This is creative writing exercise. Most of the work posted is unfinished, so comments and critiques are appreciated. My email is below in case you would rather send me your thoughts privately. Thanks for visiting, and I hope you enjoy!
This year for the holidays, what I'd most like to eat
12 turkey meatballs
11 cups of pasta
10 homemade cupcakes
9 slabs of bacon
8 squash casseroles
7 quarts of field peas
5 turnip greens!
4 pounds of potatoes
3 fruit pies
2 fried chickens
and several gallons of sweet tea!
Sometimes, I write something and all I can think about it is that I may have wasted my youth being a "good girl." Other times I think that my counselor would probably make some sort of deal about this.As for this poem, I think both of these things.
Writing, for me,
is like a period
how I will miss it when it's gone
Days, weeks, months, years
drift by casually and
I am dry, void of a spark
then a painful gush, and I can't stop
that's what it's like
writing, for me.
I am overwhelmed
with the opportunity
to create, to birth
something that was not here before.
Then, full stop, writer's block
is like a period.
It's like creative constipation
all my ideas backing up pressing for release
other times, I can stop and it won't bother me
not even a little tickle in my brain
I know this will pass,
I feel like a toy
an out of control spinning top
spewing words that seem
that do not feel like the come from me, it's
As with anything,
my storytelling has had
a beginning and it follows
there will be an end
if writing dies before me...
how I will miss it when it's gone.
At that point,
I hope that I will have made some
sort of difference...
helped someone laugh
or someone cry
I think there are some more cascades in my future. I really do not know how to evaluate my own work, so I never know if what I post is good or not. I do know what is fun to write and this was fun. (I also like to talk about periods, much to the chagrin of my husband and my brother, so that was another reason this was fun.)
The first sandwich I remember liking was banana and mayonnaise. I can remember being very young, maybe three, and wanting a banana and mayonnaise sandwich on white bread. I loved the combination of the sweet banana and the salty fat of the mayonnaise. As I write this I can even remember the smell...
As I grew older the banana and mayonnaise sandwiches stopped. I think one was left in our car during the summer in Montgomery, Alabama, which would equal a stinky car and the possible cause for me never eating another one again. I did, however, eat other sandwiches, and they all had mayonnaise.
I grew up in Mobile, Alabama, and when I started school, I went to the Julius T. Wright Preparatory School for girls. In third grade, I heard a story that changed my life, and sealed my current relationship with mayonnaise thirty-five years later.
I was eating lunch with my best friend, Rachel, when Stacy Corbin came over to our table (our class had three Stacy's that year). I really liked Stacy, but I had learned that eating lunch with her was like eating Sunday dinner with my cousins on my grandparents' outdoor picnic table. It was gross. She loved the see-food joke and she told really disgusting stories. She said, "Hey, y'all know where mayonnaise comes from?" and then proceeded to tell us this story. (If you love mayonnaise, you may want to skip this part, pick it up again at the asterisk.)
There once was this boy who loved mayonnaise. He loved it so much that he would eat it straight out the jar. He often got into trouble with his mom for eating all of the mayonnaise. One day, his mom brought home three jumbo jars of mayonnaise and warned him not to eat it out of the jars. That night, after everyone went to bed, the boy couldn't go to sleep because he kept thinking about that mayonnaise. He decided to sneak down and eat just a little bit. He ended up eating every bit of mayonnaise from all THREE jars. He was sleepy from eating all of the mayonnaise and went to bed.
The next morning he woke up and remembered eating all of the mayonnaise. He knew that he was going to he was going to be in so much trouble. He got ready for school and prepared himself for his mad mom. He walked into the kitchen and his breakfast was waiting for him. His mom looked happy and was making his lunch to take to school. She was using the mayonnaise from one of the jars she had bought the day before! When he got home from school he checked and all of the mayonnaise was in the jars.
That night he snuck back downstairs and ate all of the mayonnaise again. The next morning, it was all filled up. He snuck out of his room the next night and the same thing happened. He was really curious what was happening, so the last night, he snuck into the kitchen and ate every bit of that delicious mayonnaise. Then, instead of going right back to bed, he hid. A short while later he saw a woman walk into his kitchen. She was wearing a turban on her head. She went to the utensil drawer and got out the biggest spoon she could find and put the empty jars in front of her. Then she took off her turban. In the center of her head she had a huge oozing hole. She scooped the pus out of her head and filled up all three mayonnaise jars, and put them back.
I looked at my Vienna sausage and mayonnaise sandwich and gagged. All I could smell was mayonnaise and all I could picture was pus. I looked over at Rachel. She had also stopped eating and was a little white. She also looked pissed at Stacy. I "eeeewwwed" and Stacy left, laughing.
I have a rather vivid imagination and a very sensitive gag reflex. I have actually gagged twice while typing this. I don't eat mayonnaise on purpose. If it is mixed in something and the flavor or smell isn't prevalent, then it's okay, just don't tell me. Because I hate it. I hate the word. I want it banished from the face of the planet.
And that is the true story about why I hate mayonnaise.
My first attempt at a non-fiction essay. I feel like Erma Bombeck, if Erma Bombeck wrote gross stories about mayonnaise. I am completely open to critique on this one.
So the reddit No Sleep contest is over, and Peggy got either nine or ten votes, which put her pretty solidly in the middle of the pack. I think that's a rather respectable showing. Thanks for everyone who voted for me and for your continued support of the lasagna. I have another story gestating right now that I'll post in a couple of months. I have to brush up on parasites and neuropsychology, so if anyone knows any "for dummies" books that address these two topics, let me know,