Hello dear blog-o-sphere. More and more, I've been thinking of how I'd like to blog more, but not just that - how I'd like to blog about more. I love writing movie reviews, but I think it's time to expand. In the future, I'd like to fill this blog with a variety of different kinds of entries: journal-style posts, creative pieces, philosophical or even political thoughts... basically, I'd like to open this up for more of an "anything goes" kind of publishing. I'm not sure how well I'll carry through with this, but it's important for me to get this out there so I can feel free to put up any kind of entry I like.
I've been in a bit of a funky mood today. My family just got back from a trip to the mountains, and I'm feeling the time-crunch before school starts. Basically, I've got this week, then next Tuesday I'm off to Canada for 7 days for my cousin Marie's wedding, and then 2 days after that, I will be moving into my dorm. In my mind, this day, August 20, is D-Day. It's when my life ends - I mean changes. When life-as-I-know-it ends. I dunno, this move to college just feels SO big that, wrapped up with the general gloom that summer is ending, it all feels a bit daunting right now.
But that's not what I want to spend the entire post talking about. I was inspired, this afternoon, to pull out a book I haven't looked at in a long time. It's called The Writer's Book of Matches - and it includes 1001 short and simple prompts to get you writing. Random things, either scenes or quotes that are meant to get your brain moving. Example: A reclusive young woman sets out to conquer her phobias. Or in quote form "That is the biggest bird I have ever seen." Anyway, I just wanted to get my mind off things today, so I sat down with one of the prompts and wrote a bit. I thought I'd put it out in the world, just so I have something to do with it. Enjoy!
I glared at Timothy as he lowered his paintbrush and wiped his hands carefully on the rag he kept tucked into his belt. For several months now, I had put up with the steadily-growing group of goddesses his studio featured more and more. All of them seemed to stare at me now, wondering how I dared to invite such a comparison.
When I had first met him, Timothy Smithson had been busy painting landscapes. Flowers, fields, sunshine… all that lovely nature stuff. I thought it was sweet, but a bit boring. Now, I’d give anything to see a bit of grass instead of the gorgeous women that seemed to challenge me from all sides.
He always talked about the changes he wanted to make in each picture, how each should be improved. Over time, they did seem to be evolving, almost turning into woman gorgeous superwoman. I never knew what he was trying for, but over time, I began to understand that it must be his idea of the perfect woman.
“Answer me, damnit!” I cried.
“Julie, the women that I paint aren’t your competition,” he chewed the words around carefully before speaking.
“You spend 8-hours a day in this attic, working with these muses of yours… Refining the shape of their bodies, their lips, their eyelashes. How do you expect me to feel?” He knew it was a rhetorical question. “I feel like I don’t even know you lately,” I said with a frown.
“You don’t understand--” he started, but I cut him off.
“And what was with last night?”
It was our third anniversary. We had reservations at Le Petite Diamant, a nice and fancy restaurant downtown. I had spent hours getting ready; he barely made it out the door on time. Over wine and appetizers, we began reminiscing, a sweet conversation for an anniversary.
But then he had become distant, his eyes slightly unfocused, until he scrambled for the scrap of paper and charcoal pencil that he always kept with him. He sketched quietly for a moment, while I took the time to peer carefully over my shoulder.
As I looked back at Tim, I carefully glimpsed his sketch, of a face that was already taking shape, a face that looked familiar. In fact, it looked an awful lot like the likely-model behind me. I had made it through the rest of dinner that night, but barely.
“Last night,” he echoed, lamely.
“You couldn’t stop admiring the other women around us long enough to look at me!”
He frowned, but it wasn’t a look of guilt, but rather one of confusion.
“Jules…” he began. He shook his head slightly.
"I wasn't painting any women from the restaurant," he shook his head again, but didn’t say any more. I let the silence grow for a moment.
“I didn’t mean for it to be like this,” he finally said.
“Like what?” I snapped.
It was like looking into a mirror. Each of my features had been replicated perfectly. My hazel eyes seemed to glint in the unseen light source. My too-thin lips turned upward in a slight smile. My shoulders were set in a determined stance.
“Wha?” was all I could manage, unable to pull my eyes away from the portrait of myself.
There was a fumbling noise from behind me, and as I turned to see what it was, an astonishing sight met my eyes.
“Jules, it’s all been about you. I knew I could never call myself an artist unless I could paint - truly paint - the person in this world who mattered most to me.”
I swayed a little bit, reaching out to steady myself on the table next to me.
“Julie Henderson," he said in a strong voice, "Will you marry me?”
Well, that's about it from me. On a final note, I want to share with you a website I spent some time last week creating. It's basically a collection of my favorite photos - pictures of various parts of my life, my travels, my family, etc. It can be found here. Please enjoy.
Hope your day is cheerier than mine. Cheers.
---
“Go ahead, compare me to your life’s work.
Just once I’d like to know where I stand.”
