words_o_heart's Revelife

All that Remains

Wed, 11 Jun 2008 19:45:00 GMT

Often times people overlook the lyrics to heavy metal music because they can't understand it, but I would like to open your eyes. Read the lyrics from a writer's perspective looking at the words to a poem. This song, "Not Alone" by All that Remains is one of many great songs by then, and this may not even be their best song. Enjoy.

No more

No more are the days that I will
Fear for I have found a strength that
None can match and I'll push forward

Never has the blood in my viens
Flowed so fiercely as when i feel this around me
I am whole

I'm not alone
With the touch of your hand
I am whole again

I'm not alone
With the touch of your hand
I am whole again

Now I feel the passion burning
This what drives me further strengthens
My resolve to push me further

(and I believe, that I am not alone)
I'm not alone!

I'm not alone
With the touch of your hand
I am whole again

I'm not alone
With the touch of your hand
I am whole again

No more are the days that I will
Fear for I have found a strength that
None can match and I'll push forward

Now I feel the passion burning
This what drives me further strengthens
My resolve to push me further

I'm not alone (I'm not alone)
With the touch of your hand
I am whole again

I'm not alone (I'm not alone)
With the touch of your hand
I am whole again

(I am whole again)
(I am whole again)

For more lyrics or to listen to this song visit: http://www.lyricsmania.com/lyrics/all_that_remains_lyrics_2727/

Yours in Writing,
Kate

P.S. I have a new blog that you should check out.

http:// breathingofheart .blogspot.com

Words Seep From My Soul

Wed, 04 Jun 2008 15:46:43 GMT

I want to thank everyone for their concern. I am aware that my writing and my mood outside of my writing was very dark for awhile. I was pretty depressed for some time. Then, without warning, I disappeared.

Well, I am still here. I am still writing in my spare time. Currently, I have just started revising a story I wrote while in this depressing period. I will probably post the unfinished story on here. I have also been trying to outline a novel I started a few years ago. At the time, the piece had no direction. Now, I am excited to begin creating the characters, twisting the plots, and describing what I feel is a good story.

I do not have a lot of spare time to write, however. I am currently working full time in the restaurant business, taking summer classes, playing tournament softball, and trying to have a social life.

I plan to keep up with writing on here, so if I am not posting at least a little something every couple of days, demand one.

Yours in Writing,
Kate

Last Words of the Living

Thu, 31 Jan 2008 19:39:26 GMT

(*The following story was inspired by a dream, rather a nightmare, of mine.*)

She was dead.

I could hardly believe the shock of what was happening. The afternoon had begun much like any other, but now lightning bolts of darkness were pervading my world. Angie’s face spun along with the news she had just told me. The falling sun hopped up and down as if on an ocean liner. I felt sick as though I had just swallowed a bag of salt. Dead?

Impossible. My best friend was not dead.

I remembered the last words we had spoken. These words were exchanged over a month ago.

“I just can’t believe it,” her mouth remained frozen open after these words. Her blue eyes were glassy with disbelief.

“I know,” I tried, feebly, to find a proper apology, “I’m sorry. I-I should have told you about this sooner. I should have never let this happen,” I wanted to go on but she had begun sobbing. I didn’t know what to say that would make things right.

“There’s nothing you can say,” her eyes were still glassy, but the expression on her mouth had become a bitter scowl. “I don’t want to talk to you for a long time. Actually, I don’t know if I ever want to talk to you again.”

“But-“

“Maybe one day I’ll forgive you, but I-I just can’t right now.”

With that she looked me directly in the eye, and I knew she was serious. I was no longer a part of her life. I felt like going back in time and deleting several months of my life. I knew that was impossible. I wanted to run away to a place where no one knew me and no one knew what I’d done. To a place where the past would no longer ruin my life.

“I understand,” I whispered. I knew my hazel eyes were peculiarly dark in the dimming light. They were filled to the max with tears, but I refused to shed any. I really did understand. If I were her, I would have probably made the same decision, but I couldn’t help but feel completely alone and mistaken. I wondered if I was really a bad person, and if I wasn’t I wondered how long it would be before people would believe in me again. I would give everything to take back the past, but that wasn’t possible. Now, I was just trying to move on and forget what had happened. I knew in that moment that moving on was going to be impossible.

I hadn’t seen or heard from her since that evening.

Now, I would never see or hear her again.

