85341035851102877592011-10-31T12:35:00.000-07:002011-11-01T14:35:36.768-07:00Wing It: Halloween<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DzW9dxZ13iM/TrBljMRFtnI/AAAAAAAAAVw/klDStrwqop4/s1600/Wing_It_Halloween.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ida="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DzW9dxZ13iM/TrBljMRFtnI/AAAAAAAAAVw/klDStrwqop4/s1600/Wing_It_Halloween.jpg" /></a></div>
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Happy Halloween!</div>MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-41278638837982319262011-10-28T17:53:00.000-07:002011-10-28T17:53:11.928-07:00Lost In the Message<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s8ROf2hG-98/TqdeYc3Ea-I/AAAAAAAAAVI/ekBGYihULGc/s1600/Lost+in+the+message+essay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" ida="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s8ROf2hG-98/TqdeYc3Ea-I/AAAAAAAAAVI/ekBGYihULGc/s200/Lost+in+the+message+essay.jpg" title="Lost In the Message" width="200" /></a></div>
When writing fiction, tell a story, do not try to convince a moral, political, or philosophical view to the reader. I've always felt conflicted with this piece of advice. There is hardly a piece of quality writing without an idea being pushed. When we get down to it isn't that all what books are, thoughts? Like other aspiring writers, I imagine how my imaginary best-selling novel will affect the hearts and minds of my readers in my dreamy little head. On a not too distant cloud is getting published and other generic writer fantasies, that others would find utterly drab. So idealistic Mandy sets her goals high and aims to change the world with her fantastic writing. Then she looks down for a moment and sees that piece of advice mentioned in the first sentence and begins to get concerned.<br />
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Just recently it dawned upon me what this chunk of advice was saying. I was convinced that it was suggesting that a story shouldn't express a point of view or share some sort of moral. However, this is not what it meant. It meant that during the writing process don't try to bog down the plot with lecturing prose or skewing the dynamics of your story just to make it fit for some nice philosophy. Write the story and the rest will follow. I was listening to speaker once who brushed over this subject. She suggested that if you are so intent to get your idea across, write and essay instead. By trying to argue a point through a story you can be weighing it down instead of developing it into something spectacular like the way you see it.<br />
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A story needs to speak to the heart of the reader, and the way of doing that is through its characters and a plot. The characters in your story may well experience conflicts and their solution to the conflict may express a wonderful message: don't do drugs, persevere, love overcomes all, politicians have no soul, the key to happiness is within you, ect.. That's great because that message is being shown and not simply told. I believe a powerful message can be artfully implemented into a story. Just don't get so caught up in a message that you forget about the story. <br />
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<em>Have you ever heard similar advice? What do you think of it?</em>MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-64582582439833768442011-10-13T19:53:00.000-07:002011-10-13T19:53:35.273-07:00A Broken Zipper<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RCdz504nN7I/TpeiMUDUW7I/AAAAAAAAAU8/fAFFFSHQw78/s1600/Zipper_poem.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" oda="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RCdz504nN7I/TpeiMUDUW7I/AAAAAAAAAU8/fAFFFSHQw78/s200/Zipper_poem.jpg" title="zipper" width="200" /></a></div>
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<br />
Oh how the day was long and hard</div>
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Just now had I time to reflect</div>
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As I returned inside my home</div>
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Away from those autumn breezes</div>
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I dropped my bag beside my desk</div>
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and went to the nearby closet</div>
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I pulled on my jacket's zipper </div>
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Only to have it jam and stop</div>
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Getting hotter, already tired</div>
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I threw a fit on my zipper</div>
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Grumbling my full contempt</div>
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Under my breath to no one else</div>
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I moved it up, I moved it down</div>
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Never the less it moved no more </div>
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Than past an inch down from the top </div>
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Leaving me jailed, in my jacket</div>
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I stared at my zipper, still stuck</div>
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But the rage was easing away</div>
