Dear Nelson,

Can you please just give me more prompts to write about?

I'm not a creative human being. I can't just sit down and type. Words don't just come to me like that. I wish they did, but the fact is they do not.

This whole giving us one prompt and then saying "Oh hey you need to come up with an other one as well is hard for me."

I guess... I don't know. I mean it is cool that you give us the opportunity to pick what we write about. I'm really thankful you aren't like some English teachers where they tell you exactly what to write about with exactly X amount of words on exactly X amount of pages in Times New Roman 12pt. font in MLA format to cite your sources. That writing is usually never fun. The truth is, I've never really learned how to write a thesis. I've never really learned what MLA format is. In fact I had to have someone tell me that you use MLA to cite sources instead of being the format of your paper itself. I had to Google what MLA was to make sure they didn't lie to me about it.

Maybe just give me more ideas? I don't know. I think showing peoples journal entries in class helps give me and maybe even others ideas for blog posts.

And Nelson, I really don't mean to be ripping on you or anything. I was just sitting here for a good 10 minutes thinking about what on Earth to write about and I thought 'why not a letter to Nelson about not knowing what to write about?'

I think I'm going to read through more blogs and see what they're writing about to help give me an idea for my extra prompt a week from now on.

Sincerely,
Vicky Winters

How Do I Write About Robots

I'm not a robot.

I do not know any robots.

How am I supposed to come up with an entire blog post about robots?

They do not feel. They do not laugh or love or cry.

To me that is what writing is all about. You write because you feel. You write because you really FEEL. You make others feel.

How the hell do I write about something that does not feel.

I feel. I laugh. I love and I cry.

I'm sorry but I simply just cannot write about something that does not.

Trying To Find Paris

I feel like everyone has already found their Paris. Why can't I find mine? 

Maybe I haven't been looking hard enough? Maybe I've been looking too hard? Was it when I missed that one day of class? Am I really just a tourist looking to be an artist in vain? 

I guess I got the wrong idea when Nelson first introduced going to Paris as an artist rather than a tourist. When I think artist I think 

beauty

perfection

neat

clean

happy

ideal

But the truth is, Paris isn't that. It isn't beautiful, there's trash everywhere.

It isn't perfect, like all of us Paris does have it's flaw, faults and downsides.

Paris is not neat, there's graffiti and cigarette butts everywhere you look.

Paris is far from clean, refer back to it not being beautiful nor neat.

Paris isn't happy, there are lovers now lost, homeless begging for money to pay for their next meal and heartbreaking stories. They're removing the 'love locks' from Pont des Arts bridge.

But if there's one thing Paris definitely is not, would be ideal. It's expensive. I can't read the signs. There's so many people just wanting to swindle you to get your money. 

Even in Paris it rains.

I don't know.

If you know can you tell me?

ʇuǝɹǝɟɟıp#

˙uıɐƃɐ ʇɐɥʇ op oʇ ɹǝʌǝu ʍouʞ ı ʍou ˙ǝɔuɐɥɔ ɐ ʇı ǝʌɐƃ ı ʇsɐǝl ʇɐ

 ˙ɐǝpı ǝlqıɹɹoɥ ɐ llɐɹǝʌo ʇsnɾ sɐʍ uʍop ǝpısdn sıɥʇ ƃuıʇıɹʍ sdɐɥɹǝd ˙ǝɔuɐʎouuɐ ɹǝɥʇo uɐ s,ʇɐɥʇ "s,ı" ǝɥʇ sʇop uǝʌǝ ʇı ɟı llǝʇ ʇ,uɐɔ ı ˙lɐɯɹou sɐʍ ʇı ɥsıʍ uɐɥʇ ɹǝɥʇo ʇı ʇnoqɐ op ʎllɐǝɹ uɐɔ ı ƃuıɥʇou ˙ssǝnƃ ı llǝʍ ɥo

˙pǝzılɐʇıdɐɔ ǝq oʇ pǝǝu spɹoʍ ¡uɐɯ sǝıʞɔǝɥ ǝɥʇ ʇɐɥʍ ˙sɹǝʇʇǝl ǝzılɐʇıdɐɔ ʇ,usǝop ʇı ʇɐɥʇ sı ʇxǝʇ uʍop ǝpısdn ǝloɥʍ sıɥʇ ʇnoqɐ ǝɯ ƃuıɹǝɥʇoq ʎllɐǝɹ s,ʇɐɥʇ ǝslǝ ƃuıɥʇǝɯos

