Broken

it's a bit depressing... sorry
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A cry rising
uncontrollable
and yet, I bite it back

I am stuck
locked in this body-prison
screaming, but no sound comes out

Maybe, just maybe
I can cut myself out
with a razorblade and a locked bathroom door

Wantless - A poem about loneliness

I am wantless,
Unsoothable.

Music is jarring,
Intruding.
Food is tasteless,
Unsatisfying.

I am wantless,
Inconsolable.

Television...
Disgusting.
Sleep...
Insoluble.

Wantless.

No, I want...
I want him.

Life

Life. The painful 4 letter word. Sometimes good, sometimes bad.. Who knows, we all think of it differently. But the point is, every now and then we crash and burn, whether it’s over someone, or something. It gets so hard you just want to curl up in a ball and shut the world out of your life. I feel like that almost everyday.I don’t turn to anyone when I feel this way, I just shut my self out and never want to come back, but that’s not the solution. Life's like a coin,you can spend it in any way you wish, but you can only spend it once. So spend it on something worth while. Life has its up and downs,often its like a roller coaster, a rollercoaster you never want to get off because it’s so nerve-wracking. It’s the same thing with life..but that’s the end of this story. Life is hard, you just gotta believe in yourself and get back up again when it knocks you down.

just a short little thing i would share.. :)

Forever and Always

I was there when you said you would never leave me. I was there when you said you loved me. But look where we are now. I don't know who you are anymore. You're not the person I fell head over heels for. I used to think you meant it when you told me I was yours forever. I used to think you meant it when you said you would stay by my side forever. But everything's different now, it's all different. Everything's changed. It's been four months now. Four long, depressing, cold, bitter months where all I did was think about you and how we should be together again. You don't know how much it hurts me to think that you said I would never be alone. I guess you figured our story was a fairytale. The one perfect fairytale where we lived happily ever after, and we were together until the end of the world. But this is reality. Reality where fairytales don't often come true. But I thought we would be something more than what we were. I thought we were much more than that. Much more than "I love you". But it turns out, we were nothing special. We were just something that comes and goes. I used to often think we shared something no one else shared. I used to think that people would want to have what we had, but I was wrong. We had what every other person in love had. Sparks flew when we were together. Our hearts never stopped beating for each other.The bond we shared was unbearable. Nobody could've had what we shared. But that day came around. The day where you left me standing in the pouring rain, telling me you were leaving. A crack started to form right down the middle of my heart, as if it were going to shatter into pieces right at that very moment. I was standing there, drenched in rain, and tears, watching you drive away. It almost felt like knives peircing through my stomach as I watched your car fade away in the distance. I feared that day would come, but I didn't think it would come that soon. It seems like it was just yesterday when that day arrived. But like I said, it's been four months. I don't think you realize how much you hurt me when you said your last goodbye. So, I'll watch your life go on, as I sit here and think about you. And I'll keep in touch with your friends and family, to see how you are. And I hope it's nice where you are, but please, please, rememeber me.. as your one and only true love. Forever will you be in my heart, and always will you be on my mind.

I didn't get a lot of comments on the Just Write blog, so I posted it on here to see if I could get anymore feedback. Hope you enjoyed:D

Orchestra of One

I am hallow,
like a stringed instrument.
Tap my shell
and it will echo,
pull my strings
and they will vibrate.

Back and forth
within my walls
I hear the sound
being tossed
between
the thin sheets
of instillation.
It hums in my ear
and is all I have
to fill this hallow gap,
inside
and out.

Living Dead

She sits staring at the wall

Behind his head

As he shoots venom from his mouth

Invisible disks cover her ears

Trying to block the hate from entering

But the poison sinks into her skin anyways

"Why dont you take care

of anything around here?"

He asks, menacing as an empty gun to a child

Why dont you take care of me?

She thinks despretly

As her nails clench her palm

Moving up, clenching her wrist

Oh how she wishes

Her nails were knives

That could shatter her pale skin

And dig into her fragile veins

But she just sits and waits

For the poison to stop flowing

Into her empty body

Soon the venom will be too much

It will overtake her body

And leave it

Lifeless

you can also find more of my poems on my poetry blog which is tessapoetry.tumblr.com

thankss

Shadow-Speaker

I don't really like this much - I feel as if it's too short and is rushed. But I had to post something or I'd never get around to posting at all
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The whispers come at night, voices creeping through the fringes of my consciousness -poking, prodding at my insides. I can have no secrets from them. They take everything, leaving only unwanted knowledge in return. They tell me the secrets of the world, secrets they have torn from the unsuspecting minds of all they encounter. It only makes me wonder who hears my secrets. Who judges me as I judge those the voices speak to me of. Am I found wanting?

