Non-Writing Writer

I was inspired this morning as I walked to practice piano for an upcoming recital… this would have been great, had I been inspired to practice. Rather, I was inspired to set the opening of Wordsworth’s The Prelude to music. 

My roommate (bless her) stopped me just in time: “Ryanne, if you write a melody and add lyrics, you’ll also want to add harmony and piano. You don’t have time!” 

Valid. 

But I felt strongly the annoyance of being unable to create due to the pressures of my ordinary, required pursuits. 

So I wrote a little rhyme to vent: 

A non writing writer’s a monster they say:

A little too frazzled and nearly insane.

She lives in an enchanted, storybook world 

Yet can’t venture in, for life is a whirl.

One single word leads to many and two-

Well, they multiply to be more than a few. 

And should she dare to compose a small line 

She risks the danger of falling behind;

The everyday life has no cares for the muse,

Though the poet’s soul, she hardly did choose. 

So cursed with a mind that brews up ideas 

And a heart that ever ceaselessly feels,

She stumbles about with a businesslike stride 

And forces her little brainchildren to hide

And wait for a time when life will relax 

It’s grip made of boring and ord’nary tasks-

So she might finally write them all down,

These inkling ideas that, impatient, abound. 

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Late Night Writes

When night falls yet I cannot sleep, words crowd my brain. The following two poems, one serious and the other silly, are the products of last night’s writing:

“Hover”

I lay still in my bed

yet hover ‘tween the sheets

propelled by the heart 

which wakefully beats. 

A’whirl my mind spirals

through darkening, deep

space starry with fears, 

that burn bright without sleep.

 

“Poet’s Ale”

Insomnia is poet’s ale-

no ailment once in words!

And worry is a hearty pie

that fuels the pen to verse. 

.

Heartache makes a decent draught

to nourish sonnet’s rhymes.

And sorrow’s meal, though bittersweet, 

scribes songs of better times.

.

No writer ever sleeps with ease;

prose lends him no blanket.

‘Tis poetry for nights like these

to make the best of it! 

 

 

Writing a Child

I often refer to my novel as “my baby” and I know this is a tiny bit weird. But, being a writer, I really could not care less if I’m weird.

Still, I think I have a valid point when I call my novel a baby, as…

 

“Writing a Child”

 

It changes each chapter

and brings me to tears,

Especially now as it

becomes a two-year

old- it calls and it cries

for it’s always in need

to stuff it’s word-count

with research as feed.

Such tender affection

to nurture its plot;

for I joy when I’m writing

and guilt when I’m not.

It’s silly and moody

and can’t make up its mind

if it wants to be three books

or five of a kind.

I yearn for a day when

it’s finally grown

and publishing rights

are all of it I’ll own-

but then will I miss it?

A mother no more?

Or is being an author

much, much better for

My sleep-schedule, diet,

mental sanity…

Or will I be pacing

ever constantly

awaiting the critics

and readers reviews…

Oh! Poor baby novel,

how can I leave you?

I must make you stronger

to stand on the shelves

amidst the great classics

who fend for themselves.

My troublesome infant,

mind-born and ink-bred

please, please obey me,

as when sprung from my head-

for then you were simple

and naked and pure

and how to raise you

I felt so very sure…

Yet still I am patient

and faithful to thee

and will guide you until

in covers neatly,

we’ll bind up and copy-

swaddle and send you

to share your small story

with those we pray who

will adopt, read, and love

‘midst this wide-worded world

 

the novel in labor,

I’ve finally unfurled.

 

BanApple Sur-pies: the Ultimate College Dessert

College is not generally a time of great culinary advancements, but today, history was made and what might just be the ultimate college dessert was born:

Part bananas foster.

Part apple pie.

Part bread pudding.

We call it… BanApple Sur-pies

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“Well…it looks good in person.” -Master Chef Josh

You too can recreate this marvelous delicacy if you have….