˙ɯɐ ı ʎɐʍ ǝɥʇ ʇsnɾ s,ʇı ʇnq ˙sıɥʇ ɹoɟ ʎzɐɹɔ ǝɯ llɐɔ ǝɯos ˙sǝɥɔɐpɐǝɥ ǝɥʇ ɥƃnoɹɥʇ ǝʌıl ʇsnɾ ı os sllıd ǝʞıl ʇ,uop ı ˙ǝuo pɐɥ ɹǝʌǝu ǝʌ,ı 'uıɹıdsɐ ɟo ƃuıʞɐǝds

 ˙ǝɯ ǝʞıl ǝɹɐ noʎ ɟı uıɹıdsɐ uɐ ǝʞɐʇ oƃ ˙ʎɐʍ ǝɯɐs ǝɥʇ ǝɹ,noʎ ɟı ʎɹɹos ɯ,ı ˙uʍop ǝpısdn pɐǝɹ oʇ ǝɥɔɐpɐǝɥ ɐ ǝɯ sǝʌıƃ ʇı sıɥʇ uo ʞɔɐq ƃuıʞool ˙˙˙ʍoʍ

 ˙noʎ ɹoɟ sıɥʇ ƃuıʇıɹʍ ɥɔnoɔ ǝɥʇ uo ʇǝʞuɐlq ɐ uı dn pǝddɐɹʍ ɯ,ı ʎɐʍ ɹǝɥʇıǝ ˙sʍouʞ oɥʍ ˙uoıʇɐlnɔɹıɔ ɹood ǝʌɐɥ ı ǝqʎɐɯ ˙pǝpoolq ploɔ ʇsnɾ ɯ,ı ǝqʎɐɯ ˙ƃuol ʎɐp llɐ ploɔ uǝǝq ǝʌ,ı ʇnq ǝɯ ʇsnɾ s,ʇı ɟı ʍouʞ ʇ,uop ı

 ˙ǝɔɹoɟ ɹıɐ ǝɥʇ uı sı ǝɥ ˙ʎuɐɯɹǝƃ uı pǝuoıʇɐʇs sı oɥʍ puǝıɹɟʎoq ɹǝɥ ɥʇıʍ ƃuıdʎʞs ʎlǝʞıl ʇsoɯ sı ɹǝɥʇo ǝɥʇ puɐ sʇɟıɥs ʇɥƃıu ǝɥʇ sʞɹoʍ ǝɥs ǝsnɐɔǝq dǝǝlsɐ ʎlqɐqoɹd sı ǝuo

˙˙˙ƃuıop ǝɹɐ sɹǝʇsıs oʍʇ ɹǝɥʇo ʎɯ ʇɐɥʍ sʍouʞ uǝʌɐǝɥ ˙ƃuıddɐu sɹıɐʇsdn sı ɯoɯ ʎɯ puɐ ƃuıʇǝǝɯ ɐ ɹoɟ ʇno ƃuıpɐǝɥ sı pɐp ʎɯ ˙pnol ooʇ ʎɐʍ ǝɹɐ ʇɐɥʇ suooʇɹɐɔ ƃuıɥɔʇɐʍ sı ɹǝɥʇoq ʎɯ ˙ʇı ʇnoqɐ s,ʇɐɥʇ puɐ

ʎɐpoʇ ǝuop ǝʌ,ı ʇɐɥʍ ʇnoqɐ ʇsıl ɐ ƃuıʞɐɯ pǝʇɹɐʇs*
sǝıɹoʇs pɹoʍ 6 ʇnoqɐ ƃolq ʎɯ uo pǝʇsod*
ǝɯoɥ ǝɯɐɔ*
ɥɔɹnɥɔ oʇ ʇuǝʍ*
dn ǝɯ ǝʞɐʍ pɐp ʎɯ ǝʌɐɥ*
dǝǝls oʇ ʞɔɐq ʇuǝʍ "ǝdou" pıɐs*
dn ǝʞoʍ*
'sı ɹɐɟ os ǝuop ǝʌ,ı ʇɐɥʍ puɐ ʎɐpuns sı ʎɐpoʇ ˙sʎɐpuns ʇnoqɐ ʞlɐʇ s,ʇǝl

