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[coordinated-chaos-writes]

My Library

Scratchy carpet beneath my knees

Diluted sunlight that trickles down

Through narrow windows, while the scent

Of aged paper drifts through the air

Smelling sharply of my childhood

Of Small arms cradling heavy tomes

Filled with knowledge and stories

That become immortalized in my mind

Of Kneeling on the floor

Head bowed as if in prayer

To Thoth and Athena, but really

My eyes scanned for another adventure

Of being tucked into corners

Manuscript open on my lap

Spine like a question mark

Eyes almost brushing the page

Of pulling a mile-long receipt

From the checkout machine

Tucking it under the top cover

Returning with every item crossed off

Of piling up ten, fifteen, twenty books

“You cannot check out any more items”

Ten, fifteen, twenty books

Sliding them into the return slot on tiptoe.

Of small fingers ghosting the spines

On the first row, then second

Then the third and the fourth

Years later, venturing into the adult section

The library is my home

Now occupied by others

As I drift through it, a ghost

With rarely time to visit.

[coordinated-chaos-writes]

Of Love and the Lack of it: An Aromantic’s Lament

Volatile and hard to pin down, ethereal and intangible.

All my life, watching from afar

as couples walk hand in hand

their romance blazing bright as stars.

---

This romantic love seems bright and life-filled.

People say you feel it, curling round your heart

The sensation not defined, “You’ll know it when you feel it”

They say it never truly fades, always leaving a subtle mark.

---

All encompassing, changing a person’s soul, blurring out the dark.

They’re never quite the same as before.

But that sensation, that feeling, is alien

and mustering up the energy to fake it is such a chore

---

In books it’s sparkling and magical,

waking princesses and breaking curses.

Changing the world through two people.

The ultimate goal of every being in this universe.

---

Advertised as the solution to every problem,

Smiling lovers in commercials, billboards, ads.

“Everyone falls in love eventually. It’s what makes us human.”

Yet anguished scribbling protests from where it lies in worn notepads.

---

Instead of love: aching longing

Twisting cruelly in my chest

when I wonder why I don’t feel the way I’m told to.

Why the sole emotion I can scrounge up is friendship, even when trying my best.

---

Watching as peers grow up and pair up.

Tentative new feelings blossoming in their hearts.

Falling behind as I start to wonder if I’m capable of the love I see around me,

the thought like a slap to the cheek that smarts.

---

I turn down someone new, break it off with someone old

I guess I’m not human. Not in the way I’m supposed to be.

Cause no matter who I’m with, not even a spark

of that romantic love grows in me.

[coordinated-chaos-writes]

Just thoughts on the ethics of writing diversity

I find writing about different cultures very difficult because culture is such a complex and personal thing. While I believe writing from different peoples points of view/about different people lives is both important and fun, I feel like the quote: “Do not dip your pen in somebody else’s blood” sums things up very nicely.

I think casual diversity is the best way to go about it, writing diverse and different characters, but without making their diversity a critical part of the plot or the center focus of their character. Writing about the struggles and complex cultural aspects of an identity that is not yours can both feel insincere and potentially offend people of that identity/who are part of that culture. As a man, you can write female characters, but write about their experiences with sexism and misogyny. As a white person you can write character who are POC, but don’t write about their experiences with racism. As a cishet person, you can write queer characters, but don’t write about their experiences with homophobia and transphobia, and their struggles with their identity. As an abled person, you can write disabled character, but don’t write about their experiences with ableism.

In addition, if you are going to write character who have different culture or aspects of their identity from you, it’s best to watch videos of/read about different experiences of/talk to different people who are part of that culture/have that identity. That way, you can keep your writing as authentic and true to the experiences of that culture/identity.

While a disclaimer often works fine to excuse inaccuracies when writing about events, careers, and places, it does not excuse lack of knowledge/research about cultures and identities.

You also don’t want to unintentionally deceive your readers by making them think that you know about that culture/identity from personal experience and now they know a little bit of accurate information about that culture/identity.

[coordinated-chaos-writes]

Writing the same room with two different moods

#1

Light streamed through the windows, illuminating the room. Old wooden rafters and a slightly slanted floor gave it an old but charming feel. One of the windows was open, and the fresh breeze was beginning to replace the lingering musty smell of stale air. Soft beige carpet covered the floor and an old stone fireplace sat in the corner. A desk was facing the window, which had a wide ledge that was just perfect for sitting on while reading. A beautiful view of the surrounding countryside was visible out the glass panes of the window. Three smaller windows were situated next to each other to create one big window, and the two outside windows could be opened outwards.

