the grains of sand drop
one by one
so chaotically perfect
on top of the ever growing mound
careless of things around it
-the state of the world
-the painful beatings of a bruised heart
it’s been said that time heals all wounds
but how can it
when it just keeps going on
allowing those grains of sand to pile up
adding pressure to what’s already damaged
slowly shattering it
not caring about anything else

A few additions grace the Block. Firstly, we finally have member profile pages! You can access those here. The plugin needs a little tweaking, but so far, so good. If you want to edit your profile, you can do this by logging in to your dashboard here.

The registration form, if you are not yet a member, has been updated too. Just a minor change, but it doth rock. You can now set your own password without having to wait for Wordpress’s random password to be emailed to you. This is especially nice if your email isn’t spam friendly.

Other updates are mostly behind the scenes and boring; I won’t go into them, but I will say that the Block will be running much more smoothly because of them. When you are… I mean… When you have a lazy administrator, this is nice.

I will also say that the Block will be neglected no more! More updates, more additions, and (most importantly) more writing!

In the meantime, please enjoy this wonderful advice from one of my favorite writers, Kurt Vonnegut.

Yah, I’m Jess. I’m 22 years old and live in Los Angeles with my boyfriend, Derek. He’s dead sexy. We’ve been together for about five months now. I own Lianhua.nu, which is sadly falling by the wayside because of my new job and classes and general lack of time. I’m working on it, I promise.

I’ve been writing since I was about five years old, and my elementary school had a big school-wide project where we all wrote, illustrated and even bound our own books. I wrote a non-fiction about tigers the first year, and in subsequent years fiction stories about a whale who couldn’t sing, a parakeet who threw a slumber party and Garth Brooks. Ahem. In high school, I decided I wanted to be a journalist, but ended up going to Sarah Lawrence College, where I decided fiction was really where I wanted to go. Eventually, I want to be able to write (fiction as well as screenplays) and translate (from French, Italian and/or Mandarin).

At the moment, though, I work for one of the largest/most-visited sites in the US. You’ve probably used it before, in fact, or at least heard of it. Anyway, I’m one of the codemonkeys. Specifically, I do the CSS/HTML for the frontend of the site. It’s pretty fun. I love my job.

I’m starting a creative writing class focused on writing drama (the good kind, not the evil kind) tonight, so hopefully the fact that I’ll have to finish some assignments will get me into a creative mindset. Or something. And then I’ll end up writing more to put up on WB as a result? I’ve got my fingers crossed.

I’ve got a little poem here that I wrote a couple of years ago as part of an adaptation/modernization of Dante’s La Vita Nuova (”The New Life”). It’s one of seventeen poems that echo the storyline of La Vita Nuova. Enjoy.

III.
i saw you as i walked today
beneath the golden falling leaves
showering around me
shaken from their perches
by a playful, autumn wind.
you caught my glance
as i strolled past
and looked into my eyes,
suddenly my heart was filled
again with that explosion
of rushing, running emotions;
my soul was featherweighted.

and then–
incredible and unexpected–
you reached to me,
your fingertips gently
clasped my sleeve,
halting my steady steps.
smooth, graceful words
swam upon the air
from your mouth,
danced into my ears,
filled my head
with your being.

[[ The guidelines for Fiction Friday can be found here. ]]

Contributors:
None yet.

What is Fiction Friday?
I’m glad you asked!  Fiction Friday is a prompt that the staff puts up on Fridays at 12:01AM (Eastern).

Can I participate?  What do I do?
Anyone can participate!  It’s simple!  All you have to do is to take the given prompt and write whatever you want to - a poem, a story, a haiku, the possibilities are endless! - on your own site.

Do I link The Writer’s Block?
A link back to The Writer’s Block is highly appreciated, but not necessary.

Okay, I wrote my _____ for Fiction Friday, now what?
Reply to the blog containing the prompt and let us know that you participated.  We’ll add you to the links for that prompt so that others can read what you’ve contributed.

