02 April 2009

Creative Piece #1

I'd like to know when she puts on her nail polish. Every time I see her, she has perfectly chipped nails. Not once have I passed her on campus or in the library and seen her with freshly painted nails. They're never unpolished, either--always that right in the middle, chipped and honest, like the person who has just the right amount of fun.

Somehow, we manage to see each other all the time without a persistent time or place. I'll pass her one Tuesday on the way to class at 11, but never again. I'll see her studying in the quad at 3:30 on a Thursday, but never again. It's almost like she has no schedule; this is the time and place and person she chooses to be, and the world can bend to fit her.

Though I try to understand, I can never quite put my finger on why she's so intriguing.

I think it's those nails.

I wrote this piece in BKG's class yesterday during a "free write." I like it enough--I always like my characters, though. The problem is that I can't ever think of something for them to DO. I can't ever think of a plot or a storyline to save my life. That's why I've always been a poetry person. I don't really like poetry in the traditional sense, but I can't seem to stop writing the damn stuff.
Why? Because I can describe ANYTHING for any length of time. I hate Hawthorne and Hemingway for their overly-descriptive pieces of crap, but I write in the same way.

Any constructive criticism and/or advice is welcome.