The men of my tribe consider me sacred, think that the voices come from something divine. They call me Spirit-Walker, Shadow-Speaker, Blessed One, their voices always tinged with awe. But despite the praises forced upon me, I think I am haunted, for what god would wish these nightmare-ghosts upon me? They take their toll on me, they steal my strength nightly. I can feel in in my heavy limbs, see it in the bruiselike darkness under my eyes. Soon I will have nothing left for them to take. It seems almost impossible to me that no one else has noticed. And yet, there have been no questions.

Even my father does not notice anything amiss. He came to me last night, told me that he was proud of me, proud that his son was so honored. I could not look him in the eye, knowing that this hearing, this dreaming is nothing to be proud of. He would not be proud of me if he knew what they were driving me to do.

The goblet is in my hand, my eyes are fixed on the deep red liquid inside. I drink, tasting the bitterness of the herb I added, th eon that I know will kill me. And as I feel the world fading, I can hear the whispers. They are coming, coming for me.

Even in death I cannot escape them.

A Rose by any other name?

Names are perhaps one of the most important and most underutilized aspect of character development in fiction. drama, poetry etc.  Most times we just try to give an outlandish, unique name to our main character because we want our work to be "different" from everybody else's.  I can't tell you how many oddball names I have come across in emerging fiction writers and student writers.  The truth is, in the real world, for every Dimitri there are fifteen Pauls and our writing should reflect the real world right?  So the question becomes, how can you use "normal" names to build character?  Something I do is use syllables as a helper...shorter syllable names are simpler and less complicated to deal with...obviously they belong to characters that are what they seem and have a more simplistic outlook or place in our writing.  Roy Stead is a hardworking man who sees the world as black and white and therefore cannot stand by while Dimitri Wilvirer uses intimidation and blackmail to advance the company's interests in oil-rich Iran...(hypothetical)

I used two different tricks here...first was the syllable length which I just spoke of.  Next is the use of Stead which should remind the readers of Steady as well as Wilvirer which sounds foreign as well as has vir in it which makes the reader associate him with virus or violence or some other awful v word.

What are some names of your characters and did you use names intentionally...what other ways are there to develop character with name?

Calm

I wrote this a few weeks ago after finding the first paragraph or so of a character-developing exercise ("Create a character and then have them talk someone off a ledge") that I did at writing camp over the summer and I liked the character of Liam, so I just decided to finish it. Let me know what you think :)

Calm

Liam leaned against the tree, one leg straight and the other bent, his foot resting on the bark. His arms were crossed, head cocked to the side.

"James, just stop." Liam's voice was cool, firm.

"I'm gonna do it!" James breathed. A chilling breeze blew up off the water below. James shivered, inching his toes closer to the edge of the gorge.

"No," Liam spoke, pacing to James' side and sitting himself on the ground, legs stretched in front of him, arms propping up his torso, "You won't."

Liam stared straight up at James, a smirk playing at his lips.

"I'm gonna jump! I-I swear I will!" James stuttered, flashing eyes flitting between Liam's cool, blue-gray gaze and the waves crashing madly against rock seventy feet below.

"No, James." Liam's voice remained level. "I know you. I know you better than anyone else does. You won't."

Now Liam stood and stepped up behind James so that his face was beside the quivering boy's ear. Liam's hands were clasped behind his back.

"You won't do it, James," Liam whispered, his breath raising goosebumps on the back of James' neck. James trembled. "It would be too much closure. That isn't what you want. You know what you want, and so do I."

James shook his head. "Not anymore."

Liam looked out at the sea just as a falcon glided from the air to perch on a rock jutting from the roaring chaos below. James trembled, peeling the mist-soaked green shirt from his body and letting it fall to the ground beside his bare feet. Liam stood as the muscles in his friend's shoulders tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed.

"I'm gonna do it," James repeated, as if to make sure Liam had heard him.

"Are you?" Liam replied, his voice not betraying the slightest bit of worry.

James nodded his head in quick, shaking movements.

"Fine," Liam replied.

James whipped his head around to see Liam's face, a flash of confusion passing across his face, eyebrows shooting upward in surprise.

"What?" James questioned.

"Do it," Liam answered. "If you're so sure that you can, then do it. "

James' eyes widened, his lips parting in shock, and he turned back towards the water. Liam watched as he took a long, shaking breath, his shoulders trembling as they rose and fell, as if he was trying to restrain an emotion that was trying to break free.

"But I don't want to be here to see you try." Liam turned his back to James, his army boots kicking up showers of pine needles as he walked away.

"What makes you think that I won't succeed? That I won't do it?" James called over the waves as their roaring hit a crescendo. The falcon screeched and took flight again.

