Category: Junior Literary

Over the summer, I made it a point to read as much as I could. I had a goal in mind before I started school: to read some of Shakespeare’s most popular works. I bought about five of his plays from Amazon; specifically, I read the SparkNotes’ “No Fear Shakespeare” versions (if you want to read Shakespeare and have a hard time understanding the language, I highly recommend this, because it puts an easy-to-read translation of the original text right beside each other, and you don’t have to spend fifteen minutes trying to understand what each word means).

I read Macbeth, Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, and Much Ado About Nothing. My expectations for these plays were low: I didn’t expect myself to be able to understand what was happening the first time I read through them. However, I ended up exceeding my expectations. I enjoyed reading these plays, and I was quickly able to understand them entirely.

I read most of these plays while I was on a mission trip to Honduras, because I had a lot of time to read when I wasn’t doing bible school or doing a water run to one of the nearby villages. And just like that, I was enraptured by the worlds that these plays contained. I often found myself whisked away so much that I would sometimes miss the call that dinner was ready until someone pulled me away.

My favorite, by far, was Hamlet. I know that sounds like a somewhat stereotypical thing to say, but it’s the complete truth of the matter. My mind was enraptured by the story. I made it a point to myself to try to memorize his “To be, or not to be” monologue- I never succeeded, but I got pretty far.

I started to find that, over time, those plays gave me a new outlook on my creative nature. They turned on the creative switch in my mind, and I was all for it. I wrote as much as I could in that week, and I found myself making some pretty decent progress in my world-building efforts. Through these hundred year old stories, I found a new spark of energy.

I think I’ll keep reading more and more of his works. Maybe I can read some of the historical plays, or find more of his comedies. I feel like his words would definitely help as I go on this journey to find my true creative spark- but a little boost from Shakespeare wouldn’t hurt.

Those late, summer nights,

have always given me the best memories.

We’d sneak out and go to a field,

just watching the stars,

talking all night long.

You’d tell me about you’re movie star dreams,

And your mile long bucket list.

Your car always smelled like pizza,

It made sense because you worked a summer job at Papa John’s.

I miss getting free bread sticks,

and listening your bizarre stories about your co-workers.

I loved those nights the most,

when we would eat out at Waffle House,

because it was the only place open in our old farm town.

Remember when we saw my mom’s best friend there,

and had to leave before she recognized us?

That was so funny,

now that I’m looking back on it.

We got so scared even though she probably wouldn’t have cared.

Oh, and the cliche walks on the beach.

How huge of a crush I had on you,

Just wondering if you felt the same for me.

When you held me close,

you smelled like a fresh cappuccino,

waiting on my marble kitchen counter.

It made me feel secure and protected,

from the breathtaking darkness around us.

I remember the night time crickets,

would attempt to hoodwink our perfect nights.

We were smart enough to not let them phase us,

but dumb enough to let them get a scare out of us.

We knew if our parents ever found out where we were,

we would be forever looked down on.

Forever chastised.

I’d be forced to never see you again,

but we would just go through the same routine,

we’ve been doing for months.

But like any great love fling,

they all die.

Our love was thrown in the gutter,

with the rest of the summer lovers.

Looking back, those nights were so wicked.

Breaking into hotel swimming pools,

and screaming out the window at the top of our lungs.

I know I don’t see you now,

and I want you to know I’m doing quite swell.

Just remember to swing around the back way to my house,

when the summer nights revolve around us again.

All I really want to do right now is sleep, read, and listen to music. I’m in such a blank mood right now, I can barely think. I left my earbuds back in my dorm, so I can’t focus on that while typing. I nearly froze to death in my first block this morning. At this point, I just want to sleep. I messed up and didn’t sleep until two in the morning, so I’m running on four hours of sleep, which is what I’m normally accustomed to, but it’s different here.  During the summer, I stayed up until at least 3 every night, but now I’ve been going to be around 12 or 1 so I’m slowly getting used to sleeping for at least five hours over four. Boy, does that one hour make a difference. I crashed during first block, so I’ll probably take a nap during fifth block. But that’d just lead to another night of scrolling through Instagram on my phone until two. It becomes a cycle, an annoying one. 

