Julia ♬

United States of America

I'm just a classical musician who tries to write.

16 | she/her | Pianist | Violinist | Artist | Nature Lover | Cat Fanatic | Bookworm

When was the last time you washed your hands? Go do it now! :)

Message from Writer

________________________________________

Keep calm and wash your hands, but please try not to panic and hoard toilet paper.

❤ Stay safe everyone! ❤
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Published Work

My Answers to PouringOutTheSun's Questions (1st Place Questions from the #Q&AContest)

This one has always been something that’s hounded me, so: glory or wisdom?    
I think I'd rather have wisdom, because then I would hopefully be happy with my life and be wise enough to realize that glory isn't everything. Glory isn't guaranteed to buy you happiness, but wisdom would probably help you appreciate the beauty of life. 

If offered immortality, would you take it? To be more specific, this bored sort of deity has offered you complete immortality, and as such, it’s all or nothing. Either you take it and stay around for all that silence (I actually do not know if it would be silent, please leave me be,) when the universe dies out or you go through your normal biological process. Before you think of all the existential dread that that prospect offers you, think of all the skills you could master, the people you could meet and how much of the universe you’d be able to explore....

My Answers to BurningMidnightOil's Questions (1st Place Questions from the #Q&AContest)

What if you could swallow the stars? Would you do so?
If I could swallow the stars, I wouldn't. It would probably kill me. If stars were really the beautiful small silver specks that they appear to be from Earth, I might consider eating them. But given that they are enormous burning ball of gas, I'll pass. 

What makes your blood burn hotter than fire; makes your lungs gasp for oxygen? (Excluding writing:)
Music, of course. I can sit at the piano and play for hours, completely forgetting about everything else. I play the violin for hours until my neck cramps up and I have to stop. I don't know what I would do without music. 

What would you do if the sun never rose again?
I would sit outside and cry, probably. Because that would mean the end of the Earth, so nothing would be worth doing any more. I guess I would play piano until the world ran...

My Answers to Princess Maira's Questions (2nd Place from the #Q&AContest)

If you could have any superpower, what would it be and why?
I would love to be able to turn invisible. It could get me out of so many awkward situations. But I suppose it could also get me into some awkward situations, too. :) Flying would be nice, too, though. 

What is your favorite fiction book and why?
There are so many fiction books that I love, but if I had to choose just one it would probably be The Lord of the Rings (okay, that's technically three, but...) They're just so well written, it makes me fall in love with them every time. Also, the end of The Return of the King is the only book that has ever made me cry, so that shows how good it is, I guess. 

If you could be any character in a book or movie, who would it be and why?
I think I'd like to be Anne Shirley because she...

My Answers to avievasive's Questions (3rd Place from the #Q&AContest)

What classifies as inspiration for you?
Anything that makes me feel like I have to drop everything and go write classifies as inspiration for me. Usually, this is something that I experience from other people or when I've spent some time alone outside. The mountains are one of my greatest sources of inspiration. 

Are you inspired by a bustling, crowded place or a quiet, isolated one?
A quiet, isolated one, because I'm an introvert and I like to be by myself. I find that I can think much more clearly when there aren't a lot of people around me. I don't like big cities very much, and prefer to go somewhere outside if I'm trying to write. 

Which font do you use the most when writing? 
Georgia or Times New Roman.

Which factor heavily influences your style of writing?
The books I read really influence my writing, especially books that I enjoy. Usually my writing style changes slightly depending on...

#Q&AContest RESULTS! | Thank you so much to everyone who entered!


Hello everyone!

I'm finally announcing the results of the #Q&AContest! I'm so sorry it's taken me such a long time. Thank you so much to everyone who participated! I really didn't expect to get so many entries, considering it was kind of a weird prompt. ;) It's been very difficult to judge this contest because every single entry was good. Please don't be discouraged if you didn't place, because I loved all of the entries but obviously couldn't give an award to everyone. 

Also, part of the point of this contest was to get to know people on WtW better, but it looks like not many people have actually answered the questions. Feel free to republish your questions to let people know about them!

Okay, on to the winners!


First Place (tie):

PouringOutTheSun
Your questions were amazing, and your writing drew me in from the very first question. I love the way you wrote a wide range of questions while...

One Last Drop | #apoemaday31

Angels cry for the fading cobalt night
and the wind that blows itself away,

for the blood from earth's veins 
that flows into the sea,

for the light of the sun that fades at dusk,
gone like all things in the darkness.

Angels cry for those who weep
while the earth and the sky 
are one gray mist in the rain. 

Crying for the love that is gone—
that which was never meant to last,
and that which has been broken. 

Crying because we do not understand—
because we turn away 
with hearts of stone. 

Crying with the heartache of farewell—
for the last drop of love
as it falls from the sky. 

 

Archangel in the Sky | #apoemaday30

Silver-winged archangel,
you glitter in the sky,
traced by the stars
against the ultramarine silk
of the sky at dawn.
You watch over us 
through the change of each season
as the old fades away
and the new rises up.
And we like specks of sand
washed away by the tide
change with each passing year,
but still you watch—
powerful but gentle,
a guide and guardian
looking down from the sky.
 

Guardian Earth | #apoemaday29

I will always be protected
by the earth beneath my feet
and the sky above my head;
the mountains like fortress walls,
my castle and my home. 

I need no guardian
but the wind and the stars,
the rivers and the oceans,
the trees and the flowers;
those that have always been here. 

The earth has watched over us
since the beginning of time,
our steadfast guardian
in times of war and peace.
She will always be here for us.

But we are also guardians
of the earth and her life,
and we must care for her
as she has cared for us. 
Remember her love and give it back.

 

Molten Lava | #apoemaday28

Your words were like molten lava
flowing through my veins,
weighing me down with all the solid rock
of the darkness beneath the sun. 

You spoke so quietly
as if you knew and were sorry for me,
but I have found you are only an oracle,
speaking the words of something else.

