I wrote a play

This is a short play I wrote for creative writing. It was way easier than i expected it to be, and I spent a lot of time developing my characters. I hope you like, read on!

LILLIAN: She’s a tall red-headed woman, with thin long legs. Her hair is long and thick but she wears it up every day in order to feel sophisticated. She works in the Financial District in San Francisco and commutes everyday from her expensive mansion in the Orinda Hills. LILLIAN is 27, but her success makes her seem older, and because she is a woman in her field she tries to come off as hard and unbreakable. LILLIAN does everything in routine. She gets off at Montgomery BART station every day to go to work, takes the street car, gets her espresso from Starbucks, and passes the same homeless man every day, but fails to look at him. She really isn’t that bad, but rubs most the wrong way.

JOEL: Joel has been homeless since he was 17, when he was kicked out of his house for dropping out of high school to pursue music. He had some part time gigs, but eventually his music career dwindled down to nothing when he decided to move to San Francisco. Now, he’s 24 and has lived on the same street for 6 months. He smells like stale coffee and rotten eggs, so most of the commuters going to work try to stay clear of him. He pesters people for money all of the time. He collects money in his guitar case, but has no guitar anymore

Scene 1

Set starts and focuses on a woman leaving an office building. She looks like she in a rush and bustles down the street, looking at her feet. There are sounds in the back round (moving cars) and the viewer is getting the idea that this is taking place in a big city. Skyscrapers are clouding the horizon and the woman keeps walking, she passes homeless men as she enters the tenderloin

JOEL: (Watches LILIAN as she walks by and tries to get her attention by coughing, that doesn’t work) Excuse me miss, could you spare any change?

LILLIAN: (Glances to her left, but brushes by him) Not today.

JOEL: I’m afraid you say that every day, Ma’am. I could really use some help.

LILLIAN: I’m sorry, but I’m in a hurry.

JOEL: Where you going, Ma’am?

LILLIAN: I don’t think that’s any of your business sir. Now please let me get on with my day, go and do something with your life. (She drops a penny in his guitar case)

JOEL: (hesitating) What do you mean do something with my life? Do you think I want to be homeless? (Lillian is already walking away)

LILLIAN: (She looks back and yells) No, but I KNOW you have some control over your life. If you want to do something, do it. Don’t just watch life go on, take part in it.

LILLIAN goes on the streqet car, and JOEL looks off into the distance, thinking about what the woman just said to him. Lights dim, honking fades. (END SCENE)

Scene 2

It’s been a few months since LILLIAN’s first encounter with JOEL, and she hasn’t thought much about it, but he has. She walks out of her office, to see JOEL with nice clothing on, showered and all. Same scene

LILLIAN: I hardly recognized you, you’re the man from the corner I talked to briefly some time ago, right?

JOEL: I guess I am the man on the corner (He laughs awkwardly), but I’ve taken your advice to heart.

LILLIAN: (looks confused, and a little annoyed) What advice? I could of sworn I only gave you a few dollars. I was having a long day, and you were the last of my worries.

JOEL: What happened?

LILLIAN: I thought I was going to lose my job (She stops talking, and her voice drifts), because of my cancer…

JOEL: I’m so sorry.

LILLIAN: I am too, but there’s nothing I can do besides live my life, and do what I love: work.

JOEL: Well as I was saying, you told me to do something with my life, and I did. I am no longer homeless, I work at a 711 and am making some money. Can I take you out to dinner, as a thank you?

LILLIAN: I would like that a lot. (she smiles for the first time)

END SCENE

Preface

This is the preface I wrote for my Honors English Personal Anthology. In this, I write about the semester long process of finding poetry and my reflections.

Over the past few months I  have devoted my Sundays to searching for works to put in my personal anthology. Going into the project, I wanted to feel something with every piece I chose—a connection with the poems, a love for the language, the ability to relate with the main character. I wanted to feel their intense emotions running in the blood in my own veins. As time passed, I realized I would not love all of my poems, plays, short stories, and other passages, but instead, I could have them reflect different parts of my complex self.  

