Tag: boys

Why I hate when you smoke, a poem

How I hate when you smoke

Revised with a new title and everything. A special thanks to Mary Brown.


On the rare occasion I want to
stand outside with you
while you hold and light, inhale and exhale in puffs    puffs     puffs,
I stand close to you.
I breathe out slow, like you do.
I pretend the cold air’s my secondhand smoke,
while I inhale yours. 

I’d never smoke.
D.A.R.E. taught me a thing or two about the tar, the nicotine
that addicts you, traps you. I wouldn’t even
dare try to light one. (You’ve seen me with one of those things.
I nearly burn my finger off letting
the butane out of its yellow, plastic trap.)
So most of the time I stay inside
while you find a friend to smoke with.

You ask me what’s wrong.
You think it’s the cigarette itself.
“I only smoke one a day, maybe less.”
I tell you I don’t care, and mean it.
Those surgeon general jokes I make are only meant for laughs.
Because the truth is I think smoking’s hot.
You’re like Gatsby.

It’s the way you hold it,
the way your big hand handles something so small –
so delicate, so intimate.
Put to your mouth like a kiss.

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Lauren is a college graduate with degrees in journalism and writing. This summer she is westward bound to Seattle, Washington, in order to pursue graduate school ... and good coffee.

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I love you.

I call this a prose poem. 
I also call it an apology.
–
I love you.
Okay, now say it with more feeling.
I love you?
Better, but with more passion this time.
I love you?
Close, but it’s missing something. Say my name.
I love you, Caitlyn.
Say it slower though, like you mean it.
I loooovvee yooo—
Not that slow!
I…love…you…Caitlyn.
Better, but it’s still not right. Hmm. Call me something else—call me “babe.”
I love you, Babe.
Try “baby.”
I love you, Baby.
Maybe it’s what you’re wearing. Can you put something else on?
[In a hat.] I love you.
Now you look ridiculous. Say it to me over dinner tonight.
[Over dinner tonight.] I love you.
What if you were holding a ring?
[Holding a ring.] I love you.
God, that’s still not right. Someone get this guy a baby!
[With a child.] I love you.
Hmm. Take me on vacation; tell me then.
[Clinking glasses.] I love you.
Now say it while you kiss me!

Mm mmuvf mooph.

Are you trying at all?
I LOVE YOU!
You don’t have to shout it! Geez.
. . .  
You don’t love me at all, do you?
Bitch.
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Lauren is a college graduate with degrees in journalism and writing. This summer she is westward bound to Seattle, Washington, in order to pursue graduate school ... and good coffee.

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Finals interlude

Okay, so I haven’t been inspired to write at all. I’m just trying to get everything finished: finals, classes, papers, projects, etc.

So here’s a poem I wrote for creative writing this semester. It’s about — guess who?

VI.
On his windowsill he keeps
dead insects in alcohol
in glass vials. Dragonflies
and moths with motionless wings
sit still, keeping guard. Below,
he sits on his couch not a
bed—he doesn’t own one. He
sleeps hard on the floor alone.

On his couch, behind a closed
door, he thinks and stares at
the cardboard beer box he cut
and flattened into décor
above his closet. The rest
of the wall: bare, beige, and bland,
except for a lithograph
of Emily Dickinson,
plucked from a library book.

In the corner: his altar.
Three guitars—an acoustic,
electric, and bass—lean up
against his vintage, baby-
blue, nineteen-seventies amp.
A one-millimeter pick
sits and waits for him to play.
When he does play, it’s with shut
eyes. Concentrating, he jams.

With knock-knock-knock on the door,
a young woman walks into
the bachelor’s dead-bug, bed-less
hub—his pad. He stands up and
hugs her, smells her hair, kisses
her neck near her collar bone.
He says, “I love you, pumpkin.”

Deep, pleasant sigh.

Lauren

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Lauren is a college graduate with degrees in journalism and writing. This summer she is westward bound to Seattle, Washington, in order to pursue graduate school ... and good coffee.

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Unsaid

Some things are better left unsaid.