Now I can only lie here,
letting dewdrops fall on me
in the shadow of a moonbeam
where your voice has vanished to silence. 

You, remorseless oracle
have nothing left for me,
and you leave, for you cannot keep
the sky from swallowing me. 

Your words pulled me to the ground
and there I will stay for now,
but someday the molten rock will cool
and I will rise to stand again. 

 

Let Me Be Alone | #apoemaday27

I wish these blinding streetlights 
would disappear into the night,
leaving only empty silhouettes of black
in the flooding sky of stars.

I wish my screen would go blank
so I could leave it far behind 
with this ever-changing web
of connections and rejections.

I wish the world would shut down 
just for a day and a night,
so I could leave and come to myself;
lie under the stars and see them.

I wish I could see the earth
as it was for so long
before we came and ruined it;
when it breathed and lived. 

I wish there would be a blackout
all across the world,
so I could find myself again
in the quiet darkness of peace. 

 

The Last Arrow | #apoemaday26

The sky burned with flames and smoke
as the sun stained the heavens 
with scarlet and twilight indigo.
Jagged spears of blinding light
tore at the black horizon far away,
and the wind hurled the stinging rain
so it beat against her face. 
There was one arrow left in her quiver,
made from a straight rod of ash;
feathered with white and bound with silver.
The sea of battle tossed in rage below her
in the valley where grass had once grown.
He was down there somewhere—
their flag had already fallen. 
She fitted the arrow to the string,
then drew it back and aimed,
praying to the magic of the wood.
Away the arrow flew
through the rain and the darkening night—
her last arrow,
her last hope. 

I cannot be rid of you | #apoemaday25

Mischievous little imp of wrinkled skin,
you have stolen a part of my life— 
my precious time that I could have used
had I not listened to you. 
You have taken it away to your treasure trove
of wasted time and dreams unfulfilled.
You hoarded my time in your dark heap,
as if each minute were a pearl—
each hour a coin of gold. 
You lit a fire in my mind,
confused me with the smoke,
and snatched my time away from me
to add to your pile against my will. 
You have grown rich with the treasure
you have stolen from all of us,
you little imp of the cackling laugh. 
I curse you, but cannot be rid of you. 
For your name is procrastination,
and with all of us you stay. 

 

Long Live the King | #apoemaday24

Empty promises of freedom
float like smoke upon the wind.

I can see the lies
that come from your lips.

They linger in this time, choking,
like frozen breath on icy air.

These false words of burnt charcoal
do nothing to convince me

that a closed canyon can ever replace
the wide blue open sky.

It is not my wish to obey
this wearer of the golden crown.

I am longing for the right
to sculpt my thoughts into words.

But everywhere around me
the eternal echo sounds:

long live the king.

Shattered Sea Glass | #apoemaday23

Simple pawn of creamy ivory,
you can do nothing for your queen,
for she is held in checkmate
while you are far from her side.
You would have given your life for her,
but you can only watch helplessly
as she is trapped and taken;
a piece of blue-green sea glass
shattered on the rocks.
Too often we can only watch
as those whom we love are broken.

I Gave You Only Thorns | #apoemaday22

You came to me for roses,
but I gave you only thorns.

You came in crescendo,
ever louder and closer.

But I kept my roses to myself—
they are not for you.

I wish I could give them—
I wish I could love you.

But somehow I don't.
I'm sorry, but I don't.

I know I look as though
I am only soft yellow roses.

But my thorns prick sharply,
as you have found. 

I know that I am not for you
and you are not for me.

Be my friend and you may have a petal.
Be my lover and you will feel my sting.

I am stronger than I look—
I am not all what I seem.

I can make my own decisions,
thank you very much. 

You came to me for roses,
but I gave you only thorns.
 

Leaving | #apoemaday21

Here, in this wasteland,
the once emerald grass is bent and gray,
the trees stand starkly black
against the old dead sky.
This time has come to an end.

Here the sun will rise
only one last time,
and I will grasp the golden chariot
that will take me far away
to a land that is just beginning.

Even the memories here are dead
no one left to remember—
only me.
But I am leaving now,
and this, once my home, will vanish.

Here in this land
laughter once echoed,
rivers once sang,
trees once danced
to the light of the moon. 

But it is time to move on 
to a new bend in the road.
I am older now,
and my fairyland is melting
like morning mist in the sun.

It is time to take the reins,
stand aboard the chariot,
leave my past behind—
though I will never fully forget.
I will ride into the crimson sunrise.
 

Equality is worth more than all the gold in the world | #apoemaday20

Equality is the gold over which we fight—
always precious, but rare and hard to mine.

When ichor flows from veins of gold
in caverns far from sun and sky,

so, too, does blood stain the field
where the brave have stood firm for their rights.




Equality burns bright—the star of our dreams;
elusive as mist—never fully there.

Battles for our dream have been fought and won
by the courage of peaceful activists,

for a pure bar of gold is only finished
by years of hard toil, blood and lost hope.




We must continue the fight forever
before we may finally grasp our golden ideal.

Someday the ground shall be level
beneath the feet of everyone—

no one higher or lower than anyone else.
But for now, the fight must go on. 

we are not meant to know | #apoemaday19

Afterlife is only a word
that asks a question;
a question left unfinished—
alone without an answer.

From my lips it tastes
like the parched wax of a honeycomb
after all the sweetness 
has melted away.

It is like a canyon
where the echoes of our lives
wander aimlessly
between shadow and light.

It is as empty as our knowledge
of the universe beyond—
empty and flickering with doubt
for we are not meant to know.

Afterlife is only a word
that asks what lies beyond—
perhaps only it knows for sure
words may tell what we can not.

But belief can come to truth
for those who know
the way to steadfast trust.

Now and here, at least,
the afterlife is only what we make it.


 

Rank Is Not Everything | #apoemaday18

You are like a viscount,
stuck awkwardly
in the middle of rank—
above a baron,
below an earl.

