goldvermilion87: (Default)
Just let me be obnoxious and irrationally pleased with myself once more, and I'll have done.

I forgot that I made Two vague Reichenbach predictions.  I just stumbled upon them, and I now feel that I vaguely got them both right.  (The bonus idea that a friend and I discussed is wrong.  I hereby blame it on my friend.  :-P )

There.

And I know that if you're vague enough you can always say that you're right.  Don't burst my bubble.

And now, the obnoxious is over.  This journal will return to its regularly scheduled production of short Sherlock fanfics for the next year and a half.  :-D
goldvermilion87: (Default)
Just let me be obnoxious and irrationally pleased with myself once more, and I'll have done.

I forgot that I made Two vague Reichenbach predictions.  I just stumbled upon them, and I now feel that I vaguely got them both right.  (The bonus idea that a friend and I discussed is wrong.  I hereby blame it on my friend.  :-P )

There.

And I know that if you're vague enough you can always say that you're right.  Don't burst my bubble.

And now, the obnoxious is over.  This journal will return to its regularly scheduled production of short Sherlock fanfics for the next year and a half.  :-D
goldvermilion87: (Default)

Day Twenty--Character who is most like you


Disclaimer:  I really don't read books looking for myself, if that makes any sense.  I mean, I sure I do in some way, but I generally just look for characters I admire, and try to be like them.

That being said, I am probably most like Sherlock from the BBC series.  That is not vanity on my part, though.  I am smart, but not up to Sherlockian standards, by any stretch of the imagination.  It's not that.  It's that I'm a little... well, a lot... dense when it comes to emotional matters.  I can parse through them in my head, and I can give (according to some) pretty decent advice on certain emotional issues, because I'm rational about it.  But in the end I'm no good, because I really don't empathise.   Also, I tend to stay in my own head.  I (less than Sherlock, but way more than I should) say totally insensitive things because they're true and I just didn't stop to think how they'd come across.  In many ways, Sherlock is a caricature of who I am, and who I could be if I didn't fight a lot of those selfish, self-absorbed tendencies, and just... I guess an unthinking intellectual vanity?  As in, if you said, "are you smart?" I'd say "yes," and not be ashamed to admit it--because I do firmly believe that there is as much vanity in false modesty as in false pride.  But more than that I just sort of assume what I have to say is important and worth listening to, because I'm probably one of the smartest people in the room (which is less likely to be true) and also because... well... I'm saying it, so OF COURSE it's important and more interesting than what you want to say.  I think Sherlock is like that.  It's true selfishness--it isn't cruel, it just doesn't THINK about other people.  Makes it awfully hard to combat, I can tell you... 

I guess on the less totally evil side, I also really want to be liked, but am not always sure how to be a friend--I won't even say how recently it was that I had this moment of revelation when I realized my friends don't like me because I'm smart or a good singer, but because I'm me.  This does take some stress out of relationships...  :-D  I saw that in Sherlock especially in TBB.  I suppose I've sort of supplemented that in my own fictional headcanon, probably out of my own experience, but I don't think it's completely a projection.  (also in common the "I don't have any friends and I'm TOTALLY GOOD WITH THAT [not!]" syndrome--though I should add that I DO have friends, so I'm not here for pity.  I just tend to have only a few, and it's something I've been hyper aware of since kindergarten at least.)  I also have an obsessive/addictive personality.  This doesn't mean drugs or alcohol (though I have no plans ever to drink alone, just in case) but... well... books, music, whatever interesting question has captured my mind most recently.  I get SO OBSESSED until I've done with it, and then it gets put aside.  That's sort of how I view Sherlock's (and ACD Holmes's) approach to detective work and the like.  Also, I think I share (and this is clearer in Holmes, though I think it can be seen several ways in Sherlock) a deep appreciation for what is aesthetically pleasing--whether art or music, or the solution to a problem... I dunno about that one for sure... but I'll say it anyway.

What's interesting to me, I guess, is that Sherlock is one of the only characters who I look at and see the worst of myself, but who I still find attractive as a character.  Usually I like the characters who are my polar opposite--the Sam Gamgees and the John Watsons who are far more kind and self effacing than I could ever hope to be--and really dislike the ones who are like me.  (In fact, I wouldn't say that I hate ACD's Holmes... but I find him almost too frustrating to even bother with, in part because his faults are often mine...  Maybe I like Sherlock because the show played up the possibility of his becoming good, and so I'm really rooting for him?  I don't know...

