Fantastic Beasts Post: What would you have in your suitcase?

wp-image-726289597jpg.jpgSo, I was having a thought the other day about the new movie by J.K. Rowling, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

If you aren’t familiar with the story, Fantastic Beasts is about Newt Scamander, a self-proclaimed Magizoologist, or a person who loves and is enthusiastic about the care and protection of magical creatures.

Awkward Newt Scamander seems to get a long with creatures better than with people, and on a trip to New York City to help one of said creatures, he finds himself on an adventure of a life time.

During his trip, he carries a suitcase, but he doesn’t have clothes in his suitcase like every other no-mag (American term for a person who doesn’t have magic), instead, his suitcase acts as his own work space, and is where he keeps the rare creatures that he cares for.

Step into Newt’s suitcase and you’ll descend stairs and find yourself in a work-shop of sorts; full of what Newt needs to care for his creatures: extra boots and gloves, medicine for ailments, food for the animals, etc. And beyond that…his suitcase is basically a zoo, really, complete with climate and wide open plains for various creatures. Because, you know, why not?

Anything is possible with magic!

My question is this: If you could have your own suitcase like Newt’s magical suitcase, what would be in yours?

Mine would hold my office, a library, a reader’s nook, kitchenette and bathroom complete with Jacuzzi tub.

Beyond that, you would find yourself on a beach, where the air is warm and the sound of waves wash over you as you step along in the soft, soft, sand.

Follow the boardwalk and you’ll find yourself in a park, which leads to a huge, green forest with miles of walking trails, up and over hills and ravines and to a lake.

Back on the beach if you walk the other way down the boardwalk, you’ll find yourself in a food court with the option to try all different types of foods of the world.

Maybe tucked in somewhere, there will be a pool next to the office and a great patio, etc.

A dream place to go, to relax, to create and to be myself.

I’ve told you mine, now its your turn! What would you have in your suitcase?

Poem: To Dream

to sleep, perchance to dream

ah, there’s the problem


to dive into another reality

one we choose not to wake from

sometimes the dreams are more than dreams

sometimes they are nightmares

sometimes they are all we have

in moments of sorrow


But if we dream forever

if we cling to the almost

the maybes, the ever-after

we might not wake up


Poem: “Up and Up”


Grandma always wanted to ride

on a hot air balloon


this summer at a festival

I bought a key chain


colors of the rainbow

colors so obnoxious

so bright and clown-like


But every time I drive

or look down at my keys

unlocking the apartment door

I am reminded of a dream


Grandma was too sick

she couldn’t go

balloons go too high

and the air was too cold

but not this time


Balloons go up and up

they are bucket list dreams

and that’s my goal

the desire

to not let life pass me by


always be on that balloon

that’s going somewhere


An English Major’s Struggle To Find a Job

I recently took a new job here, (go figure, right?)…something that has me typing information at a desk, not customer service, not worrying about sales pitch – did I get it right? Just plain old monotonous information, and type-type typing away.typing-clipart-16-COLOR

And while this job was described to me as incredibly boring, I can’t but help be somewhat relieved. Left to my own thoughts, my own devices, I am more productive, less stressed and overall satisfied. Plus, I don’t have to talk to anyone if I don’t want to. Is it sad how much this is a relief to me?

Ever since college I have been struggling finding my way or niche in this world…I watch friends of mine, graduates from the same college get jobs at corporations, in the classroom, or go on to pursue higher education at graduate school.

I am proud of them and their accomplishments, but where does that leave me? Taking a job in retail, in customer service, in collections…finding places that pay the big bucks with little need to think or grow? I don’t live in an area that offers an overwhelming amount of options, either. I feel like I have ruined my job experience…even the manager that recently interviewed me said he was worried about hiring me…”Your job history seems a little…scattered,” he said.

“Oh, I know,” I said, and then shrugged. What could I say?

“I missed the boat when it came to moving to Florida?”

“I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up?”

Life is difficult and not always forgiving when it comes to pursuing your dreams and passions. I got an English degree, so everyone assumed that I wanted to be a teacher. I worked in customer service, so everyone assumed that I’m great on the phone, and love to help others. (I am great on the phone by the way. Former debt collector here, watch out!)