#2

The air in the room was stale and musty. A smudged window was covered by heavy drapes, pulled half closed. Rickety wooden beams held up the low ceiling and were as slanted as the warped and creaking floor. Dirty beige carpet covered the floor and a small bed sat in the center of the room, its mattress full of springs. Empty hooks and rusted nails stuck out of the walls, the only remains of the pictures or posters that had once hung there. The paint on the walls and closet doors could use a new coat, it was cracked and dirty. The only light was a small lamp, even you could even call it that, it was more of a bulb, that hung from the ceiling, casting its dull orange light over the center of the room, leaving the corners in shadows.

[coordinated-chaos-writes]

Reclaimed

Once shining

Now crumbling

Ivy coated spires

And moss carpeted stones

Nests in the rafters

Worms in the wood

Burrows in the bedrooms

Reclaiming what was once

Theirs

[coordinated-chaos-writes]

Metaphor Writing Practice

I stood by the window. My heart felt like it would burst into a million pieces at any moment. I glanced at the candle on the windowsill it an attempt to distract myself, but it only mirrored my maudlin state, wax tears dripping down its sides as it slowly wasted away. My stomach had a knot in it, tangled and confused, pulling tighter every time I attempted to unravel it. The urge to climb out the window and sprint away across the winds intensified with every passing moment. The world shimmered as silver tears clouded by vision. I turned away from the window. Silver light glinted off the broken mirror by the wall, the large crack grimacing at me in my sorry state. Snatching up a handkerchief, I sat down on my bed with a soft thwump, dabbing the tears from my eyes. I felt empty, like a library without any books, only dusty shelves and cobwebs.

[coordinated-chaos-writes]

Writing about the moon/moonlight without saying the word "moon"

They stood on pavement staring up at the night sky. Their already pale skin was washed out and ashen. As they tucked a strand of dark hair behind their ear, light sparkled off the faceted band on their finger, mirroring the glint of light on their black-painted nails. The dark trees were silhouetted against a midnight blue sky. Silver clouds occasionally drifted passed, haloed in white light. They glanced down at the stark shadow that stretched from their feet onto the stone wall, watching as it moved along with each minute twitch of their hands.

[coordinated-chaos-writes]

Writing Only Dialogue. Prompt: Character A walks in on Character B setting the microwave on fire.

“Wha-”

“I swear this is not what it looks like!”

“You sure? ‘cause it looks like you set the microwave on fire.”

“Alright, maybe this is exactly what it looks like. But I have it completely under control.”

“You don’t know where the fire extinguisher is, do ya?”

“…No.”

“Wouldn’t do you much good anyway, it’s already spread to the ceiling.”

“Ack!”

“If you set the house on fire, I’m finding a new roommate.”

“I can fix it! I can fix it!”

“Now the kitchen is on fire, and we’re both soaking wet. Good job.”

“Why are you just standing there? Find the fire extinguisher!”

“Remind me why I agreed to be your roommate again?”

“Fine! I will get the fire extinguisher.”

“I’ll just wait here, in the kitchen you set on fire. Don’t worry about me.”

“Shut up!”

“This is fine.”

“I have the fire extinguisher!”

“Would you like a cookie?”

“There, I fixed it. I told you I had everything under control.”

“Hmm, yes. Do you want to tell the landlord, or should I?”

“Please, shut your mouth.”

“Fine, I’ll tell the landlord.”

“Put down the phone!”

“Someone has to tell the landlord. You probably should have also just called 911.”

“I am not paying money for something I can fix myself.”

“Remind me who’s the fancy-pants rich one out of us?”

“Remind me who got disowned again?”

“Ya know what, never mind. I’m not gonna argue with you.”

“Excellent, because I have no desire to argue with you either. Just order a new microwave.”

“With what money?”

“Not mine, certainly.”

“Wow. Okay.”

[coordinated-chaos-writes]

[coordinated-chaos-writes]

Imagery Exercise

The sound of soft birdsong and the rustling of leaves in the cool breeze drifted through the air. Dappled sunlight trickled down through the gaps in the branches, turning the leaves an almost luminescent green as the golden rays warmed my face. Shades upon shades of green surrounded me as the trees formed a cocoon over the dirt path. For a moment, it was so quiet I could hear the sound of my own breathing, but it was quickly shattered by the crunch of dry leaves and twigs beneath boots as I continued walking. As my feet ached and my stomach growled, I remembered the prize at the end of the tunnel of the forest: blackberry jam sandwiches. I could practically taste them, the perfect mix of sweet and tart. Reaching the end of the tunnel, the faint sound of a babbling stream joined the birdsong. The feathery leaves of the ferns that dotted the path tickle my fingers as I walked.