Well... that was weird, and far more personal that any of my posts in this meme. 

I also am probably projecting more on Sherlock than I realize, but that's a danger of writing fan fiction, I suppose...

OH!  I FORGOT ONE:  Packrat messiness.  My apartment looks a bit like 221B before John suggested a cleaning up of junk... and we're talking down to the totally inappropriate for decor posters and things that are just... weird.  I don't have an animal skull with headphones, though.  So I suppose I have something to strive for.  :-P
goldvermilion87: (Default)

Day Twenty--Character who is most like you


Disclaimer:  I really don't read books looking for myself, if that makes any sense.  I mean, I sure I do in some way, but I generally just look for characters I admire, and try to be like them.

That being said, I am probably most like Sherlock from the BBC series.  That is not vanity on my part, though.  I am smart, but not up to Sherlockian standards, by any stretch of the imagination.  It's not that.  It's that I'm a little... well, a lot... dense when it comes to emotional matters.  I can parse through them in my head, and I can give (according to some) pretty decent advice on certain emotional issues, because I'm rational about it.  But in the end I'm no good, because I really don't empathise.   Also, I tend to stay in my own head.  I (less than Sherlock, but way more than I should) say totally insensitive things because they're true and I just didn't stop to think how they'd come across.  In many ways, Sherlock is a caricature of who I am, and who I could be if I didn't fight a lot of those selfish, self-absorbed tendencies, and just... I guess an unthinking intellectual vanity?  As in, if you said, "are you smart?" I'd say "yes," and not be ashamed to admit it--because I do firmly believe that there is as much vanity in false modesty as in false pride.  But more than that I just sort of assume what I have to say is important and worth listening to, because I'm probably one of the smartest people in the room (which is less likely to be true) and also because... well... I'm saying it, so OF COURSE it's important and more interesting than what you want to say.  I think Sherlock is like that.  It's true selfishness--it isn't cruel, it just doesn't THINK about other people.  Makes it awfully hard to combat, I can tell you... 

I guess on the less totally evil side, I also really want to be liked, but am not always sure how to be a friend--I won't even say how recently it was that I had this moment of revelation when I realized my friends don't like me because I'm smart or a good singer, but because I'm me.  This does take some stress out of relationships...  :-D  I saw that in Sherlock especially in TBB.  I suppose I've sort of supplemented that in my own fictional headcanon, probably out of my own experience, but I don't think it's completely a projection.  (also in common the "I don't have any friends and I'm TOTALLY GOOD WITH THAT [not!]" syndrome--though I should add that I DO have friends, so I'm not here for pity.  I just tend to have only a few, and it's something I've been hyper aware of since kindergarten at least.)  I also have an obsessive/addictive personality.  This doesn't mean drugs or alcohol (though I have no plans ever to drink alone, just in case) but... well... books, music, whatever interesting question has captured my mind most recently.  I get SO OBSESSED until I've done with it, and then it gets put aside.  That's sort of how I view Sherlock's (and ACD Holmes's) approach to detective work and the like.  Also, I think I share (and this is clearer in Holmes, though I think it can be seen several ways in Sherlock) a deep appreciation for what is aesthetically pleasing--whether art or music, or the solution to a problem... I dunno about that one for sure... but I'll say it anyway.

What's interesting to me, I guess, is that Sherlock is one of the only characters who I look at and see the worst of myself, but who I still find attractive as a character.  Usually I like the characters who are my polar opposite--the Sam Gamgees and the John Watsons who are far more kind and self effacing than I could ever hope to be--and really dislike the ones who are like me.  (In fact, I wouldn't say that I hate ACD's Holmes... but I find him almost too frustrating to even bother with, in part because his faults are often mine...  Maybe I like Sherlock because the show played up the possibility of his becoming good, and so I'm really rooting for him?  I don't know...

Well... that was weird, and far more personal that any of my posts in this meme. 

I also am probably projecting more on Sherlock than I realize, but that's a danger of writing fan fiction, I suppose...