Ingredients:

  • 2 forgotten and almost brown bananas
  • 1 green apple you stole from the caf last week
  • 4 slices gluten free bread (or 2 slices of regular, not oddly-small bread)
  • enough cinnamon for two people to complete “ye olde cinnamon challenge of 2010”
  • enough honey to compensate for the lack of actual sugar
  • several tablespoons zero-calorie, low-fat (preferably diet) water
  • 2-3(ish) tablespoons of the coconut oil you also use as makeup remover

Materials:

  • A stove and sink (preferably in the dorm common area so you can make use of whatever utensils you find lying around)
  • A frying pan (preferably your own)
  • At least one fork (I had to eat with a knife…) and a knife (two if you do not have enough forks)
  • spatula

Bonus Resources:

  • The hunger of a student deep in the “sophomore slump.”
  • The blind determination to make something, anything edible by combining the remnants of groceries found in your dorm.
  • A partner who understands that “sprinkling” is different than indiscriminately “dumping” when it comes to spices.
  • Whipped cream…which by a terrible tragedy arrived too late to be included in this first attempt.
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“It’s starting to look like something!” – Sous Chef Me

Directions:

  1. Slice the bananas. Eat a few when your cooking partner isn’t looking.
  2. Spread coconut oil in the frying pan and allow to melt over medium heat.
  3. Place banana slices in pan evenly and allow to sizzle for 1-2 minutes. Turn your face in despair as the bananas become mush instead of beautiful golden crisps.
  4. As you do so, mix water, honey, and a little cinnamon together in a cup you found left behind (#finderskeepers).
  5. Flip the bananas over as best as you can and allow the other side to fizzle for another minute or so.
  6. Drizzle the water mixture over the former banana slices. Panic at your inability to drizzle. Give up and just dump it.
  7. Look at the weird banana soup you just made. Disgusting. Consider using the sponge you found in the sink to soak up the liquid. Decide that’s a bad idea. Use bread instead.
  8. Tear the bread into bite-size pieces. Really tear that bread. Take out your anger on the bread. That bread is your midterm and you are going to destroy it.
  9. Toss the bread remains into the frying pan with the weird banana soup. Poke it with the spatula to see if it moves. Now stir it all together.
  10. Rejoice with your (optional) cooking partner when the mixture starts to look more like bread pudding than throw-up.
  11. Accidentally dump more cinnamon onto the mixture. Have the cinnamon confiscated by your partner. Compensate by adding honey when he isn’t looking.
  12. Hmmmm….stare together at your shapeless creation. Turn down the heat. Both you and the food need to chill out.
  13. Think with regret that you could have made apple pie. Decide to add chopped apple to your banana no-longer-soup. Close enough.
  14. Before mixing in the chopped apple pieces, fry them in a tablespoon of coconut oil (enough to remove waterproof mascara) on the opposite side of the pan.
  15. Now mix them in with the banana stuff.
  16. Garnish the mixture with more cinnamon and honey until it looks and smells like it will taste good. Believe me, you’ll know.
  17. Scoop onto a plate and call your roommate. Beg her to bring whipped cream for you to put on top. Lament when she is off campus.
  18. Make puns to revive your spirits.
  19. Look with yearning and pride at your creation.
  20. With or without whipped cream, enjoy your finished “BanApple Sur-pies” with whatever utensils you have on hand. Or, if it comes down to it, your hand.
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We were a little afraid to try it…but it was sooooo worth it.

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It ended up being so good, we were in anguish when we dropped a single piece. (Also that girl with the meme-worthy face is 100% not me….)

Writing is Hard: A Lament

Writing is hard

and I’ll tell you why:

I am not the Bard

and that makes me cry.

Red pens are bloodstains

on my poor first draft

Despite prep-school refrains

about the English “RAFT.”

Well, dear school teachers,

I must ask you now:

Though you seemed to be preachers,

I do not know how

To find out my ROLE

and write something witty

Or cater to AUDIENCES

who only give pity.

FORMAT is another

thing that I fear,

Should I use some other

TOPIC right here?

And don’t get me started

on characters mine;

They seem to have parted

from the plot in my mind.

Speaking of plot,

that’s a whole other problem.

It’s conflicts are rot

and I can’t seem to solve them.

But Ah! What sweet hope

Is a new inspiration!

To quit is to elope

but I need a vacation!

This stupid novel draft

is getting quite tedious

and you’d have to be daft

to desire to read this.

Alas, though, I’m stuck

and committed you see,

for it is just my luck

to write a trilogy…