Looks like I may be getting my story....posted a couple of posts back....published in my college newspaper - under the title of "Melodies." I may also write an op/ed piece about something....not sure yet....lol. Just thought I'd update this blog....I'm trying to keep at it.
I sort of became obsessed with political news before the election here in the US....watching podcasted episodes of "Countdown w/ Keith Olbermann" and "The Rachel Maddow Show" as well as reading online news and blogs from various sites. As a result I sort of neglected my image posting duties at M-C. Now I'm back, tired from all the election emotions, and ready to continue posting there.
Aside from that I've also been working on two big projects, one due at the end of this semester, one next (but much larger). Tomorrow will probably be spent working on the first paper/project with a bit of M-C procrastination thrown in for flavor...lol. Wish me luck.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Vignette....
This is a sketch of a story idea that became the previous story I posted. This one is a little more existential - probably less sad as well.... dozou. Comments are welcome.
Melodies whispered through the night air. Fingers and strings ran together in a veritable symphony of motion. A figure sat cross-legged on a backless park bench caressing the guitar with the years of experience she had worn into the tips of her fingers. The song faded into the wind as the final note was struck and Miiya raised her delicate face away from her guitar to see reds and blues playing harmoniously in the sky. It was times like these she wished she were somewhere else. The screams she had run from still rang loudly in her head. Her parents were fighting again.
She fidgeted on the seat, sliding forward to grab a notebook and pen stashed in the worn guitar case that sat at her feet. She laid the guitar as one would a newborn baby to rest in the case and began to write. Words flowed from her pen in a torrent, her eyebrows furrowed in recollection. Music was her rest. She reveled in the ability to put to paper all the anger and sadness she felt because of the seeming hatred her parents felt for one another. After the flood stopped, the notebook was set aside and Miiya picked up her guitar again. The head gleamed in the dying sun, the name of the company splashed across the top. The guitar looked well used yet well managed. She remembered handing over the money to the shop attendant. It was used, he had said. She didn’t care then. That had been 5 years ago.
She strummed the guitar and upon noting a discordant note adjusted it so the symphony could begin again. This symphony was her lifeline, her raft as she floated upon an ocean of misery. The music began again- softly at first, but then with gathered courage she played. Stars twinkled into existence above her but she didn’t notice them, only the reverberations that struck the soul. She hugged the instrument close as she played. This was her peace, her nirvana.
Melodies whispered through the night air. Fingers and strings ran together in a veritable symphony of motion. A figure sat cross-legged on a backless park bench caressing the guitar with the years of experience she had worn into the tips of her fingers. The song faded into the wind as the final note was struck and Miiya raised her delicate face away from her guitar to see reds and blues playing harmoniously in the sky. It was times like these she wished she were somewhere else. The screams she had run from still rang loudly in her head. Her parents were fighting again.
She fidgeted on the seat, sliding forward to grab a notebook and pen stashed in the worn guitar case that sat at her feet. She laid the guitar as one would a newborn baby to rest in the case and began to write. Words flowed from her pen in a torrent, her eyebrows furrowed in recollection. Music was her rest. She reveled in the ability to put to paper all the anger and sadness she felt because of the seeming hatred her parents felt for one another. After the flood stopped, the notebook was set aside and Miiya picked up her guitar again. The head gleamed in the dying sun, the name of the company splashed across the top. The guitar looked well used yet well managed. She remembered handing over the money to the shop attendant. It was used, he had said. She didn’t care then. That had been 5 years ago.
She strummed the guitar and upon noting a discordant note adjusted it so the symphony could begin again. This symphony was her lifeline, her raft as she floated upon an ocean of misery. The music began again- softly at first, but then with gathered courage she played. Stars twinkled into existence above her but she didn’t notice them, only the reverberations that struck the soul. She hugged the instrument close as she played. This was her peace, her nirvana.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Just an original short story...
Hello all. This is an original short story I composed for my Creative Writing Class a little over a year ago. Dozou.
Soft melodies whispered through the evening air. Fingers and strings ran together in a veritable symphony of motion. A young girl sat cross-legged on a backless park bench strumming the guitar with the years of experience she had worn into the tips of her fingers. The song “Goodbye days” faded into the wind as the final note sounded and Miyabi Shibata raised her delicate face away from her guitar to see reds and blues playing harmoniously in the sky as the sun set across the bay. Times like this made her wish she was someplace else. The screams she had run from still rang loudly in her head. Her parents were fighting again.
