Public Service

This is a public service announcement - well, sort of. 

Once upon a time, we had this follower who went by the name jpereztheargus.  I was in contact with JP over the summer, but have not heard from him in a long while.  And now I wonder -

JP WHERE HAVE YOU GONE???????

Sincerely,
Hanna

Poetry Contest!!!

Hey everyone! We are back with yet another splendid contest. First of all Hanna and I wish to thank everyone who gave feed back on our stories. If you didn't figure it out Piece #1 was mine and Piece #2 was Hanna's. Secondly, no one sent in any stories so we do not have a winner. We understand that stories can take some time and not everyone can just write a "Quick Story". Thirdly, We have decided to instead make it a poetry contest. It can be about whatever you want. Use 12 point font and it cannot exceed two pages double spaced.

In our next post Hanna will be posting a piece of hers and so will I. Same results from the last contest apply. Submit your poetry to our email and we will read them all. After deciding which we like best we will post that as the third piece of poetry in our next blog writing. Lastly, the deadline for this will be Saturday the 20th before midnight. Have fun with this readers! We look forward to seeing your work!

P.S. If you want us to give comments on your work just verify that in your email and we will reply with our thoughts after the contest has ended.


P.S.S. We also ask that you vote on the contest
~Corey~

CONTEST

Today I am going to post a "horror" piece written by me as well as one by Corey.  Both will be anonymous.  We ask that you read both and then leave a comment and tell us which piece that you liked better.  And why. 

After you have done this, we invite you to write a piece of your own (horror story) and email it to us at 2t1ddreamers@gmail.com.  DEADLINE IS SATURDAY, AUGUST 6! The only guidelines are that it must be a horror story and it cannot exceed 5 pages, double-spaced, 12point font.  Corey and I will pick our favorite and post it here on this blog!

Have fun and we hope to hear back from you!!


Piece #1

Ginny Finley was known as a talented young woman. From a very young age she began drawing very detailed pictures. Her parents were amazed by her artistry throughout her teen years and into her young adulthood. Finally, Ginny received an acceptance letter from the New York Art Institute. Ginny’s parents couldn’t have been more proud.


That summer, to celebrate her graduating high school as well as her college acceptance, her two best friends, Eric and Mindy took her out to the lake for a barbeque. When they got there the lake was old and polluted. Most of the grass around it was dried up and not many people populated it. Even though they couldn’t swim the three chose to stay and have their planned barbeque, play some music, and perhaps watch the stars.

In the midst of laughter and teasing among the best friends, Ginny wished to take a short walk around the lake to recall past memories. Eric and Mindy denied her offer to join her, so she went by herself. While looking up at the setting sky the sun’s rays burst through an opening in the trees and caught Ginny’s attention. She began walking faster toward the small hill to see the sunset when a chunk of gravel on the edge of the lake gave way. Ginny yelped as she unavoidably fell into the water.

Hearing Ginny’s scream, Eric and Mindy rushed over to where the water rippled most. Ginny gasped for air as she came above the surface and reached out for help. The two friends reached out one hand each and pulled Ginny safely to solid ground.

“Are you alright?” Eric asked, worryingly.

“Yah, I’m fine, but I think I cut myself when I fell.” Ginny looked down at her right leg and saw that it had been cut open, possibly by a sharp rock in the lake.

“We’d better clean up your wound and get you home.” Mindy stated.

“No, I swear. I’m fine.” Ginny Refused.

“Well, it’s getting dark anyway and strangely, we all have curfews.” Eric rolled his eyes.

“You think it’s our parent’s last attempt in controlling us before college?” Mindy asked, with an ironic tone.

“I wouldn’t single out that possibility.” Eric agreed with a grin.

When the three were finished talking, they reluctantly packed up their stuff in Eric’s truck and drove back to the city. As the sun set on that summer day they sighed at the realization of this being the beginning of their final summer before college life.

