Pisces Studio

Hello fellow reader -

In the months to come I surely hope you will continue to read the ridiculous things I will write. There’s a lot that goes on in my mind, so expect to see some rants, some researched articles on politics, and some real-life experiences. I like to write whatever pops into my head, and I like to think that other people can get something out of the things I write. If you have something you’d like me to write about, please tell me! I love requests!

At any rate, let me tell you a little bit about me so that future posts won’t be quite so boring. I’m currently a junior at James Madison University studying Corporate Communications and Music Industry. The first is my major and the second is my minor. I hope to own a local arts shop in California after I graduate, but for now I’m basing my business in Virginia by my school. It’ll be online but I’ll still attend flea markets and what not. This business is a new project so I have a lot of kinks to work out. I think the name will be Pisces Studio, yes just like my blog title.

I was born in Abilene, Texas, but I was adopted at birth so I’ve really lived in New Jersey all my life. The adoption thing is a story for another day. Writing, art, and music are the three things that have always been consistently in my life. Below is a college entrance essay that puts me in a nutshell. If you don’t feel like reading it I can summerize it for you: I’m a fun, abstract-thinking, lady-writer who is just crazy about living life and being a dumby regardless for what others will say.

Everything I see beckons me to write a story. Green leaves wave as I pass by and I nod politely to thank them for their rustling message. Every rolling cloud seems to seek me out, so that I can write the memoirs of the winds. Passer-bys, unbeknownst to them, have provided their tales. Stories are everywhere. So whose story shall I write?

I see a young girl riding her bike down the street. Although there are only the two wheels of her bike rolling along with her, she is not alone. Had you noticed her, you would have seen her small brown eyes taking in all that is about her and long brown hair peeking out from under the helmet that hides the thoughts racing through her mind. Two scrawny legs peddle up hills and then relax as she flys downwards. Her lips would often curl into the hint of a smile. The expressions on her face show subtle changes as she absorbs her surroundings – she is creating a story.

Different characters in intricate attire act out in her imagination. Arriving home she put her bike in the shed and the helmet on the counter. She’d run out of the kitchen, slide across the wood floor in the living room and upon reaching her room, her little hands would seek out her sketch pad and pencil and go to work getting her images down on paper. She disappears into her imagination.

It wasn’t until she was a little older that she’d write the biographies and fairy tales of the characters that she drew. Her fascination with life entailed great adventures, some of which were real, many imagined, but all needing to be told. She never left opportunity waiting at the door. Often opportunity wasn’t given the chance to knock, as she was already holding the door wide open for it. When asked what she wants to do with her life, she shrugs in confusion. The truth is that she likes lots of things, but most of all she likes to create images and stories. She wonders where she will fulfill this passion in the future. She has no answers, just the confidence that it will be found if she continues looking for it.

The glare of the computer screen reflects in my eyes and the rhythmic clicking from the keyboard slowly fades as writer’s block seeps in. I take a break and change the music. Reaching for a CD, I catch my reflection in the shiny side. I make eye contact with a young woman, one who I barely know, yet one who has sought out each day and prepared for each challenge. Some challenges were easier than others. I can trace where I come from and know where the winds have taken me so far. I document this through my poetry and stories. Wait, I know this young woman better than I might have imagined, this reflection is inward.

The block is gone; the break is over. The music is starting again and as my fingertips rest back on the keyboard, I am ready to move forward.

Thank you for visiting my blog. I know my introduction wasn’t the sexiest thing in the world, but my writing is like Virginia weather. If you don’t like what the weather is like now, just wait around and it’ll change at any minute. Sometimes I like to write about deep things and other times I don’t feel like thinking at all.

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