Neither on the top
nor at the bottom—
only average.

Perhaps if you
were like a duke
you would be 
more successful,
but you are only average—
stuck in the middle.

But maybe the middle
isn't so bad.

Do not waste your time—
it is worth more than you think.

She thinks she is fit 
for no less than a king,
not a lowly viscount.

She is too proud
to descend to average,
so do not waste 
your time on her.

Love is repelled 
by such pride.

Perhaps you will find
that a haughty queen—
however beautiful—
will not give you
happiness.

 

To a Poem I Read in English Class | #apoemaday17

Forgive me, beautiful poem—
I have desecrated you
at the command of my English teacher.

Now I am a traitor—
I have covered you with mindless graffiti:
fluorescent streaks and graphite scribbles.

For I attacked you with a highlighter;
that nefarious weapon best used
on chemistry notes and polynomials. 

I reluctantly unsheathed
the chiseled blade from its cap,
and slashed you so you bled with neon yellow. 

Then I underlined and annotated,
trying to put your meaning
into plain, cold, hard words.

An impossible task—
like trying to capture sunlight,
or chase a fading rainbow.

Forgive me, beautiful poem,
I had no choice but to mark you up—
my English teacher forced me to. 

I know it is a crime no less 
than drawing a mustache on Mona Lisa,
or covering the statue of David
with lines of black marker.

My peers sit beside me,
glassy-eyed and daydreaming,
listlessly doodling on your once-pristine page.

Perhaps we have killed your spirit ...

to a ship | #apoemaday16

You are one sweeping curve
of perfection,
like the arch of the waves
on which you sail—
not made of wood alone
but also sea mist
sand and salty wind.

The ship of my voyage—
to carry me 
past the stars,
to a place where 
the earth is a pearl
the universe an oyster.

You, this ship
smelling of cinnamon,
nutmeg, cloves—
sails the color of time
between sunset and dusk,
built as long and graceful
as the curve of a dolphin's back.

You will bear me up
from the darkness below—
from the wide black sea
to the open sky above
waiting in the night—
a bowl filled with stars.

Take me on a voyage
so that I may feel 
the salt in the air
and the pull of the waves—
flying between the sea 
and the sky.
 

Blinding Snow | #apoemaday15

Roaring wind and rushing snow
blot out the landscape around me,
filling my ears and eyes.

I am blinded to the world's reality;
stumbling through an endless blank,
lost with the voice of the wind
pounding at my ears:

"Hurry, go faster, never stop!
You must work hard, perform well,
prove yourself better than others!"

The blizzard sweeps me up,
and I cannot help but follow
that which is the voice of society. 

But sometimes the whirling snow clears;
I can glimpse what lies beyond,
and I see that I am not the only one.

We are all lost together,
trapped in the never ending blizzard.

Some have found shelter from the wind—

others stagger on in confusion—

but we are all in the blizzard that is life.

Let us try not to be blown away
by the ever-changing wind.

Someday the blizzard will clear.

My First Contest! | #Q&AContest


Hello everyone!

I'm hosting my first contest! I've only been here on WtW for about three months, but I've quickly realized that there are two big trends going on all the time: user-hosted contests and Q&A's. So, I decided to combine these two trends into one and host a Q&A contest. I don't think anyone has done this before, but I'm pretty new here, so I don't really know what's been going on. :)

Rules:
  • To enter the contest, write and publish a list of Q&A questions, link it in the comments below, and put #Q&AContest in the title so I can find it.
  • Anyone who sees your questions should be able to answer them in a piece on their profile to help people learn more about them. You can also answer your own questions in another piece on your profile if you want, but I'd prefer your actual entry to be just the questions without the answers.
  • Include about 10-30 questions.
  • ...

Truth will come with the rain | #apoemaday14

Elusive droplets of shimmering transparency
fall only rarely on this drought-ridden world.

Now our land is cracked like shattered glass;
fractured like dried mud where a river once flowed.

The sky is clear but clouded with lies;
nothing will relieve the burning heat.

For this is a place where lies are embraced—
chasms tear apart the earth, separating us all. 

I hope that someday the silver water will fall once again,
forming rivers in the worn dry canyons. 

I hope that someday the truth will come back;
for rain does not choose where it falls. 

Elusive droplets of shimmering transparency
fall only rarely on this drought-ridden world.

But drought does not last forever—
fires always burn themselves away.

Truth will return to our world once more,
and with it will come the rain. 
 

Fire is made of my own beating heart | #apoemaday13

This candle flame is made
of my own beating heart,
flickering steadily in the darkness,
slowly melting away the wax
that holds it aloft.

Glowing faintly in the night,
hopeful for the sun 
that comes at dawn—
for fire is made 
of heartbeats.

All who come to dance
in this flame of life
will find the glory of the light—
then slowly fall to embers
and cold, white ash with time.

But fires are built again
on the burnt charcoal of before—
candles are lit anew
flames leap up once more—
hope, my own beating heart.

Song of the Wind | #apoemaday12

In the mountains I am never alone;
the wind sings to me softly
through the sun-dappled
ponderosa pines.

A song of wistful longing
for the old days, long gone,
when the sky was clear from haze;
when the air was free from smoke.

A song of transparent beauty,
a memory of a time before—
the lilt of the wind
as it murmurs through the trees. 

Yellowed Lace | #apoemaday11

Once upon a time,
this old yellowed lace encircled
my great grandmother's throat
as she said her wedding vows.

Now it chokes me
as I stand stiffly 
and hold my breath,
barely able to move. 

I'm sure she wore a corset
and was shorter, too,
for this deep red velvet dress
is nearly killing me. 

My family forced me into it,
made me braid my hair around my head,
put a bouquet in my hands,
and hustled me outside.

Here I stand
as if I was carved from marble;
lungs begging for air,
stomach sucked in.

