#writing201

In response to Writing 201 week 2 workshop Intros and Hooks. Your opening lines are your first chance to hook your reader — but also to lose them. Nowhere is this truer than on the internet, where we make near instantaneous judgments on whether to stay on a page, or move on. Last week, you found your story’s angle. Next, make sure people stick around by crafting a compelling opening: a question…

“There’s always room for improvement, it’s the biggest room in the house.” – By Louise Heath I am a strong believer of continuous self-improvement, because what you are born with is God’s gift to you but what you make of yourself is your gift to God. At the end of each year, I create a list of goals for next year. Some people prefer writing their goals on their birthdays since it is a different…

Prose Poem: Lazy Sunday

I love this room with its king-size bed, decked with blue-green cushions that call my name in colored tones of embroidered silk. This room with its tall windows, and the sun stealing in through gaps between wooden lattices, casting ribbons of bright yellow on my hardwood floor. It’s hard to tear out of its delicious embrace every morning at six. And head out into a cold world for another busy day…

Blue Jeans; Bright Eyes

These jeans hug so tight,

His hands ripped through them,

Brown eyes glared down in the light,

Legs bared before him for the taking;

Something didn’t feel right.

© Stephanie Cardozo, 2015. Stephanie Cardozo, All rights reserved.

It’s a strange thing, the way your skin grows to you, before you grow into it. The way your skin is always there before you ever become aware. You never noticed what it was or what it did. You never see that it is the boundary, marking where you begin. Then one day, around the age of twelve or thirteen, you notice your skin and you hate what you see.

Oh, what horrible skin you find that you have. You feel stupid for never seeing it. You feel ugly and sad. You loathe your skin. You hate it holding you in. You hate it holding others out. You hate it for being too this, too that, and never quite right. You go on loathing, whining, and moaning, “Why can’t you be different?”.

So, you tan and brighten, trying to change the pigment. You stare in the mirror wishing for a better appearance. You hate it showing off your every hurt, your every growth spurt. So, you scrap it, and pick it, and hope it gets better. You scrub it, and mask it, with sick twisted pleasure. You steam it, and freeze it, in the hope that after you will find your bad skin will become something “other”.

This goes on for years, with bellowing and tears. Then one day, quite random and without cause, you find your skin was perfect, just the way it was. You see it’s perfection in every wrinkle and scar. You see it’s done it’s job, it’s loved you all along. It’s has protected you, warmed and cooled you. It’s saved you from yourself, on more than one occasion, and you have never shown it any appreciation.

So, please, show that skin some love! Pamper it, baby it, show it off, without shame. Go out without guilt, go on and be bold. Let the whole world know, that the skin you’re in, is a temple to behold.

I am most free at night.

My senses heighten when out of sight.

There is no fear.

No need for tears.

In the darkness, my heart shines bright.

© Stephanie Cardozo, 2015. Stephanie Cardozo, All rights reserved.

If you want to be hipster cool, momma will knit you a hat If early mornings on your bike are to cold, momma will knit you a hat If you want dress up like an elf, momma will knit you a hat If I had to pick the best season it shall be winter If I had to pick the most loving craft it shall be knitting If I had to pick the most needed item in winter It would be a hat. Don’t mind your cold hands I…

Grandma your face is…

Faces are like complex metaphors to life, Happy like a child’s first solo bicycle ride, Or grim like Patty the parrot Burried in the backyard, Treacherous like frozen ice on your doorstep, or innocent like a ticklish cackle. Faces are like dreams altering reality, and reality altering dreams. Playing my life in reverse I see a fanfare of faces. Yours is a face I see over and over. Your skin so…