That’s it?
Yes, you’re all done!

Do I get anything?
I’m currently thinking of prizes/awards for people that participate in 5, 10,… Fiction Fridays.  Nothing is set in stone yet, besides this is for FUN!

If anyone has any questions, just let me know and I’ll add them in.

I wrote this short story for a contest. Reese, one of the most talented photographers I know, posted pictures. She challenged us to write a short story about one of them. I choose a beautiful photo of a little boy with his hands in his overalls staring up at the camera. If I could find that photo, I’d post a link, but it’s lost out there in cyberspace. Long story short, I won the contest.

I suppose that makes this an alright story.

Mommy Said Goodbye

His azure eyes studied me carefully, tears forming at the sides. Four years old, my little man, and he could understand; he could sense what my husband could not. Mommy wasn’t coming back.

“Where are you going to go?” he asked, his voice quietly screaming. A wind blew from the west, cold and furious, as though autumn was bidding its last farewell. He stuck his tiny hands into his overalls for warmth, but I imagined it was his heart that needed protecting from this cold, not his hands.

“I’m going to be with Grandma Eileen,” I responded. I forced a smile upon my face, cheerful but not quite deceiving enough. He frowned. “I don’t want to leave you,” I said, bending down, facing those furious blue eyes. “I know it will be hard without me, but I need you to be strong for Daddy. He’s going to have a hard time understanding this. I need you to be strong for him.”

“Daddy says you’re sick,” he said, a single tear creating a rivulet down his cheek. “Will Grandma Eileen have medicine for you, Mommy?”

I nodded my head. “Yes; I suppose she will.”

“Who’s going to tuck me in?” he cried, tears flooding now.

“Daddy’s going to do that. He’s going to cut your hamburger, take you for walks, read you stories. He’s going to do all of that now. And, when you’re older, he’ll be there for your first day of school. He’ll be there when you graduate, when you go to college.” Tears stung my eyes now. “Daddy’s going to do everything mommy does.”

“What about you?”

“Well,” I said, pointing towards the sky. His eyes followed, staring oh-so-sadly at the clouds. “I’m going to be there, watching over you, making sure Daddy does things right. You can talk to me whenever you want, but I won’t be able to talk back. But I’ll always be there, right there above the clouds.”

A bird twittered from far away, a signal that brought me out of the clouds and down to earth. “I need you to go inside now,” I said, eying my son, my heart hurting with the pain he would feel in the future. “I need you to go inside and play in your bedroom. Don’t leave your bedroom until Daddy gets you. I’ve already called him. He’s on the way, and I think the police might be coming too. But don’t you leave that bedroom until Daddy says you can. Promise?”

He held three fingers in the air. Scout’s honor. “I promise.”

“Off you go,” I said, turning him towards the house, tapping him on the back as he went. “I love you!” I called out after him. “Don’t you forget that.”

“I love you, Mommy!” he yelled as he entered the house. “Love you lots! Tell Nana Eileen I love her too!”

The front door closed behind him. When I was sure enough time had passed, I brought the gun out of the pocket of my windbreaker. It was heavy, as though it was made to be heavy so that people like me would understand the weight of the situation.

I understood. I understood better than anyone. The cancer had spread. Doctors spoke of it as though it was a family activity. “Together,” they said, “you and your husband and your son will get through this, together.” No. They had lifetimes ahead of them, and I was sentenced to death. Together was not an option.

I put the gun to my head, cocking the hammer as it pressed against my temple. “I love you, Jonathan,” I spoke softly. “Goodbye.”

Untitled
I thought I thought,
But I didn’t think.
I knew I knew,
But I didn’t know.
I know what I thought;
I thought I knew.

Ella sat with her eyes closed and face upturned toward the sun, its rays dancing along her delicate features oblivious to the fact she was no longer capable of feeling its warmth. The light sparkled in her long hair, cascading down her back in soft golden waves that danced slightly as the gentle breeze wafted across the lake, bringing with it a once loved smell of earth and flowers. She inhaled deeply, trying with what was left of her might to find some emotion other than the deep sense of despair and loss that had become her reality.

