This Turbulent Riot

"But his heart was in a constant, turbulant riot."- F. Scott Fitzgerald

Tag Archives: Creative Writing


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Re: The Dream is Now a Reality

This post is a response  post to a post I posted a several months ago. In order to follow along and at least attempt to understand what I’m about to say, you might glance at it. Who knows, it may not do any of us any good because half the time I confuse even myself. But, here it goes:

About a year ago I made the decision to reapply to MFA programs. If you were reading my blog way back when, you probably followed me along that journey. And you may or may not remember how apathetic I was when I received all those rejections. (Yes, I honestly didn’t care.) I wasn’t ready then. But, a year ago, I had the privilege of attending a reading through the Kellogg Writer’s Series and after had a few drinks with friends and the reader. Though that conversation that night, I decided I was finally ready. However, it was too late to apply then. I spent all last summer researching and gather information about programs; eventually narrowing down my choices to four schools. However, when it finally came time to apply in December I grew apprehensive–told myself, “what is the point?” You see, even early in the process I convinced myself that there was no reason to apply because I simply do not write well enough.

The truth is, I’ve been planning this post for a long time. Only, in my head it was going to be different. Rather than share this experience with you, my readers, I was going to give you my poetry. I was going to, in a series of posts, reveal to you what I used as a portfolio. The stanzas. Line breaks. Sentence fragments. The prose poetry that no one has really read and I’ve never really workshopped. This post, was going to be my final answer to the question, “can I do it.”

That was over a month ago, though. Today, this post is not what it was going to be. This post, rather than share my poetry, is me sharing my news. My hope and my fear. You see, I didn’t receive those rejections I kept expecting. Rather, I’ve received 3 acceptances so far. I don’t say this to brag, but rather to share. I don’t say this to say my dreams are complete, but rather that my dreams are on their way to being realized. I say this because, now, I’m scared. Terrified. Excited. Full of hope. Full of…this undefinable feeling. Overwhelmed because rather than being rejected, I face a decision I never thought I’d have to face. I’m not prepared to make it and I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do.

I guess the point to all my rambling and to tie into that response of “what do you do when you realize your dreams” is this: dreams never really end. I guess I’ve kinda always known that. Even when I should have given up hope for certain things in the past that I just  haven’t. Maybe it is the little kid me. The hope in me. But, getting into school wasn’t my dream. The dream starts there and I’m excited to see where it takes me.


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Dehydration.

It’s 10:33 on a Sunday morning. I just finished something that I honestly never thought I would finish. Never truly believed I wanted to finish, but I did. I picked up my pen (my literal pen) and began writing what I now believe is the end of something. Not a story in the sense that it’s fiction. Not a story in the sense that it is an epic. Not a story in the sense that I made it all up. I suppose it’s nonfiction. Although I’ve never really looked at it that way. I suppose it’s nonfiction in the sense that it’s my thoughts on a page.

Don’t worry, my thoughts are over. They aren’t done. Just complete on this one thing.

And I’m currently in shock and awe at how I feel. Honestly, I feel like I just finished a book that made me think with every turn of the page. A book that when I put it down after I read it, I felt empty somehow. As if the book wasn’t part of me, but I was part of the book, temporarily. And no that temporary thing is gone. I can’t get it back.

Have you ever read a book like that? Am I just ranting like a mad man?

I wouldn’t be surprised either way.

And sometimes it feels like it doesn’t matter how much water you drink, your mouth will always be dry. You’ll always be craving water. Clean water. It happens I suppose, maybe I’m just a little dehydrated after my sleep.

But, I know that no matter how hard I look back at what I just finished, I will not regret it. I may miss it. But, that nostalgia noose will always be waiting, and I refuse to hang myself. To loose myself in something that I can never and will never touch again. Never feel again.

And sometimes, that’s really not a bad thing.

It’s okay to look at things without touching them.

It’s okay to remember, but not to dwell.

It’s okay when something ends, so long as you let it go. Set it free (so to speak).

Sometimes, the only natural thing is to move on.