The annual heat waves came and went in the form of three months. Ginny had moved into her dorm and began her classes at the art institute. Before leaving her home town she had gone to see the doctor, because recent headaches and nightmares had been threatening her mental and physical health. The doctor found nothing wrong with her, but just told her to rest more and to take pain killers if a headache was just too unbearable.

In the midst of all her study’s she would still go through massive headaches and the nightmares kept getting worse. That’s when one night she came to her bursting point. She could not handle the night terrors, the waking up in a cold sweat, the headaches, or the screaming any longer. Ginny was always one to face her fears so she concocted an idea to paint the monsters and areas in her dreams.

She started immediately and as if a cooling rush of tundra air rushed over her head…The nightmares stopped and the headaches subsided. Now that she was painting her fears away she was doing exceptionally in her classes. It was close to Halloween when her college roommate had planned to have a party at a loft. She asked Ginny if they could use her paintings, because they were so grotesque and creepy that it fit the scene.

“I don’t know. These portraits are somewhat personal and you are the only that has seen them, Bailey.” Ginny, held one of her paintings in her hand as her eyes glossed over in worry.

“Gin! Everyone will love them! They are perfect for the party and you are a fantastic artist. Never doubt that.” Bailey reassured her friend.

“Well…I don’t- Ginny paused. “Fine, but I’ll be keeping a close eye on them. Nothing better happen to them.” She warned.

“Cross my heart.” Bailey swore.

The two finally finished getting ready for the party and headed over to the loft. The owner directed them where to hang the paintings. When they were done they stepped back and looked at all the food, drinks, and decorations. The paintings hung on every wall of the large loft…staring back, perhaps? A fearsome vampire with blood smeared across his mouth and black eyes, a gruesome zombie with peeling flesh and glowing red pupils, a manic butcher with a bloody clever and a head on a platter. They were all filled with such grisly detail, but the darkest painting hung in the back. It looked out over the whole party; A burnt and red demon with a deformed face, ripped wings, and jagged claws. When one looked at first glance it seemed angry, but another look and they could catch a smile. This painting could possibly make someone go insane if they were to linger for too long.

The party was coming to a close at a very late hour of the night. Once all of the guests had left Ginny and Bailey helped to clean up, taking down the paintings as they went. In leaving the loft Ginny asked Bailey to take her paintings with her back to the dorm and said that she wished to just walk. Ginny wanted to clear her head and it was nice night as well. Bailey understood wholeheartedly and did what her friend requested.

The moon was a bright white and its full circular shape had revealed itself. Some thin clouds trailed across the eerie glow of the moon as Ginny’s footsteps fell on the pavement. The sound of her heels echoed off the nearest wall to her. She closed her eyes briefly and smelled the air. Her presence was the only one walking down this lonesome road. Just then, Ginny felt something. She looked down at her right hand and saw the strange difference in lighting. Behind her every street lamp was going out one by one. She was standing right under one when it died to a dim spark then darkened like its relatives.

It was quiet save for the light breeze running through the trees. Ginny was about to start walking when she heard an ear aching sound. It was similar to nails on a chalkboard, but sounded more like metal. Suddenly, there was screech and a loud thud. “That sounded like tires.” Ginny spoke out loud.

Ginny picked up her pace again and as she came closer to the dorms the source of the screeching was obvious. Bailey had crashed into a brick wall just outside the parking lot of the school. Ginny went around cautiously to the driver’s side door. “Bailey? Are you alright?...Bailey?” When she looked through the window Ginny gasped in terror, covered her mouth, and instantly began to sob. Bailey had deep cuts up and down her body, her face was unrecognizable, and blood covered the inside of the car.

Ginny did the only thing she knew to do and that was to run back to the dorms and call her parents. She didn’t know who could’ve done this or why. All she cared about was living through the night.

Reaching inside her hand bag, she struggled with her keys, mascara smearing down her cheeks from the tears. Ginny approached her dorm room and unlocked it, throwing it shut behind her. She tossed her stuff on her desk and sat in the dark crying her eyes out. Ginny felt she needed to pull it together and get a hold of her parents then the police. When she went for the phone she heard another sound. Almost like someone chuckling.