My senses snapped back to the present, and I watched Angie swim in and out of focus again. “Angie,” My entire body was shaking now, and my voice was barely comprehendable. “Angie, I just wish I could tell her I was really sorry. I really am sorry. I always thought there would be another day to fix our friendship. I really am sorry. I’m sorry, Becky.”

With that apology my voice trailed off. I began crying and neither wanted to or couldn’t make myself stop. I cried for the first time since I was a little kid. I cried because I realized I had lost any chance of the companionship I once had had with such a faithful friend. I cried because if I hadn’t let her just walk away she may still be here today. I cried because my world was destroyed with her last breath.

(*Thanks for reading. You can discover so much from your own dreams.*)

Kate

Paranoia and the Intruders

Thu, 24 Jan 2008 04:15:09 GMT

(*Interesting event happened today that I am about to share with you in a slightly dramatized narrative. I should mention that I have been in a sort of foul mood off and on for the past 6 months. I have my good days. I have my bad days. I have days that are neither. Every day I want to get away. I want to escape into the pages of favorite books of mine. Since that is not possible, I am stuck with my own thoughts however good or bad they may be. Nonetheless, the story:*)

     My mind was distant as I searched the empty wall behind the monitor for a thought, or even a word to get me started. Nothing came with the earth-shattering finality I had hoped for. Thus, I continued to search the vast abyss of my vocabulary for a starting point.
     I could feel my ears begin to buzz as the occasionally did when I was sleep deprived. Writers block sure did suck, especially when you were a writer predestined to write something of tsunamic proportions. To me it was a crippling illness which I was fated to suffer through for life.
     I felt the buzzing growing louder and seemingly vibrate the three-and-a-half legged wooded chair I suffered myself to lounge on. I had written nothing in two years, not anything of interest, anyway. My brain was on freeze mode and it was my fingers that had to suffer. They hung perpetually over the keyboard. They were hawks waiting for the perfect moment to strike, a moment that would never come.
     Now, I began to question whether the buzzing really was in my mind or in the place some scholarly experts like to call reality. Those scholarly experts are all young men and women barely out of grad school. A few years in their so-called reality would prove to them that we are all suspended in a unreality created by lies and imaginations.
     That was no ordinary buzzing. The glass in my walls began to rattle violently. Nothing ever happened to me. Nothing worth writing about. My brained had ceased working on tangible thoughts during the daytime. It had sold its portion of my soul to the dreamworld. Dreams sure could have a mind of their own. I was glad no one could truly read someone else's mind. Mine was sure to result in a questions regarding drug use and insanity. I was never diagnosed with an issue in either subject, but there was always tomorrow.
     That was no buzzing at all. I stretched my neck backward to get a better look out the window. There was something out there. Oh, aliens! The words had reached my minds ear. I failed to repress a laugh. My fun was short-lived. One of those Fraudian mental beings that we all have had shot the first voice a dirty look which quelled my fun. The looker was, no doubt, the superego. Who else would care how loud I laughed alone in a shadowy room? Who else would care why?
     It was no use. Though my room was not particularly bright, the darkness outside had me beat by about three lightbulbs. I could see nothing outside the window. Yet, the spinning-buzzing noise continued to grow louder.
     By the time I had shut off all three light bulbs, my room was literally shaking. Blinded by the sudden lack of light, I army-crawled to the nearest window. There was something out there, and it could very well be aliens.
     Suspended about 200 feet above the ground was a flying craft of some sort. The powerful spotlights surrounding the body of the flying device gave me enough of an idea as to the general shape and size of the object. Clearly, we were not being invaded by giant Klingons.
      After a few seconds of creative thinking, I decided to give that up and think logically. Disappointed in the fun that reality had taken away from my moment, I decided that the craft was most certainly a helicopter.
      What happens when I begin to think is I can't stop thinking. My second brilliant question was why? Why was there a mysterious helicopter outside my window waking up babies and scaring dogs to cower tail-tucked behind couches? This is the real scary part. Nothing made sense. Not logically anyway.
     Nothing made sense until I heard another noise above the sound of the spinning. A banging sound had reached my ears from two floors below. It wasn't deafening, but the fact that I could hear anything at all was a sheer miracle.
     So I hid.
     I suffered through each day living with my parents only because they didn't charge rent. We barely saw each other anyway, which had its benefits (certainly) but also its downfalls. They were both at meetings and not expected home for another two hours. We had a dog too. I like to call him the sane one. Wise pup. At the age of seven, the beagle knew no other life than to sleep, waddle, and eat. Occasionally he relieved himself, but he was neither trained nor tall enough to let himself out. When no food was involved, the dog would not leave the safety of the couch.
     So, naturally I hid.
     The only reasonable explanation was that an intruder had figured out our lock (or at least figured out that we had not used it) and let himself in. The helicopter must be looking for this fugitive.
     So I grabbed my phone and hid in the closet.
     The spinning was growing fainter by the second as was the vibrating. I feared what I might here when the copter completely left.
     So I sunk deeper into the closet and hid my face in my hands. (If you can't see him, he can't see you.)
     There were other noises. Certainly other noises. I heard footsteps, there was no doubt about footsteps. The sound of heavy footfalls, banging pots, hoarse whispering, and, eventually, breathing reached my perked eardrum.
     So I crawled out from my hiding spot and looked for an answer. I needed to lock the door only 14 stairs below me. There was no way I would get down there without being noticed. A distraction. There had to be a distraction.
     Desperately, I searched the room for something to throw. Books and clothes were options but dull ones at best. I needed something that the criminal or criminals wouldn't expect. Something soft. Yet something hard. Something small and big at the same time. Something like a -- like a cat.
     My eyes flashed to the fur ball sleeping comfortably on a pile of clothes I had decided to use as a floor ornament. She was the perfect size and shape. She had everything going for her. Throwing her down the stairs was a perfect distraction.
     I picked her up and crept closer to the stairs. Footsteps were coming toward the open doorway below. There wouldn't be much time.
     The cat curled against my hand as I lifted her in a position that would present an easy enough cat-cannon. The figure was nearing my door.
     I inched closer to the stairs.
     Suddenly, a shadow figured by its creator entered my view. I nearly fell down the stairs.
     "There's left-overs in the fridge if you get hungry. I'll see you later. I'm going to be late."
     I nodded, dumbstruck, as my father disappeared beyond my sight.
     "And stop torturing that cat," he called back to me.
     I set the cat down on the carpet, and she angrily stalked off downstairs. I followed her as far as my door. My father had clearly proved that the house was safe. I locked the door for good luck and returned to the keyboard.
     That's when the tapping began.