They take countless pictures of me
from every single angle;
my smile is painted on my face,
masking my inner pain. 

Once upon a time,
this old yellowed lace encircled 
my great grandmother's throat
as she said her wedding vows.

But now, as it chokes me,
I am very glad
that I fortunately missed 
the painful nineteenth century. 

 

Chasm | #apoemaday10

There is only 
one strand
of spider silk
holding you up,
keeping you 
from falling
to the chasm below. 

You know that
the churning water
far beneath you
could drown you
easily if you fall, 
for despair
can come swiftly.

But you balance
and walk;
it is all 
you can do—
give up
or go—
you cannot stay.

It is not
in your nature
to fall so soon;
you will keep
your head up—
you balance 
and walk.

Though only
one strand
of spider silk,
the tightrope
will hold firm,
and you 
will not fall. 

The chasm 
below you
cannot claim you
though it tries
to swallow you—
for you catch yourself
and walk across.

Ode to a Sun-Worshiper | #apoemaday9

The world is as tempestuous
as a storm-battered sea—
the tide is ever changing,
the winds never blow the same.

Friendships can waver 
as quickly as the rain;
love can disappear
as swiftly as a rainbow.

But I know that you 
will always be here for me—
you, my steadfast friend
from the very beginning.

You smell like the golden
spirit of the sun—
you are softer still
than a yellow rose petal.

Sun-worshiper, I know that you
love me as much
as I love you;
you will never betray me.

I love you 
from the tip of your pink nose
to the end of your striped tail
and everything in between.

I know you love me
from the way you look
when I leave for school,
and when I come home again.

From the way you rub 
yourself against my legs—
from the way you close your eyes
so slowly when you look at me.

Kissing you makes everything...

Unicycle of Life | #apoemaday8

Once I saw someone
playing a saxophone 
and riding a unicycle
on a stage and in circles
around a grand piano.

I wondered if anything 
could ever be harder 
than that.

But I've found something
far harder than even 
that feat of skill. 

Life.

For life is a balancing act,
as many have told me.

Some learn to ride the unicycle easily,
and others don't. 

Determination decides
between the two.
 

size has nothing to do with hope | #apoemaday7

In the warm dusky glow of purple,
when the last bits of blue 
have fallen from the sky,
the fireflies come
with the first faint stars.

There they twinkle in the woods;
small and insignificant,
unnoticed and alone. 

Their lights stand little chance
against the strength of fire
and the brightness of the sun. 

But they will keep shining
like fairy lanterns in the night;
fragile and delicate,
yet silently beautiful.

For those who are small
still carry their light;
they may be tiny
but will brighten the night.

Sandstone Wrinkles | #apoemaday6

This is all that is left
of a prehistoric lake:
one wrinkled slab of sandstone.

The gentle waves of long ago
formed ripples in the sand,
and now there is this:
one wrinkled slab of sandstone.

Smooth as the beach sand
of a lake in modern times, 
but hard and dry, 
not soft and wet.

Here it lies broken
beneath towering sandstone cliffs,
red against the clear blue sky.

Here it lies broken,
even more ancient
than the petroglyphs
carved by the people of long ago.

Many have come here;
from those who etched hunting scenes 
on these sandstone walls
to me, now, lost
in the maze of weathered outcrops.

But though we pass, it shall stay—
the once soft sand
is now hard rock—
but the ripples still remain,
indifferent to the passage of time.

Here it lies:
one wrinkled slab of sandstone.

Silver Lights and Yellow Flowers | #apoemaday5

I used to sit at my window
and pick a star from the sky,
whispering wishes through the glass.

I used to pluck dandelions gone to seed
and use my hopes to blow them away,
watching the seeds take to feathery flight.

I used to wish for miracles,
but there are so many stars in the sky
so many dandelions in the fields—
too many, some would say.

I used to wish for miracles,
but little did I need them. 

Stars and dandelions are soon forgotten
as time goes on and years pass by.

Stars are blocked by city lights;
dandelions are cursed and viciously pulled—
and they tell me that miracles are impossible.

Now I think I need no help
from silver lights and yellow flowers
but sometimes I stop to wonder—
perhaps my wishes did come true.

Happiness - #30

Happiness is the warm reassurance of a cat. 

Magic | #apoemaday4

They say that magic isn't real

but there will always be magic
in the way the sun rises up from the sea. 

They say that magic isn't real

but there will always be magic 
in the light of stars and fireflies.

They say that magic isn't real

but there will always be magic 
in pale-green spring and flame-gold autumn.

They say that magic isn't real

but there will always be magic 
in the growth of the trees and the fall of the waves.

They say that magic isn't real
they bombard the world with facts and figures

but—

perhaps they have never stood 
at the top of a mountain
with the wind in their hair—

perhaps they have never seen
the fleeting rainbow colors
of freshly fallen snow—

perhaps they have never smelled
the warm damp earth
after sparkling rain.

For nature is an enchantress,
queen of the ever-changing world.

She is far more powerful
than we will ever be. 
...

Wild Stallion | #apoemaday3

There you stand in glossy splendor,
king of the wide spreading plains,
enthroned on the crest of the hill.

Your mane is like the windswept prairie,
a sea of rippling obsidian black.

Your chestnut coat shines with the sun
as though you were made of glass.

Perhaps the wind is your mother,
and the sun your golden father.

Nothing less could ever explain
the sweeping perfection that you command.

You stamp your foot and toss your head;
you turn and gallop beneath the hill.

Gone like the wind and sun at dusk,
Gone like your ancestors of long ago,
Gone to the vast, free plains of the west.

I can see the strength in you | #apoemaday2

I see and know
that you will rise—

rise up from that ocean
of dust and lost dreams. 

You will not drown 
in the despair of regrets,

for I can see the strength in you. 

Like the sun you will rise
in shining scarlet dawn.

Like a phoenix you will rise 
from the ashes of your dreams.