But what to do…what to do, when all of the world seems to be telling me that I am a failure? I took the jobs…because I needed the money. Not everyone has a savings or rich relatives. (Oh, but wouldn’t that be nice!)notebook in candlelightSince I was a young teen, the one thing that I consider myself great at is writing. This led to the thought: “I’ll be a writer.” Yet, with the pressure on to pay the bills…is such a desire a pipe dream? Or should I really just bite the bullet and go back to college…even though I don’t know what I want to study?

The questions are endless and the emotions boarding on that feeling of overwhelming sadness. I think the real answer to these questions are:

Do what makes you happy and don’t worry what everyone else thinks.

My head is grasping for the words of advice I’ve heard many times: “Don’t give up, you’ll get there.”

“Believe in yourself.”

“Never stop writing.”

“Don’t lose faith in yourself.”

Yet, they seem to be falling on deaf ears this afternoon, or falling in the cracks of heater and getting lodged there, (God knows little heat is getting out!).

doryThe sun is peaking out of the clouds now, and the snow has finally stopped. For some reason Dory’s voice from Finding Nemo has snuck its way into my head:

“Just keep swimming…just keep swimming…What do we do? We swim!”

Hmm…I am a terrible swimmer, but I can keep going, no matter how difficult it is…

The truth of the matter is, I am not unhappy here, sitting at my desk in the sunshine, which is creeping through to land on the floor and the cheery, yellow walls of my office.

I can keep on swimming, and I can begin to stop listening to what others think…because only my opinion matters in this instance. Being a writer is my pipe dream, and that’s all that matters.

I can keep on swimming no matter the cost.

Funky Dreams, Inspiration and Writing

This week is a week of inspiration for me…and another inspiration is dreams. I get a lot of inspiration from dreams, as they are basically stories that the brain invents all by itself while you are sleeping.

44432_girl_sleep_lgThis morning I woke up at 4am with the knowledge that I had the best dream EVER, and despite me writing down as much as I could, it still seemed like a whole lot of nothing. I could barely remember anything.

All I do remember is that I was at a friend’s house staying the night, I made out with one of my girlfriends, (we have been watching a lot of Orange is the New Black lately), we sang a song, there was food and candles lit, I went somewhere with my boyfriend. I was working out on an exercise machine, doing pull ups. Then the dream switches to me being on a slide with my friends, we were poling on a raft through a river of dead bodies, then there was this waterfall drop, I was too scared to go so I jumped off the raft to the side.

dower2_0121205Just as I’m about to go down the shoot, some arms and legs emerge from a grate and a man appears with a gun and a bunch of soggy money clutched in his hand, he tries to shoot me and the dream changes again…I remember a story within a story, a love story I eventually tell to someone and my amazing heroics. (Apparently I could control water.) I remember a large grassy hill and a yellow mansion on the hill. I remember writing names on a mirror in pink paint or lipstick; someone scoffing and saying they definitely weren’t the best couple ever. I remember I dreamed up a night’s worth of actions in two hours.

Although I couldn’t remember everything, what IS clear is the emotions. I felt hopeful, triumphant, amazing and invincible. Like justice was really served or true love really triumphed in the end. I felt strong and confident and young. My heart was warm, and fuzzy, I was the happiest and the most excited about life that I have been in a while.

If I had a dream about my ex-boyfriend, I wouldn’t be warm and fuzzy. No, emotions like regret and longing sometimes resurface. But it is funny how sometimes a story has the ability to influence your emotions, changes the way you feel.

That’s what I want to do someday: I want to make someone feel happy because a character is happy, I want a reader to rejoice in their triumphs. I want to write something that changes a person’s perceptive about certain things. Words are powerful. I want to shape them, make them my own and be one of the triumphant ones.

Anyway, that’s enough from me…What are your goals and inspirations? Ever have a story that was inspired about a crazy dream of yours? I’d like to hear it!

Happy Writing people!





Part 2 Confessions: Edits and Extra Thoughts

I was having some formatting troubles with my post last night, so in case you missed it, you can view it here.

I asked my boyfriend what he thought about it and he was like, yup, sounds like you really hate your job.

And don’t get me wrong, I don’t like it there…and am currently in the process of finding something new, but mostly I wanted to express my frustration at the lack of options for college graduates like myself and other people my age.

I was told to dream big growing up, and yet…reality doesn’t seem to make a lot of dreams possible nowadays!

Anywho, I’m not giving up though, and if I’m meant to write for a living, well, I’m just going to make that happen!

