A New Experiment
Posted by Allison Mack | Filed under Blog, Community, Thoughts
So I have received feed back from numerous people I respect and trust that I really should begin writing– creatively that is. One of my greatest mentors told me I was a “great storyteller”. I think that was a covert compliment. One part is lovely, I understand how to engage people and take them on an emotional journey that is exciting. The other part to that is that I also, like Pinnochio, lie. I lie all the time… about silly things!
Have you ever caught yourself doing that? It’s so ridiculous. Like, why not just tell your friends you ate the chocolate cake? Why lie about the way you lost your front tooth? Somehow the story is so much more compelling than the truth. Lie. What are the implications of such a habit? No trust from anyone. That is one.
Huh, so to transition lies to storytelling… maybe I use my powers for good rather than evil. I will practice telling stories. I bought a book. Yes, I believe there is a book for everything, and I bought one for a daily writing practice.
It is called “A Writer’s Book of Days“
So September 1, I started.
I thought I would share what I write with you all and if you like, you can write along and post as well! Sort of like an online writing group! Yay community!
Here goes:
September 8th, 2009
_________ is the color I remember.
Orange is the color I remember. Burnt orange. Burnt, vibrant, deep rich orange.
I remember cutting the flesh of a vegetable that reminded me of skin coated in iodine.
The smell of iron overwhelmed anything having to do with the banana bread baking in the kitchen.
I was 14 and I had just gotten my belly button pierced and iodine was the answer to infection at that point.
So every day I laid down in the living room, and poured the metallic liquid into the button on my belly so as to ward off evil bacteria from the new hole I chose to impose upon my body.
It was back to school time. Autumn in Los Angeles is a time of clearing skies and smokey sunsets.
The Santa Anna winds rush the overly dried desert with fires across the coast line for weeks in the end of August. And everyone is always so surprised.
It happens every year, and yet we have no memory of the past.
Why is it that certain things stick in our minds, burned into the folds of our brain, never to be forgotten, and other things we repeat as though we are on a loop track?
I suppose the enjoyment of living in Malibu supersedes the annual fires that blaze through the properties there.
I think of these things as I enjoy the burn of air that floats around me and twist my belly button ring in and around the internal and external portion of my soulful carrying case.
“I am such a rebel”, I tell myself. “Blake Heron is going to think I am so hot!”. Oh yes, the puncture wound was an attention strategy for a boy. I wanted desperately to be dangerous. To be desired. To be mysterious. And so I had a human pin cushion jam a needle through my abdomen and called it “cool”. Several years later I would repeat this patten with needles and ink. Scarring myself with pigment and indentations on my chest and ankle as a way to disprove my own value and confirm the value I found in the approval of the man next to me.
Just like the people who refuse to acknowledge the annual fires that dance along the Los Angeles coast line. So do I refuse to acknowledge the life time commitment to consistent abnegation of worth or trust for the next cool, confident, powerful person in the room.
Permission, permission to learn, permission to move on, permission to grow.
Permission to explore other places to live that may be equally as beautiful, but without the fires.
Hmm, that’s a thought.
83 Responses to “A New Experiment”
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PaulF Says:
September 13th, 2009 at 6:16 amWhat’s the difference between a lie and a story, a work of art? Is there a difference? I just finished reading the brilliant Umberto Eco’s “Baudolino”. Quote:
“‘Baudolino,’ he would say to him, ‘you are a born liar.’
‘Why do you say such a thing, master?’
‘Because it’s true. But you mustn’t think I’m reproaching you. If you want to become a man of letters and perhaps write some Histories one day, you must also lie and invent tales, otherwise your History would become monotonous. But you must act with restraint. The world condemns liars who do nothing but lie, even about the most trivial things, and it rewards poets, who lie only about the greatest things.’” -
Ghaith Says:
September 13th, 2009 at 8:41 amWow, keep writing!
I think a lie or two couldn’t hurt, i try never to lie, but i also keep finding myself changing little minor details..
shhh you didn’t hear it from me -
Beth Says:
September 13th, 2009 at 8:48 amI’ve always loved creative writing. Creative writing assignments were always the easiest and the most fun for me to get my head into other than drama or film assignments.
I want to check out that book by Judy Reeves too.I love what you have written Allison.
Isn’t writing fun! -
Jenny_1982 Says:
September 13th, 2009 at 9:15 amI’m not really into writing Allison but will enjoy reading everything you post.
I just have one thing to say about you getting your belly button pierced at 14. OUCH!!!!
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MarilyneL Says:
September 13th, 2009 at 10:24 amI would have to agree with Jenny, I’m not that good at writing but I will definitively read your stories, may they be true or a pure lie hehe. This story was especially great and funny, going to the teenage rebellion haha!;)
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sheryl225 Says:
September 13th, 2009 at 10:59 amI love ‘Writer’s Book of Days’, and there’s one other good one–’Room to Write’ by Bonnie Goldberg. “Writing Down the Bones’ by Natalie Goldberg is also excellent-as is “The Artist’s Way’ by Julia Cameron. Her book is for all artists, not just writers. Can you tell you’ve touched on a passion of mine?
I, too, find it strange that you can live in a place for years-go through each season, and not remember one fall from another. Maybe that’s a good thing! Happy adventuring!
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Jesse Says:
September 13th, 2009 at 12:42 pmHi Allison
You are a great story teller I must say very creative. I don’t feel however, you should change for anyone just to be cool. You should definitely be yourself in all circumstances within your life. The new cool should be hopefully, something you want within and shouldn’t necessarily be something that would make you uncomfortable. The new cool should be something that makes you “big” stronger not weakens you haa the lifting lingo haa. Your life partner would be someone that adds to you not takeaway. Essentially I hope the next cool makes you truly happy and you wouldn’t have to change who you are internally or externally minus a few tattoos haa. I hope you would love the new cool and it would make you feel different. Always be a cucumber umm Oh move to New York haaaa no fires haa umm
-Jesse
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Melissa Says:
September 13th, 2009 at 12:51 pmHi!!
