The Future I Plan To Have

Colorful Books Stacked (Blender)

Creative Commons License FutUndBeidl via Compfight

When I grow up and graduate from college, heck, even before then, all I want to do is write. Most of what I do with my time is read and write, when I’m not daydreaming about adventures I’d have characters go on. I’m developing characters in my head, slowly making them more and more complex, giving them friends and traits and quirks and fears, making friends with made up people in my head. It gets almost to the point that they don’t feel too made up anymore. I can come up with dramatic readings and storytellings on the spot, and often intertwine these intense plots into real life, confusing and entertaining people to a point of hilarity. I’ll take random everyday objects and use them to advance my plots, saying this an ancient artifact from an old tribe in the heart of the Bermuda triangle, or that is a piece of scrap metal fallen from Jupiter and it means we’re the chosen ones, or even saying a car engine is the roar of the Father Demon and start going on and on about an extreme plan to take him out. I’ve even gone on and on about a bit of rain, saying it was a great and mighty storm with thunder crashes like the roars of a monster and lighting so bright that the sky was ripping itself apart to reveal heaven. One time that I’m particularly proud of, I took a journal around school with me and wrote a field report about the actions of my peers as an outsider.  As you can tell, I have a knack for this sort of stuff.

When I grow up, I really want to be an author. I want other people to hear my stories and make friends with my character, marvel at wonders of worlds I came up with. I came up with the idea of wanting to be an author because I always get frustrated at the lack of good books that are on the longer side of things. So I decided that I would have to make some. With that seed of an idea planted in my head, I started to write a lot more, and eventually it came to the point that I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. I still can’t. I want my stories to be known. I want my worlds to be explored. It’s kind of sad to me that these people and places only exist in my head, that nobody else has them, nobody else knows their magic. So really, I want to be an author. I want to make people see different worlds, experience my adventures, meet my characters. I spend so much time reading, why not give back a little and write a book that people will not only read, but enjoy? Because I feel there is no such thing as enough books, I’m going to add to the pile that people have already built up, and I refuse to add rubbish

I know that it’s pration and B) I like cookies so I’m putting them in the name. It sounds catchy to me. Pretty much, I’m going to have different types of coffee, and cookies, and apples too. I’ll also have a book shelf in the room, and people can take books off the shelf and read them if they want. Is my love for books and reading showing yet? I don’t have as much to say about the coffee shop as the all the writing stuff, so I’ll just end the paragraph here. That seems acceptable to me.

I just want to write. In my future, I’m going to do just that; but I’m going to have a coffee shop too, as a backup source of income.

Creative Commons License Micky** via CompfightCookie macro


Short but similar blog post

Longer similar blog post 


So yesterday (5/12/15) was National Limericks day. A limerick is a funny, nonsense poem with 5 lines. It’s got a certain rhyming pattern to it, the first and second and fifth lines rhyme, and the third and fourth lines rhyme. In class while we were writing them, and at first I could write nothing that made no sense. Mine were serious (in a way, they weren’t SERIOUS serious but they weren’t nonsense). Then I finally wrote one that was less serious. After that, I found that it was easier writing limericks about my fellow classmates and the things they did. So I was finally writing silly limericks. That was nice. So overall, writing limericks was fun, but I had to work at it a little to change my current writing style to fit the format.


Serious limericks:

There once was a creaky old house

but the thing wouldn’t scare a mouse.

And then the moon rises

and your fear cries out and

all the monsters decide to come out.


There once was a missing old clock

one couldn’t find it; like a lost sock.

It was less important than a fork tine

nobody thought it could control time.

People with no brains, only a rock.


Breaking-out-of-my-shell limerick:

There once was a young person

who could not write silly limericks.

Sitting in English class

much too serious to ‘pass’.

That person was me, and I’m ticked.


Silly limericks:

There once was a girl named Caroline

who hiccuped one too many times.

She angered Mrs. Smith

got scared out of her wits,

the hiccups are now a lost memory in her mind.


There once was a boy named Liam

who had lots of books and was always reading ‘em

but he always forgot

to close his laptop

no matter how loudly we yelled at him.


So those are my limericks.




Free Rice

For the March Blogging Challenge this week, I joined the Free Rice group. I feel as if this is a very good thing for people to do. Having done my research project a while back on the poverty in Haiti, I know just how big of a problem hunger is in other parts of the world. It feels good to be doing such a simple, easy thing, and in doing it, I know that I’m helping someone, somewhere. It just feels… good. I highly encourage whoever sees this post to join the group and answer some questions, and all in all,


help the hungry.