Reaching the end of the tunnel, I stepped out into the sunlight, shivering slightly at the pleasant warmth. A glade stretched out in front of me, carpeted by tall grass and wildflowers. The only clear space was a desire path formed by people walking the same route over and over again. I started down the long trail towards the cottage at the end. At one point, the grind of dust and rocks under my heels changes to the gentle tapping of boots on wood as I crossed a short bridge over the bubbling stream. I ran the last few meters down the path, barely managing to stop before crashing into the cottage door. I quickly fixed my hair and straightened my clothes before taking a deep breath and rapping the door smartly.

There was the sound of rustling and footsteps from inside before the door creaked open and a face peered out. Dark skin contrasted with light brown eyes that seemed to turn golden, like sunlight filtering through a jar of honey, warm and sweet. The eyes widened, and the door was thrown open. Arms wrapped around me, squeezing me in an embrace so tight I was sure I must have cracked a rib.

“I can’t believe you’re here!”

I laughed, tapping one of the barely perceivable freckles on my love’s nose. “Hello to you too, my beloved.”

“Come in, come in!”

I was pulled in and, after dropping my bags by the door, guided to one of the overstuffed armchairs sitting in front of the fireplace. I was almost swallowed by the cushion, but the soft warmth was welcome after my long journey. My love plotted down into my lap, hands coming up to play with my hair. The pleasant sensation of butterflies tickled my stomach, and I pulled my love into another hug.

“I missed you,” I murmured into soft hair.

“I missed you.” My love pulled out of the hug, and I found my face cupped by soft hands as I was drawn in for a tender kiss. “Now, I’m guessing you didn’t come all the way over here to not have some of my blackberry jam sandwiches.”

I grinned. “You guessed correctly. You know I love your cooking.”

“You know sandwiches aren’t technically cooked, right?” My love raised an eyebrow, tapping me on the nose while sliding off my lap.

I shrugged, “Semantics. Can I please have some sandwiches?” I pouted over dramatically. “I walked all the way over here, and I’m hungry. Two-day journeys aren’t a walk in a park.”

“Fine, let’s get you some sandwiches, darling.”

[coordinated-chaos-writes]

Prompt: Fairy Ring

Stay away from faerie rings was what her mother always told her. She had always been too curious for her own good. When the sun was still shining, she found a faerie ring in the forest outside of the village. Now, it was dark, and the only light came from the full moon above. She carefully made her way through the trees. Merry music drifted through the dark, and she followed the sound of it to the glade. Floating lights illuminated the clearing, shining off the shimmering wings of faeries. It was mesmerizing. She stood, frozen, just on the outside of the faerie ring, watching as the faeries danced gaily to the music. One of the dancers turned to her, and she flinched. The dancer simply smiled, offering a pale, slender-finger hand to her in invitation. She looked at them, and they smiled at her. It was a smile, more of a smirk, full of mischief and promises of magic, and oh so very tempting. She took their hand and let them lead her into the ring. The faerie spun her around, and she laughed as they guided her in the dance. Spinning and twirling and the swishing of her skirt and their wings. The rest of the world was a blur, the only thing in focus was her still grinning partner. She threaded her fingers through soft hair, and as she leaned in, the smile grew sharper, more feral, before soft lips pressed to hers.

[coordinated-chaos-writes]

Oh to Be a Frog

Oh to be a frog,

small but spritely,

bathing in cool water,

sunning on lily pads as big

as islands.

Joining together

in a croaking song

of jubilation.

[coordinated-chaos-writes]

My Lover

My lover sends me gifts

in stunning shades of purple,

and yellow, and red.

In orange and blue,

and sometimes brown,

but mainly in green.

I treasure every gift she gives.

---

My lovers soft caress brushes my cheek

as I lay in the tall grass.

It tickles, but I still crave more

She hums as bees visit,

kissing the flowers

She sings as birds

flit from tree to tree

Nothing could sound as sweet.

---

Her sweet scent stimulates my senses,

Fresh and floral, crisp and clean.

Never have I felt more pure.

---

My lover whispers in my ear:

“Live,” she says.

And I do.

[coordinated-chaos-writes]

Ode to Bees

You're always working

never stopping,

never resting.

Your persistence astounds me.

Your constant buzz as you

flit from flower to flower

is a symphony in itself.

[coordinated-chaos-writes]

Decayed Love

Red petals

Marred with brown

Once soft now crisp

Once united

Now falling apart

The scent of decay

Rises from what was once

Something beautiful

[coordinated-chaos-writes]

Words

the

words

so careless

that cut and slash

they hurt and tear and rip

they have no intention to harm

but they do, unintentional still hurts.

Sticks and stones may break my bones

but words will shred my heart mercilessly.