Ginny rushed to turn on her lamp. Horror had never struck her so deeply for in the faint shadows of her room stood the evil, grisly, and foul looking creatures she had painted. They all stared at her menacingly, grinning at her fear.

“W-why?” Ginny was barely able to speak. None of them spoke, save for the demon.

“Thank you for freeing us.” His voice was guttural and void of goodness. “You’re friend was fun, but now we get to play with our creator.” He sneered. As they drew nearer, Ginny Finley released a scream that echoed and trailed throughout the night and back up to the gazing full moon.


Piece #2

KILLER KISSER ON THE PROWL the headlines read. The newspapers stare at me from the metal and glass case on the side of the sidewalk, daring me to come buy a paper; daring me to learn about yet another unfortunate soul that had been killed in the dead of night. The murderer hadn’t even selected a specific race or gender; he or she now targeted both sexes – this thought offered no comfort. Before, it had only targeted men, which led police officials to believe the killer was a woman. But now…they’re not so sure.


Hands were suddenly at my waist, arms constricting around me. “You have to be the killer kisser,” Kyle said, emerging behind me. He pressed his lips to mine as I turned my head to look at him. “Yep,” he breathed as I pulled away. “Killer kisser.”

Rolling my eyes, I continue my walk to work as he scurries to follow. Although his remarks were made in light humor, I took them with a shudder and a shot of guilt. Real people had lost their lives, and, yes, they may not have all been from the best walks of life, but they still had real families.

“What’s the matter? It was just a joke, Astrid.” Kyle had caught up to me, placing a light hand on the small of my back – trying not to lose me.

“I can see why your ex left you, you know.” I elbow him in a teasing manner, but he still defends himself.

“I left her. That bitch was insane.”

I think back to all of the phone calls, emails, and text messages he had received after their breakup and decided he was right. It was a messy breakup and he still wasn’t completely out of it in her mind. Every now and then she’d show up or send him flowers or a lock of her hair or something to remind him that he had “broken her heart”. She also applied for several jobs at the newspaper office where he works so she could always keep a close eye on him. Fortunately, they never hired her.

“Hello? Astrid?” Kyle wove his hands in front of my face, my brain clicking back to the present. My eyes darted to his as he kissed me on the forehead and chuckled. “Have a great day.” We parted at the publishing house and I watch his black pea coat sway in the New York winter’s wind.

                                                                           ***

Hurriedly, I run into the restaurant to see Kyle sitting a booth alone, mindlessly playing with a straw.

“I am so sorry I’m late! I – ”

“Got stuck at work, they hate interns, they make you finish all of the work that’s not done at the end of the work day. I know,” Kyle cut me off. “Just sit down, I’m starving!”

We ate dinner together, absentmindedly “fighting” over who got the last meatball and asking each other questions we genuinely didn’t care about the answers to. It was pretty obvious that neither of us had our minds on each other.

“They found another one today. Male,” Kyle whispered heavily as we walked out of the restaurant. “Lipstick was smeared all over his face…or what was left of it, just like the others. They had to use dental records to identify him to the family.” He was silent for a long moment, as if trying to convince himself that he could say something. “I-I was sent to the scene to report…Astrid…I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that poor guy. You couldn’t even really tell that he was a guy by his face anymore. You have no idea how hard it was for me to eat that spaghetti tonight.”

I watched him as he bit his thumb, trying to keep me from seeing the emotion on his face. His eyes gave him away, though. They were glossed over, like rain on ice. “Promise me – Promise me, Astrid, that if anything like that were to happen…I want to be cremated and have my ashes spread by the fountain where we met. Promise me?”

My eyes met his for a while; his fear mixed with my worry. “I promise, but nothing’s going to happen to you.” I wrap my arms around him as we make a turn.