OH!  I FORGOT ONE:  Packrat messiness.  My apartment looks a bit like 221B before John suggested a cleaning up of junk... and we're talking down to the totally inappropriate for decor posters and things that are just... weird.  I don't have an animal skull with headphones, though.  So I suppose I have something to strive for.  :-P
goldvermilion87: (Default)
According to my records, this is the first thing I wrote in 2001, and I wrote it on my own initiative.  It may have dated around the  time that my dad and I had a little fight over Spiders, and their place in the world.  My reaction to the spider is very simple:  KILL KILL KILL!  My father's reaction to the spider is also very simple:  OBSERVE OBSERVE OBSERVE!  (You know, that just doesn't have the same force as kill kill kill...but I will let it stay to preserve parallelism.)  My dad will leave spiderwebs in the weirdest places because he thinks the spiders are absolutely fascinating--including in the house.  He would scold me if I killed spiders IN THE HOUSE!  Anyway, we made a deal that I would never kill spiders outside the house, and he would never give me a hard time (i.e. throw spiders at me...yes...he did threaten to do that...).  I have held to my side of the bargain ever since.

Anyway,  I don't know if that's why I wrote this poem, but I did write it. 

I don't know when I actually began to grasp the concept of meter.  I certainly knew iambic, trochaic, dactyllic, and anapestic even in seventh grade, but as this poem shows, I wasn't able to apply the concept to real life.  Oh well.


goldvermilion87: (Default)
According to my records, this is the first thing I wrote in 2001, and I wrote it on my own initiative.  It may have dated around the  time that my dad and I had a little fight over Spiders, and their place in the world.  My reaction to the spider is very simple:  KILL KILL KILL!  My father's reaction to the spider is also very simple:  OBSERVE OBSERVE OBSERVE!  (You know, that just doesn't have the same force as kill kill kill...but I will let it stay to preserve parallelism.)  My dad will leave spiderwebs in the weirdest places because he thinks the spiders are absolutely fascinating--including in the house.  He would scold me if I killed spiders IN THE HOUSE!  Anyway, we made a deal that I would never kill spiders outside the house, and he would never give me a hard time (i.e. throw spiders at me...yes...he did threaten to do that...).  I have held to my side of the bargain ever since.

Anyway,  I don't know if that's why I wrote this poem, but I did write it. 

I don't know when I actually began to grasp the concept of meter.  I certainly knew iambic, trochaic, dactyllic, and anapestic even in seventh grade, but as this poem shows, I wasn't able to apply the concept to real life.  Oh well.


Huh?

Oct. 11th, 2010 12:49 pm
goldvermilion87: (Default)
I'm just going to finish out 2000 in one swell foop, because I looked at the stories that I had written in the first half of 8th grade and they were all...weird.  Really weird.  The first two are titled "character sketches."  I have the vaguest memory of them, but I don't really know what it was all about.

The names are really funny to me.  Actually, all the names in my old stories.  I loved names.  Even now I have a very long list of the names that I will name my children, provided whoever I marry likes them (the names, not the children) and I actually want to bear...fifteen children.

Yeah.  SO not happening.

Anyway, I really love names, but I used to like really strange ones. All I can say is I really labored over those names.  :-)

So, here we have Character Sketch number one.  I suspect it to be based on a fable.

The Horses )
Look Before You Eat )

And finally, the last story.: A combination of Victorian moralizing children's literature and utter weirdness a la yours truly...who truly did keep pet katydids when they were in season for several years.  Also, a funny thing:  Except for the katydids, the characters are nothing like me.  However, the geography of the story is my house.  Even now when I read it, I can see in my head where everything is taking place--my house about 10 years ago. 

Best Friends, Forever? )

Well, I hope you enjoyed.  2001 is around the corner with more fascinating poetry and prose. :-P

Huh?

Oct. 11th, 2010 12:49 pm
goldvermilion87: (Default)
I'm just going to finish out 2000 in one swell foop, because I looked at the stories that I had written in the first half of 8th grade and they were all...weird.  Really weird.  The first two are titled "character sketches."  I have the vaguest memory of them, but I don't really know what it was all about.

The names are really funny to me.  Actually, all the names in my old stories.  I loved names.  Even now I have a very long list of the names that I will name my children, provided whoever I marry likes them (the names, not the children) and I actually want to bear...fifteen children.

Yeah.  SO not happening.

Anyway, I really love names, but I used to like really strange ones. All I can say is I really labored over those names.  :-)

So, here we have Character Sketch number one.  I suspect it to be based on a fable.

