Archive for the ‘writing’ Category

This is an assignment I had to do for my Creative Writing class. The assignment was to describe a room, and through that description the reader must learn, assume or understand something about the character who inhabits the room but is absent in the piece. Enjoy!

It was a quaint sized room. Small and confined not only by its size, but also the growing amount of objects filling the once open space. A dresser stood to the right of the door with partly opened, vacant drawers. The top of the dresser was stacked high with pictures of a man and a woman with vibrant smiles. The pictures were suffocated by the thick layer of dust that consumed the room. Next to the dresser was a desk. It appeared to be handmade by an unexperienced craftsman. The desk slanted sharply to the right, there was a small cupboard on the lower left side that had a door that was too small for its opening. There was an array of paint spatter on the top of the desk that could be faintly seen under the dust. In the right corner of the desk was a small, childish, crayon drawing of a car. There was no chair accompanying the desk, no papers or books covered the top.

A bed was pressed tightly against the left wall. The frame was metal, spray painted a metallic blue, but appeared grey as the dust too had made its home on the metal bars. A sliver of a yellow stained mattress could be seen through the piles of clothes, blankets and towels that spilled over the sides of the bed. It was a volcano of fabric ready to erupt at any moment. It was unstable and delicate. Every piece placed carefully as not to disrupt the fragile mountain.

The walls were an off white colour further distorted by the coating of dust that stuck to them like a second layer of paint. A single picture frame hung crooked on the left wall. The frame contained an image of a man, a woman and a small boy posing for a family photo. They were standing in front of a house, their arms wrapped around each other, smiling brightly.

The floor was a sea of musty clothes, shoes, toys, beads, newspapers, and an array of take out garbage. A lonely spotless path parted the sea of chaos that filled the floor. The path started at the door and lead to a small clearing just the right size for a single body. The clearing was placed directly in front of a bookshelf that reached to the ceiling. The bookshelf sparkled. Miraculously, not a speck of dust had settled anywhere on the dark cherry wood varnish. The shelves were straight and the base sat flat against the floor; it was a solid piece of craftsmanship. The moulding was filled with intricate designs of flowers, each one carved individually by artisan hands. Not a single book was placed on the shelves but a black leather journal lay neatly in the clearing. A piece of twine attached to the journal which attached to a pen. The journal and pen were both engulfed with the same layer of dust that had blanketed the room. On the very bottom left wall of the bookshelf was a poem burned into the wood,

To my darling,

may one day the words you craft,

be bound together and placed on these shelves,

for all eyes to read and all hearts to enjoy.

Love, M Jan 2, 1996

This is a personal essay I wrote for my Women’s Life Writing class based on the question “If you could change one thing about your life what would it be?”

Have you ever pleaded with The Universe to change something about your life, begged the all encompassing “creator” to please just make you normal? I have. I spent much of my life wanting to change my sexuality. Although I grew up in a house hold where I was exposed to homosexuality as a young age this exposure did not help me in my own accepting of who I was. My first memory of homosexuality was when I was seven years old while watching the sitcom Ellen. Ellen was my mom’s favorite show and I remember her becoming very angry when the show got cancelled. I recall my mom angrily stating “I don’t care if she’s gay, she’s funny and I want to laugh when I get home from work!” I don’t remember how I knew what gay meant at the time all I knew is that Ellen liked girls and therefore she couldn’t be on TV anymore. I still remember the episode in which Ellen came out. She was rushing to the airport before her soon to be love interest left on a plane, Ellen reached over to the PA system at the airport and proudly shouted “I’m gay” over the intercom, for some reason that always stuck with me. My next exposure to homosexuality was within my own family. My uncle came out when I was nine and I very vividly recall the moment my parents told my sister and I. My mom gathered us in the living room and sat us down on the couch, her and my dad sat on two chairs, directly facing us. Both of them had serious looks on their faces. At this point I was sure someone had died or at least was very sick. My mom continued to explain to us that my Uncle was gay. My parents asked us if we had any questions and neither of us did so my dad told us we could go back to playing. My uncle’s coming out didn’t change our family dynamic one bit, everything went on as normal. My parents never had anything bad to say about my uncle’s sexuality. They told my sister and I that he was the same uncle we had always had and that the only difference was that he may bring a boyfriend to family functions rather than a girlfriend. They told us not to be afraid to talk about him and that no matter what anyone said about him he was still a good person and being gay wouldn’t change that. I still find it shocking that I came from such an accepting family and yet I was so ashamed of my sexuality for so long.