Like hope you will rise—
rise up and continue on.

For I can see the strength in you;
I know you will persist.  

A New Year is Born | #apoemaday1

The wind whispers gently
through the cold-stiffened pines;
one last breath
of the old dying year.

The moon pulls time away 
as it rises through the mist—
it, too, is dying;
a waning silver crescent.

But even as the weakened light 
filters through the trees,
golden sparks are flying
far beneath the mountains.

For the hammer on the anvil
keeps the heartbeat of the world;
the blacksmith is tasked with crafting
a brand new shining year.

Glowing sparks from earth's living core
floating to the starry sky—
driving out the chill of the old worn year;
bringing the warmth of the new. 

Happiness - #29

Happiness is coming home to the delicious smell of banana chocolate chip muffins baking in the oven. 

but we will not fight the flames until it is too late


burning, burning, burning—
a fire blown out of control: flames fed by broken trees, lumps of coal, swirling oil and toxic gas; black exhaust rising up to choke the hazy sky.

burning, burning, burning—
a fire fueled by change: flames leaping up from ignorance, accidents, greed, denial—ink and graphite scribbles of wishes and lies fill the pages of today and yesterday. but lies will not serve to shield us from the darkening reality of tomorrow.

burning, burning, burning—
a fire devours our home: reducing green forests to blackened spears of charcoal, killing the withering coral and drowning the coasts, filling our lungs with smoke and chemicals, cracking the ground and raising the dust, attacking the land with deadly storms.

the earth weeps with every melting drop of pure glacial water; tears of a mother whose children have grown up to torment her.

burning, burning, burning—
but we will not fight the flames until it is too late. 

Happiness - #28

Happiness is the golden light of a candle dancing to the silence of a cozy winter night.

YOU in threes

45 Things About Me

Three quirks or idiosyncrasies:

  • I know how to braid my hair in a bunch of different ways, so I braid it differently every day. I can't stand to have it down.
  • I always write in cursive even though I'm the only one at my school who does. 
  • I can make almost anything out of paper. 
Three communities to which you belong:
  • My orchestra and chamber music groups.
  • Episcopalians.
  • The shrinking group of teenagers who actually like to read. 
Three adjectives your peers would use to describe you:
  • Calm
  • Quiet
  • Smart
Three adjectives your family would use:
  • Introverted 
  • Creative
  • Stubborn
Three adjectives you would use:
  • Happy
  • Persistent
  • Kind
Three things about you that very few people know:
  • I can play the ukulele really well. 
  • I drew nine big maps of the world's regions by hand, without tracing anything, and they're all hanging on my wall.
  • I used to be a competitive swimmer.
Three beliefs you hold:
  • Climate change is real and the...

My December Competition 2019

Juniper Boughs

I walked along the worn, muddy path, stepping carefully to avoid the silvery patches of ice that shone in the late afternoon sunlight. My breath froze in a thin white cloud of mist that hung in the air for a moment before fading away. I kept my hands in the warm pockets of my coat, and in my right hand I gripped a pair of red-handled clippers. I would use them to cut fragrant green boughs from the juniper trees that grew here on the outskirts of my city. My family was here to gather juniper boughs that we would use for the Advent spiral we were going to make that night. 

The cold wind blew sharply, numbing my face and rippling through my long blond hair. I quickened my pace and wished I had brought a hat. The trail followed the frozen river that ran through the wetland, and pure white snow lay on the top of the ice....

My December Competition 2019

Juniper Boughs

I walked along the worn, muddy path, stepping carefully to avoid the silvery patches of ice that shone in the late afternoon sunlight. My breath froze in a thin white cloud of mist that hung in the air for a moment before fading away. I kept my hands in the warm pockets of my coat, and in my right hand I gripped a pair of red-handled clippers. I would use them to cut fragrant green boughs from the juniper trees that grew here on the outskirts of my city. 

The cold wind blew sharply, numbing my face and rippling through my long blond hair. I quickened my pace and wished I had brought a hat. The trail followed the frozen river that ran through the wetland, and pure white snow lay on the top of the ice. There were many juniper trees on the other side of the river, but I wasn’t going to risk walking over that quiet blanket...

Happiness - #27

Happiness is the sound of the piano drifting up to my room. 

Happiness - #26

Happiness is watching the squirrels outside my window as they scamper through the trees.

Happiness - #25

Happiness is the clear white light that streams through my window in the morning after snow has been falling all night. 

Remember

When the sun refuses to shine
And night remains in place of day

When you feel that you are locked in a dark cell
Deep in a dungeon underground

When you feel like everyone in the world
Has turned against you and does not care

Remember

You cannot see the sunlight
If you do not open your door to let it in

You will never escape the prison of darkness
Unless you look for the key

The people of the world may turn against you 
If you turn against them first

Remember

You are brave enough to let in the light

You are smart enough to find the key

You are strong enough to be kind and to care

You have the power to rise up from the darkness
Into the freedom of the light.

Novel Writing Competition 2019

Asha of Cayretayn

A thin silver mist hung over the dark sea, shimmering in the early morning sunlight. Waves rushed up to the beach, broke on the fine white sand, then fell back to the sea with the constant sound of crashing water. An ancient castle of grey stone stood on the crest of a sweeping green hill that rose up sharply from the sea. Lights shone from a few of the windows; small golden beacons that fought through the curtain of fog. 
    Down on the beach, a small girl called Asha was energetically throwing sand at her twin brother. She was no more than four years old, and she couldn’t understand why her parents had taken her with them to the beach so early in the morning. Not that she minded going to the beach; it was fun to play with the sand and have sand fights with her brother. 
    “Asha and Sarien!” said her father suddenly. “How many times...

Word Collage

I Have Only My Dreams

I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
a streak of light in the sky,

How can I learn to rule myself,
To get out into the sky,
What stranger miracles are there?
 
In the howling storm:
A light from the shadows shall spring;
So dawn goes down to day
 
I shall always love you
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
Forgive me.