              After I chose a work, I re-read it over and over to decide if I actually liked it. This seemed to be a never-ending cycle in my process: find a bunch of poems, get rid of all of them, find some new ones, and obsess over them like a mother would over her newborn baby. For example, one week I really wanted to use the poem “Howl” by Allen Ginsberg, but after reading the pages I came to the conclusion I had no idea what he was actually writing about. I couldn’t connect to his Beatnik prose and realized I only wanted to read it because it was under the “Poems Teens Like” on Poetry.org. After that, I stopped looking for the poems that I have been told to like, and relied on my journalistic skills to find some epic poems and prose.

A few weekends ago, after spending much of the semester searching for these works, I had almost 50 pages of 30 short works laid out on my dining room table and I was desperately trying to find a common theme. I was searching the interior of my multi-chambered mind to come up with something to tie all my works together. My ideas were all extremely cliché: growth, time, life, nostalgia, until finally I skimmed through my iTunes library. I got to artists whose names started with B. I thought my theme would be Bob Dylan, but I decided I wasn’t a big enough fan to have my anthology dedicated to this influential artist of a different generation. I played my music on shuffle for a while, until “Moon Shadow” by Cat Stevens  came on. At that moment, I knew I had found my theme.

Although Cat Steven also made music before my time, I have an extremely strong attachment with some of his songs because of my long-time connection with my summer camp, Camp Tawonga. The first Cat Stevens’s song I heard was at song session about five years ago at my sleep-away camp. Gal, the Israeli song leader, played “Wild World,” and all the campers, but mainly the older kids, danced around the dining hall like crazed hippies. It was a beautiful moment, and to this day Cat Steven’s music holds a special place in my heart and transports me from my hectic everyday reality to the beautiful tall, trees of Camp Tawonga in the Stanislaus National Forest.

I decided to title the hefty book, “Can’t Keep It In: A Cat Stevens Anthology, in reference to the title of a popular Cat Stevens song, in which he sings, “I got to show the world, the world’s got to see, see all the love.” These opening lines really inspired my theme for this anthology. Of course, the whole world will not see my anthology, but I want to share the American works I compiled with whomever I can so the words will be able to touch the readers just like they have influenced me.

For the subtopics of my anthology, I selected four of my favorite Cat Stevens songs that I felt some of my poems could work with, and I decided to place all the corresponding poems in each section. The first song is “Wild World,” in which Stevens writes about the crazy and sometimes cruel world. “America,” by Allen Ginsberg, is one of my favorite poems in this section. Ginsberg writes about how America, at the time, was a pretty bad up place in his fictional conversation with the mother country. He opens with, “America I’ve given you all and now I’m nothing/I can’t stand my own mind/America when will we end the human war?/Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb,” these lines parallel the title of my subsection “Wild World.” Although Ginsberg never flatly says this, he feels like a victim to an always morphing roller-coaster like world. “War is Kind” by Stephen Crane is also in this section to show the irony of our wild world.

The next section is “Peace Train.” In this song, Stevens reveals his hope for the future with a growing sense of optimism, but also some worry for the present state of the world.. I thought it would be appropriate to have poetry in this section related to peace, hopes for the future, and growth. One of my favorite pieces in this section is Anna Quindlen’s column “Glass Half Empty.” She worries that sexism that will limit her two-year-old daughter, but despite her worries she has hope because she knows her daughter will be a strong woman. Quindlen holds onto a sense of optimism despite the status of woman at the time.

The third section is “If You Want to Sing Out Sing Out,” which represents the willpower humans have. The poems in this section all have to do with choice. In “Jealousy,” Chris Bouey seems to say that one has control over his or her emotions and has a choice of how to act. “Phenomenal Woman,” by Maya Angelou represents the choice a woman has over her body and self image. Despite Angelou’s looks, she chooses to feel confident. In my life, I sometimes forget that I have choice. I let my emotions take over and sometimes feel helpless.. “If you want to sing out sing out” acts as a reminder of the choice I am lucky to have.

My final subtheme is “Oh Very Young”, another song by Cat Stevens. All of the works in this subtheme have to do with nostalgia, growing up, being young, and the past. This was probably my favorite section to compile because I am extremely reflective.. This section is where my 25th work, “The Circle Game” by Joni Mitchell shows up. “The Circle Game” is all about growing up, and how time goes by so quickly. It’s my favorite song, so I felt like it was appropriate to have it as my 25th work.

