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It's not a poem. It is more some building of a character/setting. I've been listening to a lot of Andrew Klavan and he's inspired me to be more purposeful with my writing. I have scribbles on paper coming out of boxes, drawers, creases in the walls, old notebooks, but no actual story, no book, no thing to show for it, but I digress. A little snippet of my experiment:
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The room was not envious or discontent. It reveled in its work, its only concern was maintaining comfort for the visitor. The room often filled a wall with glass for viewing, but would never open up...
This is what the room dreads. It works hard to mold itself into something inspiring, a castle, a modern haven, a log cabin, whatever it needs to do to keep the occupant from striking its walls, whether physically or with sharp words. The room is sensitive, generous, and careful. The room is living. It moves it's walls and windows in an effort to keep its occupant comfortable. It has the ability to be any room you can find in a home, it can create showers, fireplaces, beds, sinks, stoves, vents, light fixtures, and fans. It moves it's plumbing, ducting, and wiring in hopes to cater to its occupant. It is the occupant who gives the room something to live for. The occupant gives the room purpose. It is the occupant who makes the room feel heroic and divine.
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I am really having a lot of fun with just writing as a tool to create characters and just looking at what I do with a different angle. When I was young, these words and poems and stories were all a way to escape. I was so uncomfortable. Then after a while my writing became a devotion. I'd read my bible and then write anything because I was grateful to God for everything including my will to write. I believe i still write for those reasons, but I also write for more now. At least I hope I do. Welcome to my mind. :P
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The room was not envious or discontent. It reveled in its work, its only concern was maintaining comfort for the visitor. The room often filled a wall with glass for viewing, but would never open up...
This is what the room dreads. It works hard to mold itself into something inspiring, a castle, a modern haven, a log cabin, whatever it needs to do to keep the occupant from striking its walls, whether physically or with sharp words. The room is sensitive, generous, and careful. The room is living. It moves it's walls and windows in an effort to keep its occupant comfortable. It has the ability to be any room you can find in a home, it can create showers, fireplaces, beds, sinks, stoves, vents, light fixtures, and fans. It moves it's plumbing, ducting, and wiring in hopes to cater to its occupant. It is the occupant who gives the room something to live for. The occupant gives the room purpose. It is the occupant who makes the room feel heroic and divine.
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I am really having a lot of fun with just writing as a tool to create characters and just looking at what I do with a different angle. When I was young, these words and poems and stories were all a way to escape. I was so uncomfortable. Then after a while my writing became a devotion. I'd read my bible and then write anything because I was grateful to God for everything including my will to write. I believe i still write for those reasons, but I also write for more now. At least I hope I do. Welcome to my mind. :P
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