I haven’t read that book, but I’d love to. Writing stories of our past sometimes can be hard or sweet, it all depends of the memory you have of that moment. I don’t feell ashame of the things I did but I DO feel like I could have done them way much better, it’s part of growing up, a lot of people I know are ashamed of the things they did in their childhood but I’m all the opposite because I know I can’t change them, I can’t change what I did in the past but I could have done it better.
You can’t pretend to be someone else because that model you are trying to follow or impress it’s not you, we are unique and special. Everybody has someone, a rol model, to follow, that’s great, because it makes you want to be stronger and fiercely in life, that gives you the power to totally make an impact in the world.
Part of growing up is finding yourself wanting to be someone else, just then you realize you ARE NOT someone else but someone new, someone you have created.
Life is dangerously-beautiful.
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adahl78 Says:
September 13th, 2009 at 2:02 pmBlue is the color I remember.
As a lifeguard, I remember sitting in my tall wooden chair, looking down on children laughing and splashing in aqua blue water in the shallow end that eventually turned deep blue in the deep end.
As a child, I remember standing on the diving board with floaties on my arm with my swimming lesson teacher in the water, treading effortlessly, and telling me that she would catch me. Eventually on the very last day, with the promise of a crunch kote ice cream cone as my reward, I took off my arm floaties and jumped into that deep blue water into her arms.
The day I recently decided to leave the job that provided security to me but also much stress and anxiety I looked up and saw that the sky was so much bluer than it had ever been before. Birds were singing and the sun was brighter. I was taking a daring step into the unknown, but I knew that I was doing the right thing.
Recently as I flew to see my sister, I looked into the sky with ribbons of blue from light to dark and saw the expanse of God’s horizon. I knew that whatever my future holds, it would be good.
Blue is my color that I remember. -
Grayson Says:
September 13th, 2009 at 2:18 pmOh what tangled webs we weave, when we practice to deceive. The difference is telling a lie and telling a story is often the motivation of the liar/storyteller. Is it to deceive and mislead someone? Then it’s a lie. If it is to entertain, to amuse, or any other non-harmful purpose, then it’s storytelling. I love writing myself, and hope to be a novelist some day. Personally, I’ve found that The Elements of Style by William Strunk Jr and E.B.White is a great tool for future writers. Your second to last line made me think of another famous quote, though, “Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans.” (J. Lennon)
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Grayson Says:
September 13th, 2009 at 2:42 pmPS, where would you like us to post our “writing exercises”? Perhaps on the fan fic part of the forum, but it should be titled so we know it’s the same exercise you did, maybe?
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Jade Ruby Says:
September 13th, 2009 at 3:01 pmThe steel grey clouds dappled the sky outside of my window. Inside, I thought of what kind of dapple I could add to the blank sheet of rough watercolor paper I set up on my makeshift easel. Always wondering how long THIS phase would last, I decided not to invest in a full blown easel, but bought an “artist’s clipboard”– I guess you could call it an easel without a stand.
When I had looked at the old tin of watercolor blocks from my younger days (32 colors), I thought, “well this time I’ll get me some professional paints; then combed the art stores. Then, ha, there it was, just what I wanted: a box of eight tubes together. So I got two, and a couple of more brushes.
So. There it was, a blank sheet waiting for me to add some color; to create some art. To zoom through the Cosmos of my mind, and transform thoughts into brush-strokes. To find an oasis in the desert of this so called city. Idea.
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smalls Says:
September 13th, 2009 at 5:12 pmWhat does it mean to lie? Sure a lie is not telling the truth to someone when asked a question. But can’t anything be considered a lie? We smile when we are sad to avoid the questions that would inevitably be asked us. We laugh at jokes that we think aren’t funny at all. Sometimes we lie to protect those we care about. So isn’t ok to lie if the reason is good? Can’t we lie to protect those we care about?
Brown is the color I remember.
Looking to the north, east, west, or south the brown seemed endless. Growing up in Mesa, AZ the color brown was very prominent.
A road trip to visit family up north meant going to through more noticeable desert. The brown of the mountains climbed dozens of times is burned in my eyes never to be forgotten even if I were to try.
I will read your writings and agree with your greatest mentor. You are great writer. Able to capture the attention of those that read your stories. Regardless they be truth or fabrication. -
Ross UK Says:
September 13th, 2009 at 9:12 pmThere is a quote which Mark Twain attributed to the Greek historian Herodotus: “Very few things happen at the right time, and the rest do not happen at all. The conscientious historian will correct these defects.” This pretty much sums up Herodotus’ approach to writing, and the ancient world in general, where historians and biographers would happily claim to report verbatim the speeches of the great and mighty, and etymology was as much an art as a science. In essence an ancient writer was telling a story, and if the facts didn’t quite work out the way he wanted, he tweaked a few things. One might say that for them, history was synonymous with fable or parable: a tale with a moral message, the message being more important than stark reality. So, is it really lying, or is it dramatic/literary flair?
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Solti Says:
September 14th, 2009 at 12:12 amHi dear
!Great, it’s a sweet story, really! I think the lie is a tool in the hands of the writer as the painter’s brush in his hand. Revived the old, turns the worn one into glittering one and leaves it, may occur with you…
And the boy? What was he with him? What did he believe about you? Did he value you and your strategy? And what colour is Mr. Heron’s orange?
