My Deal With Blogs

Here’s the thing: I really enjoy writing blogs. I like that the whole class and the seniors can see them if they want to. The point of the blogs is to be able to share what you’ve experienced and tell your opinion on matters.

This is my whole problem with having to have a certain amount done a week. I can watch the news all day long and still not feel like I have something to comment on or tell my opinion about. I’ve been alive for seventeen years but that doesn’t mean I have a plethora of stories that I think are blog worthy. I like to put a lot of effort into the topics of my blogs and even more effort into the research I do for the blogs I do when I comment on today’s events.

Sometimes, I feel like I’m stuck on campus, unable to hear and see new things or talk to new people. I can’t hear their stories or opinions, which is where I get a lot of my story prompts from. It makes it more difficult to get the full extent of a story or concept, when there’s no one to compare with.

Also, I don’t like constantly writing about sad and dark things that make you stare at the wall or forget how to come up with a sentence. I like writing about happy things that make people smile or at least not feel so down about life. And with my usual writing it’s usually the first of the two that ends up happening inadvertently, which is not my intention, so it takes extra time to convey my stories/poems/opinions in upbeat terms.

In saying that, it kind of makes it look like I’m coming up with excuses, which I might subconsciously be doing, but not on purpose. I tend to take a lot of pride in my writing, despite what I say, and I want it to be the best it can be. I want people to really think and remember what I’ve given them. It sounds like I’m being a attention seeker or that my writing’s worth depends on the accounts of others but that is also not what I’m trying to say. It’s just, if someone is going to take the time to read something of mine, I want it to be worth it.

This blog is sort of all over the place, but I feel like it tells what I’m trying to get across. Hopefully.

 

A Poem I Didn’t Need to Write

My life flashes before my eyes,

except it’s not just mine,

it’s my brother’s and my mom’s,

it’s my best friends’,

and even my dog’s.

There’s nothing remotely interesting about the events that I see,

except when I see your face,

and the way the scar on your chin tilted to the left when you smiled,

how when you laughed,

the whole world stopped to marvel at the sound,

of such a happy and joyous tune,

and the rhythm of the way you breathe flies past my ears,

and I can’t help but wonder why I don’t write more sappy poetry,

about the times we spent together,

but I think that would defeat the purpose of gooey poetry,

because you’re gone,

and all of my mushy words turn to heartache,

that I’m not completely ready to accept yet.

So screw words and lines full of the almost L word,

that was on the tip of both of our tongues.

 

 

My Series of Opinions.1: Las Vegas

I want to discus something that the people of the south don’t really appreciate my opinion on: gun control. Now, here’s where I hear that I’m young and I don’t know what I’m talking about. Another argument I get often is that I’ll regret not having a gun when the wars start or when someone comes knocking on my door in the middle of the night. News flash: war will not be fought with guns or men, we will all be dead in a moment by the mass nuclear weapons that other countries have in their possession. They will not need men and women to do the dirty work of killing each other. They will merely press the big red button and poof, we’re carrion.

I debated writing on this subject because of the different opinions that people have on it. But, as one of my former posts stated, artists’ freedom and all that. So here goes nothing.

My mind has always been adrift when thinking about gun control. I live in a very conservative household and my opinions are very often outnumbered, but seeing as my family will not be reading this, I’ll give my opinion.

There is no excuse for the Las Vegas massacre. None at all. Being 16 and on multiple occasions seeing the headline “Biggest U.S Shooting in History” is outrageous. Why are more people not angry about the lives being lost to senseless murder that can, and should, be controlled. I often here the excuse of the 2nd Amendment, but that was created when guns only held 1 bullet, not 300. More people are endangered now. It’s not a single person having to stop and reload every time they find a target, its 1,800 bullets a minute. 1,800 for a single portable machine gun.

Why do people think they need guns so badly? If they have no reason to own them than to hunt game, then they are unnecessary. People are scared of boogeymen that are not actually there, or wouldn’t be if men and women were not allowed to needlessly own killing machines.

There’s the other argument in the case that  it isn’t the gun doing the killing, but the person behind the trigger….

I truly wonder how we have managed to survive so long as a nation with such a closed mindset. If the gun is not doing the killing then what is? If the killer did not have the gun then would they have still found a way to murder so many people? Possibly.  But how can we know this without proof?  We can’t.

The people that do the killing are sent to  jail, if they’re caught, but what about their weapons of destruction? Is it  kept in police jurisdiction until it’s deemed useless to the case and then sold back out into the world? In some cases, yes.

My point is: I’m angry. And I’m sad. So terrifically sad that something like this could keep happening and nothing is done. Things need, no, have to change for this country to grow.

Friday Night Lights

Coming to MSA has been one of the weirdest experiences of my life. It’s not just the classes or the people or even the decent food that makes it odd- it’s the fact that I, without a doubt, am one of the most claustrophobic people in the universe. Now, I don’t mean in the sense of I can’t be in enclosed spaces or crammed in a large crowd but in the way that I can only stay in Wesson for two days, max, before my blood feels like it’s boiling and my fingers itch to get behind the wheel and just go. 