 ˙uʍop ǝpısdn ǝq ll,ʇı ˙˙˙ʇnoqɐ ǝʇıɹʍ oʇ ʇɐɥʍ ǝɹns ʎllɐǝɹ ʇou ɯ,ı ɥƃnoɥʇ uǝʌǝ ˙uʍop ǝpısdn ǝdʎʇ oʇ pǝpıɔǝp ǝʌ,ı

¡ƃolq ʎɯ ɹoɟ ʇuǝɹǝɟɟıp ƃuıɥʇǝɯos ƃuıʎɹʇ ɯɐ ı ʎɐpoʇ

Scattered Six Word Stories

Here are some of my own six word stories mixed along with stories from others that have stood out to me.

My heart only beats for you

My autobiography is written in scars.

Never apologize for who you are

She merely smiled. His world stopped.

Sleeping with her, dreaming of you.

Brought roses home, keys didn't fit.

I saw galaxies in your eyes.

Went abroad. Finally feel like home.

I went traveling, found my home.

I'm tired of tear stained pillows.

Won the world. Lost the girl.

"I want you." "You have me."

Nightstand pen missing-story idea evaporates.

I will always stand by you.

I've built my walls too high.

She was the definition of beauty.

I'm sorry for f****** up again.

I'll write my own happy ending.

And slowly, I fell in love.

Be your own hero for once.

3am, my mind is on you.

Your words shape a beautiful soul.

Crayons, Crayola To Be Exact

Whether you say 'crans' or 'cray-ons' we all loved them the same.

Drawing pictures of cartoon house...

Or an absolute master piece.

We all started our artistic lives with crayons. 

At some point in time we drifted away from the use of crayons. Or most of us at least. On to more intricate art supplies.

I remember distinctly the day I stopped using crayons. I was in second grade in the back of the classroom by the crayon drawers reaching in to find the perfect brown to color a horse with. The first one I pulled out was sienna.

Pulling it out I read it, "Sienna..." next I scoffed "what kind of name is that?" To which I saw something that to this day breaks my heart. I turned around and this girl said to me with tears welling up in her eyes

"But... My name is Sienna..." 

Completely embarrassed I stuttered around to fix what I had just said. 

"Well yeah and it's a very beautiful name! It's just weird for a crayon silly!" 

She didn't look convinced and walked away back to her seat. 

From that day on I've always been ashamed when I see crayons. Especially Crayola. Especially sienna. 

I've given up on drawing horses. I'll stick to houses. 

STOP BEING SORRY

Don’t be sorry for:

• Sleeping in

• Not getting the joke

• Forgetting to respond to a text when you were sad

• Being sad

• Bringing up a sensitive topic you didn’t know was a sensitive topic

• Being sick

• Not being able to see someone

• Talking too much

• Not talking enough

• Liking someone

• Not liking someone

• Not liking yourself

• Or for thinking you like yourself too much

• Needing more time/affection/attention than most

• Not knowing how to give as much attention/affection as most

Aspects of your life and personality are not things to apologize for. If you are not doing something purposefully harmful to yourself or another there is no need to apologize. 

You are your own person and you can never live up to every single person’s expectations because everyone is different with their own opinions and personalities and they can never properly evaluate you. If you are doing the best you can at that time it is more than enough, please stop being sorry for being different, because 

you’re doing just fine.

What's The Big Deal With Hats???

I have never understood hats.

They're used for warmth, shade, protection, fashion, and many other uses I'm not creative enough to think up.

If you're like me you could count the number of times you've worn a hat on one hand.

the truth is....

I HATE HATS!

They're itchy, scratchy, tight, uncomfortable and down right weird... I guess I just like the shape of my head and rather keep it uncovered. That or I have a very oddly shaped head and hats really emphasize that fact making me more self conscious than I already am. If that is even possible. I feel so stupid when I wear hats. Look stupid. Probably even sound stupid. 

Maybe I'm just overthinking this. I tend to do that a lot. I don't know. Hats just aren't my best friend I guess. We aren't even awkward relatives who pinch your cheek saying "My, my how big you've grown! I remember when you were born!" as you smile uncomfortably as they scoop you into an other hug. 

I think hats and I are better if we just give each other our space. 

Call me a tourist, but you'll never catch me wearing a hat unless it is Hat day. 

Because if there's one thing I hate more than hats, it's standing out.