(*Hope you enjoyed. I'll spend a little more time on another one in the future.

Yours,
Kate

P.S. Alright, I caved. I'm attempting to write the story that I was unable to bring myself to even begin earlier. However, the writing is no short of choppy and as of yet makes very little sense. I don't know if writing it will do any good or will ever be anything more than another blog and another woe story. However, if it touches one soul and convinces him or her not to make the same mistakes I have, then I have succeeded and can die happy. If you would like to read along, the blog name is HowIDestroyedLife.

Prayer of Despiration

Fri, 07 Dec 2007 14:25:37 GMT

(*The past 5 months have been a living hell. The past year is a mistake. I...I just don't know.*)

Prayer of Despiration

“Help Me”

“Help me” was my prayer last night,

After all that’s been said,

And all that’s been done,

“Help me” was all I could ask God of me,

“Help me” I cried into the darkness,

“Help me” my soul screamed out of a world of nothingness,

“Help me” I pleaded until exhaustion took over and my body collapsed.

And you know the answer I got?

That’s because there was none.

Nothing.
Nothing but silence.

Nothing but pain.

No peace came.

And yet I wept to the heavens for help

My body shook with fear and remorse

The pain I feel cannot be measured or compared

And yet there is no help.

I am lost.

Confused.

Alone.

And all too small in a world of hell on earth.

Please, hear my cry.

Help Me!

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Tue, 23 Oct 2007 18:46:49 GMT

"Writing is the hardest way of earning a living, with the possible exception of wrestling alligators."
--Olin Miller

I know I've not been on much lately, but between midterms and four days off, I've been no where near a computer when I had the time to write. I have, however, decided that I need money for college. I don't want to be one of those people who is still paying for school ten years after they graduate.

I've been looking for scholarships and submissions I can...er...submit to. However, I need an update or introduction to all the lingo. Nonetheless, I'm ready to enter the world of writing that I've dreamed about since I was a little kid. Now, I just need to do it.

Anyway, how is everyone?

