Lost Pieces and Inspiration

        I woke up this morning with a plan. Today I am going to compile all of my "train pieces" so that they are in one place (the beautiful notebook that my cousin, Andi gave me for graduation.) From there I was going to rewrite them, add some stronger imagery and better character to the earlier pieces, and possibly write a few more.
      I've written six pieces that I was able to locate this morning. I'm pretty sure they are all on my blog, but if they aren't they will be soon (I plan to start posting all of the writing I did this year that is not up yet.) However, there is a seventh piece that I know that I wrote and that I really liked that I cannot find anywhere. It makes me sad, but I think at this point I will just rewrite it. I still like the concept of the piece and I can probably make it stronger if I write it now as opposed to two o'clock in the morning when I originally wrote it.
      Anyway, I was just on the computer looking through files to find the pieces and I thought I would come explain to everyone who reads this what I am up to today... I don't know why.

     Oh! Now I'm going to rant about the books that I've been given lately that I'm going to be using for inspiration in my writing this summer. :)
      The first is Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg. This book is one that my Creative Writing/AP Literature teacher gave me before school ended. I had borrowed a copy from her but had not been able to finish it before giving it back to her. I love it so far. Natalie Goldberg really has some great things to say about writing. She talks about how important it is to just write and not question your writing (like I just did with the end of this sentence, rewritten about ten times.) I think I am really going to learn a lot and my writing is definitely going to improve from reading this book.
      The next two books are ones that my dad bought me while we were at The Gateway after graduation last week. Unlike the Writing Down the Bones, these two books were picked more to give me inspiration for my writing. I picked them out of the many books on the shelf in Barnes & Noble because I think that they are likely to really help give me something to write about.
     Semantic Antics by Sol Steinmetz is basically a dictionary of how words have changed over time. I'm still reading the introduction, but so far I'm really liking this book. It talks about the different ways that words can change as well. Apparently the different types of changes all of specific names. Honestly, I think it would be really interesting to study, which was not what I expected when I picked this book off the shelf and asked my dad if he would buy it for me. Really, I was just thinking that I would be able to open it, pick a word at random and find a way to write about it. I still plan to do that, even though I will probably get more from it as well.
      The Pocket Muse 2 by Monica Wood was actually recommended to me by my older sister, Wendy, who was with me at the time. I haven't really had time to just look through it yet, but it seems to be a collection of pictures, prompts and tips to inspire writing. I've seen the first book and I've probably flipped through it at B&N before, but I had never really thought about seriously buying it. However, if I like using the second one, I may just have to go find the first one sometime soon.
     I'm really excited about these books. Plus, I think I may be heading to B&N today to look for more. I think it would be a good way to spend my day off, don't you? I could look around at the books for a while and then just sit and write for a while. The idea is sounding more and more appealing to me by the second. After all, what better place for inspiration than a book store?

Since Blogger is being ridiculous and would not let me post this (still isn't, actually,) I'd like to update with the fact that I did spend a significant part of my day at B&N. In fact, I freaked out when I accidentally left my wallet in my car and then ended up spending almost $50. I probably should have left the wallet in the car. However, I'm excited to read Water for Elephants and I'm glad that I finally own my own copy of the miserable thoughts book as well as a couple of others.


Hopefully blogger will let me put this up soon.

Whispers (Another Train Piece)

Before today, I'd never noticed just how often people whisper. Walking through the crowded station, my lone bag hanging from my shoulder, I watch these quiet exchanges.

Sitting on a bench, a young girl leans up to her mother's ear and tells a secret. She laughs and grins as her mother chuckles, amused at her daughter's childish humor.

In a dark corner, two young men stand together, planning something quietly. They look around nervously. One catches my eye and I look away.

A father grabs the arm of one of his rambunctious young boys and whispers harshly in his ear. The boy nods guiltily before going back to his seat to wait for the train, defeated.

Couples are scattered throughout the station. One stands close to a train that is about to leave. He holds her close, whispering what could only be sweet words before they part and she boards the train. He watches longingly as it leaves the station.

Now there is an older woman walking past me. She carries a cell phone in one hand and a brief case in the other. Her quiet words are as rushed as her clicking heels.

My observations are interrupted by the arrival of my own train. I board and sit quietly, looking around at other passengers silently whispering the words of music and books. Some speak quietly to each other.

I take a deep breath and look out the window. My hand comes to rest lightly on the cool glass. "Goodbye," comes my own whisper as the train begins to move.

The Return

It was odd to be back here. Stepping off of the train and looking around the station he remembered the day he left. He could see the bench - which was actually no longer there - where he had left his luggage by accident all those years ago. He imagined the air, heavy with moisture from the rain, that contrasted so much with the warm, bright light that floated in from the windows now.

A decade had passed since he left this place. In that time he had traveled the world. He had been through many jobs before finally discovering one he could settle at. He had met new people and made new friends. He had forgotten and he had forgiven as was his intention when he boarded the train that took him away.

Maybe forgotten wasn't the right word. As he stood, looking around, noting the foreign familiarity of the room, he knew he did not forget. He moved on. He had found a new way to live, but his past hadn't left him. He knew that now.

