My sister called me twice this afternoon, saying she needs to write a story for English class tomorrow. Since she's failing English, she asked if she could use one of mine. I was quite amused, but I went into a big lecture on plagiarism and copyright violation, and she told me I was using "big words." She kept begging me, but I kept saying no and told her I'd personally kick her ass if she used anything of mine, and she'd get in huge trouble anyway. She needed to write a story about something (anything) with "literary devices," half of which she couldn't pronounce, much less define (my personal favorite was "hyper-bowl"). So I tried helping her with ideas, but she's completely hopeless as a writer. Ah well. At least I feel proud of myself that I'm the writing guru of the family. And I'd hate to be her poor teacher, going through a stack of pure sludge on paper. Most people really suck at writing, especially mindless young teenagers who can barely read, much less write. Now that statement was directed at the general population. I know very well that there are exceptions to this, and I have several young teenage friends who are very talented writers. But they're not your average teenagers, therefore they're intelligent and interesting. I don't really even consider them teenagers, more like glowing balls of potential. I really hated the teenage stereotype when I was a teenager, and I still hate it. Well, at least with all the crappy writers in the world, it gives me hope that one day I will be an amazing writer.
Speaking of writing, Barry Spacks is an awesome and hilarious poet. I saw him read tonight, and it was very interesting. He bobs around like a pigeon as he reads, and he really works the tonal variation.
And I did some writing at Tuesday group. This week's exercise involved not using certain random letters. So I wrote a nonsense poem. I think I'll submit it to Golem for next week to see what they have to say. And by "they," I mean the non-current-housemate Golemites. Here's my poem:
Ode to the Letters U and Y Green cats spew lightning across lemon fields and apple forests. Eat chicken gills and vitamin Q pills. Pomegranate alcohol swims on TV. When Derek belches fire, Thom shivers and waves his hammer. Pickle me in orange brine. Get the dice sack rolling. Agonized sporks tentacle across salamander poker nights. We flame in mornings, splattering over velvet violet potatos. Sink splashes neon octothorp, twist and grope lactastic ice cream cones. Plaid mangroves swirl in raspberry polkas.
No, I wasn't on any interesting substances when I wrote that. And I couldn't read it without laughing, since it makes no sense whatsoever. Heee!