The Horses )
Look Before You Eat )

And finally, the last story.: A combination of Victorian moralizing children's literature and utter weirdness a la yours truly...who truly did keep pet katydids when they were in season for several years.  Also, a funny thing:  Except for the katydids, the characters are nothing like me.  However, the geography of the story is my house.  Even now when I read it, I can see in my head where everything is taking place--my house about 10 years ago. 

Best Friends, Forever? )

Well, I hope you enjoyed.  2001 is around the corner with more fascinating poetry and prose. :-P
goldvermilion87: (Default)
It appears that around the time that Y2K never happened, I was a very morbid little girl.  Yes, indeed.  Perhaps I was far too taken with Eomer? (See title of post.)  While that is an intriquing possibility, I am inclined to dismiss it.  See, in January 2000 I had only read LotR (and only five or six times at that point), I had not seen the Peter Jackson movie, for the very valid reason that they had not been made yet.  I had seen the animated movies.  But the animated movies did not have the utterly gorgeous Karl Urban in them.  Oh yes, he is utterly gorgeous. If it weren't for him, there would be very little reason to watch Star Trek XI.  True Story.  Anyway.  Because I had only read the books, I did not know what an amazing and beautiful character Eomer was, so I was only really obsessed with Sam Gamgee, and a little bit with Faramir (David Wenham.  *sigh* ...  but I loved Faramir long before David Wenham was born.  Well, long before I had even heard that David Wenham was born.  Two very different time frames, come to think of it.)  

But I digress.

Back to me being morbid.  We had to rewrite an Aesop's fable for a class, and then we had (I think...if anyone is actually reading this, and can identify a source for the second story, I'd like to hear it, because I may be misremembering) to come up with our own moral and write our own story for it.  To see proof that I was morbid, read below.

(Just to prove that you can always find someone worse than you, I should point out that I, at least, did not draw diagrams of interestingly evil torture chambers during indoor recess like most of the boys in my class.)




Of Nests and Night )
goldvermilion87: (Default)
It appears that around the time that Y2K never happened, I was a very morbid little girl.  Yes, indeed.  Perhaps I was far too taken with Eomer? (See title of post.)  While that is an intriquing possibility, I am inclined to dismiss it.  See, in January 2000 I had only read LotR (and only five or six times at that point), I had not seen the Peter Jackson movie, for the very valid reason that they had not been made yet.  I had seen the animated movies.  But the animated movies did not have the utterly gorgeous Karl Urban in them.  Oh yes, he is utterly gorgeous. If it weren't for him, there would be very little reason to watch Star Trek XI.  True Story.  Anyway.  Because I had only read the books, I did not know what an amazing and beautiful character Eomer was, so I was only really obsessed with Sam Gamgee, and a little bit with Faramir (David Wenham.  *sigh* ...  but I loved Faramir long before David Wenham was born.  Well, long before I had even heard that David Wenham was born.  Two very different time frames, come to think of it.)  

But I digress.

Back to me being morbid.  We had to rewrite an Aesop's fable for a class, and then we had (I think...if anyone is actually reading this, and can identify a source for the second story, I'd like to hear it, because I may be misremembering) to come up with our own moral and write our own story for it.  To see proof that I was morbid, read below.

(Just to prove that you can always find someone worse than you, I should point out that I, at least, did not draw diagrams of interestingly evil torture chambers during indoor recess like most of the boys in my class.)




Of Nests and Night )
goldvermilion87: (Default)

Hello all! 
 

This is me now: 

From Piled higher and Deeper, credit Jorge Cham 

(A better view of this incredibly accurate comic:  http://www.phdcomics.com/comics/archive.php?comicid=124)

Thirteen years ago, I was a little girl with delusions of grandeur.  I believed I would one day become a famous author, like my heroes, Charles Dickens, Homer, Jules Verne, Robert Lewis Stevenson, Horatio Alger, Jane Austen, Mark Twain, and...well...I could go on for an awfully long time. 

Doesn't that make me sound jaded?  

Well, I'm not really!  :-)  I absolutely love being a PhD student, a teacher of college age students for the first time in my life, a proud dog owner, (Yes, that absurd quadruped is indeed mine.) a proud owner of slightly less absurd chinchillas (and you know it's bad when the rodents are less absurd than the canine), and a re-inspired writer of fiction--fan-fiction, to be exact, but as I do not expect ever to be a published writer of fiction anymore, I am willing to embrace it. 