Sleep sounds good right now, but can’t exactly sleep in class unless I want to fail so… Guess I’ll just force myself to stay up then. I need my own personal Mr. Sandman. Just so I can sleep at night. Nothing keeps me up except the quiet and overactive thoughts. I’ve tried to look up some ways to remedy that, but they haven’t worked for me yet. So I’ll just stay up on my phone until I pass out while texting a friend or while reading. 

At one point, I couldn’t go to bed without music playing, and not classical music or anything labelled as ‘sleep music.’ I would listen to pop or rock music instead, and often times, I could hear the songs in my dreams. I vaguely remember having a dream about Cody Simpson singing “Pretty Brown Eyes” because that’s what was playing on the music channel. I’ve graduated from listening to music to just playing around on my phone until I conk out for the night. That’s probably not a good tactic honestly, but it works for now, I guess.  

On the topic of sleep (or rather lack of), one of my favorite bands, Set It Off, has a song called “I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead.” When I listen to it, the song feels like it’s about insomnia. A man just pacing back and forth in his room as the world around him sleeps. Of course, a big clue of what the song’s about is probably when the singer says “All insomniacs please raise your right hand, and kindly repeat after me: ‘I guess I’ll sleep when I am dead!” But you don’t get to that part for a while, so you have to draw your own conclusion. Anyways, because of that song, I actually started a story called Insomnia, but it’s not about true insomnia. I’ll have to work on that some. That’ll be my goal for today, but that’s all I have to say for now. Ciao! 

Recently I’ve been listening to the same song over and over again. its called “Courtship of the Mermaid.” In the song, the narrator is trying to win over a mermaid by throwing multiple pizza’s at her.

This song, for some reason, reminds me of myself. I would definitely throw an entire pizza at a mermaid if i got the chance. Also, I would love to have pizza thrown at me. Any free pizza is good pizza. Like, if you’re trying to win me over, get me an entire pizza. Pepperoni more specifically.

What kind of pizza do you think mermaids like? I can only think of seaweed pizza, but I’m not sure if that’s a thing. Mermaids probably would have never had pizza. or, not one like ours. they cant have tomatoes and cheese and bread underwater. what if they’re all lactose intolerant? we wouldn’t know. then their stomachs would hurt from all that cheese on the pizza.

Plus, youre not suppesed to swim after eating, so wouldnt we technically be paralyzing them for rougly 15 minutes? this would increase the number of mermaids captured and killed. we cant allow this to happen.

Are there other creatures we can throw pizzas at? Yes! Throwing a pizza at a werewolf that’s chasing you will temporarily stun them, giving you more time to run away. I’m sure you can make some gremlins day by throwing a pizza under a bridge. Fairies would never be hungry again if you gave them an entire pizza. you’d essentially have fed and saved a variety of woodland mythical creatures, making you a hero.

Can you imagine your gravestone saying “hero to all, bless our pizza savior,” because i totally can. for hundreds of years after that, people would leave pizza at your grave as a sign of respect. Towns would make statues of you holding a box of pizza. They would write books about you. The creatures would learn about you in school. Heck, you might even get an entire musical written about you. You would live on for decades just by ordering a couple of $5 hot and ready pizzas.

You just cant throw pizzas at mermaids

 

I am trying. I promise you that I am. I have been doing my breathing exercises every morning before I get out of bed and wake my roommates. I have been taking my medications mostly everyday. I have been allowing myself to cry. These are all things I have always struggled with. I never really wanted to accept that I had a problem, despite my constant writing about it. I truly wanted to believe there was nothing wrong with me, and even when I did accept it, I didn’t want to do anything about it. I just wanted to live normally without having to pace myself. Now I am in this environment, and I am beginning to realize its importance.

