Memories are Strange, Aren’t They?

Note to my invisible readers,

I’m going in a new direction from here on out.  I will be writing on memories.  Some posts may be poetry, some fiction, some nonfiction.  I find I am very reminiscent, especially lately, and so each post will be inspired or based on some memory I recalled that day.  Please be patient with me as I enter this new phase of my blog.  I hope you all love it.

 

“That One Song”

You know that ONE song that reminds you of a certain time in your life?  I have quite a few, as I listen to music almost constantly.  I was listening to a couple of my old playlists from last spring, to get pumped for this spring.  See what I was saying about being reminiscent?  Yeah, it’s pretty bad right now.  Anyway, a song came on which is one of my favorites, which I’m sure I haven’t listened to since that time.  It’s called I Luv Your Girl, by The-Dream–my friend Maya, yeah, it’s our song.  It is our song because after Spring quarter finals last spring, Maya and her roommate Jaime and I all stayed in town for a couple of weeks before going home to wherever.  Specifics come to mind: a few drives in my car, The-Dream blaring, more hangovers, a number of hours tanning in the sun, and many, many, many servings of hash browns fried in bacon grease.

They were possibly the most unhealthy two weeks of my life, but two of the best.  There was no drama because there was only us.  There was no one for her to ditch me for, no one I’d rather being hanging out with, no use in saying I was tired, because they’d come over anyway and it would start all over again.

So now every time I hear this song (I’ve been listening to it on repeat for the last two days) it reminds me of those two weeks, Maya, Jaime, hot, summer weather, and hours and hours of singing and laughter.

 

Mistletoe and Holly

Green and red make the holidays

That’s what they say.

But for me it’s a little different.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I like the gifts, sure, but there’s something about the music,

The snow,

The air,

That make everyone want to get together,

Be with their family.

It was Christmas, once.

One time.

For me.

I was seven.

My whole family was around me,

Even Grammy who would die the next summer.

My mom bought my sister and I little baby perfumes–

The kind you spray on your dolls,

Except I didn’t like dolls.

Still don’t.

My sister and I got the same exact package–

Six little bottles with pastel color caps marking which was

which scent.

I remember the rose and lavender colors were my favorite.

They smelled like babies.

Those were my first makeup.

Most wouldn’t consider perfume as makeup–

It’s part of hygiene–you smell good, you have good hygiene.

But to me, these perfumes were the gateway drug of makeup.

I began collecting scents.

First the little plastic Calgene bottles at Rite Aid,

Then Bath and Body works.

Then real perfume.  I would ask for it for christmas.

I have more scents than anyone I know.

And more makeup than anyone I know, except professionals.

Except I don’t know any professionals,

So the statement stands.

My sister stuck with Bath and Body Works.

I’m a little bit more sophisticated,

So I’ve moved on to bigger and better (more expensive) things.

A Little Off Topic, I Know, But What is Literature, Really?

Literature, just like art, is a very difficult concept to define.  We’ve come to the age where art is defined as pretty much anything that one creates.  A chair is art if the maker says so.  There are so many possibilities for art, and thus, literature, that we can’t truly disregard blogs and other online writings as literature.

I think the ability to gather and hold an audience is the most important trait of literature.  Just as if a painting has viewers and fans, so does a piece of writing.  Just because blogs are more accessible and, because of that, less exclusive, does not mean that they are not literature.  There is no secret club stating, “if you’ve written a piece of literature, you will get a letter in the mail inviting you to join us at our next monthly meeting.  Of course, this is secret, so don’t tell any of your other writer friends.  We decide what literature is.”

Would we even believe them if they sent those?  I wouldn’t, that’s for sure.

I think popularity is absolutely a defining feature of a good blog.  I mean, it takes time, but you must blog to your readers.  If you start off with something people seem to like, stick with it.  And it’s definitely about advertising and playing to your strengths for sure.  The conversation between readers and authors is a great way to do this, keep on doing what those readers love.

I would say the travel blog which Kacie presented on http://www.wanderingearl.com/ obviously has an enormous following and is playing to his audience.  He’s had some insane experiences, and has been EVERYWHERE!  That is what his readers love about his blog, and that is what he will continue to write about.

In my own blog, I would like to reply more to comments made on my posts.  I would also like to post more than once a week.  I know, all you readers, that you would like to read more, and I’m so very sorry for the negligence.  I will try my utmost to post more often.  I realize, that if I posted more often, and actually had a conversation with you readers, my blog would steadily become more popular.  I know there’s a readership out there somewhere.

While the design is a little odd and strange at times, Alison’s blog (http://idreaminmilligrams.blogspot.com/) be considered literature for sure, especially to me, a fanatical reader.  Dreams and sleep related things are exactly what I like to read about and humor just makes it that much better.  It is absolutely my favorite thing to read about.   If I find it interesting, I will read it and I consider it literature.  Readership is the main trait of literature.  If you’ve got a good readership, the more literate you work will become.

This is literature.  My work is literature, but it will become more so when and if my work gains in popularity.  And I don’t just mean my blog, I mean my work which will be in print soon, hopefully.  All are literature in my eyes.

The Beginning

Yes.

In the beginning, there was the word.

The one word my mother would say all the time.

Yes you can, yes you will, sure, of course.  Rarely was the word “no” uttered in our home.

One time, I used all the hot water for my bath.  “No, Erin!  Get out of the tub!”  That was one of the only times I heard that word.

I didn’t take it for granted, I promise.  When I told Mom during Freshman year of high school “I want to be a poet”, she replied with “Yes, Erin.  Whatever makes you happy.”

The drama and distractions of high school ensued just after that declaration.  Poetry was thrown to the back of my mind.  I focused on my painting, drawing, and pottery, realizing I needed some sort of creative outlet or I would go insane.  Well, at least more insane that I already was.

Then, in college, I decided to pursue my Creative Writing degree after realizing I couldn’t cut it in the art department.  I felt a lack of creative juices driving me mad, very, very slowly.  I turned to makeup, a friend I’d always been denied before college.  This was the one “no” I’d ever been given.  “No, Erin, you can’t wear makeup until you’re eighteen.”

It was like art on my face, that I could show everyone whenever I wanted.  I loved being able to mix colors and see how they look on my face, with certain clothes.  It sated my need for creation, kept me going.  Creation was still possible, even though not in the way I’d thought.

Then, I took Introduction to Poetry with Oliver.  It was the best class I’d taken in college, revealing a whole new world of writing and creation I’d never known before.

Oliver de la Paz. Read him.

Poetry was open to me again and now I couldn’t leave it alone.  Yes, I could be who I wanted to be again.  Yes, I could be anyone.

There was no one who could tell me who to be, and that’s the way my mother wanted it.

My mother would always say, yes, you can be that person.

There would always be that one word.

Yes.