Her dark auburn hair tickled her neck in the fluttering breeze. She fidgeted on the bench and moved her legs from the crossed position so that she could lean forward to grab a notebook and pen stashed in the worn guitar case that sat at her feet. She laid the guitar as one would a newborn baby to rest in the case and began to write. Words flowed across the page in a torrent of motion; her eyebrows were furrowed in recollection. Her left hand clenched as she wrote. Music was her rest. It was all she had left. Her face relaxed as she continued to write. She reveled in the ability to put to paper all the anger and sadness she felt because of the apparent hatred her parents felt for one another. After the flood of words subsided, she set the notebook beside her on the bench and picked up her guitar again from its case. The guitar snipped her knee as she lifted it to her lap and her face crinkled in a grimace. She reached down and gently rubbed the knee through the hole worn in her jeans. A black brace peeked out from behind the worn denim and many scars ran in “x” shapes on her knee cap. The grimace faded and her hands returned to the guitar. The headstock gleamed in the dying sun; white letters spelling Fender crossed the deep brown of the wood behind them. A few scratches ran along the body of the guitar. The smell of lemons wafted up to her nose and the polished wood caught the sun creating a dazzling splash of orange across the bulky guitar body.
Miyabi looked up towards the purpling sky and saw people looking expectantly at her instrument. She smiled lightly and began to strum again. A rebellious note sounded out and Miyabi adjusted the silver tuning peg before looking out at the people once more.
"Hello everyone, my name is Miiya and the song I want to play for you is called 'Stay with me.'"
****
"Can you come over for a minute Miiya?"
"Sure…I’ll be there as fast as my legs will carry," She grinned into her cell phone and hobbled to the bus stop just down the path from her bench. She sat down gingerly after setting her guitar case against the seat. She began to tap the rhythm to her song "Stay With Me" against the guitar case as she waited for the bus. Cars sped by, here a Honda, there a Mitsubishi, all going by with low rumbles and maybe an angry wasp or two. After a few minutes of impersonal car sounds passing by the faint low growl of a diesel engine grew closer. The bus pulled to a stop with a hiss and the doors opened with a snap. Miiya limped up the stairs and sat in the seat behind the driver – a young woman who looked out of place. Miiya hugged the guitar to herself as the bus rumbled off.
****
"Thank you for coming over so quickly Miiya."
Miiya shuffled in slowly behind another young woman.
"Thanking me for coming over? Why so formal Kari? You know I’d come over in a heartbeat."
Miiya looked at Kari strangely. Kari led her through the small house, past various photos lining the walls and past a kitchen that smelled like beef.
Kari noticed Miiya sniffing the air, "We had grilled beef for supper tonight." Miiya laughed.
The two entered through a closed door plastered with various threats and warnings for those who dared to come in. Some clothes littered a corner of the room around a small basket filled with balls of cloth. Miiya looked up from the messy room at Kari. A flash of worry crossed Kari’s face as a small, discontented sigh escaped her lips.
"Miiya, how are you doing?" She looked at Miiya sadly.
"I’m fi…"
"Before you tell me you’re fine. I should say that I know what’s been wrong with you recently," Kari interrupted. Fear crossed Miiya’s face.
"You….You do? How?" A stuttered gasp escaped before Miiya could quell it.
"I heard your parents arguing when I went to your house to see if you wanted to hang out. I couldn’t get you on your cell."
"I suppose you want nothing to do with me now." Miiya sighed.
"How could you say that? You think everyone will run away from you just because you have some obscure disease?" Kari looked at Miiya, her eyes wide and mouth left slightly open.
"I did." Miiya held her head low.
"Well…. I did some research on the disease. I know what will happen to you eventually but I’m willing to stick with you. I’ll even push your wheelchair for you when you get one."
"I….I don’t know what to say." Miiya sighed again.
"What are friends for…." Kari smiled at Miiya and pulled her into a gentle hug.
"Thank you Kari."