You see, I have psychogenic non-epileptic seizures, also know as pseudo seizures. If you do not know what this is, it consists of getting overwhelmed and losing consciousness. It isn’t a constant thing for me. It happens every few months or maybe every few weeks if I am at a bad place in my head. It is really scary for not only me but for the people around me as well. I am aware of this, so I have been trying my absolute best to stay calm and underwhelmed. I never realized how hard doing just that is. Especially when I obsess over every little thing. Sometimes I can feel myself starting to get light headed and nauseous, and my natural reaction is to stress about stressing. I try to force myself to calm down even though I know forcing it will only make it worse. It is really hard. I am almost scared to feel anything at this point.

Sometimes in class I will start over-thinking about what I am going to say. This is something completely normal for me, but now the expectations are so high. I find myself stressing about small details like vocabulary or structure of my response even though it’s verbal. It’s completely pointless, but I can’t help it. This will lead to my mind falling blank and a wave of dizziness trying to take me down. If you ever see me staring at nothing with a blank expression on my face, I am probably trying to stabilize myself. Some say I go extremely pale, I’m not sure. This is the warning, especially if I am standing up, that I might faint.

The situation does not really affect me too much. Yes, I have to be very careful about my reaction to things, but I have pretty much trained myself to stabilize when necessary. I just need to get used to the new environment and all the responsibility I now hold. Once I finally relax, I shouldn’t have to worry so much about sending people into chaos because of a stress seizure.

 

 

As a literary student at the Mississippi School of the Arts, we all have one thing in common: a love for writing. Writing is our passion. It is our rellief from daily stress, and an entry into a brand new world with a new state of mind.

But where do we start? For me, my love of writing came from my hunger for more episodes in a show, or more levels in a game. when youve seen all you can see, but still havent had enough, you turn to the depths of the internet for more content. You look for…

Fanfiction.

 

Fanfiction is essentially your take on something. You do not own the characters, and you so not say you do. when writing fanfiction, you’re just putting someone elses’ characters in a situation that the origional person did not.

While I’ve read some amazing fanfiction, I’ve also read some pretty atrocious ones as well. The horrible ones are the most inspiring for me. Just the fact that I live in a time where I can read a crossover between Lazytown and Shrek is… questionable, but cool.

The first time I wrote a fanfiction was in 6th grade. This was about the time that the new happy meal boxes were becoming a meme. I had this genius idea to write a Romeo and Juliet style tragedy. It would be a self insert for whoever read it, and they would be the Juliet to our Romeo…. Ronald Mcdonald.

And so, the story “Smile! Ronald Mcdonald x reader” came to be.

It was meant to be a joke, just something funny to share with my couple of friends. Little did I know that story would blow up on the internet. I left it alone on the fanfiction site Wattpad, practically abandoning it for years. I did not know of the monster I had created.

This past year, though, I decided to revisit it, just to read it for a laugh. I re-downloaded the app, and then my phone crashed. 6,000 notifications. If that wasn’t enough, there was a petition created for me to write a second one. The audience felt as though Ronald, and, I quote, “smile-zoned” them. I felt both honored and horrified at the fact that at least 6000 people looked this up, and then wanted even more.

Needless to say, I feel much pressure to write the sequel. Who would have known that my 6th grade shenanigans would have led to this? Will keep you guys updated on the fanfiction.

(This is a continuation of my last post, so if you want any of this to make sense, you might want to read that first.)

As I have previously stated, I never really had a lot of friends growing up. I had some “acquaintances,” but looking back now, none of them were ever really my “friend” per se. I had one friend in second grade, but she moved away midway through the year, and it’s been a long time since I last had the chance to talk to her.

I wonder what she’s doing these days?

But that’s beside the point. I never really found my friends until around… ninth grade, I would say. I finally started to find a group of people like me: they had been ostracized by the rest of our grade, and they didn’t really have a lot of friends. That was when I finally found my good friends.

I’m going to make up names for them, so that they won’t be just known by everyone who reads this. There were Samantha, Gavin, Lorin, and Ray.