I was about eleven years old when I became permanently confused about my sexuality. All the girls in my grade were getting “feelings” about the boys in our class. At recess they would write down who they wanted to marry and how many kids they wanted. “I’m definitely marrying Mark*, and we’ll have 3 beautiful children and we’ll live in the biggest house in town!” Laura* would say. Mark* was the hot commodity for most of the girls in my class. He had dark skin, green eyes and luscious pink lips, he drove all the girls crazy, except me. I played along with these recess games, but I had yet to feel anything about boys or girls for that matter. At twelve I was still more interested in winning the basketball game after school then who I wanted to date. By thirteen I still had yet to be interested in anyone, but I continued to gossip with my friends about the new boy in class because I thought that’s what I was supposed to do. At this point I began to think there was something wrong with me, why wasn’t I interested in dating boys? Instead of wanting to date boys I wanted to avoid them. I began to feel uncomfortable around boys; I didn’t know how to communicate with them. Was I supposed to be flirtatious like my best friend Zoe* or was I supposed to fit in with them like my friend Morgan* who was the “tom boy” in my class? I didn’t know, all I knew was that I’d rather hang out with Jessie*. Jessie* was a new student and had these beautiful, glacial blue eyes and short golden blonde hair. She was tall and towered over me but she had the most gentle smile I had ever seen. Jessie* and I became fast friends and we spent much of our time together, until Jessica started dating Mark* and then our friendship became more of an acquaintance relationship.

Fast forward a year, to the week before my fourteenth birthday. For an early birthday gift my aunt sent me to camp with my younger cousin. That week at camp changed my life forever. I met a girl. She had sparkling blue eyes, and her dirty blonde hair was always pulled back in a pony. She dressed in baggy pants, and I distinctly remember she wore a mustard yellow sweater almost everyday we were there. She had a boisterous personality, she was loud, funny and wasn’t afraid to make a fool of herself. Most of all, she was confident and I loved that about her. In many ways she reminded me of myself and I gravitated towards her. Luckily for me we were in the same activity group and spent everyday attached at the hip. She was a long time camper at camp and was very popular amongst the campers and staff, in turn, I too became popular.

On the last day of camp my parents had to pick me up early because we had a wedding to attend. That morning I watched as she got ready for the day. I remember myself laid out on her bed with tears streaming down my cheeks. She insisted I not cry and that we would stay in contact, after all we only lived a half hour from each other. My heart dropped the moment my camp counselor came to the door and told me my parents were there to pick me up. I didn’t understand why I was so upset about leaving, I would see her again and I would be back at camp next year. My parents came and carried my luggage to the truck, she took my hand and laced her fingers with mine. That moment, that feeling, of her fingers intertwined with mine was the moment, the feeling, I knew. I knew that I had fallen for a girl. I had never felt more content in my life then during that walk along that path with our hands in embrace. She refused to let go of my hand even once I was in the vehicle. As my parents drove away she ran along side the truck and our hands were eventually torn apart by my dad’s lead foot. That night as I laid in bed crying I said to myself “I’m gay” and then buried it deep down inside me. I buried those feelings because other then my uncle no one else in my town was gay and I certainly wasn’t going to be the only one. Soon after my realization I decided I would change, I would no longer be gay. I didn’t want to be different, I didn’t ask to be different and I wasn’t strong enough to be different, or so I thought. I went back to school and continued on my escapades of “fitting in” and gossiping about boys. I eventually went to high school and by the time I graduated I had buried my feelings so well that I almost never thought about my sexuality. I had decided I could live my life as a single woman and never have to tell people about how I really felt. I was wrong.