Now on May 23rd, the day before this anthology is due, I feel a weight lifted off my shoulders, but also a strong sense of accomplishment. The reason I know my hard work has paid off is because my love for all kinds of American literature has expanded significantly, and reading poetry no longer feels like a chore, but a pleasure. I have expanded my horizons and have become acquainted with works from over 100 years ago to the present day. I hope my anthology can bring it’s reader the happiness that it has brought me. But if I can tell you one thing, reader, as you skim this listen to some Cat Stevens and imagine me with a big YOU CAN DO THIS sign.

A stupid poem to a stupid person.

It was freshman year, and you told me I was bad at art.
Are you fucking kidding me? Who can be bad at art?
We are taught as young children that anyone can succeed as an artist
because art is self expression.
If that is true, why would you tear my paintings apart
suck the abstractness out of my pencil
Tell me "No that line is not straight"
when it is a free draw.
No 14 year old girl should be told they are not an artist
who are you to judge my inner artistic-ness
I could throwup on a piece of paper
add some crayon
and call it "splatter paint"
and I should still be able to get an A.
Your twisted
terrorizing
tongue-tied words made me sick.
You vaccumed the confidence off my paper
and replaced it with emptiness
geometric shapes, ugly squares.
And then you said "Now, THIS here is art Marcela."
To this day, my mom tries to frame my art
but I say..."No mom, I got a C FUCKING MINUS in art one. I'm no artist."
So, now what am I?

Magical Harp oh WWWWWWOOOOOHOOO

 
This assignment is a revision on a in class writing. I decided to revise a Harris Burdick story that was about a picture he drew with a magical harp. I liked the one from class, but I like this one as well.
Also, my friend Ali Saarela wrote the original, and I did the revisions!

So it's true, he thought. It's really true. He walked over to the slippery rocks with his eyes fixed on the harp. He trudged through the glistening water that glided over his pudgy feet. He had never been to this part of the river before, and was specifically told not to go.
    He was submerged in the loose and sticky mud that covered his feet. It seemed to be almost magical, but maybe he was just seeing things. He was extremely dehydrated because he had been on this journey since the day he turned thirteen. Today was the boys 16th birthday, and he had finally gotten to the magical oasis. He had heard myths growing up, but only children stories that could not have been take seriously. Unfortunately for George, as a child he took everything seriously.
   People ask why he left at the age of thirteen, and some will never understand, because he was just a boy. But, he had nothing left for him at home. His father had left, and the day before his 13th birthday his mom died, she was the only thing kind of holding him back. She used to tell him the story of "The Magical Harp" every night before he went to bed, and it was embedded in the back of his mind. The legend has it, that if one plays it they will live a lifetime of bliss, enlightenment, and contentment. Even at the youthful age of thirteen, George knew the harp was something he needed to find, despite the danger. So, three years ago he left on a grey day and walked miles through the forest. He brought all of his survival things, knives, clothing, and maps. He felt like a conquistador, going to find gold and the fountain of youth. Time went by so slowly when George was alone in the forest. He lost some of his human interaction skills, and his animalistic side got brought out. What would you do if you were alone in a forest for three years? His hope of finding the magical harp was diminishing, and he thought he would be alone forever. His journal was getting full, and he was getting sick of rabbit every day, for every meal.
               After journeying with no human interaction for a little over a year, one day in the woods George heard footsteps. He didn't know if they were human or not, but his instinct was to run towards them. After a mile of searching for this unknown creature, George saw a boy, a boy who looked a little older than him, maybe 15. The boy was in cut off shorts and a white t-shirt covered in mud. His pale skin was dirtied by dust, and he looked miserable--miserable and lonely. He approached George with a look of distrust, "Who are you? Why are you in this part of the woods?"
              "I'm only here to fufil my destiny, I need to find the magical harp, I need to find it for my late mother."
   "Who are you kidding?" said the boy, "You're a KID. You are not cut out to be on this journey. It's dangerous. Go home, go to school."
      "I've been in the woods since my thirteenth birthday," said George, "and I will not give up until I find the harp."
  The boys frown turned to a look of sympathy, and he explained he had been looking for the harp as well. They became friends. Hunted together, slept under the same stars--almost like brothers.
    Now I'll take you to present day, George and the boy, Hunter, have just arrived at the harp. It's been years together. They've met other people on the way, but only the strongest survive in a world full of social darwinism. The music of the harp was the most beautiful thing they had ever heard. It was the happiest moment of his life.
 

