Janae Says...

We did a walk around downtown American Fork today and stopped to write for ten minutes in each of three spots. This is what I wrote after walking through a pawn shop. We stopped to write in a really cute alley way with benches, trees, and flowers. Here's what came out. First draft. I'm thinking of lots of things. I'm thinking of Seedfolks. I'm trying not to let the heartbreak of my brother seep into my brain and my writing. I'm thinking about that pawn shop we just walked through, of the people who might go in there for money. The ones who are poor and need groceries, but mostly the ones who are less human. The ones like my brother, my uncle, my cousin. The ones who are possessed, who need the money to satisfy the demon living inside of them. I wonder where my DVD player is that I left at my grandma's. I wonder whose house it's in now, and I wonder if the person who has it now realizes it's not rightfully theirs. It was mine, taken and pawned by my...

This was a writing prompt in my class today. We first made a list of things that bug us. Then we had to pick one and write about it. I chose, "leaving shopping carts in the middle of the aisle." I wrote this in about ten minutes. Like everything else I post on here, it needs work. But for your entertainment... So, you go to the grocery store. You've got your list of food you need to buy. Maybe some produce, some yogurt... A little of this, a little of that. Let's say you get to the store at 6 PM, along with all the other people who just barely decided what to make for dinner tonight (and you wonder if those were all the same ones who procrastinated their essays in school). It's pretty crowded. Regardless of the crowding, aisles are generally big enough to fit two carts going opposite ways. The problem, though, is when that iconic occasional male shopper, or that older lady who's got nowhere to be anytime soon, stops his or her cart right in the midd...

My neck hurts. My neck always hurts. My back hurts too. I’ve accepted the constant stiffness and discomfort as a normal part of my life. On an annual basis (or when I find an especially amazing deal that won’t put a huge dent in my bank account), I get a massage. Massages are so amazing. I like the deep tissue kind, where the therapist uses her smooth forearm or elbow to relieve the ache. The slow, relaxing kind that hurts so good—when she moves her hands in repetitive, long motions that affect only that part, leaving the rest of me completely still. The kind where I know the therapist knows what she is doing, can identify my problem areas, and get rid of them in an unhurried way. The toxins built up by stress are all escaping, leaving me like new. When beautiful music or nature sounds are playing in the dimly lit room, and the aromatherapy massage oil makes me feel like all is right in the world.  What could be bad about any of this? I bought one such deal last Octob...