[I found a webpage that gives you 329 prompts to write creatively, here's the link to it: http://www.creativewritingprompts.com/. Here's my answer to one of the prompts.]

Write from the POV of the last tree standing on a forest.

I'm the only survivor of this never ending war. I had to see my brother fall. I had to see my father fall. I had to see my daughter fall. I had to see everyone around me fall. Everyone but myself.
I'm the only survivor of this never ending war. I had to see everyone around me fall, and I couldn't do anything to avoid that, anything to help them in their suffering.
I'm the only survivor of this never ending war. And I cannot do anything to end it, I cannot do anything to make them stop. And they won't stop.
The day before this all happened, that lovely girl who is fighting for us almost gave her life to protect us, for if her father hadn't come to drag her away, they would have run her over with their big, yellow monsters. With those monsters they killed my family, they killed everyone around me.
It is really unbearable to see everyone you love and care for die, and not be able to do anything to protect them.

And, I wonder, what have we done to diserve that? Have we killed them? Have we make them unhappy? Have we done any bad to them?
No, we have given them fresh air to breathe, we have contributed to improve our environment

To think their ancestors gave us birth, planted our very seeds and watered us, made us become what we now are. They looked after us with loving care, they told us they loved us. But they don't seem to think that anymore, for, instead of giving us life, they are taking it away from us.
So I wonder, what has changed? Why has that changed?
Why did the relationship between men and trees, which used to be great, turn to be what it is now/a war fought just from one side?
This is a war fought just from one side, the other side just tries to resist as long as they can, try to defend themselves...
Poor us.

Percy Penguin

A lame poem I wrote... I was just passing the time with Molly and I wrote this... LOL

Percy Penguin sat A
as quiet as a bat A
in the middle of the night B
when mom said 'Sleep tight'.B

He wondered were she was C
and that, is just because, D
for he was not the boss, C
he couldn't just turn and toss. D

With the uttermost fear E
he realised she wasn't near E
and, very sadly, he cried F
'mom, stay by my side'. F

[Answer on a PPP prompt about a door, and who's behind.]

'Ring' rang the bell. Somebody knocked on the door.
From my place on the sofa all I could see was a black shape through the glass, a dark figure.
I wondered who would be this early in the morning. Maybe dad, who had come to visit me. Or maybe John, who had forgotten his keys. I don't know.
Maybe it was someone who was going to bring more unhappiness to my life, who has going to make me more worried, more tired...
Maybe it was someone, on the other hand, who was going to bring me happiness, the one to make me smile at last, somebody to take all the stress away, to make my worries disappear...
I won't know, I told myself, until I open that door.
I toddled towards it, irresolutely, still wondering who that person would be. I reached out, for the door's handle, shaking a little. Maybe this person is going to make my life worse... Yes, definetely, I was then thinking about the bad 'mabies'.
I opened the door, looking at the floor, not daring to look up yet, worried about the stranger I was about to met, wondering if the stranger may bring more unhappiness, more worries...
And when, finally, I looked up and saw the stranger's face...

I discovered it brought peace.

"Why do you write?"

[This is a answer on a task ('Why do you write?') on a blog called 'A Writer's Voice']

I write because I've read lots of books and discovered writers leave a really nice feeling on me: I realized I understood the magic of their art, so I try to create some sort of that magic. I also think that, as every author has a personal style, they have a personal "magic".

My 'Jazzqueen' blog is about my school essays for my ESL class, I take them seriously because I wish to become a serious writer someday, or at least write as a hobby, because, as I said before, I want to be able to create that magic. I'm trying to develop and uncover MY magic, inspired by all the great writers around me, and I'm hoping to finish my lovely "masterpiece", which I'm currently writing.

Thanks for the task, it made me think and discover a lot! : )

Mr. Slug

[Answer to a PPP prompt. Write from Mr. Slug's POV.]

Many don't understand me. They call me slow. Lazy. They've even called me boring. They don't understand why I take so long to do everything, they're just too worried about their stupid, fast lives that all they manage to see is the frentic blur around them, for they run for everything, not taking a pause to breathe. If they did, oh my, they would really enjoy the good things of life! But no, they only care about arriving on time and doing things quickly, always quickly, always worried about speed...
If only they slowed down... They would see what I see, they would feel what I feel...
They would see the charm of a not-in-a-hurry life, they would forget about the clock, always following them. They would finally get time to do whatever they want to do.
They would appreciate the sun, the moon, the soft summer breeze, the colours of nature, the good and worthy things in life...

They would appreciate life itself.

Bird-love.

[Here's another answer to a prompt by PPP. It was a picture of two terns, and the suggested prompt said to explain what that couple, that had been together for many, many, many years was talking about.]

After centuries of love, even bird centuries of love, one never gets tired of saying:

'I love you.'
'I love you too.'