So, back to the me-thirteen-years-ago.  About thirteen years ago, I made my first foray into creative writing.  I had a red, Stockwell office products, one subject, wide ruled Notebook.   The cover claims 8" X 10.5" and 70 sheets to itself.  I am willing to allow the inches, but there cannot be more than twenty-five pages in it. 

For your general amusement, I will reproduce the writing on the cover as closely as possible, given the fact that it is handwritten and that I am not going to share my name here:

 

Literature  S------- B--------- 
[editor's note--this may explain the page shortage.  little sisters are convenient scapegoats]


K----------'s 
Poems


The Poem's
[editor's note---GAH!  10 year old me was very confused about apostrophes...obviously]
of a
Girl

by
K---------
E------
B---------

Inside the front cover of this wonderful notebook was 1. My address...including THE COUNTRY.  Because, you never know when your wide ruled notebook may be stolen away and smuggled over the border.  DUH!  And then the following inscription:

All the Poems in this
Book were written
by the K------- mentioned
above

Yeah.  It really does say that.  I have no excuse. 

And we're just getting to the good part.  Oh yes indeed!

The poems in this illustrious tome are as follows:

Galadriel

My rabbit's named Galadriel
She used to live in field and dell

In the woods she'd bounce and leap
And in the underbrush she'd creep [editor's note:  it has never been established that Galadriel ever enjoyed this primitive naturalistic existence.  There is some evidence that the fuzzy lop was actually born in captivity...but you never know.  I think I saw a few fuzzy lops running around wild yesterday...]

Once as in the grass she lay
I found her and she's mine today.

[editor's note:  the following was added in pencil two years later:]
She died and was laid in the grave
She, who we in mem'ry do save
[*snif*]

Estella

Her curls are flaxen  [editor's note:  Estella had pitch black hair]
Her eyes are blue
She stands at height
Of one foot two

She wears her dress
Without a trace
Of wrinkles in
Its shining grace

She stands regally
Like a queen
She is neither too fat
Or too lean  [editor's note:  there is an (N)  in parentheses before the "Or" but it is clearly a late interpolation]

She is my beauteous
Porcelain doll as she
Stands upon her
Dressy knoll  [editor's note:  don't ask...]

Creation

In our week there are seven days
I'll tell you why it's so
It took God seven days to make
The world that now we know

[editor's note:  ten years ago me was apparently allergic to punctuation]

On the first day God made the dark
And severed it from light
These first two things that God did make
Were much like day and night

On the second day God made the waters
And moved them from the sky
The water would be used to drink
And air for birds to fly

On the third day God told the sea
To separate for land
He told the earth to bring forth grass
And every flow'ring plant

On the fourth day God made the sun for day
And the moon to rule the night
He set the stars up in the sky
To help the moon make light

On the fifth day God made the fish
And all the birds that fly
He put the fish into the sea

And birds into the sky

On the sixth day God made the beasts
And all the creeping things
He then made man to rule them all
Even the ones with wings

On the seventh day since all was done
God used this day to rest
He said "It all is good but man
In my Image is best"


Grown

Sometimes I think about
What i'll be like when I'm grown up
I'll be real good, I'll never pout
I'll act like a lady, not a pup
And then I'll think about a job
I'll do something great
And not be married to just any Dick, Harry, or Bob 
But, as I contemplate I think I'd rather live in peace and quied [editor's note--I don't think that 'd" was intentional...but you never can tell with these things]
And my fate would be to do nothing greater than keeping my kids from starting a riot 
But anyway  I'm still quite liddle 
So I'll wait till the day 
When I can answer this riddle

[Possibly the most scary thing about reading this old notebook:  My handwriting still looks EXACTLY THE SAME.  Life is hard...]

Yes, folks.  I did write those ridiculous things before I was thirteen.  I promise that if you read my livejournal anymore you will not be subjected to anything qute so...whatever that stuff is!  Though a few works will come close. 