Samantha was my best friend. We had been friends since sixth grade, and through time, our friendship grew stronger. I had defended her multiple times when people bullied her, and she did the same for me. We had each others backs, no matter the circumstance.

Gavin was a pretty good friend; we started hanging out when he started dating Samantha. They broke up after a little while, but they stayed good friends. Gavin was kind of a know-it-all at times, but I didn’t have any problems with him. He was fun to be around, and he provided a lot of interesting discussions to our lunch table.

Lorin. The only reason I hung out with him was because he was friends with Gavin, and I don’t think Gavin had it in him to just throw him out of the group. If I had gotten a say? I would have left him in the dust in a heartbeat. He was hardly ever nice to me. The only reason we were ever “friendly” was because we both liked Star Wars and the Harry Potter series. Other than that, we tolerated each other, at best.

Ray was my other best friend; he actually also transferred to MSA, and he’s been a really good friend to me. We’ve both struggled with a lot of the same issues, both externally and internally. We have the same sense of strange humor, and I can usually count on him to make me laugh if I need to. I’ve only known him for four years, but the bond we’ve managed to grow is stronger than most of my other friendships.

Honestly? I was sad when I had to say goodbye to Samantha and Gavin. It was a hard thing to adjust myself to, and I’m still adjusting to it. We used to be around each other every single day, and now I hardly ever see them. But honestly? I think that with time, we’ll be back in our same group as before.

At least, I hope so, because I miss them. Every day.

I dyed my hair. I know I know, it’s the third week , what was I thinking? I wasn’t. That’s the answer. You’d think being the anxious person I am I’d be freaking out about this, which I guess I am, but a LOT less than I thought I would. Quite frankly, I’m calm about it. Don’t really care. Now my mom finding out, kinda makes me nervous. Hey mom, if you’re reading this! Yes, I dyed my hair pink! I love you! See you soon!  New year, new school, new hair, new me. Well, hopefully not a completely new me.

I’m trying so hard to hold on to aspects of my old life. I keep seeing photos from people at my old school, and it feels like I’m just away for the week. Like maybe I’m having a sick day, or I’m at a summer camp. It’s super surreal not being there. Not a bad surreal, but for sure surreal. I can’t tell if this thought process is by my own doing, or if my mind is doing all of this autonomously.

I can tell though, that I’m changing as a human being. For better or for worse I can’t tell yet, I’ll update you at the end of this school year, but it’s happening. Maybe that’s why I decided to bleach and dye my hair on a Sunday before school, to show outwardly that I’m no longer the exact same girl that went to Oxford High School.

Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m terrified of showing this new me to Oxford. Not because they will see this completely, brand new model of myself, but rather that these two sides of me will be one? I can no longer morph between two different people like Jekyll and Hyde when I’m in the two cities. Outwardly, I’m different. Before, I could go back to Oxford, and act as I used to there, and then come back to MSA and pick up my personality I use here.

These thoughts seem silly I realize, all of it being sparked by me making a impulsive decision, but it’s something to think about.

I’ve realized that I do weird things to keep these lives separate, and I’m not sure why. Just yesterday I couldn’t even use Pages, because it was something that we used at Oxford, not MSA. Microsoft Word is an MSA thing to only be used here, and Pages is to be used in Oxford. I know how to use both well, it’s just I think the two should be separate. Maybe my goal for this year should be to morph the two worlds together. Both have been and will be important in my development as a person, so why should they stay separate? Or maybe they should. We’ll see.

It’s weird how different people view us different ways. It’s also weird how first impressions, can be so different from the person we are judging. I wish I could compile a book of people’s first impressions of me versus how they see me now. That would be interesting.

Will my hair change people’s first impression of me? Will this new color completely dictate how I’m viewed? Will I have a completely different life because I made the decision to alter my appearance? Probably not, but hey, the butterfly affect is real thing. Maybe this hair color change is one little pebble in a grander scheme of things.