'But how did she know it was you?' Lavender asked.

[Answer to a Pictures, Poetry and Prose prompt; pick a book and open it at page 100, choose a random sentence and write using it.]

'Matilda' by Roald Dahl, page 100.

"'But how did she know it was you?' Lavender asked."
She had been listening to me very attentively, carefully, in order to understand every single word I said, assimilating very accurately the story I was telling her.
'She didn't, Ben told her' I answered.
'Why?' She asked me.
'Well, because I had stolen his bike... That was just a kids fight, it got worse later...'
She had to choose between her big amount of questions the most harmless, given that she knew this was a dangerous topic to talk to me about, for I was still so susceptible about that.
'Is that why you and my husband don't talk to each other anymore?' she asked me, trying to sound calm but with evident interest.
'Well, that's what started it, but we could call it that way, if you want to' I answered, feeling a bit guilty.
'You know, your mum is very sad because of this, not beeing able to see you at the same time, for this stupid brother-sister fight...' she started, testing my mood.
'I know, she has told me so, but, what can I do? Everytime I try to talk to Ben he just turns around and walks away, he's so stubborn!' I couldn't believe I was telling this story to my sister-in-law, it just sounded too awkward.
'That's where I can help you, you know I'm the only person he truly listens to. I could talk to him, I could tell him you're sorry for whichever bad thing you've done to him, and that you agree to talk to him calmly and without trying to fight... Only if that's what you really are gonna do, do you understand?' she was still testing my answers and possible sudden mood shifts.
'Well, I agree, just don't let him know it wasn't my idea, it's just family pride...'
'As you wish, my dear friend.' And away she went, coming back two hours later with her husband, my brother Ben.
I smiled timidly at him when I saw him, he smiled back, widely. That way I knew everything was forgiven.

= )

Wow! This is so great!
I have a new keyboard, which Armando gave mum and me for Christmas... It is so smooth and soft to write with, I'm so happy! (The previous one was as hard as stone, and some letters wouldn't work properly...)
Now I feel so much like writing!
But I have nothing to write about, I just have this great longing to use this new keyboard, which by the way came with its own mouse.
To press these small buttons that have printed little white letters (it is black) is so smooth and comfy! = )

So, I just have to say... THANKS ARMANDO!

PS: Lollipop is the most grateful of us! "¿¡Qué tiene que ver lo blanco con la sopa!?" BTW, great phrase.

Boredom

[This is something I wrote in a free period at school some months ago, when I was desperate for writing on my blogs and all I had at hand was a piece of paper and a pencil.]

It's easy to describe the concept of boredom, wether or not experienced.

Boredom is the not having something to do, or the having but not the wanting to. I've experienced boredom so many times, and I have no choice but to regret that.

Due to our lack of time, feeling boredom should be avoided, though, given that we are living beings, and taking into account our human nature, boredom is unavoidable, as we can't have the wanting to do something all the time. Also, we can have the wanting but not the elements, as it's happening to me now, that I'm in a free period at school, my clasmates are playing cards and I'm in need of my blog to write and write and write.

So we could define boredom as the lack of wanting or of having something to do, which might, too, be 'sujeto' to circumstances*, such as not having the elements to do something.

The kind of boredom I'm experiencing right now is the kind of needing to do somwething but not having the elements to do so, and it's difficult, because I have stuff to do, but I just have one thing on my mind: my need to express something deep inside of me by writing and writing and writing.

Nevertheless, boredom, in all types, must be put up wth, for we need to learn to deal with it without reaching desperation, and we need to start, if not enjoying it, accepting boredom, being boredom something natural, necessary and healthy.

*I keep on trying to express myself, thankfully, really a little bit, in Spanish...

The big bad wolf

I just run, run for me, run for my life, run for my hunger, run for the heck of it... Run for the thrilling joy of running, chasing for a prey... A prey which also runs, runs for its life, for itself, for its hunger... For it knows, as every other creature around here, who I am - the most feared creature: a killer.
When I give up on everything, I still have my instincts, which are my one and only guide in this wild life. So I guess my instincts make me run, make me run faster and faster... So fast, everything around me becomes a frentic blur, all I see are images moving in red - also black. So fast, I don't even feel my feet on the ground, so fast only I see my prey. And when I reach it, oh, glorious moment, I open my mouth wide, curling my lips to leave my teeth free. It's that short moment when I am able to feel my prey's fear, the fear of pain, the fear of death. It's exactly then when I bury my teeth deeply in its neck, to kill it as quickly as I can. Then all I have to do is wait a few seconds and it will all have ended. After a short but tiring sprint, all I have to do is eat. When I look up, feeling my blood leaking fangs, to contemplate the power of my legs, the strength of my jaws, I finally see what I have done. I finally see the desperate dead prey, that has definetely stop moving, under my feet, below my mouth, with a deep wound in its neck. You could call me weak, but I can't witness what I myself do, I can't bear to know how many harmless and innocent creatures I have killed.
When I finally look up, feeling my blood leaking fangs, to contemplate the power of my legs, the strength of my jaws, I finally become scared of myself.