But that brings me to this livejournal, and the whole point of this post.  I have a blog--"In Western Lands"--in which I ramble about randomness from time to time, and in which I'm planning to begin rambling on about the books I read (nothing as formal as book reviews) which anyone can read.  I have a personal blog about my life, but, no offence to you lovely livejournalers, I prefer to keep my whereabouts a little teeny bit private.  At least, I want to know the acutal legal name of a person before I give away my name and school and home address and favorite discontinued ice cream flavor.  :-)  I did not want my livejournal to be either one of those things, so I have decided to make it the home to my creative writing from the beginning until today.  And, since I have kept everything I've written since "The Poem's of a Girl"  [GAK!--for form AND content!] I have decided to post a work every day or so, whenever I feel like laughing at myself, going in chronological order.  

So, tune in next time for...

"Tommy Holmes, Cabin Boy" a rollicking adventure on the high seas, or a pastiche of Kidnapped and Treasure Island, depending on your perspective.   (But we'll be nice to 12 year old me [I have things dated from this story on], since it was my first attempt at fiction.)



Ooh!  I just remembered two older works:  When I was six or seven I composed the following two songs

Squirrels:  "Squirrels run up and down the tree.  Chatter, Chatter, Chatter.  Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! All.  Day.  Long"  
                    C        D    E    F      G-F E-D C         C            C          C           f/G        f/G          f/G       G     E        C

Bunnies:  "Bunnies,  Bunnies on their way.  Bunnies, Bunnies in the hay.  I just like them any way."
               C    E       E     C    D    B     C         E    G     G     E    F  D    E     C  D   E       D     C B  C

When I played and sang these masterpieces for my piano teacher, she noted that they had no key signature.  And I never composed again.  Well...until counterpoint class my senior year as an undergraduate...but that hardly counts.  Way to stifle budding genius, Mrs. B-------!  My ridiculous fluffball is disgusted with you.  [well...maybe he's disgusted with me for brushing him and fluffing him up like that...but there is no way to prove it]

goldvermilion87: (Default)

Hello all! 
 

This is me now: 

From Piled higher and Deeper, credit Jorge Cham 

(A better view of this incredibly accurate comic:  http://www.phdcomics.com/comics/archive.php?comicid=124)

Thirteen years ago, I was a little girl with delusions of grandeur.  I believed I would one day become a famous author, like my heroes, Charles Dickens, Homer, Jules Verne, Robert Lewis Stevenson, Horatio Alger, Jane Austen, Mark Twain, and...well...I could go on for an awfully long time. 

Doesn't that make me sound jaded?  

Well, I'm not really!  :-)  I absolutely love being a PhD student, a teacher of college age students for the first time in my life, a proud dog owner, (Yes, that absurd quadruped is indeed mine.) a proud owner of slightly less absurd chinchillas (and you know it's bad when the rodents are less absurd than the canine), and a re-inspired writer of fiction--fan-fiction, to be exact, but as I do not expect ever to be a published writer of fiction anymore, I am willing to embrace it. 

So, back to the me-thirteen-years-ago.  About thirteen years ago, I made my first foray into creative writing.  I had a red, Stockwell office products, one subject, wide ruled Notebook.   The cover claims 8" X 10.5" and 70 sheets to itself.  I am willing to allow the inches, but there cannot be more than twenty-five pages in it. 

For your general amusement, I will reproduce the writing on the cover as closely as possible, given the fact that it is handwritten and that I am not going to share my name here:

 

Literature  S------- B--------- 
[editor's note--this may explain the page shortage.  little sisters are convenient scapegoats]


K----------'s 
Poems


The Poem's
[editor's note---GAH!  10 year old me was very confused about apostrophes...obviously]
of a
Girl

by
K---------
E------
B---------

Inside the front cover of this wonderful notebook was 1. My address...including THE COUNTRY.  Because, you never know when your wide ruled notebook may be stolen away and smuggled over the border.  DUH!  And then the following inscription:

All the Poems in this
Book were written
by the K------- mentioned
above

Yeah.  It really does say that.  I have no excuse. 

And we're just getting to the good part.  Oh yes indeed!

The poems in this illustrious tome are as follows:

Galadriel

My rabbit's named Galadriel
She used to live in field and dell

In the woods she'd bounce and leap
And in the underbrush she'd creep [editor's note:  it has never been established that Galadriel ever enjoyed this primitive naturalistic existence.  There is some evidence that the fuzzy lop was actually born in captivity...but you never know.  I think I saw a few fuzzy lops running around wild yesterday...]

Once as in the grass she lay
I found her and she's mine today.