V.
“Talk to me,” he says,
caressing her hand
and fondling the wrinkles
of her numb fingers.
She says, “I’m fine.” Not
that he asked.
They walk with naked
stares into the night.
She pulls out
her hand from his hand
and shoves it into her pocket.
“Baby, come on. What
gives?”
She thinks
of a better lie to tell,
but she can’t. So she says
the same thing again
only slower, harder.
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Lauren is a college graduate with degrees in journalism and writing. This summer she is westward bound to Seattle, Washington, in order to pursue graduate school ... and good coffee.

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And eat it too.

He baked you a cake?
Yeah. Isn’t it great? I’ll never want to finish eating it.
He obviously likes you.
Well, I thought so. Before, I mean, when he gave me the cake. But I know he doesn’t.
Caitlyn, he baked you a cake for crying out loud. How could he not like you?
He’s just home-broken. House-broken. Whatever you call it. He bakes.
No guy bakes for a girl he’s just friends with.
This guy does.
I don’t believe it.
Oh, believe it. You should’ve been there when I met him.
Tell me.
We were at McConn.
Together?
No, no. I was in line, and he was in front of me.
Did you say hi?
Not right away. I just kind of stared.
At what?
His hair.
His hair?
He has really nice hair. He usually covers it with that silly hat.
But underneath it?
Really … great … hair.
[pause.]
So then you said hi?
No, I touched his hair.
You didn’t?
I did. And you know what? It’s soft. Just like you’d expect it to be.
You’re joking, right? You just went up and touched his hair.
I wish. I asked first.
That’s a little better.
I said, “You have really great hair. Can I touch it?”
Oh, Caitlyn, that’s hilarious! What did he do?
He leaned over and let me touch it.
Aww.
The rest is history.
Then he likes you?
Not exactly.
You just said the rest was history, like it’s the end of the story. So it’s not?
Well, that was a month ago. So much has happened.
Like what?
The date.
You went on a date with him?
Sort of.
Tell me!
It was nothing. We just watched a movie at his apartment.
Alone?
Well, yeah alone. It was a date … I think.
You mean you don’t know?
It seemed like a date. He flirted.
Yeah?
And he walked me back to campus.
Did he try to hold your hand?
No.
Then it wasn’t a date.
He could be a prude.
Yeah, Caitlyn, get real. Did he know that you liked him? On the date, I mean.
Oh yeah, it was pretty clear. Lots of signals.
But he didn’t hold your hand?
Nope.
Then he doesn’t like you.
I told you.
But there’s more, isn’t there?
Well, that happened two weeks ago, so yeah there’s more.
What next?
He called me.
He didn’t!
The next day. He called me just to talk.
Oh, guys never do that.
They don’t.
Surely he must like you.
I thought he did. When he called me, I was sure of it.
Then what changed?

Well, he gave me the cake.

Right.

He gave me the cake Thursday, then yesterday we talked. We DTR’d.

Defined the relationship. Got it.
I told him I liked him. I told him I liked his hair and his smile and the way he says his vowels.
Then how’d he respond? What’d he say?
He said, “Huh.” He just brushed it off, like it was nothing.
That doesn’t mean anything.
Of course it does. It means everything.
[pause.]
So are you sad?
Kind of.
What’re you going to do with the cake?
Eat it, I guess.
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Lauren is a college graduate with degrees in journalism and writing. This summer she is westward bound to Seattle, Washington, in order to pursue graduate school ... and good coffee.

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Life updates, August 2010

I haven’t blogged to just blog in a while. I’ve written a lot about PLC; I’ve written a few creative pieces, but I haven’t just blogged.

Granted, most of the time I blog I have some muse to inspire me. I’m muse-less. I’m reading an essay by Ray Bradbury about “feeding and caring for your Muse,” but it hasn’t helped. I’ll be back to school soon and will have plenty to write about. So, no worries. (Were you worried?)

But, stuff has been going on, so I’ll update you.

Updates:

1. I’m in America. Yes, I’m adjusting well. I’ve spent 20 years and two months in America; two months away isn’t going to do much difference. I wish it did, sort of. I wish I viewed my life completely differently (but for the better) now that I’m home. I wish I was more thankful for my freedoms. I wish I spent my money on the children in Iraq and not on Old Crown coffee.