We exit out of the park’s gardens and start walking toward the city – a cacophony of horns and tires screeching up ahead with lights blurring the horizon. It’s oddly comforting, the hustle and bustle. Routine, I guess. I lay my head on Kyle’s shoulder as we continued walking slowly with no destination in mind.

“Today would have been my and Lila’s anniversary. I’ve kind of been on edge all day wondering what she would do,” he confesses, almost ashamed. I’m not sure how to reply, so I don’t. I just turn to look up at him and kiss him. I can feel him smile under my lips as he pulls away, his hands in my hair. We duck into a back alley as he continues kissing me, pressing my back against the cool bricks. I can feel the chill radiating off of them even through my winter coat. Through the blood pumping feverishly in my ears, I can barely make out one other sound.

Footsteps.

We are not alone.

“Kissing another girl on OUR anniversary?” A shrill voice demands.

Kyle releases me and turns around quickly, standing in front of me protectively. I look around for Lila, but don’t see her. I realize then that Kyle is looking up. Lila jumps down from the rooftop, landing firmly on her feet without even so much as a wince. I stare in astonishment as her blonde curls blow in the wind of the night. Although it is frigid outside, she wears only tight jeans, boots, an overly-tight shirt, and a light leather jacket.

“Was that today?” He asks, nonchalantly. But it’s forced through tight lips. I wonder why he’s so defensive, guarding me so closely. She’s just a girl. I girl that I’m pretty sure I could take down if given the opportunity. She’s taller than me, but she looks hollow, in a way, dainty.

Lila lets out a low growl, lunging toward us. Lunging; like a cat lunges for a mouse. Predator and prey. I think back to the pictures of the girls. Short, brunette, girls who lost their lives. And the men, the buzz cut hair and grey eyes. The girls resemble me – and the men Kyle.

“I knew it was you!” Kyle yells as he sidesteps, sending Lila into the wall. “I recognized your lipstick!”

Lila makes a second attempt at Kyle, who knocks me out of the way seeing that his escape is impossible. I stare blindly as Lila wraps her legs around Kyle’s waist, her fingers clenching onto the back of his head, pulling his lips to hers. She kisses him messily, her lipstick smearing all over his face. A scream builds up in me as Lila breaks the kiss, revealing her fangs. The “killer kisser” is a vampire? Kyle dated a vampire? A million questions race through my mind, but none of them will be asked because Lila starts ripping chunks of flesh from his face, blood squirting from his open face like a fire hydrant knocked open on a hot summer day. Her movements look the same as when she was kissing him, but leave behind blood instead of lipstick. Kyle lets out a scream of agony, and I find myself unable to move. You have to do something! I tell myself, You love him, so save him! I love him. I know I love him, so why can’t I move? Some of his blood splatters against me and I realize that he’s turning to say something to me. I can barely meet his gray eyes, glad I can’t see much of what’s left of his face, as he begins to speak.

“I love you, Astrid,” He manages to say clearly. My heart skips a beat. Do something. I hear myself muster the words back, knowing it’s not enough. It’s not enough to save him.

Lila is infuriated by his sentiment to me and continues to hack away at his face. I see a pleading message in his eyes – Hide. I manage to tuck myself away behind some boxes as I hear my boyfriend fall to the ground with a loud thump, then a shriek and leather wings flapping away. The stench of rustic blood coats the air so thickly that I feel it pushing down on me, engulfing me until I can almost feel his blood mixing with my own.

***

Water slaps itself as it falls from the fountain, light splashes adding to the endless pool of pennies, sunken to the bottom as if beneath a ceaseless waterfall of tears. I remember the way I smiled when I was here with Kyle, how we promised each other we’d walk barefoot in this thing. And now, I sit at the very spot I met him, holding a jar of ashes. Kissing the urn once, I whisper an “I love you” and spread most of him into the water, hoping he’s walking in it barefoot. I watch as the ashes mix in with the copper coins.

Sometimes no amount of pennies can make a wish come true, I think to myself as I sink my feet in the fountain, stirring up his ashes.