****
It was about 8:30PM when Miiya arrived home from Kari’s house. She laid her guitar case against the wall in the entry way and slipped off her shoes before tip-toeing into the main part of the house. Her right foot dragged slightly behind her as she entered the kitchen. The smell of burnt meat and rice wine saturated the air of the ruined kitchen. Tiny daggers of white ceramic were all that remained of the dishes and the shiny skillet her mother had just bought lay neglected next to a bruised refrigerator. She shuffled slowly along out of the battered kitchen into the living area. She saw her father’s black hair which looked grey in the pale moonlight over the back of his favorite chair.
"Dad, what happened here? It looks like a typhoon blew through the kitchen." Miiya sat down stiffly onto the couch adjacent to her father’s chair. She then noticed the faint noise in the room before realizing that her father had been listening to music. Beethoven’s 9th.
"It doesn’t work anymore." Her father laid his face in his hands.
"What doesn’t?"
"The song," he looked up at Miiya. "She’s gone Mii."
"I’m sorry." Miiya looked at the ground.
"It’s not your fault." He sunk back in his chair with a sigh.
"You were fighting about me weren’t you?" She leaned forward looking intently at his face for any deceit.
He didn’t answer.
"She left because she couldn’t handle me being sick right?" She glared at him.
"That’s not it at all." He looked at her sullenly. Her rage toward him melted away from her demeanor.
Her father spoke to her candidly as possible about what happened. Flashes of anger and pity for her mother crossed Miiya’s face from time to time. Her father stood up – not as straight as he normally would. He walked into the kitchen and began slowly picking up the pieces. Miiya was left on the couch in the dark moonlit living room, her eyes blurry with unshed tears. Someone had left her because of her illness; however a small smile remained on her lips as she remembered the words of her friend. Their bond became thicker than blood earlier that night.
"I’m willing to stick with you. Even push your wheelchair for you when you get one."
Soft melodies whispered through the evening air. Fingers and strings ran together in a veritable symphony of motion. A young girl sat cross-legged on a backless park bench strumming the guitar with the years of experience she had worn into the tips of her fingers. The song “Goodbye days” faded into the wind as the final note sounded and Miyabi Shibata raised her delicate face away from her guitar to see reds and blues playing harmoniously in the sky as the sun set across the bay. Times like this made her wish she was someplace else. The screams she had run from still rang loudly in her head. Her parents were fighting again.
Her dark auburn hair tickled her neck in the fluttering breeze. She fidgeted on the bench and moved her legs from the crossed position so that she could lean forward to grab a notebook and pen stashed in the worn guitar case that sat at her feet. She laid the guitar as one would a newborn baby to rest in the case and began to write. Words flowed across the page in a torrent of motion; her eyebrows were furrowed in recollection. Her left hand clenched as she wrote. Music was her rest. It was all she had left. Her face relaxed as she continued to write. She reveled in the ability to put to paper all the anger and sadness she felt because of the apparent hatred her parents felt for one another. After the flood of words subsided, she set the notebook beside her on the bench and picked up her guitar again from its case. The guitar snipped her knee as she lifted it to her lap and her face crinkled in a grimace. She reached down and gently rubbed the knee through the hole worn in her jeans. A black brace peeked out from behind the worn denim and many scars ran in “x” shapes on her knee cap. The grimace faded and her hands returned to the guitar. The headstock gleamed in the dying sun; white letters spelling Fender crossed the deep brown of the wood behind them. A few scratches ran along the body of the guitar. The smell of lemons wafted up to her nose and the polished wood caught the sun creating a dazzling splash of orange across the bulky guitar body.
Miyabi looked up towards the purpling sky and saw people looking expectantly at her instrument. She smiled lightly and began to strum again. A rebellious note sounded out and Miyabi adjusted the silver tuning peg before looking out at the people once more.
"Hello everyone, my name is Miiya and the song I want to play for you is called 'Stay with me.'"
****
"Can you come over for a minute Miiya?"
"Sure…I’ll be there as fast as my legs will carry," She grinned into her cell phone and hobbled to the bus stop just down the path from her bench. She sat down gingerly after setting her guitar case against the seat. She began to tap the rhythm to her song "Stay With Me" against the guitar case as she waited for the bus. Cars sped by, here a Honda, there a Mitsubishi, all going by with low rumbles and maybe an angry wasp or two. After a few minutes of impersonal car sounds passing by the faint low growl of a diesel engine grew closer. The bus pulled to a stop with a hiss and the doors opened with a snap. Miiya limped up the stairs and sat in the seat behind the driver – a young woman who looked out of place. Miiya hugged the guitar to herself as the bus rumbled off.