2. I have a boyfriend. For those of you who don’t know the story, Nate and I started talking when I was in Iraq – the first week I was there, actually. We had a few classes together at IWU. (Fun fact: one of my first memories of Nate was when he beat me in Scrabble. Bah!) We’re “official” now, and have been for 3 1/2 weeks.

3. I’m going back to IWU soon. I don’t know the exact date, but I’m heading back early for Sojourn workshops. I am the managing editor this year (second in charge, I guess), so I get to plan said workshops. It’s kind of fun. But also extremely stressful and hectic and frustrating.

4. I have a million half-read books on my bedside table. I started reading a few books in Iraq and in transit (Jayber Crow, Teaching a Stone to Talk) and started a few more now that I’m home (The Zen in the Art of Writing, The Copy-Editing and Headline Handbook), but I’ve only finished a few this summer. I’m disappointed in myself. Last summer, 19 books. This summer, 3.

5. I was in the Fort Wayne Journal Gazette this morning. I was interviewed about my internship. You should read it, then feel led to donate to PLC and #RemedyMission.

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Lauren is a college graduate with degrees in journalism and writing. This summer she is westward bound to Seattle, Washington, in order to pursue graduate school ... and good coffee.

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Creative Writing: Untitled

Yes, a preface: I can’t title this, because if I did, it’d be really cheesy. It’d probably be something like The Words Didn’t Come or He’s Perfect. Oh barf. 
Here’s the thing about writing fiction: it’s fiction. Ha, it’s not true. But in some regards, it is true. I can’t write something that doesn’t have some truth in it, or something I’ve seen in real life, etc. But you all are going to read it and think that it’s absolute truth. I know you, audience; I know some of you will. You’ll say the “she” is me and the “he” is Nathan. And you’ll write some stupid comment saying either “aww” or “oh barf.” 
So just read it as fiction. And don’t leave any awkward comments.
-Lauren
–

She clutched her mug. She took a sip. Lukewarm coffee. She set the mug down. Pause. She took another sip. Her friend asked her, “What’s he like?” She thought. But couldn’t answer. The words didn’t come. She knew in her head. But she couldn’t say it. 

She couldn’t say how much she loves the way he cuts his hair; the way he dresses; the way he smiles at her; the way he plays the drums on her arm; the way he talks more sentimentally at night than in the day; the way he tastes like beer; the way he pronounces her name; the way he laughs when he tells stories; the way he rambles on …; the way he cares about what she cares about; the way he’s over the top; the way he’s just enough; the way his smell clings to her clothes after they’ve hugged goodbye.
When she’s asked, she cannot answer. Not how she should. “He’s perfect,” she says. And leaves it at that.
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Lauren is a college graduate with degrees in journalism and writing. This summer she is westward bound to Seattle, Washington, in order to pursue graduate school ... and good coffee.

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Hi, I’m a narcissist

I am a narcissist.

After my Media and Society paper about narcissism on Facebook, I realized that I have all the tell-tale signs of a narcissist. I talk about myself. I am frustrated when people don’t honor me the way I think they should. And in the midst of my self-loving is self-loathing – I want to be more than I already am.

It’s a big mess.
It’s also something I’ve been praying against since the spring.

My goal for this internship was to rid myself of narcissism. I wanted, and still want, a character arc. I want my character – me, Lauren Deidra Sawyer – to change during this internship, and for the better.

I wanted to magically become more others-focused and compassionate.
I wanted to overcome my insecurities and view myself soberly.

It’s about four weeks into my internship, and I think it’s finally happening, just not in the way I had imagined. I thought that I’d start stripping myself of narcissism when I met a bunch of sick kids or toughed the 115 degree heat. But honestly, I’m being challenged the same way I am in the States.

Note that I’m glad I’m going through this. I don’t want my dear PLC family to think that they’re doing anything wrong. Everything that’s going on is for the best – I believe it. I won’t be able to shake this narcissism without fire.

Observations:
- I am most comfortable in a leadership position … so I find myself in a country where women aren’t meant to lead. I’m forced to be okay with that.
- I’m not the best. Esther’s the journalist. Lydia’s the artsy one. Claire’s the funny one. Sophie’s Wonder Woman. I’m just me. A me that isn’t “winning” at the moment.
- The task I chose for the summer does not bring me instant gratification. I am one of the few interns that took a long-term project. I am making headway on my assignment – PLC’s year-end review, kind of like a magazine – but it’s not as though what I’m writing is posted on the blog. It’s hard. That’s the one thing I love about working at a newspaper – I can see results by the end of the week.
- To somehow make this vague and mysterious: it’s hard talking (I mean “talking”) to a boy when you’re a narcissist. It’s easy for me to talk about myself all the time, but that’s not how you attract the opposite sex.