[editor's note:  the following was added in pencil two years later:]
She died and was laid in the grave
She, who we in mem'ry do save
[*snif*]

Estella

Her curls are flaxen  [editor's note:  Estella had pitch black hair]
Her eyes are blue
She stands at height
Of one foot two

She wears her dress
Without a trace
Of wrinkles in
Its shining grace

She stands regally
Like a queen
She is neither too fat
Or too lean  [editor's note:  there is an (N)  in parentheses before the "Or" but it is clearly a late interpolation]

She is my beauteous
Porcelain doll as she
Stands upon her
Dressy knoll  [editor's note:  don't ask...]

Creation

In our week there are seven days
I'll tell you why it's so
It took God seven days to make
The world that now we know

[editor's note:  ten years ago me was apparently allergic to punctuation]

On the first day God made the dark
And severed it from light
These first two things that God did make
Were much like day and night

On the second day God made the waters
And moved them from the sky
The water would be used to drink
And air for birds to fly

On the third day God told the sea
To separate for land
He told the earth to bring forth grass
And every flow'ring plant

On the fourth day God made the sun for day
And the moon to rule the night
He set the stars up in the sky
To help the moon make light

On the fifth day God made the fish
And all the birds that fly
He put the fish into the sea

And birds into the sky

On the sixth day God made the beasts
And all the creeping things
He then made man to rule them all
Even the ones with wings

On the seventh day since all was done
God used this day to rest
He said "It all is good but man
In my Image is best"


Grown

Sometimes I think about
What i'll be like when I'm grown up
I'll be real good, I'll never pout
I'll act like a lady, not a pup
And then I'll think about a job
I'll do something great
And not be married to just any Dick, Harry, or Bob 
But, as I contemplate I think I'd rather live in peace and quied [editor's note--I don't think that 'd" was intentional...but you never can tell with these things]
And my fate would be to do nothing greater than keeping my kids from starting a riot 
But anyway  I'm still quite liddle 
So I'll wait till the day 
When I can answer this riddle

[Possibly the most scary thing about reading this old notebook:  My handwriting still looks EXACTLY THE SAME.  Life is hard...]

Yes, folks.  I did write those ridiculous things before I was thirteen.  I promise that if you read my livejournal anymore you will not be subjected to anything qute so...whatever that stuff is!  Though a few works will come close. 

But that brings me to this livejournal, and the whole point of this post.  I have a blog--"In Western Lands"--in which I ramble about randomness from time to time, and in which I'm planning to begin rambling on about the books I read (nothing as formal as book reviews) which anyone can read.  I have a personal blog about my life, but, no offence to you lovely livejournalers, I prefer to keep my whereabouts a little teeny bit private.  At least, I want to know the acutal legal name of a person before I give away my name and school and home address and favorite discontinued ice cream flavor.  :-)  I did not want my livejournal to be either one of those things, so I have decided to make it the home to my creative writing from the beginning until today.  And, since I have kept everything I've written since "The Poem's of a Girl"  [GAK!--for form AND content!] I have decided to post a work every day or so, whenever I feel like laughing at myself, going in chronological order.  

So, tune in next time for...

"Tommy Holmes, Cabin Boy" a rollicking adventure on the high seas, or a pastiche of Kidnapped and Treasure Island, depending on your perspective.   (But we'll be nice to 12 year old me [I have things dated from this story on], since it was my first attempt at fiction.)



Ooh!  I just remembered two older works:  When I was six or seven I composed the following two songs

Squirrels:  "Squirrels run up and down the tree.  Chatter, Chatter, Chatter.  Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! All.  Day.  Long"  
                    C        D    E    F      G-F E-D C         C            C          C           f/G        f/G          f/G       G     E        C

Bunnies:  "Bunnies,  Bunnies on their way.  Bunnies, Bunnies in the hay.  I just like them any way."
               C    E       E     C    D    B     C         E    G     G     E    F  D    E     C  D   E       D     C B  C

When I played and sang these masterpieces for my piano teacher, she noted that they had no key signature.  And I never composed again.  Well...until counterpoint class my senior year as an undergraduate...but that hardly counts.  Way to stifle budding genius, Mrs. B-------!  My ridiculous fluffball is disgusted with you.  [well...maybe he's disgusted with me for brushing him and fluffing him up like that...but there is no way to prove it]

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