List of poem excerpts used in each line:
1. Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven by William Butler Yeats
2. The Eagle by Alfred Lord Tennyson
3. Aristotle by Billy Collins
4. My Kingdom by Robert Louis Stevenson
5. Science-fiction Cradlesong by C.S. Lewis
6. Miracles by Walt Whitman
7. The Sick Rose by William Blake
8. All That is Gold Does Not Glitter by J.R.R. Tolkien
9. Nothing Gold Can Stay by Robert Frost
10. I Shall Always Love You by Peter S. Quinn
11. Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven by William Butler...

Your View

Ten Short Statements

I. The worst thing you can do is to not care. 
II. Being ignorant about a problem is as bad as instigating the problem. 
III. Smartphones are taking over peoples' minds and lives. 
IV. Schools should help kids learn, not stress them out. 
V. Teachers need to be paid more, and kids need to have some respect for them.
VI. Substance is more important than style. 
VII. The overall quality of music has decreased dramatically over time.
VIII. Most women's fashion is ridiculous, uncomfortable, and stupid—whoever thought of making skinny jeans with pockets so small that you can't even fit two fingers in them?
IX. Society discourages creativity and pressures people to abandon their personality in order to fit in. 
X. Even with all these problems, life is still good. 

Oh, and here's one more: cats are the best things in the world. :)

Novel Writing Competition 2019

Asha of Cayretayn

A thin silver mist hung over the dark sea, shimmering in the early morning sunlight. Waves rushed up to the beach, broke on the fine white sand, then fell back to the sea with the constant sound of crashing water. An ancient castle of grey stone stood on the crest of a sweeping green hill that rose up sharply from the sea. Lights shone from a few of the windows; small golden beacons that fought through the curtain of fog. 
    Down on the beach, a small girl called Asha was energetically throwing sand at her twin brother. She was no more than four years old, and she couldn’t understand why her parents had taken her with them to the beach so early in the morning. Not that she minded going to the beach; it was fun to play with the sand and have sand fights with her brother. 
    “Asha and Sarien!” said her father suddenly. “How many times...

FREE REVIEWS!

Hello writers!

I've realized lately that the number of peer reviews I've written so far is pathetically small. I need to start writing some more reviews, but I know that some people appreciate reviews more than others, or really want reviews on certain pieces. So, I'm starting this as a place for you guys to request reviews from me and tell me which pieces you would like to have feedback on. I know I'm not a professional reviewer or anything, but hopefully I can help a few people out.

Here's how it will work:

  • If you have a piece that you want feedback on, leave a like and comment here to sign up. Please tell me the name of your piece in your comment. You could also let me know if you want positive feedback, critical feedback, or a mix of both.
  • I'm open to multiple requests per person, but I'll probably make sure that everyone who signs up gets at least...

One Grain of Sand #deepthought

I am as insignificant and miniscule 
as one grain of sand
in the burning desert of infinity.

Yet I am as vital and critical
as the firm rock
beneath the sand.

I am only one of billions,
unnoticeable 
in the blinding darkness.

Yet I stand alone,
master
of my dominion.

I am only one drop
of that which was spilled
across the sky.

Yet I am the center
of my own small world,
and I draw many close to me.

I am unknown and obscure,
for those on the other side of infinity
do not know me.

Yet I am in control,
for the lives of my followers
are in my hands.

I rule the many lands
of cold hard rock
and of burning wilderness.

I watch over the lands
of swirling storms 
and of poisonous air.

Without me,
nothing in existence
could be known.

What am I?

40 Followers! Thank you so much!


Hey everyone,
I can't believe that I already have 40 followers! I never imagined that 40 people would actually like my writing enough to follow me. I joined WtW on September 12 and honestly thought I'd end up with maybe 3 followers, but I guess I was wrong. So, thank you so so so much to each and every one of you! Your support means a lot to me and encourages me to keep writing. Here's a list of all my followers—you should go check them out. You are all amazing writers, and it's an honor to be followed by you. Thank you again!

1. ThePaperSamurai
2. lovelyduckling17
3. amohn04
4. tojosiewithlove
5. Lelyanotleyla
6. Heavymetal
7. ccn1221
8. ViSchultz07
9. Charisse Marison
10. -writinginhopesofsomeday-
11. Cece@JustCierra
12. Maryam Q
13. A Rose
14. Harlow
15. Aeolian
16. Victoria Martin
17. rehrbar
18. Seeing_Breathing_Living
19. Some Lobster
20. Megan Elwell
21. Rewrite_The_Stars
22. Samina
23. symphonyrain0812
24. kira seraphina
25. ...

Happiness - #24

Happiness is the sight of a familiar face in a roomful of strangers.

Happiness - #23

Happiness is the peaceful sound of a cat washing himself.

Happiness - #22

Happiness is a big pile of dry leaves to jump in with a friend.

Lost Friendship #tirelessregret

I walked into the crowded room,
    looking for a familiar face:
        someone to save me from drowning
            in the sea of strangers—

But I knew no one there.

Suddenly I saw a flash—
        the light of a smile 
from across the room.

There was a girl standing alone
    just like me, without a friend.
        Her smile seemed to beckon to me
            inviting me to come to her.

Doubt rushed through me:
    should I stay or go?
I could not be sure if she smiled at me,
    or at someone else behind me.

    But now I could not see her—
someone had blocked my view

I used it as an excuse to stay;
a way to remain within the cowardly limits
        of my comfort zone.

But now I wonder
        what might have been
                if I had gone to meet her—

                memories forgotten
                before they were made

        laughter ended
        before it started

a friendship over 
before it began.

The Stressful Life of a Pianist

 Disclaimer: This story about me is somewhat dramatized to suit the taste of my English teacher, but most of it is very true. I know it's not too great, so any feedback is welcome!

