Writing Sample – Why a Creative Writer?

Why become a creative writer? A creative writer essentially has the power of a god. A creative writer has the power to give and take life, the ability to sway the opinions of others, and create and destroy whole galaxies and worlds. A creative writer has the power to make people laugh and cry, become angered or make a person reflect upon their own lives. A creative writer can do absolutely anything they want and take things wherever their imagination will let them. A creative writer has the ultimate power. The reason why I chose creative writing as a major is because I enjoy writing.

As anti-climactic as that may have been, it is the truth. I want to be a creative writer because I absolutely enjoy most everything about writing. I love wracking my brain trying to figure out how a character will act in a certain situation. I love writing poems and pretending to be abstract. I love song writing, blogging and sharing my opinion. I hate editing though, because it is the bane of all writing. The first draft is the absolute best draft, of course.

Throughout my life, I have wanted to “grow up” and be a million different things. I wanted to be a paleontologist because of Jurassic Park, I wanted to be a Super Mario brother, I wanted to be a Free Safety in the NFL, and a stand up comedian among many other things. But whenever those “dreams” would be dashed, I’d always fall back and figure, “Well, I can write decently, I may as well become a writer.” Over the years, whenever I’d put writing on the back burner for other things, I’d return and realize just how much I’ve missed writing. Writing is my scorned lover, but she always takes me back. During my sophomore semester at Solono Community College I knew that no matter how much I tried to push writing to the side, it’d always resurface. I realized that even though it may not lead to the most lucrative lifestyle and people would quip, “Do you want any fries with that major? Har har har.” I would be happy. And, for the most part, happiness is what we all truly strive for in life.

I chose creative writing as a major, but I have no clue what I really want to do with it when I leave from Linfield. As lovely as it would be to write a best selling book my first week out of the doors, I am a realist and understand that that isn’t too likely to happen. In a perfect world I would like to write in a magazine or for a newspaper as my “day job” and write a novel or scripts on the side. I want writing to be my main job because if I stop writing I may lose my fascination of it altogether to the grind of everyday “adult” life.

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New Youtube Channel

Hey my fellow wordpressers!

I created a youtube page and would love subscribers, commentors and whatever else comes with it. My first three videos are me still getting used to certain things, but I plan on expanding in the very near future to gain even more of an audience!

https://www.youtube.com/user/kamikaze88show

Please I’d love feedback or anything else. Help me out guys! 

Thanks!

Josh 

Social Media Socialite

Hey world,

I am in my last semester of college after this week passes and I am trying to build up somewhat of a following as I reach the professional world. Check out my youtube, instagram and twitter page. Comment, subscribe and follow. I want to communicate with people, I don’t bite. Drop by and talk sometime folks, I talk back.

 

Josh

Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/user/kamikaze88show

Instagram: instagram.com/kamikazejd

Twitter: https://twitter.com/KamikazeJD

A Letter to Love

 

I remember the first time I laid eyes upon you. A flawless creature. God’s second attempt at perfection since Jesus. I became speechless. I looked at you once, twice, thrice, call it deja vu. There was an inkling inside, though, a push for “you” to become “us.” Shattered the youthful barrier of shyness to open Pandora’s box. “Hello,” became “what’s your name?” became “when can I see you again?” I couldn’t get enough,

 And I barely had a chance when our eyes locked. A chance to be innocent again. A chance to be free. From that point on I was stuck. 

Maybe this was your plan to begin with–

What started out fast became sound. It became my speeding light. It became my oxygen. It became my thoughts. My dreams became reality and from that, I realized it was a nightmare you brought. The nights when you’d leave. You wouldn’t say goodbye, I would ceaselessly see you when I closed my eyes. It would make me seize up. Your voice became mine, my likings became “us.” I remember you saying, 

 

“That’s what YOU wanted. It was YOU who approached ME! I didn’t need US.”

 

It was hellfire erupting. “Jesus Lord, do I really need US?” 

He wouldn’t answer my question,

But Lord have mercy, what was once small talk and a smile soon became grievous. 