The sudden appearance of her soft face and dark hair (which was shorter now, he thought) was shocking an expected all at the same time. She had not forgotten either. The look in her eyes as their gazes met proved that to him.

He was shocked by how different she looked. It was as if her sophistication and obvious maturity made her taller, somehow. It made him wonder if they could fix things now. They had both grown up... But that was the point, wasn't it?

As her train arrived and she climbed aboard, giving him one last, familiar smile, he knew that this was their destiny. They had influenced each others' lives as much as they were ever meant to.

He looked forward to the street as he left the station, feeling a kind of relief he hadn't felt in ten years.

The Other Side of the story

Why can't I move? Why can't I force myself from this spot? What is the point of standing here, staring at this train? It's not even the same train that he left on, and yet, I can't leave. I feel like maybe if I stand here long enough he will come back.

We all made our mistakes, but, though I know mine were the worst, shouldn't he be able to forgive me as well? I forgave him I forgot about all the lies, all the hurtful things he said. Why have I not been forgiven? He left me here all by myself without a single clue to where he was going.

A train. Tht's all I knew. He had taken his things and boarded a train. We weren't speaking to each other, I know, but he left. I never expected him to leave. I guess I should have tried to talk to him. Instead of months of silence there could have been words. I know that now. We could have fixed this. He didn't have to leave.

I have been a stone for so long. Maybe that is why he left. I had no remorse. I showed no sorrow for the events that tore us apart. I was cold and distant toward everyone. That didn't do any good. He left on a train and now I am here watching other trains go by. Trying to hold myself together. Trying to prevent the breakdown I know is just under the surface.

I didn't realize before, but without him I am completely alone.

The Platform

     "The world moved on."*
     The words came from a book he remembered reading long ago. Back then, he had thought it sounded cool but put no further thought to it than that.
     Now the words came to him from some dark and unused corner of his mind as he stood on the edge of the platform. His world had certainly moved on. Gone were the days of camaraderie and laughter. Somewhere between all of the words he had said and those he had always wanted, but never could actually say his world, and the separate worlds of all those around him, had moved on.
     He supposed that it must be time to move on as well. Forgive and forget was the phrase that came to his mind. Looking back, he knew that his past would always be a part of him, but maybe, just this once, he could move on without bringing the bitterness with him.
     Sounds of the approaching train reached his ears as he took a deep breath. It really was time to move on, he though, no denying it now.
     When the train came to a stop the man moved toward it, ready to board. He sat watching the platform as the train began to move. He never realized that he had left his luggage behind.


*Credit for this phrase actually goes to The Gunslinger by Stephen King.

Letter to a Season

Dear Summer,
     Though I am sad to see you go, I must admit that I am glad for the return of Fall. I am not saying that Fall is better than you.Don't feel betrayed. I will wait longingly for you once again come winter.
     There is just something about the cool air and the morning light that is better in Fall. I know, I never see your morning light, but you see, Fall gives me reason to.
     Fall colors also make me happy. The turning of the leaves from green to red is a sight quite unlike any other. Your colors are the blue of refreshing waters and the beige of sandy beaches. Don't be upset, I lovey our colors, too. I will be glad to return to them eventually.
     Summer, my time with you has been wonderful. I would not trade being forced awake by the late morning sunshine for anything. I love the warm nights spent in the backyard barbecuing as much as any person.
     I'm sorry, though. It's time for a change. I need to move on with my life and I think Fall is the most reasonable way to do so.

Regretfully,

Madi

Water Bottle

It is the first week of a new school year and, though it may no longer be summer to us, the temperature tries to tell us otherwise. It does not help that we are all stuck in classrooms where the air is not fresh and hallways filled with our classmates.

In this setting, my water bottle is my ally. The hot classrooms and crowded hallways leave me parched without it. Just the crack of the seal breaking as I open it leaves me feeling a little cooler and at moments when, without it, I would be fighting the desire to run out of class to the nearest drinking fountain, it saves me from the torture.

Without my water bottle I would not be nearly as successful in my classes. The heat and my thirst would leave me constantly distracted. My work would become jumbled and incoherrent and I would be nothing more than a new senior, deserate to return to the ever fading days of summer.

My water bottle allows me to make the transition between summer and school with the least amount of pain possible.

Name

My first name, Catherine, seems to be a sophisticated name.Right away, Queen Catherine comes to mind. That is not me, though. I am not royalty and I am far from queenly sophistication. Madi fits me much better. It is a nickname taken from Madison, a name once more associated with men and I think even that fits me. I have been a tom boy my whole life.
I used to be Madie. You wouldn't think that an 'e' would make much of a difference, but it did to me. Changing Madie to Madi gave me power over myself, even though Madi is not a powerful name. It is simple and logical, like myself. Madi is much more fitting than Catherine or Madison, but I have been called by other names that have also fit me well. To my mom I am sometimes Mac and to my youngest sisters I am often Kat. These names fit me when I am a daughter or an older sister, but when I am a friend or a student or when I am just me, Madi works just fine.