Words Spill Out

[ceitfianna]

Last night ended up slightly better than the day, in my History of the Book class, we looked at amazing books and manuscripts. The new director of the Special Collections' library showed us around and we ended by talking about transitions to new formats, which I always find interesting. Now this class makes me want to write, I'm constantly scirbbling bits of poetry and things down during it. So I'm going to write them up here.

The first is an idea that snuck up on me of transposing Robin Hood to around the WWI era. I think it came about because ashen_key and I were wondering about where would Will fit in a more modern world. So he's over in Mixed Muses and I wrote this little snippet.


They called themselves the Sherwood Foresters, but what was left of Sherwood was far away. Around them was death, too many kinds of death; from above and from far too close. Their hope of living grew slimmer each day and instead they prayed to just survive. Though as they'd watch those who survived and left, they worried what form would they survive in.

Yet Locksley is there, as true as the Twisted Oak in Sherwood, he doesn't run, he doesn't turn from their pain, and where before there was manor and town, now there's only the trenches.

The next bit is just some poetry mainly about words. I don't know if this is connected to the other poetry or not. Sometimes I just write things and this time I decided to share them.


Words wake me up.
What shape will the letters be?
Shall I be neat today or will my letters spill into themselves?
I lose the trail down a sloping path,
Ink runs yet remains.

Shall I tell you a story instead?
Will you follow the path I speak?
Perhaps you'll get lost or find yourself in the world I open.
Other voices share mine and we will forget who and where we are.

In other news, J, a fun geek guy that's been in a lot of my classes let me know that my homework for Thursday morning class needed to be printed. He's someone I'd like to hang out with at some point, but I feel like the part of me that knows how to ask guys out got lost.

My printer now has ink and I did the work today after an interesting IP course. The only thing is that I feel like I haven't really woken up at all today. I actually woke up around 4:30 am or some horrid hour thinking I'd slept through the day. I even got ready to get dressed before double checking the time and falling far into sleep. I will get to class on time tomorrow, but I'd appreciate it if my body would sort itself out.

Comments

[in-the-blue.livejournal.com]

I like your stuff.

Just saying.

[ceitfianna]

Thank you. There's something about writing in a notebook when I'm meant to be taking notes that just gets ideas flowing for me.

[in-the-blue.livejournal.com]

For some people it's pen and paper, for others the ideas flow when they're standing in the shower with water pouring down on their heads. There are actual physiological explanations for both, but I don't remember enough of the wheres and whys to elaborate on that any more.

Our brains just go to different places; that's the most succinct (and least expert) way for me to put it.

I get great characterization insights when I'm giving massages. Go figure.

[ceitfianna]

I didn't know about the explanations, but it makes sense. We're all wired slightly differently.