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I stared and stared and stared some more</div>
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Until with my two hands I reached</div>
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To the bottom of my jacket</div>
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And pulled it off over my head</div>
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<br /></div>
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Oh what a fuss over nothing</div>MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-56349613557480104242011-09-30T14:32:00.000-07:002011-10-02T14:48:51.417-07:00Obscure<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ndJ1NFrRx_8/TojXiCPEs7I/AAAAAAAAAU4/UOoFMtxlYmE/s1600/Wing_it_obscure.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kca="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ndJ1NFrRx_8/TojXiCPEs7I/AAAAAAAAAU4/UOoFMtxlYmE/s1600/Wing_it_obscure.jpg" title="Wing It: Obscure" /></a></div>
MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-21744692117586284702011-09-18T07:22:00.000-07:002011-09-18T07:22:11.003-07:00Collegiate Foothills<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LbIqij0LXlA/TnV3JGSeFsI/AAAAAAAAAUs/avYkqb7-3yc/s1600/Collegiate+Foothills.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" rba="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LbIqij0LXlA/TnV3JGSeFsI/AAAAAAAAAUs/avYkqb7-3yc/s200/Collegiate+Foothills.jpg" title="books on a bookshelf" width="200" /></a></div>
For the aspiring writer, there are many valleys and hills and other landscape metaphors that he must cross. One decision he must make is the route he plans to take in his formal education: what college and what major. Is it worth the investment of time and money to study creative writing in college? do you need to? So let's look at successful writers and their decisions about their education:<br />
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</div>
<ul>
<li>Ray Bradbury: His formal education never went farther than his high school diploma.</li>
</ul>
<br />
<ul>
<li>Dan Brown: He graduated from Phillips Exeter, his high school, and continued into Amherst college.</li>
</ul>
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<ul>
<li>Meg Cabot: She attended Indiana University. She made a point not to study writing there because a young man, whom would later become her husband, said that, "studying creative writing as a major sucks the love of writing out of you ". Taking his advice she studied studio art instead, however she did take a few workshops in creative writing.</li>
</ul>
<br />
<ul>
<li>John Grogan: Went to Central Michigan University and graduated with a double major in English and Journalism.</li>
</ul>
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<ul>
<li>Daniel Keyes: After he finished his service in the U.S. Maritime Service, he Graduated from Brooklyn college with a B.A. in Psychology. </li>
</ul>
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<ul>
<li>Stephen King: Graduated from the University of Maine with a bachelors in English. He wrote a weekly column for his college newspaper while he studied there.</li>
</ul>
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<ul>
<li>Jean Kwok: After moving to America from Hong Kong, Jean attended Harvard and graduated with honors in English and American Literature. She went on to get a masters in fine arts at Columbia.</li>
</ul>
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<ul>
<li>Stephenie Meyer: Graduated from Brigham University in Utah with a bachelors in English.</li>
</ul>
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<ul>
<li>Jodi Picoult: Studied Creative writing at Princeton, then continued to get a masters in education at Harvard.</li>
</ul>
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<ul>
<li>Nicolas Sparks: He graduated from his high school as valedictorian. Then he went to Notre Dame on a track scholarship and majored in Business finance.</li>
</ul>
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<div>
Of course, there are many more writers, but from the lot we have there is an array of stories. However, English seems to be the most popular. Though school and learning the technicalities of writing is important, learning through life is even more important. Even in the strangest fiction, life is the basic subject matter. (I already wrote about learning through life in my post <a href="http://takeupinkandquill.blogspot.com/2010/10/education.html">An Education</a>). Ray Bradbury, mentioned above, is very adamant about this also calling himself a "student of life". Yet you can be a student of life and a student of the book simultaniously. It's just that the value of learning from what's around you is often overlooked.</div>
No writer is the same as they come from so many different types of backgrounds. What you choose in your education will affect that. In the end, I believe it doesn't matter what you get your degree in, so long as it's something you enjoy and if possible practical. Because you do need some means to pay for your writing habit. The diploma on the wall, whatever it may be, won't get you published. It's the things you learn and apply to your writing that will.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><u>References</u>:</span><br />
<a href="http://www.stephenking.com/the_author.html"><span style="font-size: x-small;">http://www.stephenking.com/the_author.html</span></a><br />
