15 Minute Journaling: Every Rose Has Its Thorn

It is raining here in upstate New York, coming down like it means some business. We’ve had a flash flood warning, have been threatened with 3 or 4 inches of some good rain, but I’m not afraid.

Sherrie, in Rock of Ages. I thought the whole Tom Cruise rock star thing was a little freaky at first. But you can barely recognize that its him.

Julianne Hough as Sherrie in Rock of Ages. I thought the whole Tom Cruise rock star thing was a little freaky at first. But you can barely recognize that its him in the movie.

Instead, I’m in that writer-like dream mode. The rain reminds me of sad stories, lost loves, that sad aching feeling of something once remembered, something cherished.

Just finished watching Rock of Ages while doing some much-needed dishes, and near the end of the movie is the song, “Every Rose Has its Thorn.” I don’t know why, but it inspires me…So I’ll use that as my inspiration for my next 15 minute journal session.

My 15 Minute Jouraling posts are something that I started as a warm-up for myself, so as to keep myself writing and the creative thoughts flowing. It’s something we used to do in my creative writing classes with a prompt given from the teacher. Anything can inspire me and I thought I’d give it a share.

I’ve done some other entries too, if you are curious, you can view them here, and here.

Also, it helps if I have that song playing in the background…I’m a sucker for covers and I really like the version on the Rock of Ages.

Here’s where I’ll put 15 minutes on the clock and do that thing that I do, GO!

>>>>She stared out the window at the rain, watched it come down in sheets and sheets of water that fell so hard it looked almost white. Her mother told her not to do it. Told her not to move away and live with a boy she’d just met.

The town they had moved to was in the middle of no-where. Except for the nuclear power plant a mile away, there was nothing there – except for a few dusty stores and cows that bellowed in the fields nearby. Her mother told her once that she hated the sound, that bellow. It was empty, mournful, made her think of her father that had up and left them. Angel said that the cows bellowing gave her stomach ache. It sounded like they were going to be sick and she’d rather steer clear of them.

Except there wasn’t anywhere to go in the empty town. She liked the look of the green grass and the trees that waved in the wind in the summertime, but come winter all she felt was loneliness. It was the kind that bites. That seeped into the cracks of their trailer and left a chill in her heart, an edgy-ness. Everywhere she went in that small town she could feel them watching.

And Angel knew that she wasn’t meant to stay.

It didn’t matter that she had no money. She wasn’t going to ask her mother for any either. She’d pack her bag and leave and feel the sun on her face once more. It was time she did something for herself rather than others.

She didn’t know how much that her boyfriend would put up a fight.

She’d told Andrew on a Tuesday that things weren’t right. He’d crush the beer can he’d held in his hands. Yes, he was the typical red-neck…complete with wife beater and ratty faded blue jeans. She’d like the grease on his hands at first. She liked the way he swaggered.

Now, she felt afraid.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said as he lit his cigarette. She’d told him not to smoke in the house.

Angel fumbled with the dishes that she was drying and nearly dropped it on the floor. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, nothing,” he said, and laughed and got up and kissed her bare shoulder, traced his hand along the edge of her tank top. “You won’t go anywhere without me.”

“May…maybe I’m meant to be,” she stuttered, and followed him into the next room, her hands still soapy. “You once told me I could do anything.”

He sat in front of the TV. “Yeah, that what I said?”

“Well, I’m going to do it,” she said with one hand on her hip. “I’m going. And you won’t hold me back.”

He laughed a laugh that had no emotion. She wondered if when he said that he loved her, if he really meant it. “Do what you want, Angel,” he said. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

If it didn’t matter, why was she so afraid?

By the next week, she had her bags all packed. She’d filled her car full of gas.

ANNND…that’s all the time I have. I used online stopwatch and the alarm just rang, scared me, lol. If I were to end this story, it’d probably go something like this:

She left him standing in the driveway, mouth wide open, his eyes finally open and lonely. The coldness had dropped from his face, and his shoulders drooped in that ratty wife-beater. It reminded her why she had loved him. He was so tall, and broad-shouldered, his eyes dark and beautiful. When she’d first met him, she thought he was so strong and steady. That he’d protect her, make the monsters of the world go away.

She imagined someone tough and blond-haired would marry him. She’d probably be a girl who grew up in camo and went hunting with her brothers on a regular basis. She wouldn’t be beautiful, but she wasn’t ugly either. She’d swear like a sailor and be stubborn. She wouldn’t take Andrews crap, and eventually he’d turn to alcohol anyway.

Angel felt her stomach twist as she turned onto the highway. Felt the tires run on the open road and breathed a sigh of relief. Yet, she felt a jolt in her heart as she felt the pressure on her abdomen and she pulled over to the side of the road and threw up in the ditch.

Bile clogged her throat and bits of her breakfast went back down as she swallowed. And she ached all over, felt a kind of dread that defeats tiredness, it brings on its own kind of weary. Tears ran down her cheeks and she snuffed loudly as she tore around in her backseat for a tissue. Her fourways blinked and clicked obnoxiously as a semi bellowed past.

It was too late. She wasn’t in this alone anymore. She’d never be alone again.