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You Did Good

There are occasionally brief and sporadic sparks, of sorts, that prompt me to sit down at my computer and begin typing away. Maybe a line. An idea. A thought. A quote from a book. Then there is the other 95.67% of the time in which I sit down and (to borrow from Hemingway) bleed. Sometimes, when I’m lucky, what I produce is decent. Other times I hit the delete key or I’ll grab a line out and tuck in my back pocket for safe keeping.

Which is this post you ask? I’m gonna let you in on a secret: I haven’t decided yet.

No. The truth behind this post is that about 10 minutes ago I began flipping through some old poems and stories looking for a line to make me think for a little bit. A line that would serve the purpose of telling me I’m a good writer.

Not great.

Never great.

But good.

And you know, I began thinking that maybe good was better than good. Which confused me for a minute, but as I began thinking about that it really makes sense. Sure, there is something to striving for greatness. Something to pushing yourself to be better than you were yesterday. But, I ask, to what end? To what point?

I feel like we all have a breaking point. A point at which we come to the tip of the world and then we simply fall. What do we lose sight of as we are striving for this greatness?

Sure, there’s the old “shoot for stars line.” But, if you become so focused on something, then other things are surely pushed aside. Forgotten. Left behind.

And maybe if we were okay with good, then the world would be a different place. Maybe then instead of the messed up crazy world we have, it would be good. Maybe at some point we could sit down at the end of the day and say, today was a good day. I did good.

I got news for you, there is a high chance that you did good today.

You did good.

Look at your life, tell yourself it is good. If it isn’t think about what could make it better and do it. Don’t perfect it. You will always be disappointed if that 100% perfection is your aim.

Look at what you do, tell yourself you did a good job. If you didn’t, then make it better. Make it good. Accept that you can do good, not perfect.

I’m sure someone (maybe lots) will read this and write me off as a slacker. Someone who is committed to giving 100% about 50% of the time. It’s simply not the case. I learned (at some point in my short life) that I cannot, will not, and no longer wish to be perfect. It is one of the few impossibilities I believe exist.


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The Nostalgia Noose

While thinking about where my life is going, I find it completely and insanely difficult not to think of the past. As if it were impossible to do one without the other. They say (whoever ‘they’ are) that you should be thankful of your past because it has led you to where you are. They say you should be thankful of your past because it will lead you to your future.

But, how much thanks?

How much dwelling does our past deserve?

How long should we glance at it?

Is it a simple glance over the shoulder like Richard Gere making his move? Or more of a sultry Fabio ‘I’m gonna stare at you until you turn into putty’ look?

Me? Well, I certainly don’t regret any of the stupid things I’ve done in my past because, like everyone else, I have to admit that my past has led me to this very spot. The couch in my bedroom that once served as the couch in a living room in an apartment in SoBro.

See, this is my point: when looking at the past it is hard to not get tangled in the noose that is nostalgia. We walk fine lines every day. Every single one of us is an accomplished tight rope walker, and we don’t even know it.

Even now, I’m listening to a song that I used to hear almost every night from a record player before I went to sleep. I’ve found lately that as I think of my wide open future, I hold onto the past even more. These sounds, smells, people, these whatevers even more tightly.

Like a bear hug from your Uncle Greg at Christmas (if you have an Uncle Greg (I don’t)).

You see, I believe we allow ourselves to get tangled in that noose because it is somehow comfortable. Somehow as we look to that vastness in front of us, we like the feeling of something we already know. We truly are creatures of habits, but what happens when we cut that noose?

Cut that cord that has kept us tethered to our past?

We don’t have to give it up.

We simply have to accept that it is our past. And it should stay behind us as a driving force-pushing us into that space in front of us.

How?

No clue.

I just know that the longer I sit on this couch listening to this music, thinking about that apartment, and last spring, the longer I can’t move forward. Move on.

The longer I wait, the more I will miss out on.

And quite frankly, this life (no matter what sort of riot it may be) is worth living. Worth exploring. And loving.

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