<a href="http://www.stepheniemeyer.com/bio.html"><span style="font-size: x-small;">http://www.stepheniemeyer.com/bio.html</span></a><br />
<a href="http://www.nicholassparks.com/AboutNicholas.asp?PageID=1"><span style="font-size: x-small;">http://www.nicholassparks.com/AboutNicholas.asp?PageID=1</span></a><br />
<a href="http://www.megcabot.com/about-meg-cabot/frequently-asked-questions-about-meg-cabot/#college"><span style="font-size: x-small;">http://www.megcabot.com/about-meg-cabot/frequently-asked-questions-about-meg-cabot/#college</span></a><br />
<a href="http://www.jodipicoult.com/JodiPicoult.html#kudos"><span style="font-size: x-small;">http://www.jodipicoult.com/JodiPicoult.html#kudos</span></a><br />
<a href="http://www.raybradbury.com/bio.html"><span style="font-size: x-small;">http://www.raybradbury.com/bio.html</span></a><br />
<a href="http://www.danbrown.com/"><span style="font-size: x-small;">http://www.danbrown.com/</span></a><br />
<a href="http://www.jeankwok.com/author.shtml"><span style="font-size: x-small;">http://www.jeankwok.com/author.shtml</span></a><br />
<a href="http://www.johngroganbooks.com/marley/about.html"><span style="font-size: x-small;">http://www.johngroganbooks.com/marley/about.html</span></a><br />
<a href="http://www.danielkeyesauthor.com/dksbio.html"><span style="font-size: x-small;">http://www.danielkeyesauthor.com/dksbio.html</span></a>MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-56488692137578836392011-09-05T08:56:00.000-07:002011-09-05T12:02:54.148-07:00Fur, Feathers,and Shells<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PTHI8GokweI/TmRA9y9Sc2I/AAAAAAAAAUc/JbjOGNTzhmE/s1600/Zoo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" nba="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PTHI8GokweI/TmRA9y9Sc2I/AAAAAAAAAUc/JbjOGNTzhmE/s200/Zoo.jpg" title="toy zoo" width="200" /></a></div>
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<u>Fur, Feathers, and Shells</u></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">by: Mandy Calvin</span></div>
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What if the world became a zoo,</div>
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A place were one could just observe</div>
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The different types of people and</div>
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The secret thoughts that they reserve</div>
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The feathered birds that strut about</div>
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Might not spend their whole day to preen</div>
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If it was not for their conceit</div>
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That demands that they be clean</div>
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The shy turtles that spend their days</div>
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Inside the hollows of their shells</div>
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May for a time poke out their head</div>
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And look around to sniff the smells</div>
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The bear, mighty and strong with claws</div>
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Able to rip their prey to shreds </div>
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Is there a softer side to them</div>
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As cubs frolic in river beds</div>
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Search past the fur, feathers, and shells </div>
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And find things that we never knew</div>
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But every thing cannot be seen </div>
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Still if the world became a zoo</div>
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<br /></div>
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This is my 50th post and I want to take a moment to thank everyone who has commented and supported me in writing this blog. This is quite a milestone for me, and I am pretty sure that I'll be passing many more in the future, but I'm very proud of how far this blog has come since it began. So again thank you all for your love and support, it's helped motivate me as blogger, a writer, and a person.</div>
MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-88361192958891003142011-08-21T13:30:00.000-07:002011-08-21T13:30:08.832-07:00Shoes with Toes and Writing Prose<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZkomQc_QGfg/TlFdkjD0YtI/AAAAAAAAAUU/givmL04Y56k/s1600/Shoes_with_toes_and.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" qaa="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZkomQc_QGfg/TlFdkjD0YtI/AAAAAAAAAUU/givmL04Y56k/s200/Shoes_with_toes_and.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
