You are the star keeper. In your bag you have your tools which is nothing more than a paint brush and your star ink.
Your job is to roam the earth and witness stories befitting to be written in the stars.
Tag: fantasywriting
Writing Prompt: The Lavender Field Murders
A group of children who were playing in the town’s most expansive lavender field stumble across a body…and then another…and another. Turns out there are tons of corpses left in this field all with varying levels of decay. Whoever was responsible for these killings left the evidence in the lavender field where the smell would be covered by the sweet scent of flowers. Tell me about the Lavender Field Killings and who was responsible.
Evening Poems: Mending
Here comes the rain,
An ice cold shower,
Clouds that rumble
And hold grey power.
Here comes the rain,
Can you feel the chill?
As water and light,
From the clouds spill.
Rain on earth
Earth in air,
This is your paradise,
A world so fair.
Rain begins to heal,
As a heart begins to mend.
There is only rain drops
In their slow descend.
Perks of being a Writer
There are a lot of reasons I love writing. The expression, the escapism, the feeling of improving your craft just to name a few. But sometimes I can lose sight of these things. I place a lot of pressure on myself to perform well at many tasks in my day to day life. School, work, and anything in between. As a result, sometimes I exert this pressure upon myself when it comes to writing. On my bad days, I can sometimes lose sight of why I love doing this. So I composed a little list, more for myself than anything, of reasons I love the art form of putting your thoughts in pen.
Your work will outlive you and you leave something behind.
Not to be a wet blanket or anything, but sometimes I think about how long the world has been around and how very brief my existence is in it. It just puts things in perspective. But the thought that maybe someone years after I’m gone could stumble across any of my work and feel connection, makes me feel sunny inside.
You get the joy of exploring ideas and concepts without being bound to reality.
Reality can be a bit of a downer. This probably can go into the same category of escapism. Sometimes It’s nice to “play God” a little in your world and not be bound by the laws that actually govern you in the real world. You have freedom to explore whatever you wish.
You get to explore parts of yourself that you probably didn’t know.
I figured this out the more I started writing vent poetry that will never see the light of day. But I did find it very therapeutic and it helped me work through stuff and vocalize certain parts of myself that wouldn’t have gotten otherwise. Something about putting your thoughts in rhyme makes it almost fun and digestible even if the part of me the piece represents isn’t my favorite to look at.
You have the ability to touch people through your work.
Probably one of the biggest why’s as to why I write. Writing touched me as a young person (specifically during my lonely middle school days). I hope that my work can do the same for someone else, and perhaps make someone out there feel a little less lonely.
Increasing your knowledge of language and how to communicate with people.
English as a subject wasn’t always my favorite. It wasn’t terrible, don’t get me wrong, but I found I liked it much more in practice than when its broken down into rules and definitions. But one thing I did find and the more I wrote and read, the easier this subject got. Probably because English, like most all languages, is easier to learn in practice and the more you toy around with it.
You can live hundreds of lives.
Coming back ’round to the mortality thing, there are many things I will not get to experience. But writing offers me a little window into the many lives I will never truly live and I think that’s really special.
It doesn’t really cost you anything.
As a broke college student, this is a MARVELOUS perk. A healthy hobby that doesn’t dost anything is invaluable.
You can write for a long, long time.
A wonderful thought is that I can write all through my life. It is something that, If I want it to be, can be a constant in my life. I am not bound by the physical tax that puts an expiration date on many hobbies. I can write well into my older years, and that comforts me more and more with each passing year.
Evening Poems: Wisdom In The Thicket
Deep in thicket
In the dark of the wood
Next to a oak
That has long withstood,
Sits an old fox,
Tail bushy and red
With scars suggesting
He should have long been dead.
Talk to the Fox,
He answers one question each,
In hopes that wisdom
He will pass and teach.
Why do we die?
She was first to ask.
The Fox cocked his head,
For this was no easy task.
We pass on, for this is not our home.
Why linger in the darkness of a tomb?
We were made to be many things,
Child, you see,
But comfortable is not one of them.
For against our very nature,
To stay and simply be.
Why then care at all?
The boy said.
He was smaller with brown eyes,
A hair of dark red.
The Fox smiled
A kind toothy grin.
I think that is an answer,
That you find within.
Writing Prompt: Mirror Maze
You attend a carnival with your friends only to find yourself left alone as they each pair up and go on a ride that you weren’t too keen on riding anyway. So, to kill some time, you decide to head on over to the Mirror Maze. However, as you maneuver through the glass, you find that there is no such thing as a “dead end” in this maze. When you misstep and expect yourself the bang into a wall, you fall through the glass, finding the gateway to another world.
Then, unbeknownst to you, your friends come looking for you, also in the Mirror Maze. They make much of the same discovery except for one small problem: they step through completely different mirrors to completely different worlds. Turns out, there are multiple gateways in this mirror maze, and they’re all to easy to fall into. This is, in short, a disaster.
Evening Poems: Trust Fall
Love is like a trust fall
Where someone is allowed to let you fall
For if they dont wanna catch you
You dont want them catching you at all.
You lean into the air
And land upon your back
Too late to back out now
Even though they’ve taken two steps back.
So little surprise-you get the Wind knocked out
You Roll over on your side,
Your Heart is full of doubt
But you close your eyes
And then breath in
Nothing left to do but
Dust yourself off
To get up
And try again.
Evening Poems: A Realist
I’m the most hopeful pessimist you’ll ever meet
how do I accomplish such a feat?
I wish to see the good in all I meet,
yet expect something dark lurking beneath.
I hope for the best
expect the worst.
hope I won’t be last,
but I don’t expect first.
the world can be cruel, that much is true,
but I couldn’t help but hope for the best in you.
Writing Prompt: Moonchild
You are a moonchild. What does this mean exactly? A lot of trouble, apparently. For every moon phase you take on a different form. These forms make it rather hard to make friends as you are changing bodies on a near regular basis. Tell me about the struggles one might have living 8 different lives yet still being the same person inside.
Evening Poems: Jars of Clay
Sometimes I wish I could keep my thoughts in Jar,
Set it down and examine it from afar.
Thoughts that worry me, locked up tight.
Hidden under my bed, now out of sight.
Ideas that I can save for a rainy day,
Encased in a shell of glass or clay.
Sometimes I wish I could keep my thoughts in a Jar,
So when I feel myself spiraling hard,
I can pluck the darkness from my head,
And place them in a jar instead.
Maybe then I can get some rest.
It’s been awhile, I must confess.
Sometimes I wish I could keep my thoughts in Jar,
The ones that haunt me and continue to scar.
Ones that I’ll take to a cliff so steep.
And throw them far and into the deep.
Only to sink to the ocean floor,
To be forgotten forevermore.
By the Brooke 