Seeing the same thing day after day and being stuck in the same routine tends to wear on my nerves faster than I care to admit, so being here has been strange. I have only felt the slightest itch in my hands and my blood has only attempted to simmer on less than a few occasions. You might could add this strange occurrence to the reality that I’ve only dormed here for two weeks instead of the nearly six that everyone else has had to deal with, but still. Being in a place for more than a few hours tends to send my skin into jitters.

The only place that I can’t seem to spend enough time in is my own home. And, in no way, do I want to even attempt to send the idea that I feel as if MSA is my home. And writing that sounds sort of harsh but that’s a discussion for another post. I just find it odd that, though I seem to stir here, its not the same  as if I was stuck in Wesson. Not Wesson school, but Wesson as a town- a whole place. Even though I can drive from corner to corner and feel better, it’s not the same thing as heading out and down the highway towards Brookhaven or Jackson.

My point is: for me, this whole experience as an MSA student has been pretty odd. Maybe the fact that I have my best friend here helps, or that I have made plenty of friends in order to occupy my time so I don’t realize that I am utterly trapped here has had something to do with it. Either way, I’m glad that I don’t have to constantly feel the pull of some far-off adventure while I’m here. The only exception, of course, being Fridays.

Artist’s Freedom

How far, as artists, are we allowed to take topics? This is a question I’m sure anyone with a history of writing has had to ask themselves. When is a good time to stop and let the imagination take hold instead of putting it into words? I, for one, think not having a leash when it comes to controversial topics is an okay idea. Sure, there are some people who would be able to handle the fact that people have different opinions of them and that people sometimes feel the need to write about something that’s bothering them, but there are also the people that would take these occurrences personally. The big question is: are we going to have the patience to handle the latter of the choices?

People usually respond to these hurdles by saying “Well, people shouldn’t be so sensitive.” Or ” Why don’t they just not read what they don’t like?” And these are great arguments. Why should one person keep their thoughts to themselves, thoughts that could possibly be poisoning their mind, just because someone is afraid to handle difficult topics? There is always the possibility of it being just as hard for the artist to discus the topic as it is for that certain someone to hear about it but that shouldn’t stop them. When someone has a question or an opinion, they should be able to discus and entertain ideas without persecution.

Then there is the other option of why can’t they read what they want to and stay away from what upsets them? It is no secret that people tend to enjoy getting into arguments- no matter what they’re about. So, when it comes to reading what they can’t handle it should be no one’s fault but their own if the choose to get upset or offended about that certain discussion.

There are some days when I want to write about everything wrong in the world but I keep from doing so because usually the things that I think are wrong, other people would disagree with. Things such as feminism and sexism usually end up starting an argument with my brother, sometimes even my mom. How am I supposed to write about my feelings and opinions when I’m the one being attacked? There’s a difference between attacking an idea and attacking a person but on most occasions people seem to get the two mixed up and I think that should be something we, as a people, should be able to discern.

Grandparents’ Day

Over the years, out of all the people in my life, my grandmother has been one of the most influential . She has been here since I was born, taking care of my brother and me when no one else was there. She’s one of the strongest people I’ve ever met- she’s not afraid to tell you when she thinks your’re wrong or when you are about to do something stupid.

One of my fondest memories with her was when we decided to go out to eat one afternoon. She couldn’t decide on where to eat so I chose for her, taking her to Cracker Barrel. We arrived and sat down just like any set of normal people- placing our orders and all that good stuff. We chatted and laughed at the antiques hanging all over the walls, her remembering when most of them were invented! About halfway through our meal she nudged me under the table and flicked her head to the table to my right. Sitting there was a young man and what looked to be his grandfather. The younger one looked about my age and was moderately attractive, the older one was handsome for his age and had his eyes directly placed on my grandmother. The young man swatted at his grandfather when he caught us both glancing back at the two. Throughout the rest of the meal there was plenty of ‘accidental’ eye contact between my grandmother and the older gentleman, not to mention myself and the young man. We stayed there much longer than we actually needed to, taking our time to get the last drop out of our glasses, only standing to leave when I told Maw that I had homework to do.  As we went to leave, Maw heading to the counter to pay and myself browsing through the store, our new friends also started to get up. The older gentleman walked straight up to my grandmother and started to try and pay for our meals but her being the stubborn woman she is, declined his advances. The boy who seemed about my age wasn’t as forward- he browsed near me but didn’t make a move until I was moving to follow Maw out of the restaurant. And that’s the story about how my grandmother and I both walked out of Cracker Barrel with with the numbers of our new friends.

