#1 I'm tired, but I feel better than the last few days.
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#1 I'm tired, but I feel better than the last few days.

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"I don't know why I keep picking this," she said quietly, her voice shivering as she closed her eyes, blocking out the moon light falling in patches through the trees. Beside her stood a girl with golden hair that tumbled down past her waist; her eyes shined a dark, emerald green; to the young brunette curled up against the tree bark, this girl had the wisest eyes she had ever seen. And although she couldn't quite place what made her look so wise, the trust came naturally. "You could live the easy way," she said, her eyes so honed in on the brunette that she could feel the burning stare without even looking up. "You could pick happiness, Amelie." On the ground, Amelie shook her head slowly. "That's not happiness. It's fake. It's a lie." "And is that really so bad? You would rather suffer for the truth?" the blonde asked calmly, dark eyes averting towards the sky as she waited for her answer. Even though it stung every inch of her body, she nodded. "Yes." She glanced up at the woman with the dark eyes. "I don't want the lies. I don't think I can do it anymore." "Then your ignorance is gone," the emerald-eyed woman replied calmly. "Yes," Amelie said quietly, looking up at the moon. "I guess it is."
confessions of a writer. in black and white.
confessions of a writer. part one.
writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia. - e.l. doctorow
post by dawn garcia | originally written 12.28.10 | RANDOM SPOUT
when you tell anyone you’re a writer, they kind of look at you. there’s a long pause and then they say, “have you written anything I might have seen?” and then you proceed to say that on top of it, you’re a screenwriter. to which they immediately reply (eyes widened), “have you written any movies I may have seen?” and then you take a long pause and say, probably not.
true, I have written all sorts of things that have been published. but published in periodicals for writers or artists or those seeking out and hungry for creative fare. I’ve written poetry that was part of an exhibit at an art gallery. I’ve sold work. I’ve been promoted. I’ve written creative ad campaigns. I’ve reviewed plays, films, art shows, food. and now I’m writing two screenplays. one of the screenplays I’m writing, well, everyone (ok, not everyone, but anyone with a literary longing) has at least read the book I’m adapting. a book by the ever misunderstood, overly ignored, highly under-appreciated, Oscar Wilde. the screenplay to follow that one is a very intense, highly researched, fabricated story that will - in every conceivable way - take down child predators. after I come out of the darkness for which I will inevitably creep into, I have four more screenplays to complete. one of which is an animated feature. a very very good one. another is a twisted love story/satire. another is thought provoking tale of genocide. another is a forgone story of therapy and self exposure.