CliQUE MEehH

www.bigassmessage.com/b42be

12:53 am and i'm wide awake

i got back from my spanish field trip at 11, to remember that I have two 200 point projects due tomorrow. HA, liiiiiiife. I feel like its 6 in the morning i'm WIDE AWAKE like katy pary status...

second grader..

I wrote this for a second grader! Her name is Sage and she's awesome. I liked writing this because I got to talk to her. I had some trouble with this, but I'm happy with how it turned out.

Once upon a time in a land not so far from here, on the island of Hawaii, there lived a funny, kind, smart, and book-loving girl named Sage Patricia , but her friends called her Sagey.

Sage was a second grader at Murwood , and had a dream of being a second grade teacher! During school she would always help her friends read books and spent time looking at her favorite ones,  like Ivy and Bean. As much as she liked reading, when she wasn’t at school Sage did other things, and she especially liked playing outside. Sage always explored around the place she lived, the world was her playground!

After school Sage and her friends would always go down to the beach and watch their favorite dolphins jump and spin. They spent hours on the beach, and loved to draw pictures of the dolphins.

One day, Sage’s friend Julia ran into class, “Sagey! I went to the beach today and the dolphins were not there!”

“What?!” said Sage,“Where did they go?! What can we do to find them?”

No one knew what to do, and at school that day the clouds seemed to cover the whole sky. Everyone was upset because the dolphins weren’t there to make the beach beautiful.

The beach wasn’t the same without the dolphins, and Sage and her friends didn’t know what to do after school.

When she got home that day, Sage explained to her parents and little sister about the missing dolphins and she asked them for advice.

“Why don’t you and your friends make signs and put them all over the island,” suggested her mom.

 

“Or you can write a message for the dolphins, seal it in a bottle and throw it in the ocean,” said her dad.

Sage did like their ideas, but she wanted to do something of her own. And then she had an idea!!

Sage decided she and her friends would go find the dolphins on surfboards, and find the evil creatures who stole them! She even brought her whole class along with the teacher to protect them.

Sage and her class went to the nearest surfboard shop, and rented surfboards for their long journey.

Although she was a little scared, Sage led her class through the waves, fearlessly jumping and turning!  It was her first time surfing in the ocean, but she was a rockstar on the waves!!

They had been surfing for hours, looking for the dolphins, when one of her classmates suggested that they give up. But Sage was dedicated and determined to find the beautiful dolphins.

They finally approached a secluded cove and could hear the dolphins singing!

“We did it!!” her friends said.

“Now we can continue going to the beach to watch them!”

 

But after a few minutes they realized it wasn’t that easy--they saw a few sharks swimming in the ocean, and the dolphins were locked in cages.

At this moment, Sage’s heart almost skipped a beat! She was extremely scared of sharks, and she didn’t know what to do!

Should she just leave and end her journey without accomplishing her goal, or should she face her fear of the sharks and save the dolphins?

Sage knew what to do, and her courage guided her to save them!! She decided that surfing by the sharks would be too obvious, so she jumped in the water and used her swimming skills she had practiced on Rudgear Estates Swim Team! She went under water, and the shark that was on watch duty didn’t even notice her swim by, and took the key from the sea floor.

Finally she did it, she got the key to unlock the cage in which dolphins were in and freed them! Before the shark could wake up the dolphins were long gone, and Sage saved them all from being eaten!!!

The next day in class everyone thanked Sage for what she did, and Bethany Hamilton from Soul Surfer even came to thank her! She was a hero—all because she genuinely cared for the dolphins and her friends’ feelings. At the end it was a win-win situation for Sage, she saved the day, conquered her fear of sharks, and successfully surfed for the first time!!