On Writing

I started this blog back in February of 2015 in my freshman year with a transformative Creative Writing class. The class itself wasn’t all that transformative, yeah I learned good writing techniques and words for things I was already experimenting with. But I was transformed. I learned that my words were important. That people wanted to understand my perspective on life whether that was my Grandma or people from the 122 countries who have visited my words.

When I first started I was writing literally every day with multiple pieces per day. I joined the NaPoWriMo movement in April where you are, supposed to, a write a poem per day for the whole month. I ended up posting 50 pieces on my blog that month. I was always scribbling in one of several notebooks or typing a free verse up. I loved how I felt having finished a poem, the satisfaction that occured.

I continued on at this level for a couple years. In the process my poems and creative essays were published nine times and I had my play produced by a major university. I posted at least 3 times a week. Sure it was difficult to keep to the schedule sometimes, but it was worth it.

I made some great connects with fellow bloggers, some by their words and others talking personally. I follow so many other people’s lives no matter whether it is told through poems, pictures, or write ups about their day. I have found a great community here on WordPress.

But last year my Junior year of testing, huge academic stress, and personal issues hit and my urge for writing slipped. This wasn’t a writer’s block, I’ve dealt with that many times. This was different. To be honest, for the past year almost all of my posts have been saved from years ago that I dug up to have something to show. Sure, writing still gave me pleasure and release, but it wasn’t as much needed as before. I yearned for it’s satisfaction, and yet somehow I didn’t feel like something was missing.

A spark of inspiration would hit that a year ago would have taken a good 250 words to explain, but it would pass before I could get my fingertips to keys. No matter how hard I tried no logical form of letters would escape my keyboard. (You can read a poem about this here)

It’s been over a year since I’ve written my novel. In a year’s time I’ve written only ten poems. I’ve written two short stories in a year. That’s it.

It’s sad.

But I’m accepting it.

However during this time, I have also written a play that received high praise and discussed options for touring. I also written another play to try to see if a third piece can be performed at the major university to break the record there for amount one person’s work has been performed. But my motivations were different for these. I wrote for others, not for myself.

I’ve been writing all my life (read a piece about it here) and have continued to keep a journal for five years. I still have been doing this and have no intention of stopping. It’s fitting though that the journal I’m writing in its cover says, “My Journal: The Original Blog”. Sometimes I just record what I did that day, a funny story, a perceptive. Other days I write lengthy opinions, prayers, parallelism to my life, poems, frantic thoughts.

I don’t want to say good-bye to this place made up of ones and zero and yet which is so so so much more. This has been my life for four years. I’ve written so much. Honestly, sometimes I stumble upons a piece that I completely have forgotten I wrote. Like the words are new to me and they came from my brain only a year ago.

I miss writing poetry the most, a form of expression that I thought was silly years ago. It is true thought captured on a page. (I explain what poetry is to me here)

I will continue to be here. And my blog will continue to be here. But my blog and I will not continue to be here together.

This send off is hard. It’s heavy. It’s thick. But it’s not messy. I knew it was coming for a time.

Writing is still and always will be a major part of my life, but it will depend which part. Writing for everyone and anyone, for a small group of readers, or simply for me.

So I’ll still be around, writing and wandering. But this blog is going to be static for a while. I don’t know how long a while is, but there are 432 other pieces of mine to read.

See me later,

~MavelVarietal

To You Who Gave Me Writing

To you who gave me writing

To my mother who spent hours with brightly colored flashcards

taught me that a semi-circle shape was a “C”

To my grandmother who would trace letters on my back

taught me the touch of words

To my parents who wrote down in my daily journal I what I told them to write

taught me the recording power of words and that my words mattered

To my mother who on that just beginning to cool, hot summer evening in the kitchen

taught me the letters in my name

To my father who would read to me comicbooks from his childhood

taught me that I can be enthralled in compelling stories and heroic characters

To my mother who persevered against my whining in forcing me to read beginner level “Bob Books”

taught me that I can be a critic of what I read but I still have to respect it

To Miss Griffin, my kindergarten teacher, who after reading a story about ducks

taught me that “ing” means action, a verb

To Mary Pope Osborne who wrote Magic Tree House, the first books I ever read and enjoyed by myself

taught me the joy and accomplishment of reading

To Ms. Hinds, my fourth grade teacher, who gave me an assignment to give a biographical speech about someone famous

taught me how empowering public speaking can be

To Ms. Benford, my elementary school librarian, who found for me my favorite childhood author