Contest Announcement

Hey readers!

Sorry that Hanna and I haven't really been updating lately, but we are back with some great news! We will be hosting a contest called, "Stories of the Heart". Miss Hanna and I will both write one short story each and post them on our next post. Then, you wonderful readers will write stories of your own. Please be as creative and expressive as you want, but it needs to be appropriate. So, basically no raunchy sex scenes or deeply descriptive death scenes or over excessive cussing. Also, when you're done just post the story in a comment or send it to us in a message. That's about it! Hanna and I will be both writing Horror stories which should be pretty interesting.

Lastly, Have Fun with this everyone! We want to see what you got and the story we like the most will be posted on our blog as well as featured in either mine or Hanna's next youtube video.

Happy Writing!

~Corey~

Listen

Comment please we miss you guys.  We need feed-back!!

Keeping Inspiration

Hey Everyone! I hope you've been having a great week! So today I thought we'd talk about creating an inspirational source with writing and how to decide on what to write. Early on in my writing, around the time I had just entered high school, I had little to no interest in reading or writing. Throughout my childhood I told myself that I'd never have enough patience or perseverance to be a writer, but that all changed dramatically the summer after my freshman year. I had read my first full length novel(Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix) and really wanted to be able to make my own story. So I started one with just three short myspace blogs. It slowly, but steadily became more complex and more my own creation. Almost four years have gone by and I am half way through my fourth draft of my book.

Now here's the question. How do we stay inspired and how in the world do we figure out what to write about?! Well those are quite simple to answer. I will admit that it was not easy to keep with my story at times. I got so frustrated with myself that just wanted to trash it and give up or maybe start a new project. That's when I found something in my own mind. I found that I have a strong fascination with nature, but more specifically, sunset beaches and lush, evergreen forests. I ended up creating my own personal world and every so often I add onto it. If ever I am in a tight spot with writers block or extreme procrastination, I go to my world in my mind. It's very calming and really does work. Just try it and you'll see what I mean.

Now to figure out what to write about. Honestly, just write about anything. My sophomore English teacher used to make us free write for ten whole minutes. Basically, just sit there write about anything floating around in our heads or our surroundings. It was a good practice and gets the creative juices flowing. One of the main things that needs to be done when deciding on a topic is to pick a genre. Horror? Fantasy? Romance? Mystery? Christian? Action? Just pick one and go with it. Next is to write poems, short stories, songs, journal logs, anything that will job your mind for a great idea. Suddenly, in the midst of going to bed, watching a movie, taking a shower(Which is a very common place where people think deeply about life.), or even just goofing off on facebook...A spark will occur. A spark is a mental image or video that catches your interest so harshly that you won't leave it alone until you know everything about it. That is when the questions begin. Questions are a very important step in the creative writing process and the more engaging the questions, more of a chance that that spark maybe your next great story. That's how mine started...A simple Spark.

Well that's all for today! Thanks so much for reading and I hope this helped you in some way! I always say that I am here for four reasons...To inspire and be inspired...To love and be loved.

~Corey~

Writing with Faith

So Corey decided that it might be a good idea to write about writing as God's gift.  Let me just say, so some of you who aren't necessarily Christians that are reading this, that I'm probably not going to go too religious on this, and I'm not going to preach to you and tell you to live your life.

To me, writing is a gift, but it's also a curse, in a way.  Writing is something that I definitely enjoy doing because it allows me to create whatever I want and have whatever I want happen.  Basically, it's like a grown-up version of playing with Barbie Dolls (except you only get dolls of your characters if you're Stephenie Meyer, but whatever).  But it's also a very challenging thing to have consume your life.  Writing takes time and effort and love, so it's kind of like raising a baby.  When you start out, you're scared and everything you do seems wrong because you're new at that.  You take the mistakes you make and you grow from them, you learn from them.  And as your "kid" gets older and as you write more and more, you begin to realize that you suck less.  I'm not going to tell you that you'll ever love your writing, because you are always your hardest critique.  I know that I rarely like anything I write unless I've polished it for a very long time.  I have so many people read so many drafts of even a simple poem, it's ridiculous.  But it's always pretty astonishing to me that I can see something in such a rough form and work with it long enough so that when you compare the finished product to the original, you really can't see where it came from.  In some ways it makes me proud, not really of myself, but of the characters or story I've created. 