Moral of my post is that I think having a day just for our grandparents is the least we can do for them. They do so much for us and give without restraint. And although I couldn’t see her on Grandparents’ Day because of school, I wanted to tell one of the many stories I have with her and about how much I appreciate her and everything she does for me.

10 Songs that Help Me Function as a Human

Everyone has that one song, maybe even a whole playlist, that they need to listen to to be able to start their day off or to help them get through a particularly hard day. Here are some of mine:

When I need to get out of a funk:
Feel It Still by Portugal. The Man
Ophelia by The Lumineers
Wish I Knew You by The Revivalists
Dog Days are Over by Florence + the Machine

When I need to concentrate on my writing:
The Girl by City and Colour
Arsonist’s Lullaby by Hozier
My Eyes by The Lumineers

When I’ve had a long day and I’m ready to wind down and relax:
Slow Hands by Niall Horan
Spirits by The Strumbellas
First by Cold War Kids

“I’ll Give You the Sun”

Loose buttons,

paint stained hands and sand filled hair.

The love for someone that shouldn’t hold hold his heart,

time taken from a family too soon.

Stone cold heart turned to mush turned to stone,

turned human.

Disguise ridden life idled at the sight of a crooked smile,

ghosts talking through destruction, through the voice in her head.

Time taken to heal was almost too long,

Some love stories aren’t just about other people.

 

The Problem with Comfort Zones

Comfort zones, everyone has one. You know, that place that’s just warm and fuzzy and like home- the feeling is hard to beat. The problem that we all face, at one time or another in our lives, is that you will not always have the comfort of your comfort zone. At this very moment, my comfort zone is being threatened. For our week’s assignment, we were instructed to write a personal narrative. Something deep and heartfelt that makes you feel things when you’re writing it. One of the only problems with this is that I do not take pleasure in putting my feelings into words. This sounds unconventional for someone who is attending MSA for literary, a  discipline for which literally everything you feel is going to be put down into words for others to critique. I think that’s my problem- the fact that someone will have to read what I wrote, and then my story will, in part, be theirs for just a moment. The thought of my thoughts inside someone else’s head all jumbled up and distorted is the kicker. What if they interpret it wrong and then won’t make eye contact with me for the rest of the year? What if the teacher thinks I’m insane and gets me sent to a nut house? As I’m writing this, I’m thinking of how many people will have to read it, even if only for a grade in class. They will have my words in their head and there’s no way I can get them back. Comfort Zones: places our discipline teacher does not like us to stay cooped up in, no matter how warm and cozy. I can understand the concept of wanting us to speak in our very own voice that maybe the outside world doesn’t ever get to hear, but at what cost? Is this narrative grade worth the panic attack that it’s definitely going to give me? Most likely not, but I can already feel the shakes calling my name. To anyone else, the prospect of putting their innermost thoughts on a flash drive might not be so terrifying. Heck, it might even be liberating to have someone know what you’re thinking and feeling. To speak for myself though, I have to disagree. I take great pleasure in having my thoughts stay in my head, where they were created. To reiterate what I’ve already stated- take great care not to get too comfy in your comfort zones. Eventually you will be forced to stand up and stretch, doing things you might not have known you had to do and going places you might not want to go. So my advice to myself, and everyone else, is to enjoy your comfort zone while you can, because you never know when you’re going to wake up and have it disappear for a while.

The Best Thing I’ve Ever Read

Gently closing the book and calmly sitting back in my desk was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, especially when all I really wanted to do was throw the novel across the room and scream. “I’ll Give You the Sun” is by far the best thing I’ve ever had the pleasure to put my hands- and eyes- on. It left me excited about the future and what life could hold for me. Jandy Nelson effortlessly conveyed the idea that, yes, you will make mistakes in life, but it will not be the end of the world. The characters are written to be examples of the different ways people deal with grief and loss. The main characters were extremely relatable in the way they handled the different situations Nelson threw at them throughout the novel. When faced with different problems and circumstances in my life, I often think of how the different characters in this particular book would react and if they would go towards the problem the same way I do.  Referring this novel to me during a hard time in life was a blessing that my friend did not even know she was giving me. Being able to see the real-life scenarios that went on throughout the book was a nice change from the fantasy that is usually incorporated into such books. Since my first completion of the book, I’ve read it another five times. It’s my go-to at 3 a.m and the first book I grab when I’m headed out of the door. It’s the book that I read when I’m in hopes of having just a few minutes of free time during the day. It has a certain quality about it that every time you read it, it can give you another piece of advice, most of the time it’s the kind that you didn’t even know you needed. There has never been a book that makes me feel like maybe life isn’t all sharp edges and that just maybe things can eventually start to look up. Multiple times while I was reading, I caught myself smiling or scowling at what the characters were doing or saying. It is truly a rare thing for a book to be able to affect me in such a way. I happily recommend “I’ll Give You the Sun” anytime someone asks and I encourage everyone to read it. I believe everyone deserves to experience the wonder that this book really is.