The coin

This is another super cool blog I found the other day, in which you have to write something based on a picture (really cute pictures, btw) and on a suggested prompt they give you. The blog is called Pictures, Poetry & Prose ( http://www.picturespoetryprose.blogspot.com )

This is my writing on a coin:

The morning before the affair I woke up feeling a little dizzy; the night had already gone by the time I went out of the house into the streets, without pausing to have a quick breakfast. I didn't even take my utterly necessary moments to wash my face and my teeth, I just went out into the streets. The weather didn't help much either, for it was, in spite of the weather forecasts, drizzly and a bit gloomy. The discouraging dark clouds at the sky casted dark shadows on the things I saw.


Walking through that menacing atmosphere I saw a tiny fraction of a sunbeam, a small shiny piece of hope in a whole sad world. Under the sunbeam was a tiny coin, dated 1972. I picked it up. It was slightly heavy, they didn't make them like that anymore. I wondered why that unfair God of ours had put that coin in my way. I wondered if it was going to bring one more unhappiness to my life, if it was going to take away the last portions of life I had left. Maybe, though, that coin wasn't going to be relevant, for there are thousands of coins in the world, and not even a tenth of them are crucial for my life.

So I turned around, placing the one penny coin inside of my pocket. After all, it was just one penny, nobody needs one penny.

I kept on walking, with no aim at all, just for the heck of it, as I tripped. I started fumbling some senseless words when I realised what had happened: the beggar of the village, the most despisbale person according to most of my neighbours, was sitting down, roofless under the rain, and had unintentionally made me fall.

He looked at me, with the apology written in his sad eyes. The look of that poor old man scared me; I didn't think he could damage me, I was scared of not being able to help him. Then I remembered about the coin inside of my pocket. I took it out and placed it carefully on his hand, resting on his thigh. His eyes opened widely, cheerful all of a sudden. Instead of the apology and saddness, I could now see hope in his eyes, and a great gratitude, too. Without any word, I walked away, smiling.



The coin, after all, was aimed to make me smile.

Expressing in English

My talking English is by no means compalsory; nobody tells me to write this blog in Enlgish, for example. I could much more easily write in Spanish, my native language, for I guess in this 14 years of life I've heard its words more. It's my liking of the beautiful language, my seeking of the learning and my need of those magnificent words that impulses me to express myself in English.
Of course I could express myself in Spanish:

Es decir, ¿cuán más difícil puede ser expresarse en la lengua materna de uno? No, lo que a mí me impulsa a expresarme en es idioma tan hermoso es eso mismo, el idioma. Y es que he conocido, a lo largo de estos cortos catorce años a muchísime gente que me ha mostrado la riqueza con que el inglés cuenta. Y algunos de ellos son: Miss Vicky, Chris, Mary, Andy, Little Romi, the great singer y my dear V. Pero los dos más importantes: Palmerita y the special guy, the 'dream lover'.

As you can see, and as I have just realised, words seem to flow easier in Spanish, though I found myself trying to write in Spanish but thinking in English. That's another issue: 70% or even 80% of my thoughts are in English, and that's so cool! = )

Así que, for I think in two languages (Enlgish predomina) this is kind of my thoughts. Spanglish, as Palmerita would say, pero con muchísimo más inglés que español.

Hope you've liked my trying to organise my thoughts on the subject, this was hard. And maybe you found it dull, and in that case, I'm truely sorry, but I REALLY felt I had to write this down.

The missing something

I found another cool blog in which you have to write something in just six sentences. It is called The Six Sentences (6S) http://www.sixsentences.blogspot.com

This are my six sentences of last Saturday:

I woke up. All the worries were disturbing me. They seemed so real, but at the same time... Something was missing, something, that was always there, wasn't there anymore. I wondered what that was, when I remembered. All the worries were gone.

What could it mean?