Present his reaction and I’m waiting for your happy end of course
.With love
:Solti
xoxo -
Beth Says:
September 14th, 2009 at 2:15 amI love that last quote about life Grayson. It’s very true.
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Robin Says:
September 14th, 2009 at 6:34 amWow Allison!
You are a real light of inspiration in turning your head to so many varied forms of creative arts.
On reading your creative story I’m amazed at how you manage to set the scene, take us on a journey and how compelling – so honest and blunt the work is!
I’m so in awe at how open (and brave) you are in writing such personal thoughts.
I will at least attempt to take you up on your offer here with the rest of guys and gals in attempting creative writing (i’m more of a sketch and doodles man but fingers crossed).
Thank you and the other posters here, for your amazing enthusiasm and generosity in sharing and taking the time.
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scott123 Says:
September 14th, 2009 at 9:30 amhmmm…..
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Kate Says:
September 14th, 2009 at 12:43 pmBlue is the color I remember. I remember the slow motion as the blue became closer and closer. I remember praying and hoping I would not encounter the blue. For that blue was a bad blue. I remember the song on the radio, the station and the time. But I wish I could forget that blue. I remember my friend’s shirt and how it played with her eyes. Such beautiful eyes. Those eyes had a beautiful blue. Not like the blue I wish i could forget. I remember the scream of my friend and my tires. How I wish i could forget that blue. Crash went the car. Forever will my car have that blue.
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sarahthelyd Says:
September 14th, 2009 at 1:10 pmi love creative writing exercises! were there any more prompts other than “______ is the color I remember” and go?
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sarahthelyd Says:
September 14th, 2009 at 1:12 pmalso, this was wonderful. a couple of unforeseen shifts. i liked it.
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Smallvillekent Says:
September 14th, 2009 at 3:54 pmWow Allison you are a good writer. Good personal thoughts. Your enthusiasm is amazing. Writing a Smallville episode could be next? Hmmm..
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peppermint Says:
September 15th, 2009 at 2:13 amHi Allison,
I thought you might like this poem, written in the 11th Century.
For in and out, above, about, below,
‘Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show,
Play’d in a Box whose Candle is the Sun,
Round which we Phantom Figures come and go. -
IreneT Says:
September 15th, 2009 at 11:48 amI’ve always known that you have great communication skills. Thing is, many people can tell stories, thats why there’s so many books. I don’t read much, only that which really grabs me, and your writing does! You should write a book, or a movie, which ever comes first. Your not just good, you have a real gift. use it, or you’ll lose it.
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adriano henri Says:
September 15th, 2009 at 1:07 pmA bottle of wine half empty is also half full, but half a lie will never be half true.
kisses!
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adriano henri Says:
September 15th, 2009 at 1:17 pmWhoever tells a lie does not know who took the job because he is forced to invent twenty times more to support the certainty of the first.
kisses allison
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Bouroux Says:
September 15th, 2009 at 9:30 pmHi Allison.
I’m not that good at writing but I will definitively read your stories.
What is impressive is that your story is true and forces us to reflect on certain human behaviors.
Your personal experiences allow us to apreciate your talent and your wisdom to recognize your mistakes.
Your message does not do anything to impress others is very refreshing.
A person is successful when she is authentic.
We should know that we can not please everyone. The important thing is to be honest with ourself.
I really enjoyed the bonus DVD of season 8, “In the director’s chair” where you and your team share your experience with us.
This video is a tribute to your talent.Take care of you.
Claude. -
Karen Says:
September 16th, 2009 at 1:27 amWow, that’s impressive. Please write a novel for us (and more importantly for yourself)! Whenever I come to your blog I’m thrust into deep thought about simple yet poignant things. Thank you.
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adriano henri Says:
September 16th, 2009 at 7:10 am“Although no one can go back and make a new start, anyone can start now and make a new order”
kisses ! S2 s2 S2 s2
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RitinhaBr Says:
September 16th, 2009 at 11:57 amI love to write too! Especially my feelings and moments of my life! Very good you have posted allison … Thanks! Ah, glad you realized that you do certain things wants to be noticed was silly, what matters is what the person is inside! ;D
Xoxoxo
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adriano henri Says:
September 16th, 2009 at 12:19 pm” Imenso Amor ”
Bebo do cálice do teu amor…
Em ti encontro o refúgio, amada lua.
Ignóbil eu sou, e, vejo-te toda nua…
E no sábado, vislumbro o teu amor.Oferto-te um título com amor…
Nos minutos a ilusão flutua,
Teus pés audíveis enfeitam a rua,
Busco nos céus o nectário do amor.No teu rosto há o eflúvio que perfuma,
Conto pétalas d´ouro, uma a uma…
Tua expressão soa como um hino!…Tímido…beijo os teus cabelos, meu astro!
Tenho o teu cheiro… teu canto… teu rastro…
Eterno será teu corpo divino!…hi angel, this is a poem called “Immense Love” is in Portuguese so that you can go when training for staff to find! I hope you enjoy poetry!
kisses S2 s2
Adriano Henri -
IreneT Says:
September 16th, 2009 at 2:49 pmadriano henri Says:
Tu poeme es bien bunito!
Did I spell that right? giggle.
I really like what you wrote. I understood most of it. Wow! Beautiful! -
Beth Says:
September 16th, 2009 at 8:24 pmwhat’s the poem about? i dont know Portuguese.
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Jade Ruby Says:
September 17th, 2009 at 12:25 amBeth Says:
“what’s the poem about? i dont know Portuguese.”It’s a love poem that’s very sensual, and equates the object of devotion to Divinity.
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adriano henri Says:
September 17th, 2009 at 7:29 amthe poem is something like this!
