Everyone I talked to about my last post wants more of my novel... so I thought I would post the short intro to it...
Words like "best friend" and "love" are very over used in today's modern culture. Even to the point that, for some people, those words have lost all meaning. People who have only met three or four times are calling each other best friends and saying things like, "we have so much in common." Guys are telling girls that they love them no more than two weeks into their relationships.
The point of these words was originally one in the same, to seperate the people that we can honestly trust and believe in, from those who, frankly, could care less if we live or die. I know that sounds a little harsh, but in the most basic form, it is true. While it is true that you can love more than one person, and it is also true that you can have more than one best friend, every person that you know should not fall in to one of those catagories or the other.
This story is about the true meaning of a friendship, and how you can truly love another human being. This is a total work of fiction, but it does draw upon moments of my life and the lives of those around me. I am sure that some moments in this will also ring true with you in your life. If this is so, use this as a guide of sorts to knowing who your true friends really are.
I was blessed enough to learn who my true friends were at a young age. I still keep in touch with them to this day and I can honestly say that I love each and every one of them.
So again I say, use these words sparingly. They are reserved for those who are special to you in so many ways. Keep in mind who is a true friend and who you truly love and truly loves you. And most importantly enjoy it.
Showing posts with label me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label me. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Take A Page From My Book...
And I mean that litterally... this is a passage from the novel I am writing. It slightly describes how I started writing.
When I got home that night I was in a writing mood. I didn't even bother eating, I just went straight into my room and turned on my radio as loud as it would go, then I grabbed my notebook and a pen. I had to write.
I sat down on my bed and stared at the blank page infront of me. My brain was racing, my thoughts bounced from Sandra, to Charlie, back to Sandra, to the potential strain this would put on the friendship of Charlie and I, and back to Sandra. I couldn't get her out of my head, everytime I tried, something pulled her back in.
I kept thinking about the way she made me feel, it felt like I couldn't breathe, but in a good way. I got butterflies in my stomach, and my head started spinning. It felt as though she had knocked me flat on my ass and I couldn't get up. The weirdest thing was, no matter how scary that felt, I couldn't get enough.
It seemed as if I had just blinked and when I opened my eyes and looked down, the page was full of words. I read through what I had subconsiously written and it was one of the best poems that I had written in a while. But even with how proud I should have been of that poem, all I could think of is how Sandra would react if I showed her. I knew she loved poetry. I wanted to show her that poem, tell her that it was written for her. But deep down I knew that I would only do the first half of that.
When I got home that night I was in a writing mood. I didn't even bother eating, I just went straight into my room and turned on my radio as loud as it would go, then I grabbed my notebook and a pen. I had to write.
I sat down on my bed and stared at the blank page infront of me. My brain was racing, my thoughts bounced from Sandra, to Charlie, back to Sandra, to the potential strain this would put on the friendship of Charlie and I, and back to Sandra. I couldn't get her out of my head, everytime I tried, something pulled her back in.
I kept thinking about the way she made me feel, it felt like I couldn't breathe, but in a good way. I got butterflies in my stomach, and my head started spinning. It felt as though she had knocked me flat on my ass and I couldn't get up. The weirdest thing was, no matter how scary that felt, I couldn't get enough.
It seemed as if I had just blinked and when I opened my eyes and looked down, the page was full of words. I read through what I had subconsiously written and it was one of the best poems that I had written in a while. But even with how proud I should have been of that poem, all I could think of is how Sandra would react if I showed her. I knew she loved poetry. I wanted to show her that poem, tell her that it was written for her. But deep down I knew that I would only do the first half of that.
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