****
"Thank you for coming over so quickly Miiya."
Miiya shuffled in slowly behind another young woman.
"Thanking me for coming over? Why so formal Kari? You know I’d come over in a heartbeat."
Miiya looked at Kari strangely. Kari led her through the small house, past various photos lining the walls and past a kitchen that smelled like beef.
Kari noticed Miiya sniffing the air, "We had grilled beef for supper tonight." Miiya laughed.
The two entered through a closed door plastered with various threats and warnings for those who dared to come in. Some clothes littered a corner of the room around a small basket filled with balls of cloth. Miiya looked up from the messy room at Kari. A flash of worry crossed Kari’s face as a small, discontented sigh escaped her lips.
"Miiya, how are you doing?" She looked at Miiya sadly.
"I’m fi…"
"Before you tell me you’re fine. I should say that I know what’s been wrong with you recently," Kari interrupted. Fear crossed Miiya’s face.
"You….You do? How?" A stuttered gasp escaped before Miiya could quell it.
"I heard your parents arguing when I went to your house to see if you wanted to hang out. I couldn’t get you on your cell."
"I suppose you want nothing to do with me now." Miiya sighed.
"How could you say that? You think everyone will run away from you just because you have some obscure disease?" Kari looked at Miiya, her eyes wide and mouth left slightly open.
"I did." Miiya held her head low.
"Well…. I did some research on the disease. I know what will happen to you eventually but I’m willing to stick with you. I’ll even push your wheelchair for you when you get one."
"I….I don’t know what to say." Miiya sighed again.
"What are friends for…." Kari smiled at Miiya and pulled her into a gentle hug.
"Thank you Kari."
****
It was about 8:30PM when Miiya arrived home from Kari’s house. She laid her guitar case against the wall in the entry way and slipped off her shoes before tip-toeing into the main part of the house. Her right foot dragged slightly behind her as she entered the kitchen. The smell of burnt meat and rice wine saturated the air of the ruined kitchen. Tiny daggers of white ceramic were all that remained of the dishes and the shiny skillet her mother had just bought lay neglected next to a bruised refrigerator. She shuffled slowly along out of the battered kitchen into the living area. She saw her father’s black hair which looked grey in the pale moonlight over the back of his favorite chair.
"Dad, what happened here? It looks like a typhoon blew through the kitchen." Miiya sat down stiffly onto the couch adjacent to her father’s chair. She then noticed the faint noise in the room before realizing that her father had been listening to music. Beethoven’s 9th.
"It doesn’t work anymore." Her father laid his face in his hands.
"What doesn’t?"
"The song," he looked up at Miiya. "She’s gone Mii."
"I’m sorry." Miiya looked at the ground.
"It’s not your fault." He sunk back in his chair with a sigh.
"You were fighting about me weren’t you?" She leaned forward looking intently at his face for any deceit.
He didn’t answer.
"She left because she couldn’t handle me being sick right?" She glared at him.
"That’s not it at all." He looked at her sullenly. Her rage toward him melted away from her demeanor.
Her father spoke to her candidly as possible about what happened. Flashes of anger and pity for her mother crossed Miiya’s face from time to time. Her father stood up – not as straight as he normally would. He walked into the kitchen and began slowly picking up the pieces. Miiya was left on the couch in the dark moonlit living room, her eyes blurry with unshed tears. Someone had left her because of her illness; however a small smile remained on her lips as she remembered the words of her friend. Their bond became thicker than blood earlier that night.
"I’m willing to stick with you. Even push your wheelchair for you when you get one."
Monday, October 6, 2008
Some books I help with
Those of you from Musume-Central may know what I'm talking about - I mention working on books in the "What are you doing apart from being here?" thread. The author has since made a blog so I thought I would share the link with those of you who follow Morning Infinity.
http://theparadiseseries.blogspot.com/
The books are intended for younger readers - those in Middle and High School (in America), however I also find them enjoyable (I'm in college).
The books can be found on Amazon.com and booksurge.com. Just trying to spread the news about the books by word of mouth.
As for my next posts - they maybe one-shot fanfics.....
http://theparadiseseries.blogspot.com/
The books are intended for younger readers - those in Middle and High School (in America), however I also find them enjoyable (I'm in college).