taught me to try new genres and that “different” can bring some of best things

To Margaret Peterson Haddix who was my favorite childhood author and filled my childhood with characters and situations and words and choices

taught me how other’s writing can touch my life

To Ms. Burke, my fifth grade teacher, who gave me an assignment to write a mystery story

taught me the power and excitement of my own fiction

To Ms. Cothran, my public speaking coach, who saw potential in me and changed a shy, analytical girl to a animated girl and a lover of poetry and my own writing

taught me that my writing impacts others and that I have a voice, so use it

To Ms. Mihocko, my seventh grade teacher, who critiqued me hard

taught me that my style is not enjoyed by everyone

To Pastor Randy who gave my first chance to preach a real sermon

taught me to follow my dreams and to work for the Lord

To Ms. Conley, my freshman english teacher, who opened my eyes to the wondrous world of writing and analyzing literary devices

taught me why and how I love the written word

To WordPress who gave me a way to share my writing

taught me that others value my work and that I should take pride in it

To Economics summer test that hours upon hours spent pointless stem and response that no one will ever glance at

taught me that purpose of writing is to convey a meaningful message that will be read

***

To you who gave me writing

and to all I left out in this poem

I thank you dearly

for writing

allows me to create my world

both in fiction

and not

***

To God who created the heavens and the earth and everything in between

for giving me something to write about

To God who gave me a mind to comprehend writing and all of its glorious intricate relationships

To God who gave the world writing at its perfection, the Bible

To God who allows me to spread His Word through my words

***

To you who gave me writing

To you who gave me the power to change the world

To you who gave me the power to change my life

To you

 

Me: Year One

365 days ago I logged onto WordPress for the first time and willing to take those first few keystrokes literally changed my life. This being my 225th post, I figured I would break through the computer screen talk/type a bit about my blogging experience.

By blogging I pushed myself to become a better writer; not only that but a better person too. Creating this blog has lead to new friends, new or deeper ideals, various awards, and expressing myself in ways that my daily journal could not.

I think some of the things that really changed my process and style of writing was participating in NaPoWriMo which was extremely challenging as I made a foolish goal of trying – succeeding mind you – for 50 posts instead of the required 30. I learned how to look at the world around me for inspiration whereas I had always looked into myself. By doing this and having recently re-dedicated my life to Christ near this time I began to see through my writing a better outlook on life I was developing.

A huge contributor to growing my blog size was looking for similar interested people on WordPress. Just by my sheer likes and followers I have, am I amazed that enough people like my thoughts on the world in the way I express them. I wrote about this before, but I find it so interesting that I learn of a person’s deepest emotions without ever knowing there name or anything about them beyond their ‘About Me’ page. I have found people who I would call true friends that live hundreds to thousands of miles away from me!

I do not believe starting a blog could have been as beneficial than when I started it. It helped me figure out questions and answer those questions in a constructive way and something to look back on to see my thoughts again. As I have said time and time again, I found who I am, but also what I stand for.

As you can probably see from my right side-bar I have had the honor to be published twice – hopefully soon I can make that a third time – and currently awaiting to see if one of my plays can be performed.

As of today, I have been writing everyday from 641 days straight with only missing two days of forgetting to write. Sometimes I hand-write for four hours and other times only ten minutes, but it always helps to put my day and feelings about it in colorful pen.

Although I do not talk a lot about it on this blog, even though part of my user name is the title, I am writing a novel called Varietal. Oh I know most people say they are, but it never goes anywhere, but I prefer to be an outlier in that generalization. My novel is currently 48,000 words which roughly transfers to about 185 pages in a book. I am no where near finished, but I had to start all over and scrape it all this summer. It is the exact opposite of what I normally read, but something that I love to write. The best way to describe it is novel driven by theme with touches of political satire.

I have only one regret about this blog. My username/pen-name. I think Marvel Varietal was a good fit in the beginning of my blog, but not for the current writer I am. Sadly, it is very hard to change once I am this far. I would want my username to be CallMeDearest. Because of Matthew 25: 21 “His lord said unto him, Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord.” I want to be God’s faithful servant, his Dearest servant. Another reason is because a great mentor and friend calls me ‘dearest’ followed by my first name.

My absolute favorite quote about writing is written by Tahereh Mafi, “We write every day, we fight every day, we think and scheme and dream a little dream every day. Manuscripts pile up in the kitchen sink, run-on sentences dangle around our necks. We plant purple prose in our gardens and snip the adverbs only to thread them in our hair. We write with no guarantees, no certainties, no promises of what might come and we do it anyway. This is who we are.”