Whoa. That took a different turn, geez. I didn’t really do any editing, except to fix spelling errors and I think I’m going to keep to that. I might use this as inspiration for something else someday.

Anywho, thanks for reading and now perhaps I can run to the store now that its not raining buckets and get eggs so I can make cupcakes!

What inspires you? Thoughts below if you want!

15 Minute Journaling: Don’t let fear get you down

I need to do some writing, so what am I doing? I’m sitting here doing everything but that. I’ve painted my fingernails, I’ve gotten on Facebook – I’ve even read a few other blogs here on WordPress, including some of my own posts. Then why aren’t I writing? What am I afraid of? I thought I’ve gotten past all this.

Me, being silly!

Me, being silly!

I guess the fear was this: What’s the point of writing if its going to turn out terrible? Well, that’s not the point is it? The point is WRITING.

All things writing. Write, write, write, write, write!!  Gahhhh….Now why am I sitting here staring and fearing the blank page?

In all things in life you can’t let fear let you get behind, and that includes writing.

I’m even sitting here with my new headphones on (a nice birthday present from yesterday, woo hoo!) trying to drown out the world, and FOCUS.

Hmm…okay, let me visit my book shelf and see if I can scrounge up some writing prompts. That might help.

A few weeks ago at the Barnes and Noble, I found this book: A Writer’s Book of Days: A spirited Companion & Lively Muse for the Writing Life by Judy Reeves.

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It’s basically like a writing devotional. It offers you daily writer prompts, as well as lessons for each month on writing and how to improve the craft. I have a tendency to over think some of the writing prompts – actually now I’m starting to realize that I work best sometimes with a challenge. It’s okay to take the prompts where you need them to go.

It is fun sometimes to see how creative you can get. Instead of just one word or one sentence to get the creative juices flowing, lets try about five of them.

Here are the prompts for five days in June from June 6th – June 10th:

June 6:  While the world sleeps

June 7:  I have a confession to make

June 8: “There is a place somewhere called Paris”

June 9: Across the railroad tracks

June 10:  The place where wild pines grow

15 MINUTES ON THE CLOCK….GO!

There is a place somewhere called Paris,” she told me with a flick of her blond hair as she started reapplying her lipstick. She squinted at herself in the tiny blue compact mirror and then smacked her lips loudly. “They say that everyone walks around naked, I’d like to go there sometime.”

I eyed her smooth body, the tan legs and free arms, the way her hips curved over her jean shorts. “I bet you would.”

“Don’t be an ass,” she snorted as she put her make-up away. “It exists somewhere out west they say, across some railroad tracks at some nudist colony. You know, the place they say where the wild pines grow.”

I couldn’t imagine her anywhere surrounded by naked people, much less trees as a walk through the park seemed too much for her most of the times. She hated the squirrels that scurried down the trees, she hated the babies that cried on the playground, sometimes I think she even hated me.

I was her boyfriend, too. The one she was supposed to love – supposedly.

I have a confession to make,” I breathed into her ear as I wrapped my arms around her thin frame and crushed those curves against me. “You’re beautiful.” I kissed her neck. “You’re sexy.” My hands trailed down her hips. “You’re lovely.”

She laughed a cruel, sarcastic laugh, and pushed me away. “Please,” she said with her hand on my chest. “Don’t make a fool of yourself.”

“I didn’t want to be here anyway,” I muttered. She’d taken me for a drive, and then had parked on the side of the road across from the local park. I could see pine trees and several screaming kids running towards picnic tables as she’d put the car in park. The air tasted fresh on my tongue, was cool and fresh in my nose.

Then she’d uttered those dreaded words as she turned towards me. “We need to talk.”

We walked hand and hand for about two minutes and then she pulled away from me. I could see the coldness in her posture, the way her body seemed to be trying to avoid me. She adverted her eyes, pretended like she was crying. But I knew she wasn’t.

“You live in your own world,” she continued then. “Like, everyone else could die, and the world could continue sleeping and you would be the one outside of it, like in slow motion or something. Living your life oblivious to those around you.”

God, she was so stupid sometimes. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Of course you don’t. The world doesn’t evolve around you Isiah Crane.”

“It doesn’t revolve around you either,” I said.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about!” she cried, as she turned back towards me. “That sarcasm! You’re so God-damned sure of yourself!”

I thought about that. I mean, why wouldn’t I be? I was smart, strong…and intelligent. I was pretty sure I was good looking. I shrugged. “Yeah, I got nothing.”

She started to cry then, loud, horrible tears. “I don’t understand why you’re so mean to me.” I didn’t really understand anything either. How she seemed to use everything but the truth to get what she wanted. She played games. She probably thought: maybe today, I’ll grab his balls and tug just a little bit more. I winced as I thought about it.

I didn’t want anyone tugging anywhere. “So this is it, huh?”

She brought her hands away from her face. Her mascara had left black tracks down her cheeks. “Aren’t you even just a little bit sad?”

I looked out at the fresh air surrounding us, the trees and green grass and water gurgling in a fountain nearby. Everything seemed brand new all of a sudden. I laughed once. “Should I be?”