Best wishes to everyone and hope you enjoy your weekend! And keep on writing!


Part 2: Confessions – I am a child of the 90s, and yes, I hate my job

Part 2: Confessions was supposed to be about facing my Writer’s Fear, but this rant is very much-needed so hold onto your hats people. If you missed Part 1: Confessions, Struggling with Writers Fear you can read it here.

working manIt’s no joke, the majority of middle class Americans are probably in the same boat – working day in and day out, struggling to make rent and hating the 8 to 5 job that pays the bills but keeps them locked to the grindstone. No freedom to do what you want, when you want and where you want.

It’s work all day for little pay. It’s time clocks, and meetings and little vacation days. It’s cramming in a few texts during 15 minute breaks. It’s knowing that the boss-man is always watching, waiting with that memo that doesn’t make sense.

It’s managers that get promoted when they don’t know a daaamn thing. It’s – not who you know, it’s who you blow.

It’s “The Office.”


Several weeks ago, I moved to a new town, packed my bags, said goodbye to the folks and grabbed an easy 8 to 5 job that is now slowly eating my brains out. (Note to self, remember to apply for new jobs a bit sooner next time.)

At any rate, its amazing how dysfunctional some companies are. Where people get treated like numbers and the company gets away with it. How ridiculous the rules of attendance are, of break times, of self-importance. When did it get to be like that?

When did I become of a peon in the great big world of the machine? I don’t remember signing up for that.

clip art handsI am a child of the 90’s. I was told to follow your heart, follow your dreams, go to school for what you what. Well…if this is where a Liberal Arts degree in English Literature gets you, I feel gypped.

Today I got told by a girl barley in her twenties that I didn’t know anything. And that jolted me to a stop. I’m sorry? You don’t know anything about me, much less what I know and don’t know. At any rate, it pissed me off.
I’m a twenty-five year old college graduate, who works hard for nothing, and The Writer in me is ready to stand up and pay attention. I don’t deserve to be anyone’s bitch, much less the company that I work for.

I’ve decided it’s time to be honest, and its time to be honest with myself. I want to write for a living. I want to find the freedom in my job, and in myself to work hard and do what I love to do day in and day out. With no fear.

Maybe the ridiculous of this company is pushing me in the right direction – I am soo very close to just quitting my job and starting to write for a living.

If I were honest with my self, I would admit that I am wasting my time being responsible for once. Sometimes you have to be a little reckless to follow your dreams. I mean, who ever said that getting what you want was easy?

I have to remember that it’s not my job that defines me, it’s who I am and what I chose to do with my time here on earth that makes me who I am.

And it is my time to be honest with myself.

tampaI thought that I would make April a month of Confession Posts. Mostly Writing related, but this rant caught up with me tonight and needed to be let out. I know that there a lot of college graduates out there and people my age who feel the same. And we need to be heard and to support each other.

Look forward to Part 3 Confessions: How to Beat Writer’s Fear in a few weeks!

Any thoughts? Ideas? Rants of your own that need to be heard? Comment below! Writing is freedom! Let’s take advantage of it!

Between the raindrops

I sometimes forgot how much I love to lose myself in the setting of a book or a movie, the way it feels to lose yourself in a different world, a character’s emotions – to be swept away and return only when you need to…

when its time to face the music.

But this also reminds me of dreams, which brings me to the point of this post:  Last week I had a dream…

No, really I did.

I had a dream that…well, I don’t remember much, but in the dream was music. There was a girl running from something, she was full of emotion; longing, fear, desire…she was running to something and she couldn’t get there fast enough and she was worried that she was going to be too late.

Too late for what? I have no idea. I woke up with a song in my head that matched the beating of her heart and I could not figure out where I had heard the song or even what it was. I had a tune in my head, and didn’t even know if it was a real song.

Well, I heard that song on the radio today, jotted down some lyrics and through the power of google, the song has a name.

It is Between the Raindrops by Lifehouse feat. Natasha Bedingfield.

It always amazes me how a good song can sweep you up just as much as a novel, or a great movie. It is where I find some of my inspiration…and why I don’t always like to watch the music videos that go a long with songs. I like to create my own story.

There just might be something here, too. I can still see the girl running, the mud flying up on her t-shirt as her legs tear across the ground, as cold, water dribbles down her bare legs and her cheeks and eyelashes, mixing with muddy rain and tears.