Tilting her head down she opened her eyes to look at a picture she held in her lap. The couple smiled brilliantly up at her, their arms wrapped around one another in an eternal embrace. It had been taken less than a week ago, when she was a whole person instead of a soulless shell. The familiar feeling of nauseau washed over her as she thought for the millionth time about how he had left her. How his exit from her life had come so abruptly, so coldly. She found herself wishing again that she could turn the clock back just to feel his arms around her, hear him tell her he loved her, be able to listen to his heart with the belief that every beat was dedicated to her. She didn’t try to mask the tears that spilled silently from her eyes and didn’t wipe them away from the photo as they splattered onto it. What was done was done. More importantly, there was no going back.

People were staring and whispering about her but she didn’t care. She didn’t want or need their pity, sympathy, worry… anything they could offer was just meaningless. She shifted her hands and the photo to the side to stare at the crimson stains that took up the majority of the front of what had been her wedding dress. Scenes from what had been meant to be the happiest 24 hours of her life flashed through her mind, concentrating on the horror that took place directly after the wedding. As they had been exiting the church and bird seed was raining upon their heads a stranger had wandered into the crowd and after several loud bangs she found herself on her knees holding her dying new husband mouthing soundless words before staring unseeingly into her eyes.

The who how and why had all been explained but she’d not been able to process any of it. It just didn’t matter, her soul would have died along with his just the same, regardless.

Ella stood up slowly, dropping the photograph that seemed to be from a different lifetime. The coffin had been lowered into the ground but they’d not yet started to cover it with earth. Overcome with a sense of urgency she reached into the deep pocket that had cleverly been hidden in the skirt of her dress and pulled out the knife. The first sound to escape her since his death was to happen before her own. She screamed as she unsheathed the knife, then plunged it into her abdomen and jerked it upwards. Blinking through the tears and sobbing, she stumbled forward a few steps, and with the last of her will threw herself into the hole and clung to the coffin as the peaceful darkness enveloped her.

I currently attend a community college and will have earned my associates degree after the fall semester. After which I plan to then transfer to a nearby university for my bachelor’s degree. I have no idea what I want to do with my life, other than to keep on trekking. I live with my parents, two brothers, two rabbits and two dogs. Sometimes the people in the house are more like animals and the animals are sometimes more human than the people.

Writing on a daily basis, or even on a weekly basis, is something that has not taken priority in my life at the moment. I hope to change this. I have noticed that when I write I often times feel better. Writing is something that allows me to express my emotions, imagination and creativity. It is an outlet I miss.

If it weren’t for writing, I’d be a serial killer.

Hello! My name is Elyse West. I’m your average, lulzy, 20-year-old girl from Indiana. I’m currently attending Davenport University. My major is “Public Safety and Security Management,” but that’s about to change. Come winter semester, I’ll be majoring in the love of my life: English. My concentration will be in writing. Hopefully.

I live at home with my mother, my stepfather, and my zoo: Monty (Saint Bernard), Diddles (Australian Cattle Dog), Wiggles (cat), Pigman (cat), Skrinkles (cat), and Mrs. Pickles (ultra awesome kitten of super fantasticness). I have no job, no boyfriend, no girlfriend, and no life. All of this might sound sad, but it sure does give me time to write!

In honor of Chenoa and Caitlin, who were the first two to post any type of creative writing, I shall end my post with a piece of poetry! Jump if you dare.

What I Am

Brave is what I am,
A warrior in makeup,
I fight to the last.

Strong is what I am,
I do not stray from my path,
I advance onwards.

Kind is what I am,
Charity in human form,
My friends suffer not.

Smart is what I am,
Grand thoughts of those before me
Are what fill my mind.

I am all of these.
I am of great conception.
Life is mine to hold.