Wednesday, May 11, 2011
"'...You don't have hair.' Thandi points to Liz's head which is completely bald except for the earliest sprouts of light blond growth.
Liz strokes her head with her hand, enjoying the odd smoothness of it. What hair there is feels like feathers on a newborn chick. She gets out of bed and looks at her reflection in the mirror. Liz sees a girl of about sixteen with very pale skin and greenish blue eyes. The girl, indeed, has no hair.
'That's strange', Liz says. In real life, Liz has long, straight blond hair that tangles easily.
'Didn't you know', Thandi asks.
Liz consideres Thandi's question.
...'Hey, I've got weird things, too.' Thandi raises her canopy of braids like a theater curtain. 'Ta da', she says, revealing a small but deep, still-red wound at the base of her skull.
...'How did you get that?'
'Don't remember', says Thandi, rubbing the top of her head as if she could stimulate her memory with her hands. 'It might have happened a long time ago, but it could have been yesterday, too, know what I mean?'
Liz nods. Although she doesn't think Thandi makes any sense, Liz sees no point in arguing with the crazy sorts of people one meets in a dream.
'We should go', Liz says.
On the way out, Thandi casts a cursory glance at herself in the mirror. 'You think it matters that we're both wearing pj's?', she asks.
Liz looks at Thandi's white nightbown. Liz herself is wearing white men's-style pajamas. 'Why would it matter', Liz asks, thinking it far worse to be bald than underdressed. 'Besides, Thandi, what else do you wear while you're dreaming?'
~ from Elsewhere by Gabrielle Zevin, p. 11-13
Monday, May 9, 2011
I just love this picture, first of all, because it's of the ocean (a must), and second of all, this is exactly what I love to do. I'll just dip my head under the water and let the hum of the swirling water take over my thoughts, while my hands are still above water. It's weird, that wet verses dry thing, where the rest of you is cool and surrounded by liquid, yet your hands are still dry from the hot sun overhead.
So, that's where I got a blogging idea. The senses.
We use them all the time, and it's usually those five feelings we feel every minute of the day that make the best stories, and uncover the deepest of things. I mean, really, memories are the senses bundled up in a cute little care package.
You childhood? Well, it's the taste of apple juice and Cheerios, and the smell of freshly cleaned blankets wrapped around you when you're sick.
School is that feeling in your legs that makes you jittery. And don't forget the texture of school meatloaf. A classic, and a really bad stereotype.
The carnivals that we've all been to are made up of tired, sore feet from walking around all day, a dark sky lit with fireworks, and the smell of fried dough, and the whispy feeling of cotton candy, and holding onto your friend's sweaty palm on a scary ride.
The five senses are what make us human.
I have some amazing quotes that I'll be posting everyday all week long, dedicated to the five senses (touch, taste, smell, sound, and sight), and not necessarily in that order.
Hope you like it, I'm posting the first sense tomorrow!
Thursday, May 5, 2011
That's one thing I can never seem to figure out: Is it ever too late? If you think about it, it really all depends what you're talking about. Some things should just happen because they need to. Other things seem able to be dug up, again and again, poked at, scribbled out, and fix yet again.
... For example, my writing. That's the cool thing about writing; you can leave a story for months and then come back to it to find it still the same, perfectly preserved.
Yes, it's a second chance.