  Winter was coming to an end, and the few lingering patches of snow were beginning to melt. Spring would be arriving soon, and with it came the promise of a piano recital, only a few months away. I needed to pick a piece to play for the recital so I would have enough time to practice it. My mom handed me a stack of music books to look through, each one packed with pages and pages of music waiting to be brought to life. 
    I picked up the first book of music with its new orange cover and paged through the pieces it contained. My heart beat faster as I glanced over the music and heard the notes in my head. I could hear each phrase...

Happiness - #21

Happiness is when the sun shines again after days of rain.

Happiness - #20

Happiness is your favorite book, a blanket, a big bowl of popcorn, and a warm, crackling fire in the fireplace.

Happiness - #19

Happiness is a clear night in the mountains where the stars are not blocked by light pollution.

Why I Write

Release

I write to release myself 
From the heavy burden of reality

To escape to another world
Where I control the flow of time

To live the life of another person
Think their thoughts and feel their emotions

To wander far into the realm of fantasy
Sail into the sunset on a wooden ship

Climb a snowy mountain range
Explore an ancient castle in fairyland

I write to express myself
As I truly am

Sing out my hopes and dreams
To ring throughout the earth.

Happiness - #18

Happiness is time to yourself after a long day at school.

Happiness - #17

Happiness is the moment you lie down in bed after a busy day.

Questions

Are emotions only memories
From a forgotten age—
An imitation, echo, repetition
Of that which has already passed?

Can we feel something 
That has never been felt before
In all the thousands of years
That lie in the nighttime past?

Happiness - #16

Happiness is a tree loaded with shiny red apples, ready to be picked. 

Happiness - #15

Happiness is a perfect fall day when the golden sunlight turns the autumn leaves to glowing fire. 

Resilience

I return after embarrassment,
Humiliated and crushed,
My pride attempting 
To feign indifference.

But even as the beginnings of tears
Burn behind my eyes,
I am gathering myself together,
And picking myself up again.

I know that hope and ambition 
Will come rushing back,
Like a phoenix
Reborn. 

Happiness - #14

Happiness is a lapful of fluffy cat.

Happiness - #13

Happiness is a hot mug of tea, sweet with glowing honey. 

Six-Word Story

A Key

Found: a key, covered with dust.

One-Liner

Why?

The universe has given us a riddle to solve, but perhaps we will never succeed in answering it. 

Sijo

Air

A cool wind cascades from the mountain side like water
It is the breath of the trees, enveloping me with peace
I inhale the liquid air and know I am one with the earth.

Happiness - #12

Happiness is a bike ride on a warm fall day when the leaves are turning golden.

Why You Need to Read

A few days ago, someone I know said
she was walking through the hallways
of her busy middle school
when she passed a girl reading,
sitting against the wall. 

Then two boys walked by
and sneered at the girl, saying:

"Ha, how old-fashioned can you get?"

"Yeah, who reads books anymore?
This is like, the 20th century!"

So this is just to say
that if you don't like reading,
you should at least figure out
what century this is.
 

Happiness - #11

Happiness is the warm ring of my ukulele when I strum its strings.

Happiness - #10

Happiness is reading your favorite books again and again.

Food for the Soul

The Taste of Summer

On a sunny day in July, I slipped on my flip-flops and opened my back door, startling the finches who had been feasting on the seed in the bird feeder. The little birds flitted away to the highest branches of the giant maple tree that towers over everything in my backyard. I smiled at a squirrel who watched me curiously, then walked to my brother's garden. 

This garden was special, because my brother had started it by himself. He planted, watered, weeded, and harvested every day, and his work had paid off. The garden was crowded with thriving vegetables of all kinds, and tall sunflowers circled it cheerfully. I walked between the rows until I found an overflowing pot of basil. I picked the aromatic green leaves until I had filled the bowl I carried, then went to the tomato plants with their little red jewels. The tomatoes were not big like the ones you can buy in stores, but...

Happiness - #9

Happiness is a cold glass of lemonade, frosted on the outside with condensation.

Arctic Dreams

Dreams from a Moonlit Night

The sky is a canvas, painted with the stories of the glittering constellations.

The river is a winding silver pathway, leading you to a fairyland where the land meets the sea.

The forest is a quiet refuge of towering trees and soft green moss, where dreams are born on moonlit nights. 

Happiness - #8

Happiness is when you listen to the songs you loved when you were little.

Wild Plums

I flew down the bumpy bike path,
Down from the road to the bridge,
And caught a fleeting glimpse
Of a wild plum tree.

The ripe rounded fruits
Were a blur as I passed,
A beautiful mix 
Of pink, purple, and red.

Wild plums
Frosted with silver,
Hanging in clusters,
Hiding in the leaves.

They look so sweet and juicy,
But I have tried them and I know
They are sour, pasty,
And their pits are too big.

But even if they are bitter,
They are lovely among the leaves,
Shining like perfect jewels
On the wild plum tree.

 

Happiness - #7

Happiness is a big brother to help you with all your problems. 

Happiness - #6

Happiness is sometimes so simple that we don’t recognize it.

Happiness - #5

Happiness is when my violin sings under my fingers and my bow.

Happiness - #4

Happiness is the smile of a stranger on a busy street.

A Biography of Amy Beach

Amy Beach was one of the most prominent female composers in the world during the late 19th century and the early 20th century. She has been an inspiration to many women who follow in her footsteps and have found success in composing. When Amy Beach first began composing, most people thought that though women could play music well, they were not capable of creating it. It was believed that only men could compose high quality and professional pieces. Amy Beach proved them wrong, and she was soon a well-known and respected composer of the time.

Amy Marcy Cheney was born on September 5, 1867 to a well-known family in New England. Her mother was a talented pianist and singer, and she had other relatives who were also artistic. Amy was a child prodigy, able to sing forty songs by the time she was one. When she was four, she composed three waltzes for piano in her head during a trip...

Happiness - #3

Happiness is a new tin of colored pencils, waiting to bring life to paper. 