By the time I had turned twenty-three the denial of my sexuality was no longer as easy as it was in high school. I began to have anxiety attacks regularly, my personality changed from being a happy, bubbly, talkative person to being a more tense, reclusive person. A friend set me up on a date; I sat nervously and anxiously through it all the while knowing that this poor guy had no chance. At the end of the night when he leaned in for a kiss I simply put out my hand and said, “Thanks for dinner.” I began to be resentful of The Universe for making me this way. I would cry myself to sleep pleading with whatever power existed to make me straight. I didn’t want to be gay and I didn’t want my family to have to deal with having a gay daughter, sister, niece or friend. I would occasionally come across a television show discussing “coming out’ as if it was something that would make everything in my life better. What a lie! How could coming out as a gay individual make my life better? How would going from a normal, white, heterosexual woman become better if I gave people a reason to discriminate against me; and it wasn’t just me who would face discrimination. My parents would undoubtedly face the dreaded “coffee row” in town and hear whispers about their gay daughter. How would my niece and nephew be treated if they had a gay aunt? Would they be taunted at school, would they be ashamed of me? Would they wish I was normal just like I wished I was?

* * *

After ten years of forcing myself to live an inauthentic life I had finally given up. I had decided I could at least date women and keep it a secret rather than denying myself love forever. I dated a couple people but it never felt right, sneaking around, lying about who I was hanging out with. None of the relationships were healthy and this created further shame about who I was. However, everything changed in May 2013 when I met my now girlfriend on an unsuspecting, sunny, Saturday afternoon in the parking lot of Pet Smart. She and I started to date in December of last year and through her unwavering support I began to accept my sexuality. She said to me one day, “You know babe, before I came out I used to wish I could change my sexuality, but the moment I came out I felt whole, I felt happy, I felt content and I knew that being gay was not something that took away from my life, it enhanced it.” I wanted to feel content, I wanted to feel happy, I wanted to be whole. We dated for nine months before I got up the courage to come out to my family and friends. During that nine months we had many ups and downs. I still often felt guilty and ashamed about my sexuality but on August 23, 2014, the eve of my 26th birthday, my best friend, my sister and my parents received letters from me informing them of my sexuality. In the letters, I confessed that I still sometimes wished I wasn’t gay and that I tried for along time to change who I was but I could no longer fight it. Within minutes of receiving the letters I got phone calls and texts from my loved ones saying, “We don’t want you to change, we love you exactly as you are and if you were any different you would not be the Lindsay we love.” I could not believe the outpouring of support, acceptance, and love I received from the most important people in my life. That was the moment I stopped wishing I wasn’t gay. It all ended there, all the doubt, the pleading, the shame, the denial. All of it gone, permanently.

If you asked me 5 months ago if I could change one thing about my life what would it be? I would have said my sexuality but today I no longer feel the need to change that part of me. If I could change anything about my life today it would be the memories of the shame I felt about being gay. Now I wish I had never felt those things, I wish I had never wished to change who I am. I wish I could have had the courage to come out sooner however, I know when and how I came out was the way it was meant to be. Today I have got all the things I wanted, I’m happy, I’m content and I am whole. As for those episodes I saw on TV suggesting coming out would help my life, they were right. Coming out has been the most important moment in my life to date. I hope that in the future I can help other LGBTQ youth realize they don’t need to change or deny their sexuality. I realize now that the change I had to make was a change in mentality from denying who I was to accepting who I am. I know that if I can change the perceptions of myself after years of self repression and denial then others can change their perceptions too.

One Lasting Forever (audio)

For us there is no forever

We knew that when we began this endeavor

We chose this path mutually

Divided, alone, we will hurt separately

The looming end poisons our time

Our love from the beginning was a great climb

Some moments are shared free of regret

Questions are pondered, Why have we met?

My life will be empty without you there

How am I to live gracefully without your care?

