ashleyjwilson's profile
AGE:
32
LAST LOGIN: May 21
LAST LOGIN: May 21
I am twenty-nine years old. Female. All I’ve ever wanted to be is a writer, though sometimes you realize your goals in strange ways. That is, I’m a writer, but I find it difficult to find time to write what I want to write, and instead spend long hours writing what I have to write: responses to technical Requests for Proposal. You see, it pays the bills. Furthermore, after writing about Robots and file servers and HL7 interfaces all day, my attempts at creative writing can come across as rather . . . technical.
One day, I will get where I need to be. I will re-tap my creative keg and binge, binge, binge. Major creative bender, coming one day. Hold your breath.
For what it’s worth, I have a BA in Creative Writing, a BA in Profession…
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Tawfiq scratched a bit of fuzz from the bristle of his black beard and frowned at the man wearing an expensive-looking red suit. "My daughter," he said quietly, "has begun to speak of freedom." Saghir, who was tall despite his name (an Arabic word meaning 'short in stature'), tugged apprehensively at the silk sleeve of his new coat. Though his standing had improved in the months since the Americans arrived, he did not have the money to tailor his fine clothes. "Indeed," he replied. "And mine....
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Bells ring on the dusty glass door. Squinting in smoke-cloaked light he orders Natural Bohemian from a blonde chewing grape Hubba-Bubba. She brings the beer, condensation slipping down aluminum. He lights a cigarette noticing she offered neither a coaster nor a smile or a glass just a hurried “buck-fifty” then scurried to the kitchen. He leans sideways, plucks a faded violet off a withering plant growing listlessly in a plastic pot, pulls a five dollar bill from the front pocket of his too-bl...
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I've never met a straight guy wearing $450 shoes. You shop for a tube top that says Las Vegas. You have a Rottweiler named Phoenix an addiction to self improvement & lateral Gs. You think it's fun to roll your BMW, arms clutched to your chest riding a roller coaster. What if the meaning of life is to walk around telling people what you think? I think I'll know you when I can recognize your bare feet.
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He calls me beautiful, picks up the ringing telephone. I leave the room with a quarter-cup measuring dish to cook minute rice, close the door behind me so his tabby cat doesn’t run loose. The microwave hums like synthesized bumblebees. A friend on his way to the basement tells me I eat too much rice and that one day I’ll wake up Chinese – I don’t worry though because my mother told me when I was little that the third born child in every family is Oriental. I am only the second – I’m in the ki...
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5 Reviews
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My ear is pressed to the wall; I’m listening to my sister deliver a baby. The plastic chairs in labor and delivery waiting rooms are less comfortable than other hospital chairs, and when you kneel on them, they bruise your knees. My sister, I’ve decided, is a huge wimp – things can’t hurt that much without killing you – she keeps screaming, she’s not dead. From watching The Miracle of Life in health class, I know that soon, she’ll stop howling and the baby will start. I pick at the skin aroun...
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I really enjoy the character you've created here, and the juxtaposition between the description in the first half of the poem and the first-hand memories of shared experiences in the second half. It realy evokes a sense of how people think of people they don't kno well, first in terms of appearances and concrete images, and only secondly in terms of events. Also nice how you described the experience we all know of thinking of someone in an unexpected place for no explicable reason. Stylistica...
An interesting experiment, I suppose. I enjoy the juxtaposition of the content and title . . . they bear an interesting relationship to one another. All in all however, I think you'll be hard pressed to make this stand on its own. The addition of as little as a line or two could really help bring this message home.
Ordinarily I would express some degree of trepidation in response to the use of one to two syllable words as the focal points of a rhyme scheme. To a certain degree this is intellectual snobbery on my part, but it's also because I love watching someone meet the challenge of rhyming three and four syllable words. HOWEVER . . . I dig this. I think it's because you're telling a compelling story and the plot defeats the potential for short rhyming words to sound sing-songy. That's hard to do, so ...
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You're really on to something here. I love the imagery and urgency in every word. "By brutish strokes" -- NICE! A big part of the sense of urgency you convey is the lack of punctuation. I get that, I really do. But I'm also a huge advocate of well-placed punctuation marks, and I think you could spruce this up with a few that would help make some lines/ideas really hit home. Just a thought. Although now that I've gone back and attempted to mentally punctuate, I can't say for certain where I th...
100.0% Review Quality (2 Votes)
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