Your operation on my heart without a Ph.D

-the scalpel left the deep cuts,

profusely bleeding,

in bed I’d cry out for your name. “Why would you leave US!?” Alone. You left me alone to Die in the stew that we cooked, cup runneth over, crock pot became useless.

 

I lost my speed after you left that night. 24 hours

slowed down.

Every second 

 

an eternity,

I wanted to leave this,

 

Pain of existence-The plainness of subsistence. 

Words uttered in the darkness,

the weight of each letter carries heavier with no reply to your wishes.

 

Your wishes.

With no reply to my wishes, the stubbornness of my bullheaded ass bullshit. You’d blame it on me and I’d repent with hopes that you’d listen.

 

You left me here with a bullet in my brain and entrails left beside for my friends to discover. The worst part about it is that you left me alive, alone on my own to recover. When you walked away I knew that I’d never need another, because you blackened my heart,

You used me.

Lover.

 

When The Love Falls,

who is there to catch it’s heft? I tried once, and to my regret, 

I only found sorrow.

My heart, now, useless.

 

Chalk it up to good intentions with a bad catch.

You took my innocence in exchange for experience, good shit.

 

Stay away from me love, I don’t want you to come back to play.

Sincerely,

 

Xoxo

 

stressed

Stressed to the point when you can’t even cry

knocked around by the truth, so you can’t even lie

Battered by the world and every pitch is a curve

Bemused by your own actions, you question all that you’ve learned

You try to shake off the bullshit but know either way you’ll get burned.

Yearn for that fairy tale life but adjust when you open your eyes

For experience has taught you only in self can you rely

the mounting pressures often felt could produce diamonds

And stress nags like a bitch, so she’ll keep on reminding

you of the disappointments and suck your strength from within

just suck another shot down and you’ll forget itl all again.

Princess Leona

This be the tale of a young princess who reigned near Pamona
The beloved and beautiful, little Leona.
Born during a blustery no shave Novemeber
Tales of her coming would be one to remember.
The families all gathered, she was soon to arrive.
And still to this day she knows not the happiness she’d provide.
When she finally bore the whole world did pause
As the earth, herself, could be but in awe.
While there is still much of her story left to be told
We watch her in her growth and it is already much to behold.
We thank God for His gift, the baby princess near Pamona
Long live the great Princess Leona

Wishing I Could Write About You

I sit here and wish that I could write about you

I’d express to you feelings you thought were lost in the catacombs of my thoughts,

I’d tell you of how much hydration was lost

as tears flowed freely and breath–unable to be caught.

I’d remind you of the night that fate matched us together

When I met you, you were the only one I could picture, and for the better;

You taught me so much, whether it’d be about myself or a game about Settlers.

Life then was paradise, when I looked into your pair of eyes, I was often stuck,

Or you could even say I was–paralyzed.

For you, I know I changed because I would feed you truth,

But to the others it’d often be a pair of lies.

Thus love happened sooner than I had ever realized.

You were my pineapple, and I’d often express

That you were the best, my family loved you, including Juicy (our pet), and to this day I would never regret calling you my fucking sunshine, but damn it,

I digress

This isn’t a love poem, because love here has died without you.

You’ve moved on, I’ve progressed and the world knows no looking back to be true.

Which is why I know I shouldn’t write about you.

 

I sit here and wish that I could write about you

I don’t know another I fought so hard with, or against.

Youth made our relationship fiery, constant nights of arguments.

And then we’d make up. Again and again—and to that, God I repent.

Jealousy in our nature, I’m surprised we survived,

So long together and even years later we’d try to revive

Something that had already up and died.

Every time we are together we always recall

The mistakes that the other made, but we’d say it was “my fault.”

And that same time I sit and wonder in awe

How we got so close by being so far.

No matter the lack of communication

We always find our way back to each other and, thus

invite temptation.

So given the circumstances of our situation

I must bid you adieu—

No more lapses to the past, even though you were my muse,

These be the reasons why I shouldn’t write about you.