Greetings all! This topic is dedicated to a lot of the stuff my mind tends to spew out. I figured that instead of creating a new topic for every short story and blurb I do, I'd much rather post it into one big topic.

So what will you see growing here?

* Poetry
* Short Stories
* Blurbed Ideas Relating to My Current Stories (their future chapters perhaps or alternate reality ideas for characters)
* Any other writing blurby thing that cannot be catagorized

Expect to see a lot of stuff because lately I've been taking a Creative Writing class and so a lot stuff happens with that! It has been fantastic at fueling my creative writing streak! The first part of the semester we're dealing with poetry, so you'll see a lot of poems in the beginning. My styles of writing might vary from post to post, due to us studying different models and designs. ^_^

So feel free to comment! I love comments and if you particularily like something or think it would be a good story idea (or should be put into one of my stories) than feel free to mention that! Otherwise sit back, grab a cup of tea and enjoy! The more stuff I put here, the more I'll put a 'table of contents' in the beginning here to help navigate and sift through things.

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Bulbie's Notebook
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A note about the next work: This is a poem done in class as an exercise. This poem started out at a little story and then was designed and fleshed out into poetry format.


Dormitory Silence


Quiet January. Today is a freezing ice-barren day in that first month.
I sit in an uncomfortable wooden chair with a skyscraper stack of greedy papers that
chitter constantly.
They persistently mock me and yet I do not wield my half-beaten sword to mutilate
them.
So the papers continue to chitter and I stare dumbly silent.

In the abyss of too much, or so i call my mind, are similiar monstrous chittering papers.
They tare my composure to ribbons, exposing the sensitive hot liquid core behind
my Great Wall.
Those intangible parchments taunt and laugh, knowing I am no match for them.
So they continue to chitter and I fold under their weight.

Mother Dead
Grandfather Bawling
Dog Breast Cancer
Grandmother Cheating Bastard
Me Heart failure
Father Infection

Here I am silently sitting in this mahogany chair just growling at those tasking
papers that I haven't touched.

I grab my loud red Swiss Army backpack and shove a few handfuls of clothes
and money into the pockets.
With my bright camera in one hand, car keys in the other, I swing open my
moaning door wide.
Screaming, I am just screaming, pleased to hear myself actually alive. The rest
is a blur.
I turn my red Jetta on, engine roars, peel away, burst through that P lot gate
and find myself shouting to warm God-loving Arizona.

I can't. So I grab an empty silver can of Diet Coke and arc a shot into the garbage
can. It misses.
Rising, I pick the can back up and throw it away.
I simply return and sit into my rocking desk chair, silent, taking a sobbing pen in
hand.
I take one of the numerous pieces of paper and begin working on chapter two,
Fromm's "An Art of Loving."
The chittering paper merely laughs.