“Immense Love”
I drink the cup of your love …
With you there refuge, beloved moon.
I am vile, and I see you completely naked …
And on Saturday, envision your love.Been offering up a title with love …
In minutes the illusion floats,
Your feet audible adorn the street
I seek the skies nectary of love.In your face is that the efflux perfumes,
Tale of gold petals one by one …
Your words sound like a hymn! …Shy … kiss your hair, my star!
I have your smell … your song … your trail …
Eternal God is your body! …was a little different, but in order to understand!
sorry for the English! rsrsrs -
Robin Says:
September 17th, 2009 at 8:14 amPosted below is my first attempt at creative writing…
Oh Blank Sheet of Paper!
So I’m sitting here, HB pencil in hand poised over a piece of blank A4 paper ready to start my own creative writing adventure. To start a work that is either moving,funny, sad, intelligent, witty, outrageous or even exciting…but something is wrong.
This mere blank shhet of paper seems to just sit there, unflinching, mocking my attempts at “being creative”. Go on it says, I dare you…
Damn, why isn’t a lightening strike of inspiration hitting me?
These poets, novelists, playwrights, scriptwriters, reporters, songwriters and even bloggers make it all look so easy.More minutes pass, the blank paper begins to curl at it’s edges, it’s patience with me growing thin.
F*@k it, that’s the final straw, I wont let an innocent looking piece of paper get the best of me, and so in my frustration I rip a single sheet from my nice new pad and screw it up intl a ball as tightly as possible and throw it to the other side of the room.Well, so much for that I tell myself, mt attempts at being creativite falling at the first hurdle.
But wait, what if paper is not just a mere partchment on which words are written. I suddenly remember how paper can be itself creative.
I remember my childhood, of rolling paper into a telescope and peering into the horizon, of folding paper into an aeroplane and test ing if my design can fly further than my brother’s. Or I flashback to my school days, of paper becoming a mysterious device containing numbers and symbols in which the girls in my class used to manipulate like some complex rubix cube to predict each of our futures or more importantly, who fancied who between the girls and boys.
Paper has the power to inspire, how we choose to use it depends on ourselves, as this mere paper is just like some opaque mirror reflecting parts of ourselves in abstract ways. Paper is just an extention of our lives, just like the promise of tomorrow, a blank sheet waiting for us to write our own story, it depends upon our own perception, it can be be shaped, folded and as creative as our imaginations allow…now if I can only think of something to write.
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Beth Says:
September 17th, 2009 at 8:42 amThanks for translating adriano. It is a nice poem.
Robin don’t underestimate yourself. You ARE a good writer.
‘…paper becoming a mysterious device containing numbers and symbols in which the girls in my class used to manipulate like some complex rubix cube to predict each of our futures or more importantly, who fancied who between the girls and boys.’
I had completely forgotten about those things Robin. Thanks for reminding me. By the way I love how you started off: Oh Blank Sheet of Paper! -
Ruthie Says:
September 17th, 2009 at 8:48 amExcellent…so brave and truthful. The truth in creative writing is always in the story but in what we take from the story…
“Permission, permission to learn, permission to move on, permission to grow.
Permission to explore other places to live that may be equally as beautiful, but without the fires.”Beautiful truth. Interesting the lies we believe about ourselves, about our value or lack of, about our desperate search for approval. And in the end, permission to find truth in this journey, to grow through it, to move on…permission…grace.
I’ll embrace that today.
Lovely, thank you.
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Vegas911 Says:
September 17th, 2009 at 12:16 pmPurple is the color I remember,
Sitting on the front porch swing with my mother…..”I spy with my little eye something purple” she would say. This was redundent of course….the only thing within a close proximity that was purple was the flag hanging on the outside of my bedroom window. But the game was fun non-the-less, just for the sake of being fun. It is engraved on my heart and in my mind; swinging softly on the front porch with my mother.There was a huge solid Oak that stood in my front yard, ever watchful and grand. It had been there since I could remember, standing stern and unchanging. The Weeping Willow’s leaves would russle and sway in the breeze, it’s presence was like that of an old grandmother, wise and soft….The sound of the owl that lived in the woods on the hill, these sounds were to me akin to a hauting song of a lost love. I am haunted today by these sounds, for they are my lost love!
Things of the world did not touch me in this place, a cacoon of love that I seldom took leave of. I would stay on that porch swinging the summer evenings away forever if the option was there. But alas it is not and never was. -
adriano henri Says:
September 17th, 2009 at 1:07 pmIt was a cold morning in April,
Little sunshine converged window.
A prism, reflecting the colors to come, from there,
Color watercolor of my soul.
A violet petals danced,
Following the gentle melody of the wind,
Sung in gentle dissonant chords,
A composition of sublime love.On that cold morning of April
I felt the rebirth of the soul, the sprout of being.
My heart, who suffered a silent longing, loss,
He shouted again, like crazy. That was crazy, crazy that is. -
Jade Ruby Says:
September 17th, 2009 at 7:16 pmRobin Says:
“Posted below is my first attempt at creative writing…
Oh Blank Sheet of Paper!”
LOL!
HA, HA, HA!!!
+Clap, clap+
Bravo!
Nicely done!
Great!
Good one! -
Jade Ruby Says:
September 17th, 2009 at 7:21 pmP.S.
Robin,LOL ;D
+Clap, clap+
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Jade Ruby Says:
September 17th, 2009 at 7:31 pmI’m sorry, Robin has put me in such a jolly mood, I’ll have to re-read the others later.
“…now if I can only think of something to write”
Priceless.
