My Thoughts in the Library.

While sitting in the Library today, I’ve been observing some people around me. I wouldn’t call it stalking, I would call it observing. There is a difference in the writing world you know.. All you can hear in the library is the tapping of fingers to keys; imagination flowing through the air like the wind. It’s kind of incredible if you just sit in the library and pretend to work, what you can learn.

 while sitting here I’ve realized a few things. The most stressful things about college isn’t even the work, its more the atmosphere. If I was home right now, the feeling of doing my homework would be on the lower end of the list of priorities than it would be if I stayed at the library all day long. While at the library, I try to keep my mind in order. I have to follow my life schedule to a tee or else nothing is going to get done. Sitting in the library is not relaxing  at all. It’s like they are timing you.. the librarians I mean. It’s like they are looking over your shoulder towering over you telling you that you must work until your fingers fall off your hands. I am not speed typing, but the clock is spinning here… I am wasting my time here; doing work that needs to get done in order for me to move on with my life.

I’ve also realized that the computers at the library is a crucial part of the library.. for the students at the computer, its like they are in their own little cubical.. I asked someone for a pen, nothing; no response.. It’s like they are so involved in their computer so much  that they are in a completely different dimension. It’s fascinating. Then there are the people like myself who need to go on Facebook, Twitter and every single social networking site in the world before they actually get shit done. You need to check in with the world before you can shut it out.. I completely understand that.

Then there is this girl in front of me that is having a tantrum on her math book, flipping through the pages intently, trying to find the right page. Then scribbling something down in a notebook; then looking back to her computer, then scribbling more down. That I call Panic student. I have been that before.. for finals or when you have to get an entire research paper done in 1 day or a few hours.

Peoples studying techniques are all very different and interesting.. some don’t even study at all and get wonderful grades. Thats always amazed me. How in the hell can you remember everything in the world ontop of remembering everything else about your life. At times I cant remember simple math because I have so much other shit going on in my brain.

I’m leaving the library, to go to the gym.. and that’s a whole different group of people to observe.



Stiff Suits and Prayers (Revised)

He came in a stiff black suit. Sipping my coffee, I watched him as he scanned the room for me. He looked really out of place as little kids with syrup dripping from their chins and old people with Velcro shoes and canes walked past him.  Loud noises echoed the crowded diner as he walked past families together; husbands with wives holding hands and sharing toast. I wasn’t sure why he wanted to meet a diner; his office was just up the street. He looked serious as he firmly held his briefcase in his left hand. I wasn’t going to question his suggestions.

“You must be Coran Stevens?”He said walking in my direction.

“Steven Spencer. Nice to meet you.”  I nodded as I stood up and shook his hand.  His hand was firm as he squeezed my limp, small fingers. He didn’t smile. No warmth, no comfort. I wasn’t surprised though; lawyers weren’t the nicest people in the world. Sitting down, he ordered a coffee and a toasted bagel with cream cheese as if it were programmed. The waitress smiled as she quickly scribbled in her notebook.

“Anything for you Miss?” The waitress chirped in my direction

“No thanks.”

“Okay, thank you,” she grabbed the rest of the menus that were lying on the clean table and walked quickly away.

“So let’s get down to business, shall we?” I nodded as he lifted the shiny black leather briefcase onto the crisp white table. I crossed my legs tight as he pulled packet after packet of paper out of the briefcase.

“You need Doug to sign this line, this line, and this line before anything can be finalized,” He ordered as I followed his finger jump to each page. “You have children right?” I nodded. “If you want full custody of them you must read and sign the next three pages.” Stacy and Jeremy didn’t understand why I did this, but all they knew it had to be done. They were too young to understand and I was too old to explain. I was overwhelmed with emotion as he shuffled through the papers quickly. It wasn’t that I was rethinking my decision; it was just a lot more paper work than I thought. The thought of partly signing my kids away was something that I never in a million years thought I would do.  I sipped my coffee as he continued to go on about the legal things that I didn’t understand. I looked down at my phone where my kids happy faces stared back at me. His phone started to ring in the pocket of his jacket interrupting him in mid sentence, pulling me back to reality.