Liam's step faltered for a step before regaining its surety. He spoke without looking back.

"You're stronger than that."

The Lullaby of Winter

Winter is warm
to those who know heat,
not a suns kiss of light,
but a demons home to hell.

One who maps the stars
sees only night sky,
only the hopes of sparks
that dance far over head.

What is a dream
if a dream is a shadow?
Pass burning daylight
in the shade of your wants,
it is but a fancy of the mind
that you live your life.

He who sees what was,
what is still desired
but no longer so,
is the ghost of the shadow.
But can not a ghost
fill the empty hole
of a beating heart
with hate or pain?
can not he cry and kill?
I find it so.

Then there are those
who did not fall
into the being of a bodiless soul,
but shoved vigorously.

Those are the eyes
that smile at winter,
with its vague sun
and harsh howls.
But that is not
a scream of cool air you hear,
it is a lullaby.
The lullaby of winter.

I'm having a hard time finding inspiration lately, I got this idea out of Shakespeare's Hamlet, "A dream itself is but a shadow." tell me what you think and what you got from this piece :)

The Sloped Road

I tread this road,

a ribbon of brown,

fallen leaves,

stretched before me,

never-ending,

I climb the sloped road.

The Sakura trees blossom,

carelessly tossing their pedals,

in my path,

on the sloped road.

I cannot stop,

for fear if I do,

I will not start,

ever again,

the climb up the sloped road.

But oh how I ache,

from this tiresome tread,

with leaden toes,

head hanging low,

up this endlessly sloped road.

I walk alone.

until I can't go on,

and I think to myself,

as I finally stop,

lying to rest,

maybe-just maybe,

if, I were not to walk alone,

I could make it,

to the end of the sloped road.

Well I already posted this on the Just Write blog last marking period, but since no-one commented I thought that maybe I would have better luck here. Comments? Please?

Nine-tailed Fox?

I don't have a definite title for this one... I could use "Nine-tailed Fox" though. What do you guys think, too obvious?


I'm dreaming of
A nine-tailed fox.

Held close
To my chest.

Locked in
Nine sets of eyes,

Nine faces,
Nine beings,

Nine thoughts,
Nine feelings,

Nine laughs,
Nine voices.

Shared by
Nine pretty spirits.

Carressed on
My pink sheets.

I'm dreaming of
A nine-tailed fox.


I know this poem is probably hard to understand or "get". But scrutinize it carefully before you post any questions (however, I will be happy to answer them!). The only part I would like to clarify is the use of the word "pink" in the second to last paragraph. The color pink symbolizes tolerance, patience, and love; it is used as such in the poem. Enjoy! Please comment!

Technicolor

I dream in technicolor.
One world those fantastical colors created was like oil on water. Greens and blues only appeared in the darkened night when the light shone just right. Peacock colors floated in and out of existence. Under the glowing stars waited a group of anxious teens. I huddled close to my brother and watched cautiously from his side. A silent command seemed to ripple through the crowd because everyone went to their cars. The cars fit into this sleek world just like the sky. The colors were deep, as if they were liquid. My brother nudged my into my car then made his way to his. Next to me a black Mustang rumbled like a ravenous panther. My own Shelby felt like a weak comparision to these beautiful creations of smooth night colors. The cars around me thundered and growled like a voracious pack of lions.
Snapping into action the cars shot off. I followed and picked up speed. I glided past the Mustang and then the next car. I moved through the ranks until only one car stood between me and victory. I slid past the next car like a figure skater on the ice. My heart soared at the rush of conquest and I beamed with pride. I flew through the finish line and then skidded to a stop. My breath raced out of me in a race of its own and my heart tried to keep pace. The rest of the packed stopped around me and paused a moment. Climbing out of the car I looked up at the faces of all those older than me, and I saw pride and amazment rain down on me. I glanced past the excited crowd and into the darkened night.
Night star eyes stared back at me. Those huge eyes reflected the stars back at me in a pitch black pool. Threads of lapiz-luzi snaked through the black. I was entranced. Skinny bodies of lead grey held up those eyes. I glimsped stick fingers that led up to skin and bone arms. From the depths of those eyes a purple vision started to appear. I tried to focus on it and promptly passed out.
~
if i get the time (a.k.a motovation) i'll continue this because there was more to this dream.. but I'm hungry right now.... I have the coolest dreams sometimes... :)

In Front of Cliffs - Initiation post

In Front of Cliffs

I'd jump.
But it'd hurt,
And you'd be sad,
So I won't.

I'd fly.
But then I'd fall,
And you'd fall too,
So we won't.

I'd cry.
Because I am trapped.
And so are you.