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sandy9064 Says:
September 17th, 2009 at 9:52 pmI highly recommend “The Write-Brain Workbook, 366 Exercises to liberate your writing” by Bonnie Neubauer as well. When my writer’s block comes calling, I whip out this book and run through some of the exercises. The pages are bright, and the artwork geared toward each individual challenge which makes it all the more fun. (i.e. an exercise called “Spring Forward” has a picture of a woman on a diving board, arms extended. The goal is to finish a story that starts with the phrase “Sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith.”)
Also on each page at the bottom is an encouraging comment that relates to the page’s exercise and can be incorporated in it. This one’s is “Sending your writing out into the world requires a leap of faith in yourself. Write about what your life will be like if you DON’T ever take the leap and send out your writing. Time to take the leap and do it!”
I just find the book to be very inspirational as well as encouraging.
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sandy9064 Says:
September 17th, 2009 at 10:00 pmOh, also…
Green is the color I remember. I could raise my head from my pillow on cool spring mornings and look out my window. Directly across the street was an undeveloped lot filled with large trees and grass. I remember how GREEN everything looked, new and emerald, where the bright sun shone down on the leaves. The ground was dappled with that same brilliance mixed with darker, hunter greens where the leaves and limbs created shadows.
Against the bright blue spring sky it looked magical and fresh. It looked warm and like home. Emerald, and hunter blended, and I still fondly remember the color green.
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Robin Says:
September 18th, 2009 at 1:50 amWell done Adriano, your piece about April was fantastic. Also, good work Vegas911,Jade, Kate and Adahl78….you’re all such a talented bunch.
Thanks for the kind words Beth and Jade, i’m so glad you enjoyed reading my piece.
This writing game is so much fun, so so difficult, but very enjoyable.
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adriano henri Says:
September 18th, 2009 at 7:11 amThank you to all the comments, we all have done well, all are inspired by the poems! only missing Allison give her opinion right! rsrsrs
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william Says:
September 19th, 2009 at 9:00 pmsound cool allison
william
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josh Says:
September 21st, 2009 at 8:06 amThanks for the Challenge, Allison. I’m the guy who wrote you the email about meeting you (sort of) as an extra on your show. I plan to follow you on this, so keep them coming (saves me the price of the book, tee hee). One writer to another, I appreciate the honest, searching voice in your words.
—
Light brown is the color I remember – the chocolatey brown of the amazonian waters where I learned to swim, to almost drown, to love… to lust.
There is a smell these waters carry with them, a glorious musk compiled of tiny particles dragged from snow-capped alpine peaks, tumbled off smooth-tumbled rocks and dragged from mossy cliffs . Every year the rains swell the rivers and they reach out – first in fingers, then with broad sweeps of arms, laying a blanket of themselves over the whole Amazon basin and then sucking downstream tiny bits and pieces, drawing with them the stink of life and death and decay.
By the time this water flowed through the oxbow Peruvian lake on which I lived, the dank waters were so choked with this history of a watery life that to an outsider they were nearly unswimmable.
For me, however, each time I immersed the warm waters wrapped me in their amniotic embrace and I emerged, at last, feeling new-born and alive. It was a Baptism of Being – and although I now live in North Carolina, swimming only very rarely in the sterility of chlorinated pools – every once in a while I smell something so earthy and primal that I am transported in an instant back… back to the light brown waters of my childhood.
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Brittany Says:
September 22nd, 2009 at 5:31 pmHello! You are a fabulous writer Miss Mack! Keep going, I feel an incredible story up your sleeve! I’m actually a very honest person. If I try to lie, I either start laughing or just have this grin on my face that gives it away. If I do get away with a lie, if it’s really bad then I feel guilty and just end up telling the truth. So I’m a terrible candidate for lying. Then again, that could be a very positive thing? Couldn’t it?
Take care!!!
BrittanyXOXOXO -
jp Says:
September 23rd, 2009 at 7:05 pmI have some interesting ideas and writings that I would like to share with you. When is the next comic-con that you will be at? I would like to send you some ideas.
Thanks,
JP -
Robin Says:
September 24th, 2009 at 7:52 amI recently attended a funeral for my Great Aunt. At the wake as the different generations of family chatted a photo was produced of all the great Aunts and Uncles and their parents -an entire generation almost gone, anyway upon thinking about that day’s events I have written the following…
Remember me…
Will I be remembered as someone good or bad,
Might strangers look upon my image and wonder if I were happy or sad,Does it matter if our names are spoken of when we are long past,
As possessions pass on and graves stones fade to weather so harsh,For in twenty, fifty, a hundred years who will care,
Except a few whose likeness in art or sculpture might strangers stare,But do not cry nor feel pity or sorrow,
Not through physical form will our true selves be known in the tomorrow,It is in our acts in each moment that we help shape some furture day,
Be it a smile, kind word or shake of the hand thay may,Help other’s be happy, laugh dance think question and ponder,
As through our actions it’s best we remembered, unsung – our spirit lasting ever longer… -
Ruthie Says:
September 24th, 2009 at 11:15 amWow, Josh…beautiful. I loved reading that peice!
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josh Says:
September 25th, 2009 at 6:36 amThanks, Ruthie. I checked out your blog and I dig the vibe.
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Pablo Says:
September 25th, 2009 at 11:17 amAllison, I leave a poem you, in Spanish, my maternal language, since my knowledge of English are not sufficient like realising a translation adapted to a poetry.
If you have somebody you can translate, I let to you in freedom share it with that you wish.
Thanks to characterize to your personage Chloe Sullivan with as much passion, tenderness and give, really have touched my more sensible fibers.
You are amazing, like actress and person.
An affectionate greeting,
Pablo.Envidio al afortunado mortal que ha tenido la dicha de cobijarte en sus brazos,
De sentir tu cálido aliento, tu cabello acariciando su rostro y ocultándolo a la noche.
