Before being a blogger, I always wanted to be a writer. I used to have this composition book (you know, the 50 cent ones that everybody had for school) and it was black and a light blue- a little like the color of the sky, but more bright, or more artificial, almost neon, you could say.
I used to write a bunch of little poems in it, poems I can't remember now, poems I don't have, poems I can't write again because I lost the notebook and I was just a little girl. I couldn't remember everything I wrote, but I remember that I wrote it.
Fast forward to when I'm an adult (by the law, but neither in mind nor in spirit :p) and I'm just too busy to sit down and right poetry. Inspiration does not come to me, time evades me and the work that spills so fluidly out of other people makes me feel cheated out of my own childhood writing muse.
Why did I have to lose that notebook? Why did I have to stop writing? What can I do about it now?
I thought I could just pick up little stories and start writing, anything, but I can't seem to continue projects that I've started. You could go see my profile on wattpad and you would see that I've been on there since 2011. I've been on wattpad for five years. During those five years, there have been countless books I published the first chapters of, only to lose focus and delete them.
Maybe being a poet or even a writer just isn't in me.
That doesn't lessen my wish of writing a horror piece. So when Eve announced a writing competition, I couldn't help but give it a go. It was especially exciting considering she was only taking acrostic poems and short stories and the theme was urban legends.
Whispering at night,
even though there seems to be
no one outside.
Darkness veils everything and
I am afraid to
get up and go, 'cause the
owls are hooting mournfully,
Stay away, child, stay away!
It's dark tonight and there is
no moon to light your way.
Peeping through the window there is
a pair of eyes, we must lure it
kindly, make soft mewls, ask for help.
It is easy to be what we are not.
Softly stalking, 'cause it doesn't matter if
they don't come. They are alone
and we are a pack, we
need to feed
- Wendigos In PakistanI hope you liked it! Make sure to enter Eve's competition if you're interested! Have a nice day.
Ahhh!! Kanra, this is FANTASTIC. I understand not being able to finish the stories you start - I've started and quit so many. I still do it. In fact, I never finished *anything* I wrote before I began blogging. But this is really, really well written, and it would be a shame for such skill to gather dust! You should make as much use of your talent as you can. Even if that's just pieces here and there. ;) You'll finish things eventually. But only if you start them, right?
ReplyDeleteAlso, I am with you 100% about legally being an adult and not feeling like one at all lol.
Thank you so very much for participating! I hope you had a ton of fun writing this. Keep an eye out around August 26th for the winners! :)
Eve
Edge of Night
Ommmg this is awesome! You are such a great writer. I am not yet done with mines and it sounds kind of juvenile to be honest ;P But I love your poem. it is amazing! :D
ReplyDeleteOooh, this is so cool! I found eve's blog through this and am going to give the contest a shot myself :)
ReplyDeleteFunny story, I was reading your post late at night in a dark room and had no idea what a wendigos was. My blissfully ignorant self then goes and googles it and all these google images pop out at my face and probably traumatize me.
Thanks for the scare, your poem is really interesting and creepy and now I know what a wendigos is XD
-Crystal
You're Just Right
The results are up! :) Thanks so much for submitting your writing! It was a pleasure reading it (and that goes for both of you above this comment, too!).
ReplyDeleteCampfire Tales Contest Results