I want us to stay in this place together

Let’s make this moment the one lasting forever

These Tears

Posted: January 29, 2013 in Love, poetry, writing
Tags: , , , , , ,

The tears I cry

Burn my skin

Like acid

Thinking about

What we might have been

 

Disclaimer:

I want to clarify that in this blog entry when I refer to “us/we” I’m referring to the global population. This article is not meant to pinpoint any specific country, culture or region. 

There has been much talk lately about gun violence not just in North America but globally. You have some countries claiming their laws inhibit such violence, while others seemingly encourage it. I believe neither of these statements are true, lets face it, guns are like drugs. No matter what laws are put in place, if people want it that bad they will find away to get it.

During these recent discussions there has also been talk about violence displayed in video games, in television and movies, suggesting that maybe this display of aggression is somehow encouraging people to use violence. I’m going to be perfectly honest with you, THAT IS A LOAD OF CRAP!!! The violence in these forms of entertainment come from the violence we display in our everyday lives not the other way around. People aren’t violent because of video games, people are violent because the human species has been violent for most of its existence. How many times in history class did you study a war or a conflict that somehow ended in a form of resolution or desecration of the people causing the so called “problems”? The answer is often. When we teach our children about human growth we are at the same time teaching them that to get ahead, to succeed you must either surrender to the force or crush the force. Humans have been using violence as a means of fixing problems forever and continue to do it daily.

Our own personal actions are what contributes to the ever growing aggression we see in the world. When someone or some group decides to shoot up a school, bomb a town or stab a person the media decides to plaster their faces across all platforms, continuously talking about the person/people in turn making these horrible people famous for the horrendous crimes they’ve committed. Then we discuss PUBLICLY what to do with this person or people, we must hunt them down, do what they did to us, basically stating that revenge is the only option.

Answer me this, are we not always taught two wrongs don’t make a right? Do we not teach our children not to hit back if they are hit? How do we expect people to believe these things if our actions do not show the very concept of what we are teaching? It seems that we are always looking for someone else to blame. Heaven forbid we actually accept responsibility for our actions and attempt to change. No, that would be too much work, its easier to hate than it is to love. To love, you must set aside all differences, all angst and understand that I am a part of you and you are apart of me. When you do something horrible in a sense every human on the planet has done that same horrible thing and vice versa when you do something kind.

Humans are very contradicting and confusing creatures. If I’m being honest (which I always am) I don’t think we will ever be able to stop the violence we see today. In fact, I see it getting much worse before it gets better. Globally we are facing many problems, scarce resources, poverty, pollution, and overpopulation. These things will most likely cause more violence and hatred among us.

So do me a favour today and spread a little more love than you did yesterday. Remember that YOU are part of the problem but YOU can also be a part of the solution.

Peace and Love

Lindsay

I just want to start by saying thank you to all the people still visiting my blog. I know I haven’t been posting much lately :/ my bad. That being said I’m glad to see such a positive response to my dramatic readings I feel like I’m being lame by calling them dramatic readings since I am in no way an artist capable of doing dramatic readings. I am so thankful for the support and truly appreciate all the feedback.

Moving on.  New Years, I hope yours was a happy one! I don’t really do resolutions but my plan for this year is to write more and more and more. I don’t enjoy putting finish lines on things but I would really like to complete a full draft of Gray Hayles by the end of the year. So hopefully you will all reap the benefits of that, or maybe the consequences, we’ll have to wait and see how it turns out!

Onto the cycle, I was just thinking about a loss I experienced near the end of last year, there was a moment that I think, forever changed me. I sat in a room with a family member who was near to passing while cradling an infant in my arms. It may not sound so striking, but being there and experiencing the loss of one human being as another human beings life journey just began was the strangest thing in the world. Not only was it confusing but I developed a strong feeling of ambivalence. I was so greatly sad and yet immensely happy at the same time, I was losing someone and gaining someone all at once. It really put into perspective the phrase “circle of life” you can say it all you want but you really have no idea what it means or how it will affect you.

Around and around we go.

Oh and here’s another dramatic reading.

Cycle.

(Re-reading this post I think I should have called it Thanks, New Years and Cycle)

Peace and Love and Dramatic Readings ;p

Lindsay

The Borrowed HeartImage