Envidio su mano, que acarició tu piel, sus ojos, que debieron admirar con ternura tu bella faz,
Acunandote contra su pecho y sintiendo el latir de tu corazón contra el suyo.
Envidio cada segundo que pasó junto a tí, las noches de suspiros y las mañanas de tiernos besos,
susurrando suspiros, llamándose uno a la otra con promesas cumplidas, con deseos satisfechos.
Envidio la pasión, el ardor juvenil de tu cuerpo entregado al suyo, las promesas de amor,
Aquellas caricias, delicadas, aleteantes como mariposas, que te hicieron temblar de pasión.Hoy miro mi vida y encuentro un vacío difícil de llenar, imposible de sobrellevar.
Te añoro en la lejanía de un sueño imposible, mirando en la bruma de mi interior, llorando,
Con el alma quebrada en múltiples cristales, con el corazón añorando tu encuentro.
Hoy miro mis manos, flojas a mi lado, sin fuerzas, sin poder contener mis anhelos,
Tan vacías de tí, tan faltas de tu arrullo, cada día, cada noche, … cada segundo del día.
Es una pena adherezada con hiel, macerando mi corazón con el agrio gusto de la desolación,
Alcanzando la cúspide del dolor, por no verte, ni tenerte, … ni poder amarte.
Ya solo queda el dolor, la angustia y la desesperación.Quisiera sólo seguir envidiandolo, sentir sólo envidia, pero mi corazón es el dueño de mi dolor,
Abraza a la angustia y desecha la felicidad, que otra alma pudiera brindarme.
Quisiera ser aquél con el que sueñas despierta, y el que arrulla tus sueños en la noche oscura,
El que acaricia tu cabello y murmura dulces palabras en tu oido, embelesado por tí.
Desearía compartir tu mundo, tus alegrías, tus anhelos y más profundos deseos que tu alma guarda,
Recordar tu nombre cada minuto del día, y decirlo como una plegaria.
Me alcanzaría con siquiera poder mirarte, escucharte.
Leería tu alma como un libro de poesía, ya que es delicada y frágil, abierta y dulce.Si me regalaras una sonrisa, entonces, podría decir que mi día se iluminó como un amanecer,
Si te escuchara reir, creería que los ángeles están bajando del cielo,
Y si te escucho llorar, entonces mi mundo se ennegrecerá, llegando la oscuridad a mi corazón,
Porque tu tristeza nublaría mi razón, debilitaría mi cuerpo y destrozaría mi alma.
Eres mi centro, mi todo, eres aquello que siempre he deseado, el sentido de mi vivir,
Porque nadie jamás podrá explorar mi alma como tu podrías hacerlo, como quisiera que hicieras.
Corazón de fuego, rebosante de amor, como pétalos de lirios flotando en un lago,
Alma de ninfa, ligera, volátil y encantadora. Solo te amo a tí. Solo te deseo a tí. -
Issac_Ketron Says:
September 27th, 2009 at 1:38 pmi loved your story, it shows off one of your many talents, Allison, i believe you are going to captivate many people, with great literature. so keep on writing stories, p.s. you’re awesome
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Ruthie Says:
September 29th, 2009 at 4:26 amGold is the color I remember.
I sat on the curb of West Street at the very edge of town, so far west that an expanse of golden swaying wheat shocks stretched as far as I could see, only hedged in by a distant tree line. The sun sank slowly, cradled by limbs and leaves. Blinding, searing gold melted into subtle red, orange, pinks. And that quiet voice inside whispered comfort to my needful self, “for you.” Just before dusk, that quiet glow wrapped me and everything else in a warmth before darkness settled in and I peddled home, street lamps catching flecks of my flaxen gold hair. -
Ruthie Says:
September 29th, 2009 at 8:45 am…and here I am 20 years later pining over the freedom I had then to trail away on my bicycle to a quiet alone place.
But I needed that time then.
I needed to create a physical place around me where I could be who I imagined myself to be, unhindered by fear, self-loathing or inadequacies.
Sometimes when I look back on that girl, a life so distant from me now, I feel a compassion and love that I never could have felt for myself then.
I no longer need to run away to find peace.
My inner-landscape is different now.The challenge I face now, as an artist and a growing soul is to embrace all of my experience with authenticity rather than leaving the painful bits and pieces in the dusky shadows…
Seeing beauty in the entire process of unfolding life. hmmmn. -
Nick Says:
September 29th, 2009 at 2:20 pm9/29/09
Allison
I really enjoyed your story and I’m looking forward to the next one. -
Vegas911 Says:
September 30th, 2009 at 2:15 pmJosh, your story was so enjoyable…..your descriptions were so great I could picture you in the water…well done!!!
Robin thank you for your compliment!!! I also enjoyed reading yours…I love poetry!!! It is one of my favorite genre’s to read!!! Great job to you both!!!
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Vegas911 Says:
September 30th, 2009 at 2:18 pmI have a simple poem that I would like to tell…..I think that it’s beauty is in how simple it is…but here goes….
Living life is more then about how you feel, for this world is just an illusion attempting to be real.
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roninworldwide Says:
September 30th, 2009 at 8:02 pmI think the season opener just rocked!! Toms new outfit was great and was very cool. I was glad to see everyone and the new people too (Zod). Allison you looked great, will stop in time to time to chat. I hope you can help your cat, what a bummer. I ve got seven and all of them are clustered around me as I write this. They are a my kids and always want to know what I am doing. I have watched you grow and develop and hope to read more. I think that if you meditate near a beautiful lake in the fall, especially in the City of Vancouver that it will inspire you!!!