Perhaps writing is a gift that we are born with that just lies in waiting until one day we discover that we have it and can use it.  I'm really not sure where we get our writing ability.  Maybe just from having great teachers, or having life experiences that help us write, or maybe we get it from God.  All I know is that I've been told that I have a gift, and if this is my gift, I'm not going to waste it.  I'm going to write and I'm going to write about things that are important to me because that's all that matters.

A lot of people judge writers and say that they're nerdy or whatever.  I know that in my three and a half years writing, I've been judged beyond my wildest dreams.  More in this past year than any other.  I have been told that what I'm writing is a mistake, I've been told that I shouldn't write what I'm currently writing, I've been told that what I'm writing is unjustified, and the list goes on and on.  And while I might agree in some way with each of the remarks made, I know that what my heart tells me to write about is what I'm going to write about.  The story that your heart needs to tell is always the most important one.

So this summer, I am making a vow to not let anyone put me down for this.  This is what I'm writing, whether people want to accept it or not.  I'm writing this because I need to and it's not just for me.  God gave me this gift, He gave me this idea, and He put me through the pain needed to write this, so I'm not going to say no to Him.

Just wish I could get through the first draft.

~Hanna~

Two Teens, One Dream(Er...One Adult, One teen, One Dream.)

Hey readers!

This is Corey!
You most likely don't know me, but I will be helping out Hanna with this blog effective immediately. I find it very nice of her to include me in such a great opportunity and I plan to utilize it to it's fullest potential. As you can see from the title of this post I am no longer a teen considering I recently had my 20th birthday, but that matters not. At times I still feel like I'm 16 and like someone wise once told me, "You can grow old without growing up." I agree with said person thoroughly! So I hope you wonderful readers look forward to new posts as I contribute my own writing style on top of Hanna's. If you wish to see my personal blog then you can go to www.evergreenforestofdreams.blogspot.com or subscribe to my youtube channel. My user name is RandomFactor2000.
Well that's all the update I have for now! Thanks for reading!

~Corey~

I'm So Sorry

I'm so sorry that I'm such a terribly horribly lame blogger - I haven't posted here since FEBRUARY 28TH! 

Unfortunately, I don't have much to update on.  I've been posting more on my PERSONAL BLOG, so if you're dying to get more information about what I'm up to, you should definitely go follow me there, if you haven't.  Considering this blog no longer seems to be TWO teens and probably not even technically ONE teen considering I've been so terrible about posting. 

I've been trying my hardest to write, but life is just pretty crazy lately.  With school and everything, I hardly have time where I just want to sit down and write (or read for that matter).  We've been reading To Kill A Mockingbird recently (actually, I finished it earlier tonight - LOVE that book) and even though I've really liked it, it's like by the time I get done reading the chapters for homework, I honestly don't want to sit down and read.  And I feel REALLY bad about that. 

I've been uber tired lately - I'm just soo ready for school to be out.  About 4 more weeks.  I can do this. I don't remember being this tired at this point in the school year last year, I have no idea what has happened.  I know I can't say that I'm getting old, I've learned that's not a validatable excuse.  So maybe I can just say that I'm tired.  Period.  Of childish people at school, of people who lie to your face about things that hurt, of having to get up at 6am, of not having any motivation to write.

Which brings me to my next thing, HOW DO YOU WRITERS GET MOTIVATED TO WRITE????

--Hanna

Progress Report #1

Chapter one (unfinished)

# of pages: 3

# of words: 899

Writing...yay

So, as some of you who follow me on YouTube or read my other blog (HERE) may know, on February 28th, 2011 I will begin writing again. 