Escape the Eruption

A Strombolian Eruption Robert Nunn via Compfight

The air filled with a suffocating ash, only adding to our problems. I couldn’t see an inch in front of me in the thick cloud. A strange feeling of helplessness overwhelms you when you can’t see. Something you’re so used to, taken away so easily, and suddenly you’re powerless.  There were only two things I could rely on, only two things that I could depend on, that I knew were there. First, the extreme, unbearable heat. Second, the wrist of my friend, Annie, which I had my hand wrapped tightly around. We were running together, away from the eruption, in a desperate attempt to save our lives.  Nobody had expected the thing to erupt. We were here on a school field trip, and they wouldn’t take us here if it were unsafe. The pressure just bounced up out of nowhere, so fast no one had seen it coming. And the volcano just, well, blew up. We all turned tail and ran, Annie and I ran in the same general direction, and we ended up holding on to each other so as not to lose the other. I was overly aware of the fact that my back was starting to feel more and more heat, but I ignored it. We could outrun the lava. We could. Right? Annie suddenly stopped and tugged on my arm. I turned around, my eyes tearing up. She pointed behind us. Illuminated by the running lava was one of our classmates, Rob, sprinting in a desperate attempt to escape the lava. He didn’t have enough of a head start though. I felt dread creeping up in my gut. I tugged Annie’s arm towards the base of the mountain, where we needed to go, away from the lava, away from Rob. Annie shook her head and broke away from my grasp, running up towards Rob. I opened my mouth to shout for her to come back, but as soon as I did the ash rushed in. I immediately started hacking and coughing, bodily reflex taking over trying to get the harmful stuff out. I stood for a moment, considering the situation. I had to run after Annie. I had to. But… the lava. I couldn’t just leave her to the lava. I quickly crouched down and felt along the ground, looking for a long, flat slate of  rock. If I was lucky I would find one. And I needed to find one fast. My hand ran over one, and with haste I grabbed it and lept up, running towards the lava flow. When I got there, Annie was running with Rob, tugging him faster than he was going before, and they were running like it was Armageddon. Which, for them, it very well could be. I ran up to the lava chasing them, and without letting myself think too much (if I thought, I would hesitate) I shoved the flat rock into the lava, and swept up towards the peak of the mountain as if I was a golfer hitting a ball. I was brushing the lava away from them so they could get down the mountain. And strangely enough, it was working. While I was sweeping, a thought occurred to me. What if the schools did know about the eruption? What if they had dropped something down into the mountain? What if they had caused it? No, it was a crazy thought. School and society are things we rely on. But still… it was a thought. I felt as if Annie and Rob were far enough away now, so I broke into a hard sprint running down the volcano, wanting to get as far away from that blazing lava as I could. Just standing next to it that long was torture. I was able to catch up to Annie and Rob, so without stopping I took Annie’s wrist and kept running like a wild thing, pulling both of them with me. After what seemed like an eternity (author’s note, it was about 2 minutes), The ground flattened out and the ash cloud thinned down. I could see a bit in front of me. I could breathe. We all took huge gulps of air, and I realized how bad my eyes stung. I also realized I was crying. Just standing at the base of the volcano was unsafe still, so I pulled Annie and Rob towards the parking lot. Maybe we could find a place to avoid the lava there.

“Annie,” I said in between gasps of air, “Why did you go back? You put both of us in danger.” She shook her head, obviously not wanting to discuss this in front of Rob, but I continued. “Why Annie? We’re all lucky. A single, flat rock saved our lives. We had no chance without it! You could have died going back! Why did you do it? Don’t you have any common sense?” I was shouting now, and Annie looking furious.

“I did it because I have a sense of empathy! I couldn’t just leave Rob there! Do you have a soul, feeling the way you do?” We broke into a furious argument that Rob was obviously trying too hard to ignore. As soon as we stepped into the parking lot though, he looked scared.

“Guys… where’s the school bus?”


According to March Blogging Madness or whatever it’s called, you have to try and finish the story in the comments. Hope you enjoyed my ‘little’ writing.

Where I’m From

Where I Am From
By Mary

I am from reading,
from books, books, books galore.
I am from Fat Cat to Eragon,
risking getting sick so I can read on the freezing front porch for “just one more chapter”.

I am from monthly trips to Sugarloaf mountain,
from a stuffy car that smells like leather, stuck in there with my family.
I am from filling a cup to the brim with water, and trying not to let it spill,
all to entertain me during those long drives.

I am from the satisfying tuna rice in my mom’s kitchen,
from the crispy trail mix my dad makes during the super bowl.
I am from learning that I can cook something well too,
and my sister asking me to make her another grilled cheese sandwich.

I am from dad messing up our bedtime stories when mom made the mistake of telling him to put us to sleep,
from boars climbing trees with their tusks and throwing coconuts at our car.
I am from the Family humor.

I am from chess,
from needing dad to go easy on me, to beating him while he’s actually trying.
I am from two forward and one to the side, and pawns move forward and capture diagonally.
I am from checkmates being shouted at 11 at night.

I am from the crazy camping nights in our backyard with dad,
From three way five card poker, and dot lights.
I am from the shooting stars, the monsters we pretended we were, and taking down the tent on that storming pitch black night.
Turns out it’s not waterproof.

I am from loving my siblings more than anything in the world,
from Kathleen, and Edward, and Victoria, and now Dillon.
I am from not saying “r”, so I called him “Edwood.”
and waiting for 20 minutes by the front door, waiting for Kathleen and Dillon to come home,
and waking up early on Victoria’s birthday so I could make her a grilled cheese sandwich for breakfast.

I am from reading,
living my life in a book,
pretending my life IS a book.
Writing my story as I go, and loving every word I scratch on the page.