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Ivy Icetree Says:
September 30th, 2009 at 10:21 pmRed is the color I remember—the color those around me remember. Red is what I see every time I conduct a miscalculation. Red is the result of an overestimation, or an underestimation. Red is what I get when the blade accidentally slips.
The red I’ve gone so close to, the red within me, haunts and pleases. Never does it fade. Darker and darker it becomes. Darker then dry…or is it dry first then darker? The red, it grows and spreads…accumulates. Heat comes first, cold comes second. Numbness is next, I suppose? I wouldn’t know. For the red is only an imagination, and the instance, a memory of the imagination.
But red does bring back times of happiness. I’m back to being a carefree seven year old, staring at the toy that comes with a Happy Meal. It was red. I remember my dad giving it to me because it was red. It’s his birthday today, and I have nothing to give. As usual.
I remember the red that brings me sadness—that reminds me I have everything and nothing to give. Red is the color of my selfishness. -
argira Says:
October 1st, 2009 at 7:33 pmThe colour I rember is white
White, brilliant, magic. It was the first time I saw snow, I was 16 in a different country, with new temporary parents and my heart full of lonelines and mourn. My hearth felt an ache, it was only a year ago that mom had died, it was november too.I felt amazed by life, a painful cold and beautiful warmth, pure, clear, white, like my mother’s soul.
I am sorry it tourn out to be a sad one.. but is amazing I had never connected the two events until now.
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josh Says:
October 4th, 2009 at 7:10 pmI don’t know if I can do this, but what the heck, I proved my goodwill by actually doing the assignment. I just thought I’d let y’all know I just wrote about the time I met Allison over on my blog at: http://barkingreed.blogspot.com/2009/10/i-am-no-superman.html
Hugs not drugs! -
Torias Says:
October 8th, 2009 at 12:27 amSorry I’m late to the party. That was pretty good. I consider myself well read. I live in the L.A. area, and I’m very well acquainted with the fairly regular autumn wildfires, and the teen angst thing. Well done.
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bwhited1968 Says:
October 11th, 2009 at 9:42 pmI remember Orange, orange and black. The color of candy. I remember as the teacher handed out the candy for our Halloween party, staring at the vibrant color combination of orange and black. Not just any candy could carry the significance of that day. The day when the colors of fall are rich, and carry a special meaning. The hope of a new year to come, and the farewell to another summer. The orange was the moon. The black was a cat. Made into the center of the special candy. Many classmates hungrily gorged themselves not thinking of the colors, season, or the significance. I simply took the candy and placed it in my pocket. Too sentimental to simply eat such a work of art, I had to study this combination of beauty and functionality. The color of the harvest moon. Orange was the color of pumpkins, maple leaves, and a most wonderful time of year. Red, Purple, Yellow and yes, Orange. No wonder fall is my favorite time of year.
Happy Harvest everyone! -
willow110 Says:
October 17th, 2009 at 2:21 amwriting isn’t really my thing, i prefer writing poetry. still allison’s work was great and she should definately think of writing a novel as she obviously has a talent for it.
here is my attempt..for Jamie Simpson 1988-2002. R.I.P simmo xGrey is the colour I remember. I was thirteen and awoke one morning to find my loved ones faces somber. Had I done something to upset them? My nievity. I remember the fresh grey paint smells drifting in to my dinning room from the kitchen. I was the only one who noticed the smell that morning. Not wanting to disturb them and feeling confused, I wandered into the kitchen, where the faint metallic paint smell grew until it was almost overwhelming, and made my breakfast as usual.
Returning to the dinning room with my crunchy peanut butter on toast, I sat at the table and plucked up the courage to say, ’so who died then?’ then I felt myself smile at my assumed wit. It is wrong to assume. All at once i felt all eyes look up from the floor and burn into my flesh. Still no one spoke. The room was deathly silent and still, with the grey paint still wafting in and the clock ticking about to turn 8. The realisation was upon me. There was a reason for this unbearable silence.
After a minitue or so my father was able to say, ‘Jamie’ before retreating to the kitchen. He tried to hide but his sobs could still be heard. Jamie. Fun loving, happy go lucky, crazy yet lovable Jamie. ‘So young, so young’, my mother said as i heard my taxi beep.It was 8.45. Where the time went I know not, that time is lost to me forever.
I did not want to go to school that day. That day should of been spent in mourning, alone in my room. yet the sense of normality that school provided was a welomed distraction from the harsh reality that had still not even began to sink in.
we each have our own way of dealing with death. Each has his or her own rituals and coping mechanisms. That kitchen was blue when i returned home that day. But I, I will always remember the grey. -
rward9182 Says:
October 22nd, 2009 at 3:37 pmMaybe, where ever you go take your fire with you. Kindle it with wit, creativity, whimsy and real life, let others see it shine in who you are and who you can be.
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Dennys Says:
October 24th, 2009 at 7:11 pmi think lie is an act that everybody does and/or have done at least once in life…
sometimes is funny but you may be sure that this act isn´t gonna cause drastic consequences…
Lol, i was a big fan of your interpretations but now i have another reason for it! xD
keep writing!!
ksses -
flor2196 Says:
November 8th, 2009 at 12:12 pmthat is great! keep doing that, you are really good!kisses
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Jake3Alan Says:
November 11th, 2009 at 9:37 pmHello. I just wanted to ask if you like sports? What teams do you like? I am from Atlanta and I love all my home teams.
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LinZ107k Says:
November 14th, 2009 at 7:00 amRed is the color I remember
It all happened so fast. Too fast to remember much of anything other than the blood. The crimson pool slowly covered the floor around her head.