I glared at Timothy as he lowered his paintbrush and wiped his hands carefully on the rag he kept tucked into his belt. For several months now, I had put up with the steadily-growing group of goddesses his studio featured more and more. All of them seemed to stare at me now, wondering how I dared to invite such a comparison.
When I had first met him, Timothy Smithson had been busy painting landscapes. Flowers, fields, sunshine… all that lovely nature stuff. I thought it was sweet, but a bit boring. Now, I’d give anything to see a bit of grass instead of the gorgeous women that seemed to challenge me from all sides.
He always talked about the changes he wanted to make in each picture, how each should be improved. Over time, they did seem to be evolving, almost turning into woman gorgeous superwoman. I never knew what he was trying for, but over time, I began to understand that it must be his idea of the perfect woman.
“Answer me, damnit!” I cried.
“Julie, the women that I paint aren’t your competition,” he chewed the words around carefully before speaking.
“You spend 8-hours a day in this attic, working with these muses of yours… Refining the shape of their bodies, their lips, their eyelashes. How do you expect me to feel?” He knew it was a rhetorical question. “I feel like I don’t even know you lately,” I said with a frown.
“You don’t understand--” he started, but I cut him off.
“And what was with last night?”
It was our third anniversary. We had reservations at Le Petite Diamant, a nice and fancy restaurant downtown. I had spent hours getting ready; he barely made it out the door on time. Over wine and appetizers, we began reminiscing, a sweet conversation for an anniversary.
But then he had become distant, his eyes slightly unfocused, until he scrambled for the scrap of paper and charcoal pencil that he always kept with him. He sketched quietly for a moment, while I took the time to peer carefully over my shoulder.
At the table directly behind us, a beautiful woman sat. You know, the kind that has probably been on a magazine cover at some point in her life? Perfect model features; the perfectly pouting lips, the perfectly flirty eyes; the perfectly fitting dress.
As I looked back at Tim, I carefully glimpsed his sketch, of a face that was already taking shape, a face that looked familiar. In fact, it looked an awful lot like the likely-model behind me. I had made it through the rest of dinner that night, but barely.
“Last night,” he echoed, lamely.
“You couldn’t stop admiring the other women around us long enough to look at me!”
He frowned, but it wasn’t a look of guilt, but rather one of confusion.
“Jules…” he began. He shook his head slightly.
“And then you just had to rush home to paint the bimbo sitting behind us. Never mind that I’m left downstairs on a friday night, on our the night of our anniversary, all alone!”
"I wasn't painting any women from the restaurant," he shook his head again, but didn’t say any more. I let the silence grow for a moment.
“I didn’t mean for it to be like this,” he finally said.
“Like what?” I snapped.
Without saying anything, he turned his easel around.
It was like looking into a mirror. Each of my features had been replicated perfectly. My hazel eyes seemed to glint in the unseen light source. My too-thin lips turned upward in a slight smile. My shoulders were set in a determined stance.
“Wha?” was all I could manage, unable to pull my eyes away from the portrait of myself.
There was a fumbling noise from behind me, and as I turned to see what it was, an astonishing sight met my eyes.
Tim was standing with his palm outstretched, gently cupping a ring. A ring! A diamond ring! My brain raced to catch up with the events happening around me.
“Jules, it’s all been about you. I knew I could never call myself an artist unless I could paint - truly paint - the person in this world who mattered most to me.”
I swayed a little bit, reaching out to steady myself on the table next to me.
“Julie Henderson," he said in a strong voice, "Will you marry me?”
---
Haha, I guess I must have weddings on the mind. But anyway, it was just for fun. It was interesting seeing how the little prompt grabbed me and started sparking thoughts, the way my mind kept adding layers until I had a miniature story. I think I'm going to try using more of these prompts whenever I have some free time and feel like writing. It's a nice exercise for the creative mind I want to develop.
Well, that's about it from me. On a final note, I want to share with you a website I spent some time last week creating. It's basically a collection of my favorite photos - pictures of various parts of my life, my travels, my family, etc. It can be found here. Please enjoy.
Hope your day is cheerier than mine. Cheers.
3 comments:
Laura.... you need to write more!
That story is awesome!
This being your blog, you can write whatever the hell you like, for whatever reason motivates you! Your readers will soak it all up, because as much as we love your movie reviews or your short stories or your random thoughts, that content isn't really why we're here. We're reading your blog to learn about you, really. Each movie review is an insight into your mind, but its only a small window. The more you write and the broader and more varying topics you write about, the more windows we get and the more we learn. We learn about you, about the movies you like and dislike (and more importantly, WHY), and in turn I think we learn a little about ourselves.....
... or maybe that's just me. 0_o
More please!! I have a feeling that in the not to distant future you will make the same announcement Andy has.
Nice story, Laura. It IS fun to take just random snippets of ideas and then turn it into whatever you want. (My creative writing professor had us do that all the time. He always said that truth was stranger than fiction.)
Keep on writing!
Post a Comment