write_away

• footsie academics
• porn-hoarding lurker
• bottomless question
• vegan lesbian raver
• two-hoodie hipster

• a few times a week at http://secretvespers.com/
• a set of thirty poems that deal with toast
• a set of fifteen poems with cloud formation titles
• editing a novel
• a short story about skeletons, and other short stories

Name:  Ikasatu Kirasawa

Age:  26

Writing Experience:  I try to write a lot, and have been writing in my spare time since I could spell.

Preferred Genres:  Poetry, science fiction, humor, life experience.

Education:  Some College at several schools.

Country:  United States of America

What do you hope to get from this community?  Critique, inspiration, help, and the chance to offer these in return.

Where did you hear of us?  A friend.

Name:  Martha.

Age:  Seventeen.

Writing Experience:   A short lifetime of filling notebooks with stories. And a writer’s workshop as a high school elective, but butotherwise none.

Preferred Genres:  Fiction - most commonly short stories and autobiographical fiction, and I sometimes dabble in poetry, but that's proving to be rare these days.

Education:  High school.

Country:  Australia.

What do you hope to get from this community?  Of course I would like some feedback on my own writings, as I'm always interested in self-improvement and refining my work, but I would also like to be involved in a writing community, and the posting members here all seem very helpful and courteous :)

Where did you hear of us?  An LJ interests search.

Name:  J.
Age:  28
Writing Experience:  short stories, poetry, lyrics, screenplays
Preferred Genres:  poetry
Education:  high school and in college
Country:  US
What do you hope to get from this community?  feedback
Where did you hear of us?  found by chance


A poem.  I'll post this for feedback.  I expect nothing more than that.  Here it is.


I Got No

A boy meets a girl
There's no rhyme in the world
That could overcome the cliche
How touche

He says he loves her
She says she's not sure
His pounding heartbeats is giving her a headache
Her uncertainty is giving him a heartache

She says she's actually a boy
Boy says don't be coy
She confesses she's a vampire
The boy asks, are you looking for a new hire

Boy, he doesn't get it
This admitted vampire spills the blood
She's a guy, but he himself looks like gal
Can't they just be pals

I got no clue
Letting the thought weigh in
Gives me the flu
And I got no medicine

It's just that it's been a couple of years since I posted or critiqued anything here. So, I feel the need to reintroduce myself. I'm 18, finishing up my freshman year of college. I hail from Washington State, recently made infamous by the Twilight series. Let me just say that while, yes, we do get a ridiculous amount of rain, and yes, there is basically a wet season and a less wet season, it is not cloudy enough year-round to support a healthy vampire population. I am extremely reassured by this knowledge because I doubt that any vampire I'd run into would gaze into my eyes and declare his undying love. Or would it be undead love?

Anyway, this is the much revised first chapter of a story I'm writing. I actually posted the original in this community a long time ago. I consider this version substantially improved. It's called "Llamagirl."
 

I 'm looking for your views as to whether you find this interesting or not. I know it has to be edited and proof read so ignore any typo's or grammer corrections. I'll get around to them later. But for now, first impressions.

The cat who knew stuff.

What do we know about cats ? Not the National Geographic type shit,  I mean, what do we really know about them ? I'll tell you my friend, we know nothing, nothing ! about cats. Now the ancient Egyptians, they also knew nothing, but they knew there was more to them than they knew. Enough so, to treat them with reverence. As if to say,  I'm not taking any chances, better treat him as a god.Just in case...

Spring time in Ireland is a time of mass migration. The great herd of Irish manhood peels itself from its winter habitat of couches, sofas  and remote controls to head out into nature to trim hedges and cut lawns. This is where the story of how I ended up in an insane asylum begins. Going out to cut the grass.

So there I am, standing in front of the double doors of "The Man Shed". Man Sheds are very carefully controlled environments. They must be tidy enough to want to make you  feel cosy, but must retain an atmosphere  of spiders and mice, enough so, to deter women from wanting to explore The Man Shed. So mine has a work bench to make model aircraft on,  an old armchair (slightly musty, enough to put it beyond salvage, thus interest ) , a filing cabinet that has a stash of Black Moroccan dope, some porn mags and a 6, make that 4 pack of Heineken. There's also another chair for when William,  my next door neighbour, hops the fence and comes to "borrow" something.  There's also a lawnmower, hedge trimmers and various other stuff I have no interest in, but keep handy to justify going to the shed for.  So, as I was saying, there I am in front of the doors. I open them up and the first thing I see is a large black cat with one eye curled up on the old armchair. I like cats. They don't need walking and don't hump your leg while you in a Q at the post office.  I say Pishwishwish to see if he'll come and be friends. He ignored me.  I pulled out the lawn mower and as I do so a bag slides off  the shelf. It's a hammock I bought two years ago and never got around to putting up. As I reach down to pick it up I hear a tapping on the kitchen window.  It is "SHE", she's pointing at the hammock and gesturing for me to erect it.  I look at the photo on the cover of the bag and immagine the guy on the hammock is me. A fine idea, I decide. I get busy cutting the grass, rake up the hay or whatever cut grass is called, and clean the mower before putting it back. I pick a nice spot in the garden that catches most of the sunshine, and  more importantly, is out of the wind. I erect the hammock. It's a simple frame that you hook the big net part on to at both ends.There is another tap on the kitchen window. SHE gives a thumbs up and a wave goodbye. She said something this morning about the hairdresser so I assume she's going there.  I carefully sit on the edge of the hammock. It doesn't twang and fall down. I turn lengthways and put one leg up. Nothing. Two legs and I recline, expecting to flip over and end up face down on the grass. Nothing . Actually, it's really comfortable.  I decide to make the four pack a three pack and fetch a Heineken from the filing cabinet. I'm back on the hammock swinging slightly. I have chosen my spot well. I can feel the warmth of the sun on my face. After fifteen minutes, I'm getting drowsy. The Heinie has relaxed me , the sun is now quite warm, the smell of cut grass is very pleasant. Soon my head begins to nod. A bee drones by.

I hear a rasping voice say "Ibitza !"in what could be a spanish accent . I open an eye a bit and look around. I must have immagined it because there's no one there. I begin to nod off again.

"Ibitza I said ".

Shit, someone wants to chat. I open my eyes and look around for where the voice is coming from.  There is nobody there. Not in my garden, not in Williams. I look behind me , thinking it's coming from the kitchen. There's no one in the house. The cat has moved from the armchair to the roof of the shed now. Maybe his claws made a scratching sound as he climb..

"Ibitza a lot"

I could swear the voice came from the cat ! I think to myself "You're tired and shouldn't drink beer in the sun, it goes straight to your head"

"Shiz got bruises !"

I sit up now. I look carefully around the garden trying to figure out where William could hide a speakerfor his practicle joke. As I'm doing so, the cat continues to stare at me. Then it stands up , arches it's back and it's legs quiver.

"If yiz not intrested"

Thinking I'll go along with the joke I say I am interested and tell me more. It was the worst thing I could ever have done.