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Hi, I'm Melissa, and I think this is the perfect community for me. Here's a tiny introduction to my writing and who I am. Hope you like it.
Melissa Meets Her Muse
Sometimes, she thought her reality was tapped into her feet. When she got a good rhythm on the pavement, her thoughts sprouted up, blossoming like weeds in the summer. It was as if the forward motion put the needle to her record, and after a few moments of crackling silence, her thoughts played erratically like well-worn Etta James.
Of course, once she started it was hard to stop.
Her life experience had been limited thus far to the Midwestern, small town, Christian, white, middle-class multitude: bland, carefully-patterned, and ultimately, simple. She liked to think her personality surpassed the plainness of her upbringing, but it was hard to judge from a close perspective. She had ventured to the streets that morning for a walk in a rare moment not filled-up with the meaningless tasks of everyday living. On her way to the park she noticed the emptiness of her tiny city. The people she saw on the streets did not even outnumber her toes. She longed for the foreign throb of a city where the connection between human beings was not so vacantly distant.
Once she reached the park, she took a swing and surveyed her surroundings: three children, some ducks, an out-of-place business man with a briefcase, one pleasant-looking mother-type, and a tired- looking man who seemed to be staring out at nothing. She tilted her head slightly and looked closer. His face was haggard, but well-kept, his hair a lightly dusted brown, and his eyes looked ancient, as if an old man had possessed a youthful body. She walked closer and took a seat at a picnic table near his. Glancing up at him she pulled out her sketchbook and bit the cap off her pen. His features were really quite striking. After a slight outlining of his face, she traced the line of his nose, a graceful sort of inward arch, and shaded the depths around his eyes, the hollows in his cheeks. Then she curved his striking adam’s apple, and the way his hands seemed to clutch in on themselves. She was utterly involved and fascinated by this lonely-looking individual. As she worked on one of his eyebrows she glanced up and found his back to her, wearily moving away.
She wondered if he would be back tomorrow.
Thanks.
Melissa Meets Her Muse
Sometimes, she thought her reality was tapped into her feet. When she got a good rhythm on the pavement, her thoughts sprouted up, blossoming like weeds in the summer. It was as if the forward motion put the needle to her record, and after a few moments of crackling silence, her thoughts played erratically like well-worn Etta James.
Of course, once she started it was hard to stop.
Her life experience had been limited thus far to the Midwestern, small town, Christian, white, middle-class multitude: bland, carefully-patterned, and ultimately, simple. She liked to think her personality surpassed the plainness of her upbringing, but it was hard to judge from a close perspective. She had ventured to the streets that morning for a walk in a rare moment not filled-up with the meaningless tasks of everyday living. On her way to the park she noticed the emptiness of her tiny city. The people she saw on the streets did not even outnumber her toes. She longed for the foreign throb of a city where the connection between human beings was not so vacantly distant.
Once she reached the park, she took a swing and surveyed her surroundings: three children, some ducks, an out-of-place business man with a briefcase, one pleasant-looking mother-type, and a tired- looking man who seemed to be staring out at nothing. She tilted her head slightly and looked closer. His face was haggard, but well-kept, his hair a lightly dusted brown, and his eyes looked ancient, as if an old man had possessed a youthful body. She walked closer and took a seat at a picnic table near his. Glancing up at him she pulled out her sketchbook and bit the cap off her pen. His features were really quite striking. After a slight outlining of his face, she traced the line of his nose, a graceful sort of inward arch, and shaded the depths around his eyes, the hollows in his cheeks. Then she curved his striking adam’s apple, and the way his hands seemed to clutch in on themselves. She was utterly involved and fascinated by this lonely-looking individual. As she worked on one of his eyebrows she glanced up and found his back to her, wearily moving away.
She wondered if he would be back tomorrow.
Thanks.