The books can be found on Amazon.com and booksurge.com. Just trying to spread the news about the books by word of mouth.
As for my next posts - they maybe one-shot fanfics.....
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Handwriting personality Test
Brandon is moderately outgoing. His emotions are stirred by sympathy and heart rendering stories. In fact, he can be kind, friendly, affectionate and considerate of others. He has the ability to put himself into the other person's shoes.
Brandon will be somewhat moody, with highs and lows. Sometimes he will be happy, the next day he might be sad. He has the unique ability to get along equally well with what psychology calls introverts and extroverts. This is because he is in between. Psychology calls Brandon an ambivert. He understands the needs of both types. Although they get along, he will not tolerate anyone that is too "far out." He doesn't sway too far one way or the other.
When convincing him to buy a product or an idea, a heart rendering story could mean a great deal to him. He puts himself in the same situation as the person in the story, yet he will not buy anything that seems overly impractical or illogical. Brandon is an expressive person. He outwardly shows his emotions. He may even show traces of tears when hearing a sad story.
Brandon is a "middle-of-the-roader," politically as well as logically. He weighs both sides of an issue, sits on the fence, and then will decide when he finally has to. He basically doesn't relate to any far out ideas and usually won't go to the extreme on any issue.
People that write their letters in an average height and average size are moderate in their ability to interact socially. According to the data input, Brandon doesn't write too large or too small, indicating a balanced ability to be social and interact with others.
Brandon will be candid and direct when expressing his opinion. He will tell them what he thinks if they ask for it, whether they like it or not. So, if they don't really want his opinion, don't ask for it!
Diplomacy is one of Brandon's best attributes. He has the ability to say what others want to hear. He can have tact with others. He has the ability to state things in such a way as to not offend someone else. Brandon can disagree without being disagreeable.
In reference to Brandon's mental abilities, he has a very investigating and creating mind. He investigates projects rapidly because he is curious about many things. He gets involved in many projects that seem good at the beginning, but he soon must slow down and look at all the angles. He probably gets too many things going at once. When Brandon slows down, then he becomes more creative than before. Since it takes time to be creative, he must slow down to do it. He then decides what projects he has time to finish. Thus he finishes at a slower pace than when he started the project.
He has the best of two kinds of minds. One is the quick investigating mind. The other is the creative mind. His mind thinks quick and rapidly in the investigative mode. He can learn quicker, investigate more, and think faster. Brandon can then switch into his low gear. When he is in the slower mode, he can be creative, remember longer and stack facts in a logical manner. He is more logical this way and can climb mental mountains with a much better grip.
Brandon is a practical person whose goals are planned, practical, and down to earth. This is typical of people with normal healthy self-esteem. He needs to visualize the end of a project before he starts. he finds joy in anticipation and planning. Notice that I said he plans everything he is going to do, that doesn't necessarily mean things go as planned. Brandon basically feels good about himself. He has a positive self-esteem which contributes to his success. He feels he has the ability to achieve anything he sets his mind to. However, he sets his goals using practicality-- not too "out of reach". He has enough self-confidence to leave a bad situation, yet, he will not take great risks, as they relate to his goals. A good esteem is one key to a happy life. Although there is room for improvement in the confidence catagery, his self-perception is better than average.
Brandon is sarcastic. This is a defense mechanism designed to protect his ego when he feels hurt. He pokes people harder than he gets poked. These sarcastic remarks can be very funny. They can also be harsh, bitter, and caustic at the same time.
Brandon has a healthy imagination and displays a fair amount of trust. He lets new people into his circle of friends. He uses his imagination to understand new ideas, things, and people.
Don't you?
I find it odd that a student from China can write better in English than a student born in an English-speaking student (anglophone if you want me to use a college level word...lol.) Oh well...doesn't really matter all that much, does it? As the first entry in my blog maybe I'll use this to set the course for what this blog will be. One, a fan blog for the J-pop idol group Morning Musume (and their companion groups in the Hello! Project) as well as the J-pop/rock group Do As Infinity. Second, this will be a place to read some of my rants about the ups and downs of American life, politics, and etc. Also, this blog may be used to wax philosophical about various issues that interest me.
You can call me Advent. Maybe I'll also post original fictional/poetic works for people's perusal. Enjoy.
You can call me Advent. Maybe I'll also post original fictional/poetic works for people's perusal. Enjoy.
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