So the other day I was at a friend's house and we were eating lunch. I happen to glance under the kitchen table to see her wearing the oddest pair of tennis shoes I ever saw. The shoes looked like a pair of water shoes but molded to the shape of her foot, toes and all. I immediately questioned her about them. She smiled and casually explained they were the latest in running shoe apparel. My friend is a dedicated morning jogger and fitness fanatic, so she's into that type of stuff. Yet, I still don't know why she was wearing them in the kitchen. She continued to give me a sales pitch about her foot's fashion statement. The regular tennis shoe, though is soft on the feet, isn't very soft on joints in your hips and knees. See, the human foot in biologically designed to run and support our body and absorb shock instead of our hips and joints. The regular tennis shoe inhibits the foot from doing what it does naturally and it causes unnecessary wear and tear on joints and hips. With this new design it's like running bare foot, but better. That's what she said anyways.<br />
So how did I apply the mechanics of the shoe to writing? Ever writer has a voice in which they share their ideas, whether that be through poetry or prose. Some would call it a person's writing style but I prefer to call it a writing voice. No one can tell you what you voice is like and it doesn't appear on demand once you begin the road to being a writer. You alone must spend the large amount of time strengthening your voice. It's frustrating.<br />
The worst mistake a new writer can make is copy another writer's unique style. It doesn't work because that's not their voice. In the end they just mix up their writing into gibberish and their writing was worse than it was before. Studying another author's voice and mimicking it are two separate things. So like the way the shoe conforms to the natural shape of the foot so must a person's writing conform to their natural style and not someone else's.<br />
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Have you ever mimicked another author's voice? How did that go? Have you ever worn these strange shoes with toes? My next post is going to be my 50th post. Are there any ideas of something special I can do?MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-9413797266206243762011-08-11T09:10:00.000-07:002011-08-11T09:10:24.557-07:00Writing a Novel is Like a Novel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LrKxCNPZC50/TkHnGHnT1wI/AAAAAAAAAUM/Bov41hFbpe0/s1600/Writing+a+novel+is+like+a+novel.jpg" imageanchor="1" title="Writing a Novel is Like a Novel" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" naa="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LrKxCNPZC50/TkHnGHnT1wI/AAAAAAAAAUM/Bov41hFbpe0/s1600/Writing+a+novel+is+like+a+novel.jpg" /></a></div>
MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9058624562224772474.post-41267494247854434432011-08-01T22:24:00.000-07:002011-09-26T18:13:17.683-07:00Throwing Away Heart<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-djKZ4VfuVOw/TjcKsUWJbNI/AAAAAAAAAT8/FtQFvt09uDQ/s1600/Heart_pins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-djKZ4VfuVOw/TjcKsUWJbNI/AAAAAAAAAT8/FtQFvt09uDQ/s200/Heart_pins.jpg" t$="true" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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There is some trouble in the near distance</div>
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The assault can be seen coming your way</div>
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Eyes are searching for the guilty to blame</div>
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Feeling the shame, you deny it away</div>
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There have been many mistakes on your part</div>
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But the things done are not so worrisome</div>
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As admitting it to yourself or others</div>
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You rather degrade another to scum</div>
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When they aren’t enough you use you own self</div>
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The fire of self-deceit grows within</div>
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And starts feverishly consuming you</div>
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Using who you are to cover its skin</div>
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It takes your slightest flaws and grows them tall</div>
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And they become martyrs of your failure</div>
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You hold yourself liable for nothing</div>
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Because you can’t help your human nature</div>
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As you stoop lower for any excuse</div>
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You start to do what you aimed to avoid</div>
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The justifications start to become truths</div>
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And confidence crumbles and is destroyed<br />
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<a href="http://promisingpoetsparkinglot.blogspot.com/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxkwvuTWCoGtOuRZJWxYjcNa-oHgug3CzVjWi43DnpAcpGVFHannxcSKAXxlsJaZdlEEVnixwltdwSsi8T7nA4GpIQU6aaGd3gheDxCaAleWSxpsRmPZKlvCgt60K_d9nRoVvDHh-UDtfP/s200/week+52.aspx" title="The Poetry Palace " width="200" /></a></div>
Troubles on my heart<br />
Erodoing the place they sit<br />
My chest tears apart<br />
<br />
I nominate <a href="http://ectorward.wordpress.com/">Ector Ward</a></div>
MChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14485627951969730089noreply@blogger.com20