I will have been out of writing for a full six months (people, that's half a year) and it will be half a year since I lost my beloved cousin, SGT Jimmy, in Afghanistan.  Since having lost him, as I may have already talked about, I wasn't feeling much like writing the story that I had been - Solace.  He was a large part of the inspiration that sparked the story and that was really painful for me to think about, that a HUGE inspiration to me was gone.  Someone who had started a HUGE thing in me wasn't in my life anymore.  It wasn't only painful, but it was freaking scary.  So much can change in so little time...it's really mind-blowing.

So, like I said, at the six month mark I will start writing again.  It won't be Solace.  It'll be a project that is about losing my cousin.  Or maybe not losing him completely...Ugh, I really want to tell you guys what it's about, but I know I can't. 

I'd really like to go through the first draft of this project quickly, but knowing me...well, that could very well not happen.  There's going to be a lot of crap to shift through and push through, but I'm faithful that I can get through it.  I've gotten through everything this far, yeah?, so how hard can this be? 

I'd like to use the blog as a type of journal tracking my progress and ranting/blogging about things that occur to me or make me mad while writing.  However, I tend to use my personal blog more for this option, so if you guys haven't ever visited my personal blog, you should most definitely check in there often.  (LINK, again) Maybe I'll do weekly progress reports or something.

I'm really excited to get feedback from my family and friends who have offered/been forced into reading early drafts, but in order to do this, I must first go back to the beggining of the end...oohhh I kind of like that...IT'S MINE YOU CAN'T TAKE IT! (Although, I'm pretty sure I'm not the first to use it...)

Guest Blogger

The wonderfully talented JP wrote something for you guys since Charlie and I have been unable to come up with anything to write about.  Let me know if there's anything you guys would like to discuss!!

So near my house is a bookstore that I walk to ever so often whenever I feel a bit sad. Something about the smell of paper…Anyways, it was one of these visits did I discover a biography of writer and all around badass Truman Capote. I’m not really a fan of biographies or memoirs. I think those writers try to analyze people lives like they would a fiction book where everything is meaningful in such a convenient way; whereas, the reality is that people deal with a lot of random and sucky crap.



What I liked about the Capote bio was that author, Gerard Clarke, didn’t try to explain or contextualize all the sucky crap that happened to Capote. And there was a whole lot of sucky crap.


First of all, he was gay. Which sucks in itself if you’re growing up in the early 1940s. He was abandoned by both his father and later his mother. He was molested by other high school boys. He was rejected by his family for being too effeminate. Even when he gained fame and fortune for writing “Breakfast at Tiffanys” and “In Cold Blood” he soon became an alcoholic and died a much too early death.


However, what I learned most about the life of Truman Capote (besides, ya’ know, stay away from the booze) was to be honest: in my writing and life. Capote was such a great writer and so worth doing a biography about because he was fearless when talking about his problems like his loneliness. I think when he made up his characters, he gave a little of himself to them: his insecurity, his alcohol abuse, his abandonment issues. I don’t know if it was therapeutic for him, but it made his stories much more authentic and therefore more compelling to read.

However, where he succeeded in his writing, he failed in his personal life. He never told people about his problems and in doing so he became self-destructive.

I think one of my favorite quotes by Capote has to be in “Breakfast at Tiffanys” where the main character Holly talks about her sadness. I think it’s my favorite because the words are simple, yet the pain is evident.

“Never love a wild thing.... He was always lugging home wild things. A hawk with a hurt wing. One time it was a full-grown bobcat with a broken leg. But you can't give your heart to a wild thing: the more you do, the stronger they get. Until they're strong enough to run into the woods. Or fly into a tree. Then a taller tree. Then the sky. That's how you'll end up.... If you let yourself love a wild thing. You'll end up looking at the sky.”

Maybe I didn't know Capote, but I sure do hear him.

Thanks, JP, for this lovely post!