Yours in Writing,
Kate

Monday, October 15, 2007

Mon, 15 Oct 2007 03:55:00 GMT

(*It's 12:45 in the morning. I'm not tired, but my eyes hurt. I don't think I've been getting much sleep lately. I have to write a paper.

I hate when text books and professors use big words when it isn't necessary. I also hate when writers do this. As a writer I should probably know big words and I do know a lot, but I also think that big words are not always best. To get a point across, words that are easy to understand are best.*)

Mountains never scared me. The mountain that shadowed the small town that I grew up in was much closer to mysterious and exciting than frightening. I was born with an inclination toward adventure and trouble. When I was two, I got lost in the supermarket. The excitement of being free and able to make my own path in the world overwhelmed me at the time, and it has only grown since.

What does this have to do with mountains? Absolutely nothing.

But in that supermarket that day, I found five dollars...

Yours in Writing,
Kate

Sunday, October 14, 2007

Sun, 14 Oct 2007 04:24:27 GMT

You may not understand, but I can't write this.

Names Help...

Fri, 12 Oct 2007 19:03:04 GMT

Okay, so I'm writing, right. All of a sudden I realize I can't use the names I know for my characters. Wow, what a dilemma! When I think of these people, I only think of one name for them (except, of course, for asshole, bitch, dick, fucker, etc.) So, I'd like to hear your opinion. What names do you think of when you hear the following (Multiple names and last names are good too or if one of these things reminds you of a name, write it.):

Female, insecure, free willed, likes trying new things (perhaps too much of the time), flirts a lot, shy in new situations, hasn't really experienced too much based on her family background, very outgoing and a bit crazy with friends, leader, confused about life, likes a challenge, not bad looking but thinks otherwise, hard working, etc.

* * *

2
Male, friendly, flirts a lot, outgoing, bad guy, pretends to be caring and nice but really is an asshole, good actor, conniving, tricky, daring, dare-devil, careless, bad habits (smoking, drinking, etc.), unromantic, excitable, etc.

* * *

3
Male, careless, nice, not a lot of personality, not very driven, bad at calling when there is a need to call, unromantic, not excitable, good sense of humor, doesn't care what others think on important issues, etc.

* * *

4
Female, good friend, loyal, shy, a lot of fun with friends, easy to talk to, good listener, good at contacting, hard working, unromantic, easily in love, insecure, good morals, doesn't like to try new things, easily angered, accepting of bad things (sometimes too often), doesn't want to give up (sometimes too much), etc.

* * *

5
Female, outgoing, trying to fit in, into her looks, boy crazy, big flirt, likes to talk, not a great listener, faltering loyalty if it hurts her reputation, etc.

* * *

6
Male, always has one thing on his mind, makes dirty jokes, conniving, insecure, possessive, unromantic, loves playing games (gambling, truth or dare, etc.), unfaithful, etc.

* * *

7
Male, romantic sometimes, flirt, considerate (or pretends to be), doesn't think, insecure, uses his station as an excuse, talks big, inconsiderate sometimes, cares about reputation, family man, faithful while in a relationship, etc.

* * *

8
Male, romantic, very considerate, respectful, easy to talk to, insecure about some things, secure about others, jealous, incredibly faithful, good sense of humor, good with kids, hopeful, sometimes depressed, big dreams, almost always on time, doesn't fail to return phone calls, very caring, hard working, honest (usually blunt), fights for what he believes in, etc.

(*Thank you so much even if you read this far. I know that's a lot, but even if you could just take one and give a suggestion of what those descriptions remind you of it'd mean a lot to me.*)

Yours in Writing,
Kate

Introduction...

Fri, 12 Oct 2007 13:08:41 GMT

(*You just don't understand.*)

My past is a dark cloud of painful memories. I am more than just frequently reminded of my failures and mistakes, I am haunted by them. The simplest song can force me to recall another, less pleasant, time that song was played. A walk through town makes me recollect people and events from the past. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to get away. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to forget. I cannot sit alone too long because my subconscious is liable to replay these experiences the way my mind repeats an appalling scene in a horror movie. These memories come back to me with agonizing clarity. I hate the person I pretended to be. I risked nearly everything to find myself again. Now, I am risking everything I have left to destroy the past.

(*I tried outlining the chapters, got to chapter 5 and found it was too difficult. How do I write in detail some of the things I need to if I want to write this story? How can I write the story if I can't even write an outline? Why did I only get as far as the above before "taking a break" before I lose my mind?*)

Yours in Writing,

Kate