I Belong to the Mountains

I belong to the mountains, 
And the mountains belong to me. 

The mountains soaring to the sky,
Fourteen thousand feet above the sea.

Where the wind whispers secrets
To the lodgepole pines;

Where the sweet scent of ponderosa bark
Hangs heavy in the sun-filled air;

Where the shadows of the clouds
Drift from the meadow to the mountain side;

Where the tiny world of the tundra
Lies between the snowy peaks;

Where the winding silver steams 
Flow dreamily across the valley floors;

Where storms come very quickly,
Drenching the land with pounding rain;

Where the sun returns triumphantly,
Sparkling in the droplets that hang on pine needles;

Where hundreds of elk spend their days,
And marmots bask on the rocks;

Where the elevation makes me catch my breath, 
Though I live at five thousand feet;

Where the air is clean, pure, and clear,
Where I stand at the top of the world.

The mountains are forever a part of my...

Happiness - #2

Happiness is when your cat’s furry forehead rubs against your own in greeting.

Happiness - #1

Happiness is a brand new book, thick with creamy pages.

Happiness - #1

Happiness is a brand new book, thick with creamy pages.

Six Word Memoir

Quiet but listening, like a tree.

Open Prompt

Hope

Let fly that feathered arrow
From your slender bow.
Send it to the sky,
To the stars and to the moon.

Send it with a message,
Bound tightly to its shaft.
A message, a letter,
A silver song of hope. 

Let fly that feathered arrow
From your slender bow. 
To sail upon a breath of wind
Above our blue-green island home. 

To sail over mountains
Capped with sparkling snow,
To sail over oceans
Deep and shining blue. 

Let fly that feathered arrow
From your slender bow
Send it out to reach someone
Who has despaired of finding hope.

Give it time to find someone,
A sister or a brother. 
Let your arrow fall into their heart
That silver song of hope.

So, let fly those feathered arrows
From your slender bows
Send them out with love and kindness,
And sing your song of hope. 

Build bridges in all our hearts,
Tear down the walls between.
Let fly your hopes, your...

A Letter

To anyone who supports the leader of my country, the United States of America,
I wish you would listen to my letter to you. 

I just want to know what it is 
That makes you believe what you do.

Why is it that you believe 
That this president is going to Make America Great Again?

I have lost count of the times 
He has broken that promise. 

And anyway, what was wrong with America before?
He has only made it far worse.

Do you want to support someone
Who has been proven to lie thousands of times?

Do you want to support someone
Who is ruining our environment and thus our future?

Do you want to support someone
Who insults and harasses women?

Do you want to support someone
Who causes innocent children to be torn from their parents?

Do you want to support someone
Who locks up those children in inhumane conditions?

Do you want to support someone
Who...

Winter

There is nothing to hear 
Except silence.
The forest behind me
Is lit up with moonlight.
The snow is full
Of glittering stars.
I turn away with a sigh,
And follow the path
That leads to the road,
My footsteps 
Barely making a sound
In the soft snow.

Summer

Flowers are everywhere,
Covering the meadow 
In which I stand.
Mountains reach up
Around me,
So high that the tops 
Are still covered with snow.
A creek runs through 
The meadow,
And the flowers 
Seem to dance 
To its music.

Pink Blossoms

I lie on my back
Looking up to the sky.
Above me
There are pink blossoms
In our crabapple tree
It is very peaceful
Lying here
Watching 
The clouds float by.

Child Narrator

Do You Care?

Yesterday I was watching TV, like I do every day after school. I was watching the nature program, hoping to see some animals from Africa, because I love lions and giraffes. But today it was about the ocean. I watched as whales swam across the screen, and as dolphins jumped out of the water gracefully and fell back down in a curve. I watched the little animals at the bottom of the sea, too. There were little fish that look like Nemo, and strange looking lobsters that waved their claws. 

But then I saw a big turtle, trapped in a net, tangled up so it couldn't swim away. I didn't understand what was happening, until the man who was talking in the show said that thousands of sea turtles are killed in fishing nets every year. Then he said that hundreds of thousands of sea animals, like dolphins, whales, and seals, are caught in the nets and killed every year....

Golden Leaves

Green leaves
Slowly turning
Into glittering
Pieces of gold.
The wind picks up
And he blows the 
Leaves to the ground.
Like confetti
Celebrating the 
Beginning of 
The new season.

Redwoods

I walk between the redwood trees 
That tower above me so high.
They almost seem to reach the sky.
Sunlight filters through the branches,
The air is rich and warm.
The forest is very bright today
Full of life so old, yet young.
The trees are filled with happiness. 

Sonnet of the Seasons

Out of cold winter air blooms a new leaf,
Opening into the sunshine of spring;
A young bird sings with the happy belief
Of life in the spring and what it may bring. 
As summer begins, the leaf grows and spreads
Welcoming the sunlight and falling rain. 
Flowers in the meadows grow and are fed
By the rich dark earth that water does gain. 
When the days grow short and autumn takes hold,
And silver frost covers the morning ground,
The leaves turn red, yellow, orange and gold,
And finally fall with a quiet sound. 
    So passes the life of a single year
    But none shall forget the leaves growing near.

Haiku #2

The ukulele
My dad bought in Hawai'i
Lets my fingers sing.

Haiku #1

Poems fill my mind
And grow as fast as flowers
Sprouting from a seed.

Drought

I live in a land that is parched and dry;
A thousand cracks run through it.
The earth is torn from lack of rain,
Thick dust chokes the air.

A few of the cracks are filled over time,
Patched by the cool, healing rain. 
But many are deepened as time passes by,
Chasms and canyons of drought.

The earth is the people of my land;
The rain is what brings us together.
But water is scarce, for we fight, and argue,
And we do not understand.

Universal Knowledge

Universal Music

Music is the language that has the power to sing to the emotions of everyone, no matter what language they speak.