Great Grandma Flossy had been visiting for the week and we had just gotten home from some outing. We came through the garage door, which opens onto a tiny landing that leads into the basement. I’m not even sure how it happened.
I don’t remember her falling or hitting the floor. I just remember time slowing down for me, coming to a near stop before speeding up again.
All of a sudden people were moving around and shouting orders. Somehow the phone ended up in my hand. Someone must have told me to call 911, but I just stared dumbly until someone took it from me.
Eventually the paramedics arrived and took Grandma away. The next time I saw her was at her funeral in a coffin with crimson lining.The crazy thing is, that I told my mother about this memory years later and she told me that there hadn’t been any blood. Although she died the next day, the only bone she broke was her pinky.
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Sabrina Says:
November 20th, 2009 at 9:15 pmPink is the color I remember. I surrounded myself with pink peonies, the only flower I truly love, on the day I said the two most important words of my life, “I do.” It was a pale whisper of pink, completely contrary to my usual technicolor life. But walking down an aisle in the prettiest dress I have ever owned and seeing the friends I love the most swathed in that lovely hue made me feel as if, for just a moment, the dreams of a little girl twirling in long skirts had been realized. I could see the hope for happy years to come shining in the eyes of the man nervously waiting for me beside the pastor. In that moment, life was all it should be, miracles were possible, and yet somehow all I could think was, “don’t lock your knees.” When I reached the stage, all nerves and excitement, my Jeremy looked at me with such sincerity and said the sweetest statement I have ever heard. “You look really pretty,” he whispered sweetly. His face glowing like a child who has just discovered that the gift he has always wanted is sitting under the Christmas tree.
Since then, life’s journey has continued down its routine path. Bills have come due, dinners have been made and cleaned, and the same pair of pants has gone through more than a few washes. None of that matters because I still have my very best friend by my side. But on the days that are less than perfect, as some days are bound to be, I think back and I remember the color pink. -
LinZ107k Says:
November 21st, 2009 at 10:04 pmWow, Sabrina, that’s really beautiful. Mine was a little bit morbid, but hey, it was the first thing that popped into my head. The funny thing is that I’m usually an upbeat person and not normally so dark.
I love how you conveyed your story. I especially like how you started with the color pink and came back to it in the end. It really comes full circle. -
Dream_Walker Says:
November 29th, 2009 at 6:05 amWe all lie in our daily lives… Who sayes otherwise.. lies
It may be big or small depending of person agenda and moral values. Personally i find myself telling little lies too its not so much bothering as it is concerning.. Why do we like to smoothen the holes in truths with lies? When does truth become lie? Its like riding a pumpy road with potholes, you smooth the road with little lies like shock absorbers absorb the holes, but You still know they are there…. I find if lie doesnt hurt anyone, cause problems or have no obvious backthought agenda its ok. Yet they always stack up on Youre conscious, so the little we try to lie everyday the better otherwise someway or another truth ends up getting so twisted u get tangled up and have no idea how that happen
I believe You would make a wonderful writer, You have exceptional fantasy and freedom of mind so im really excited to see what Youre creations may be, Best of Luck, DW -
mjones Says:
December 1st, 2009 at 1:54 amI really like the honesty in this.
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luzaleja Says:
January 13th, 2010 at 10:34 pmOK… 1st… I think many of us have done sth,not exactly the belly piercing thing or a tattoo… but even minor things like changing your hair style to try and make someone like you counts lol… and not only men… also friends… or people we think are our friends… at least when we are younger some of us are weaker to what people think… so i didnt pierce my belly button… but i did get a second piercing on both my ears… how sad is it that i dont even wear earrings on them now… i guess what im trying to say here is that i Loved ur writting… just i think its a great story and i can relate on some level
now on the lies… I can totally understand you… I do find myself sometimes telling lies for no reason at all… like not a good one (and im guessing that would be saving someone from pain or sth… although i do think sometimes its better to say the truth even if it hurts…) but just because… maybe i dont like the truth… i dunno… i guess sometimes it makes it easier to confront some situations, though… always… after i have told the lie… i regret it… I guess that is why im trying not to lie much now haha
thanks for ur honesty!
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luzaleja Says:
January 13th, 2010 at 10:34 pmLOL… i just realized u put a 1st without a 2nd… oh well… do as if it wasnt there hahaha
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flor2196 Says:
January 21st, 2010 at 3:05 pmhey i was wondering what happend with smallville. i can t see a new chapter since a while.
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flor2196 Says:
January 21st, 2010 at 3:07 pmusually i don t like this things about the blogs and things like that. but i think it s pretty cool that an actress like you, do this. i mean it s a chance for everyone to know you a little better. your a great actress
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3tesla Says:
January 28th, 2010 at 4:55 amWow – I have enjoyed reading this blog entry, and the wonderful comments too *so* much!
And here is my humble contribution by way of a thank you:
Yellow And Blue Are The Colours That I Remember …
The garish but bold stripes on the rugby shirt (jersey) I proudly wore for my senior (high) school’s rugby union First XV.
Rugby union is all about teamwork – the whole being far, far greater than the sum of the parts – so I cannot separate the blue from the yellow, nor do I dare to choose one over the other.
Such pride that I felt; such an honour to be allowed to join the elite; such sheer, physical, visceral, primitive joy in taking part; striving to win for the full eighty minutes; elation in victory, commiseration in defeat; fully alive, fully belonging!
Always driving the ball onwards towards the goal! Never giving up! Respect for, and trust in your co-workers! Respect for the referee! Respect and honour for, and communion with your worthy opponents! All great life-lessons for a young man to lean – precious memories, treasured wisdom, great days indeed.
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3tesla Says:
January 28th, 2010 at 5:11 amFor ’stripes’ please read ‘hoops’.
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