“If you will excuse me” He said, as he slid out of the booth and walked over to the door.   I looked down at the many papers lying before me. It was as if all the letters were mushed together making it hard for me to read. I could over hear him laughing, it was the most emotion that I had seen all morning come out of him.  I wondered who was on the other end; I wonder if he was mocking my patheticness.  He smiled as he leaned against the front door. Maybe it was his wife, it probably was; I could see it in his eyes. I ran my fingers through my long braided hair and sighed, looking out the window into the beaming sun.

“More Coffee, Miss?” The waitress asked walking in my direction. I nodded as she poured more piping hot coffee into my cold cup.

“Sorry about that, business call” He said as he walked back to our booth. I grinned, looking back down my future, these papers. I rested my head on my hand as I felt the color melt out of my face.

“You sure you want to do this?” He asked, sounding almost comforting.

“There is no other choice Mr. Spencer. If there was I would be doing it.” He nodded looking down at the papers.

“Do you think he will sign them?”

“Does he have a choice?” I looked down and wondered what if he didn’t sign them. What if he kept locked in this nightmare forever. I pulled my sleeves down on my shirt and looking up at him.

I wouldn’t worry Miss Stevens; men don’t usually fight against the woman. I nodded. We drank more coffee and by the fourth cup, I thought it was time for me to leave.

“Is there anything else to do?” I asked

“All that’s left to do is for you and Doug to sign the papers than we will have a meeting to discuss what’s next from here.”

“Thank you Mr. Spencer. I will keep in touch I said grabbing my purse as I slid out of the booth.

“Please, call me Steve. “He said grabbing my hand. “Look, everything is going to be fine. I try to make this process go quickly as possible.” He smiled as he let go of my hand.

“Thank you Mr. Spencer for your comfort but I think I am okay. I am doing whatever I can make it easy for my kids, so the quicker all this shit gets done the happier I will be.” I said swinging my bag over my shoulder, feeling a little taken aback.

“Nice meeting you Miss Stevens. We will keep in touch.” He said not moving from his seat.I got up and grabbed the papers off the table and shoved them in my oversized bag.

“You too, Mr. Spencer. Thank you again.” I waved as I walked out the door. As I got in my car, I wondered how many heartbroken women Mr. Spencer sees a day and if they always meet at that diner. I wondered if Mr. Spencer had a wonderful wife and tried to make his marriage successful. I wondered if Mr. Spencer was always that touchy with his clients; or if I was an exception. I drove away from the diner not looking back as the paperwork became my passenger.

So after some critiques I revised this a little. Let me know what guys think.


Taking A Chance.


This semester I purposely put alot on my plate when it came to school. I wanted to see if I could balance going to school full time, going to work,running two clubs,and participating in two others.Plus staying active and still being social. For an ordinary person that might sound like way to much but for me, I am somehow managing it,ontop of having a cold for what feels like a million years. I surprise myself on a daily basis. I’ve realized that with all this pressure comes LOTS of organization skills. I’ve never been organized but now that’s all I think about. I plan my days by the minute and only I can change plans. I know it sounds really bitchy but sometimes I can’t fit everything I want to do before I pass out at the end of the day.

But as a writer, I can’t just sit around and wait for inspiration to strike, I have to go out and find it. I never understood how some writers like Emily Dickinson could just sit in her room all day long and write. I would need to go out and smell the air. I need to look at people and take everything I know about them and slap it on paper. My prompt for this week for my creative writing class is to sit somewhere and watch people talk to eachother and take notes aka stalking them. As a “creep” I think its kind of awesome because I do that alot anyway. I eavesdrop all the time. It’s so difficult for me to sit in a restaurant with someone and not eavesdrop.Dates are the worst for me because with all those people around me at a restaurant, I can’t concentrate on the person in front of me.

As a writer you have to creep around a little just to get inspiration. You have to dig deep into a person’s soul for ideas because your soul  holds only so much and there is some stuff you may not want to share to the world. When you’re a writer you MUST take a chance. It may be publishing, or just writing about something you aren’t too comfortable talking about. Last semester,I took a nonfiction writing class, and I must say, that class is the definition of risk. There were tear stains on my paper when I was  handing them in. That class showed how much the world wants to hear your story, even if you don’t want to share it. But as a writer, you must have the confidence in yourself to write it down.