This is my "initiation" post; figure if I don't start immediately then I never will! I hardly ever write prose, so poetry is mostly what you'll see from me. -mk

P.S. Someone fix Horvath's clock. It's trying to tell me its 8 am when its really 11:30. :D

Blue Television

A few days ago my mom was watching the news and it was talking about the people who got shot in Arizona. Solemnly, my mom mentioned how they were all "good" people, but that seemed obvious to me, why would someone have their life cut short like that if they weren't a good person? Those who died, as I believe, are in a better place. it seems pointless to have someone who was bad die if there is still a chance they could change.

I know what I'm writing is kind of wishy-washy but the reason i wanted to post this is because truthfully as sad as i am for the people who lost the ones they loved, I'm happy that those who died moved on. I feel real pity for the killer though. Does that make me a bad person? that I'm happy for the victim and sorry for the murderer. Is it bad that I wish for whatever caused him to do what he did to be wiped off his brow like sweat from the sun?

That's what passed through my mind as the television buzzed with its blue glow, but I guess asking you these questions is pointless since I have already made up my mind about myself. Truthfully, the reason I post things like this is to confirm them in my own mind, and perhaps to raise question within your own.

1st Contest

FIRST WRITING CONTEST FOR THIS BLOG!!!!

We are looking for a short 200 to 800 word expository essay that shares a "truism".  This is like a personal story that involves a life lesson, something everyone can learn from and apply to their life.

Deadline for submission - January 28th
Contest Prize - $25.00 Borders Gift Card and the recognition that you are the awesomest writer on an awesome writing blog.
Judges - Pieces will be judged by an independent panel of teachers and writers that I know.

Please post any comments or questions about the contest under this blog post.  Your story/essay can be emailed to me at shorvath@monroeps.org!

Just something I had to write for an application that I thought I would include, "All you need is love"

Sometimes the hardest moments in our lives are when we never know what tomorrow will bring.  When my grandma was diagnosed with breast cancer, I lived this everyday.  My grandmother has been by my side from the moment I took my first step to when I settled into the era of being a teenager.  She is like a sister to me, so when I got the news, my heart sank.  For the next few months, I never wanted to leave her side.  Seeing what my grandma was going through made my soul weep, and every day, as some part of her courage broke off, so did mine.  I never let her see this though, how much I was hurting for her.  With a smile plastered to my face, I would never shed a tear or sport a frown.  I knew encouragement was what she needed at that time, so that was what I supplied. 

As weeks passed, everyone’s optimism helped my grandmother grow stronger.  Slowly, but surely, the wilted flower blossomed into a beautiful and admirable rose.  It was gone.  My grandma had battled cancer and won.  Throughout everything, her family was by her side, giving her support and compassion.  We helped her overcome one of the biggest obstacles of her life.  After all, love is the greatest medicine.  As Doctor Larry Dossey once said, “The power of love to change bodies is legendary, built into folklore, common sense, and everyday experience.  Love moves the flesh, it pushes matter around.  Throughout history, ‘tender loving care’ has uniformly been recognized as a valuable element in healing.” ...All you need is love.

First Bit of Writing Advice

I have been blessed to have a steady stream of writers come into my classroom every year and I always worry that when students leave they will lose that spark for writing, mainly because there is no one asking them to do it. I know from personal experience that finding the time to create new writing pieces is difficult. We seem to make time for everthing else in this world except writing. One way to change that is to read books that make you want to pick up the pen and start something fresh. The first book that did this for me was Stephen King's On Writing. It is filled with great writing theory and practice. It gave me some new ideas to work through as well as the inspiration to start a fresh story. I would encourage anyone who enjoys writing to look into reading this phenomenal little book. I have offered it to a few writers who (hopefully) found it helpful in their prose as well.

Darkness

A balence in the system

With death comes life

With life comes death

Death is also dakness

A black hole

Sucks everything in its path

But then the solar sytem starts over

Rebuilds its self

Without darkness there is no light

No shades of different colors

A blank sheet of paper

Boring

Darkness and death

A balance

A pattern

A way of life

I Want to Be a Part of This

If you are not a contributor but would like to be, please leave a comment after this blog post. If you are a former student of Mr. Horvath's then just leave a name and an email that can receive an invite to be a contributor. If you are not one of my former students still leave your contact info and please email me at my Monroe Public Schools email adress with a quick sample of your writing as well as a short explanation of why you want to be a part of this community of writers.

Here's How it Works

The goal of this blog is to be a place where like-minded individuals can come together and discuss eath other's work as well as writing techniques ideas, good books and articles for writing etc. I will occasionally post a contest or two but I am leaving the maintenance, upkeep and content of this blog focused around writers and writing. Don't be afraid to speak your mind and certainly do not stop to think if something is "good enough" to post...Share everything you have.
Best - H