HEY! I've come across another coooooooool blog in which you have to invent a meaning for the little coloured word given when you have to post a comment...
http://www.whatcoulditmean-d.blogspot.com

Here are some of my answers to the posts:

oxystod: (adj.) Able to avoid oxid.
Great oxystod kasserolle you could buy for just US$ 19.99, and if you call now you will get a smaller one free!


poldo: Nickname for 'Leopoldo', 'Leopold' in English.
Have you seen that blue T-shirt Poldo was wearing today?


shrou: (Derived from Lucyland) (tr.v.) To throw a shower, meaning to take a shower suuuuper quickly.
"Lucy, aren't you coming?" "In a minute, I have to shrou and I'll be right back"


manone: (noun) A copy of a well known brand of cookies in Arg. (Manon) "What are you eating? 'Manon' cookies?" "No, these are new, they're called 'Manone'..."

coldrom:(noun)A bedroom that is cold or cool, and is good for sleeping in Summer.
After realising the night was going to be unbearably hot, Mike decided to sleep in his coldrom.

paterop:(noun)New kind of rope used to fasten ponytails.
Mum tied my hair using this new paterop she bought for me.

fianych:(noun) A French fancy 40s dress.
Carrie was wearing a dark blue velvet fianych.

bellymp:(noun)A crocodile or alligator's belly.
They found the adventurer's watch inside of the croc's bellymp.

leati:[Le-ah-TEE] (noun) Carnivorous mammal, with grey and red fur and a long tail with black strings, from the family of the Central and South American "coatí".
The Leati they saw at the zoo wasn't as big as they expected it to be.

regatess: [Derived from Spanish] (noun) A woman that bargains.
The regatess got the best fruits for the lowest cost.

selychin: [SELL - e - chin] (adj) Used to describe a salesman/woman who lies in order to sell expensive but low quality products.1
The man in that TV advertisement is such a selychin!

nessemd: (adj) Someone who is nessemd is stubborn and doesn't believe what others say.
"Will she give us our ball back?" "No, miss Wenworth is a complete nessemd; she doesn't believe we didn't intend to break her glass."

perstnem: [perst-NEM] (noun) An archnemesis which is very persistent.
Sherlock Holmes wouldn't have fallen from the Reichenbach Falls if professor Moriarty hadn't been such a perstnem.

catestsp [Being catest from a word and sp from another one; CATEST-sp] (noun) Contraction of "Catest" and "Spanish". A special test given in middle-school to test Spanish.

"Have you already taken your catestsp?" "No, I'm in Elementary school".

menati [MEN-ah-tee] (noun) An African hip-moving type of dance.
They were thrilled by the joy showed by the Africans when dancing the menati.

dysterm [dis-TERN] (noun) A new Japanese electronic devise that regulates or disables temperature.
The oven's temperature was easily regulated by the new dysterm we bought.

gymnisti [gym-NEES-tee] (noun) The science of gymnistics.
Sarah told me she wanted to study the history of gymnisti.

billume [BILL-um] (noun) A new, pink and blue coloured type of flower.
Mary was cultivating some billumes in her garden.

chies [CHIS] (noun singular: chy) Special seeds for geen tomatoes.
He spread the chies all aroun the garden.

velesse [ve-LESS] (noun derived from French) A very beautiful little girl or young woman.
Sitting at the audience, Roberto looked at the runway and, seeing a young model, exclaimed "velesse!"

rencish (noun) A relly small net to fish little fishes.
The fishermen had lost their rencishes so they had to fish bigger fishes.


pirfi (Derived from Spanish) Slang for 'please'.
Would you lend me some money, mom? Pirfi?

Grandpa reminiscences

This is an old comment I made at "A Writer's Voice", a blog I follow.She mentioned remembering her grandpa's speaking voice, and the particular sound it made. That brought back recollections about my grandpa:

WOW! Your story is so cute! Your stories are always very cute... = )
I'm amazed at how much that story looks like mine.
My grandpa is kinda in coma now, always lying on a bed at my granny's house and using a special machine to breathe and 'eat'. Before, he also used a special devise to be able to talk, as he has a tube inside of his throat. He made a strange sound when speaking, too.
But what reminded me of my story was that you missed so much the sound of his voice. One of the things I miss the most is his smell: he used to wear a special brand of perfume I'm never gonna forget. The other day I was buying some stuff at a random shop, when a middle-aged man joined the kinda cue that had formed behind of me. I has thrilled: he wore the exact scent my grandpa used to wear! I tried to inhale as much as I could, it smelled exactly as my grandpa! When the man left, I felt a strange feeling of emptyness, as I miss that smell so much! = (

When I remember his scent, I can't avoid smiling, for I miss him, but at the same time, I now know he's at a better place now. And I know that, someday, I'll see him again, so I just have to wait. =)

Thanks again for your post, it made me smile.

New blog!

Opening my second blog!
There has been some problems and I had to rearrange my thoughts, so I made a new blog to be more organised, as I'm so obsessively organised...

Well, this new blog is due to my need of expressions, for my having so many feelings inside and for my need to write them down, to, at the same time, create art.

Oh, by the way, as this blog will be for me to write and write and write, I have to thank the owners of the following blogs for all their ideas and creativity. Visit them! They're great!
www.oneminutewriter.blogspot.com
www.whatocoulditmean-d.blogspot.com
www.litchick73.blogspot.com
www.allymaureen.blogspot.com

Let's start with the blog! = )