It doesn’t matter anyways. This hair color is temporary. Hair re-grows. It changes. Within a year’s time I will be different, but still connected from the cotton-candy me I am now.

 

I watch your face mold into someone unrecognizable.

You have barely lived two decades,

yet I can see the wrinkles carved into your skin.

You are decomposing.

I can see the decaying heart lying limply in your chest.

Why are you letting yourself die?

You are allowing abusive words to riddle your ears.

Allowing dull daggers to pierce your heart until it has no will to beat.

You say you take life one day at a time;

some days are good and some are bad.

But we both know you don’t keep score.

Your clothes used to be tight.

Your lips used to hold a smile.

And had skin so smooth that words simply rolled off you.

Now you no longer live for yourself.

You live for the satisfaction of a man who does not cherish you;

one who does not love or embrace your unique qualities.

He ripped them from your mind and smashed them under his feet,

and left you an empty shell to live in.

No more thoughts for yourself,

no more nights of rest,

or a life full of love.

You are now a caged animal,

and there is no room on the streets for you.

Your mind is a danger to him,

for you may realize he doesn’t deserve you.

So you must stay locked away,

where the word ‘no’ does not exist,

and permission is an illusion.

Where opinions can only mirror his.

There is only one key to this cage,

and you have it.

So why will you not free yourself?

Do you not know that you have been trapped?

Or has your unconditional love blinded you from the truth?

Tell me,

Do you enjoy your prison?

Or do you imagine it is not there?

One day, perhaps, you will realize your value.

I hope that you do.

I hope that you escape.

Because I no longer recognize you.

 

 

I often think about when I was younger and wanted to stay a child forever. I’d always look at my grandmother with bright, hopeful eyes and say, “Drann, I’m never going to grow up!” And she would laugh, entertaining the foolish words that came out of my mouth and replied, “You’ll have to eventually, baby girl, but you can stay Peter Pan for now.” I wish I’d just shut up and grown up like the other kids. 

If my future children ever ask me if they, too, can be Peter Pan, I’ll simply tell them no because being Peter Pan is hell, no matter how good a façade he puts on. The childish ways became tiring after years had passed and I no longer wanted to play. Instead, I made up excuses of why I couldn’t hang out with my very own lost boys anymore.

“My mom says I can’t go out today. Neverland isn’t safe for me anymore,” I’d say. They would only cackle and, one by one, pull at my limbs, dragging me back to Neverland, tying it around my ankles. I would always yell at them, telling them to stop. I tried to run but everywhere I went, Neverland went too. I continuously watched my peers blossom and bloom, growing up as a child should eventually do.

However, I had to continuously fight for my growth. Though I finally began to grow up and leave my childish ways in the past, the lost boys continuously came back to remind me where I originated from. They’d hold me captive. I could never tell how long. One day, I guess they got tired of me fighting because they brought along another old friend of mine. Tinkerbell only stared at me with such intensity, gaze tearing into my flesh. Then, she would shoot betrayal in my eyes and I was constantly blind. That’s when my reality became frustrating. I became a mess because I desperately wanted to see. I wanted to understand what everyone else was going through. I wanted to break the hold. Every time I regained my vision, Tinkerbell would make sure that I was to be blinded again. With each time, came more intensity. 

She knew what it did to me internally. She knew the desperation I felt to finally be like the rest of my peers, but she continued to isolate me from them. She continued to build onto my fear. She and the lost boys would sit in wait for me after awhile, forcing me to come back.

I begged them to please let me go. “It’s my time. I have to go.”

They couldn’t hear me, though. Their ears were clogged with fairy dust that deafened them because they only chose to hear what they wanted. I couldn’t leave until I let them have their fun and, again, I would return to reality only to feel stupidity rush over me. I would shake vigorously, trying to shake the shame away. 

Don’t get me wrong, Peter Pan is growing up now. Every now and then, though, Tinkerbell will sneak in my room, blinding and deafening me with her fairy dust again and I’ll recover, shaking. But even still, Peter Pan is escaping Neverland.