I believe that writing is a way for people to tell the world how they feel without getting beat up in the process. In alot of my writing, especially  in fiction writing, I write things that I wish could happen in my life, or things I wish I could have said  or how I felt about a person when I met them. After becoming friends with fellow writers, I’ve realized that we are all very judgmental people. I can say that I  am one of them. We have gut reactions and they may or may not form into characters but with every person I meet, a little inspiration is left with me.

With my life and in my writing I take  chances.maybe I’m just crazy… who knows.. We’ll find out at the end of the semester..


A Dirty Place (continuous)

It was musty before I cleaned the place. Each stair was draped in a blanket of dust. I walked up them, making footprints behind me. I could smell the lingering odor of fesus in the air. I questioned how he could have lived there; how he could close his eyes knowing that the piles and piles of dirty inside out clothes could suffocate him. I walked towards the kitchen where the floor was beginning to turn a weird shade of yellow. Brown liquid was dripping out of the broken clogged sink. I was afraid to question. Walking back to living area, there was a small pile of crumpled up tissues lying on the ground. I wondered what the story was, behind those tissues. Was he crying as he finished the bottle of Jameson that was turned over on its side? Was he wondering why life has given him such curve balls? Was he scared of what the future held? Was he going through old pictures, reminiscing on the good times when the people were real and the times were good? Drips of alcohol stained the white paper surrounding the pictures in the album. A frozen memory of him and his brother looked back at me. His smile was the biggest I’d ever seen as he lightly held a can of Coors Light in his hand. It was winter because they were wearing sweatshirts and they were at a bar with many people I didn’t recognize. He was the happiest I’d ever seen him. That man in the picture would never have left this place like this. That man cared about himself. That man had a heart. I looked out the dirty window of the apartment and wondered where he could be. What he was doing, but I hope whatever he was doing, I was hoping he was happy.

Rain beat on the windows as the days went on and as the rain pounded against the rooftops the more I missed him. It had been a week I was starting to get worried. To keep my mind off the pain and the anxiety, I started to clean. I didn’t even clean my own place, so cleaning this roach coach was a shock to even myself. The more I thought about his disappearance, the more I cleaned, and the more I cleaned, madder I got. I scrubbed the floor thinking that if the house was clean he’d want to come back, that things would change. I heard ambulances and police cars wiz down the street as more horrible scenarios filled my already boggled brain. How could a man I love so much just leave and not tell me? What kind of idiot am I that don’t know where he could be? What kind of asshole waits here, thinking he will come home? As I sat on the sticky kitchen floor I recalled all the times of the two of us sitting on the floor drunk and silly. Kissing, talking, and laughing at stupid things, being kids, being together. At that time I thought he would never leave. I would never be waiting for him to come home. Memories began to waterlog my brain as I stared up at the table and counter from the floor. The water from my brain rolled down my warm face. I sobbed into the dirty floor as the comfort of his clothes surrounded me.

People say that a watch pot never boils, but I say that a watched phone never rings, and with that I waited. Weeks had gone by and I started to feel amputated. His house felt so empty, so cold without his warm presence. Every time I walked up the stairs I was waiting to see him silently sleeping on the couch, but instead it was just like I left it the night before. The tenet started to call and I let the phone ring like an alarm clock. I was getting sick of this irresponsible game he was playing and people were getting worried. His friends would come looking for him, neighbors would ask questions. I had no answers to give. As I cleaned, I found old papers, hoping maybe something would give me an answer. As went through the old pictures and books, I can across a plain notebook and it had a small heart in the corner. I know I shouldn’t have, but I opened it. It was filled with old movie stubs, pictures of him and her, letters, To Do Lists. I realized how beautiful she was. How much she loved him and how much she wanted things  to work out for them. Maybe he went to find her, but I found that hard to believe. He never mentioned her; he would say that the past was no longer important. That man in those pictures with her was a different man that I know. While rummaging through the papers, I found her phone number on a small napkin. I slipped it in my pocket. Maybe she knew something I didn’t. Maybe she could help me get him back.

There will be more.. thought you’d wanna hear more of my attempt at fiction.

A Beautiful Thinker.

I see you

but you don’t see me

your concentrating

with your fake smile

as you pretend to care

you are so serious

but I see you

your soft eyes

as they look


at the clock

that’s ticking loudly

on the wall

you want to leave this place

you stop at the window




of what the rest of the night

will bring

perhaps with me

who knows

but know something

you are beautiful

when you think.

I wasn’t stalking I promise….