So that is about my two cents on my 365 days of blogging! 🙂

I recently wrote a bit about my writing for another blog and I thought I would share part of it here:

I am floating in a river of words, letting the current carry me where the individual droplets think my expression should go. I create tributaries into new styles when trying new forms, but the river has remained in the same direction. Writing not only helps me find who I am, but what I stand for. Certain forms and ideas cling closer to my pen such as poetry and short stories. I drink in my words and let them reconcile my thoughts. The seemingly never-ending pelting drops of life rain down on me and writing enables me to spray my turmoils into water bottles, fish bowls and swimming pools. I have found my specific current, my writer’s voice is forging a picturesque straightforward concept and then finding a crack to exploit in it. As I look back, I see how fragile and vulnerable my creations were, how, that life-giving sustenance slipped through my fingers. However, I am also proud to see that those pieces were put to use to help me get to this point in my river.

Wondering what is around the next river bend,

Marvel Varietal

Dining on Poetry

My mouth gushes with ink

My mind convulsing with bursting thoughts

My stomach so full of metaphors and rhymes

I’ve been eating poetry

I lick my plate clean

Not a stanza  left

My chef and waitress have gone home,

done with preparing lines and have stopped posting frequently

Not even a glass of Haiku to quench my thirst.

I arrived at the WordPress Diner for breakfast of Villanelle and Ballade

So sweet in repetition, but need a Rondeau to drizzle on top.

My mouth and stomach could hardly take it all in, but I was still hungry for more.

I take a perfect bite of a ending couplet,

which reminds me of a food critic said in their blog:

“Poetry makes the uncomfortable, comfortable; and the comfortable, uncomfortable.”

I decide on comfort food for a brunch

I ask for a glass of Micro-poetry with Burlesque and a side of Cinquain.

With fork and knife in hand, I greedily cut into each word

Why did the poet choose this over that?

With my belly so full, I leave my table with the staff knowing all to well that I’d be back.

I take a walk down the street,

and see the sign “Memory Lane”,

to burn off my calorie-knowledge,

I look into each soul and a see a recipe.

I take my time looking through the small town grocery and look for the very best ingredients for my new found recipe:

An organic adjective

A whole english jargon inter-weaved

A bag of rhymes

A pound of similes

A container of stressed and unstressed syllables

I take my spot near the window, again, at the WordPress Diner.

The sunshine on my pages as I cook with my ingredients following the recipe, but adding a pitch here or there for creative licensee.

I post for other diners to snack on

and I get lovely reviews!

WordPressBlogger123 liked your post on WordPressWriterIAm

appears on e-mail and fills my heart with pride for my scrumptious creation.

A little peckish before my noon day meal

I dig through my previous diners scrapes,

and chow down on some Found poetry.

I look at all the choices on the menu and it’s so hard to decide!

An appetizer of Concrete with a lunch of Harlem Renaissance style?

Oh, what does my palate desire this time?

A waitress comes around, finally, and takes my order

I order a tall glass of Canzone and a meal of Free Verse

Thoughts, line breaks, and emotional good-byes dribble down my chin

I have no use for a napkin because dessert!

Ghazal with an icing of Horatian ode

I use a Limerick to wipe away my tears.

Satisfied, I start chatting with my friends to see if they are free to bake

Some reply back that they are living life to write another day

Others have kids and jobs, who let’s that get in the way?!

But my true friends have notebooks in hand

Renga is the cake we will bake!

So many layers, how will it fit in the oven!?

There are almost too many cooks in the kitchen,

but the styles and favors they bring!

Finally, we all settle down to enjoy a slice.

We talk of new recipes

and other bloggers

The dishes we’ve tasted

always the subject of these chats.

I can’t believe my eyes, it’s tea time,

Memoriam stanza is what I’ll sip.

I drift off and almost miss supper

I feel like a farmer’s boy running home late to eat dinner of Idyll.

Rushing into the WordPress Diner once again

I know exactly what I yearn for,

I worked up an appetite running here,

An Epic is what I should feast on!

I dig in and so enchanted on the story, I drop plenty of crumbs on the table cloth

Hunger past a long while ago, but still not full I say:

“Go big or go home”

My final dessert is a enticing Ode.

I begin to wonder,

Excessive eating can lead to obesity,

But what does bingeing on poetry do?

 

Pixabay/user:Counselling