Oh God, break me down.

I read this prayer in Elise and Sarah’s copy of “The Pursuit of God” by A.W. Tozer:

Oh God, I have tasted Thy goodness and it has both satisfied me and made me thirsty for more. I am painfully conscious of my need of further Grace. I am ashamed of my lack of desire. O God, the Triune God, I want to want Thee; I long to be filled with longing; I thirst to be made more thirsty still.


Show me Thy glory, I pray Thee that so I may know Thee indeed. Begin in mercy a new work of love within me. Say to my soul, “Rise up, my Love, my fair one, and come away.” Then give me Grace to rise and follow Thee up from this misty lowland where I have wandered so long.








Ezekiel

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Lauren is a college graduate with degrees in journalism and writing. This summer she is westward bound to Seattle, Washington, in order to pursue graduate school ... and good coffee.

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O Me of Little Faith

A review and commentary on Jason Boyett’s new book.
–
Context: I’ve been embracing this thing called doubt since last November. I could tell you the specific date, if I looked it up. It was that Saturday Jacque came to visit me at school, the first time we hung out since she stopped believing in God.
I didn’t talk to her about it; I wonder if she even knows about my doubt.
–
Jason Boyett makes me feel a little better about myself. Doubt is still very new to me. Like I said: November. For someone who’s been annoyingly sure about everything pertaining to faith, a few months is not a long time.
Jason starts his book by saying: “I am a Christian.” (Me too.) ”I have been a Christian most of my life.” (Me too.) ”But there are times–a growing number of times, to be honest–when I’m not entirely sure I believe in God.”
Me too.
I didn’t have to face my doubt back in November, because I was crushing on a boy, and when you’re crushing on a boy, there are more important things to worry about than your faith, like whether or not that boy likes you back. He didn’t like me back. In December I had to face my doubt.
Jason says that doubt is something we need to walk alongside. (Hey, Doubt, can we be friends?) It’s not to be pushed down or reasoned away. It’s something you need to live out.  He says it’s okay to ask questions because John the Baptist doubted (“Are you the One who was to come?”) and so did Thomas (“Unless I see … I will not believe it.”). He needed proof.
I feel like Gideon, who even after God made the fleece wet with dew and the ground dry, I ask him to make the fleece dry instead. Prove yourself to me, God, I say. Sometimes he does. Sometimes he seems vague and aloof.
In December, when the crush was gone and all I had was myself and my doubt, I wrote a creative essay about how the God I believed in was dead. It ended with a stream of cusswords I’d never say in real life. It made me feel better, though, to get it out in the open. In the same way, doubt is better dealt with in community. It’s not something that we should hide. We shouldn’t be afraid to expose our weaknesses.
Jason writes:
My impulse here is to write “Owning your doubt means refusing to pretend.” Don’t pretend to be better than you are. Don’t pretend to be smarter than you are. Don’t pretend to be more spiritual than you are. Don’t pretend to have it together when you don’t. Don’t pretend to have all the answers when you don’t. Don’t pretend to worship when you don’t feel like it. Don’t pretend.
But I can’t write that in good conscience, because I still pretend. A lot. Too much. (pp. 157-158) 
The few months I’ve wrestled with doubt have been marked with isolation and cynicism – especially at a Christian school. I still talked to my friends about my doubts, but I didn’t feel like they really got it. I felt like they just saw me as one of those baby Christians who’s just figuring things out.
For me, writing it out helps, like with my creative essay. Talking it out helps too, but it’s harder. It’s hard admitting to others your doubts. I remember Jacque was afraid to tell me when she started doubting God, because she thought I’d try to Four-Spiritual-Laws her back to salvation. (I didn’t.)
–
Doubt isn’t very fun to talk about. It isn’t much fun to read about either – not typically. But Jason keeps his book light and humorous. He gets into the deep stuff (he quotes a lot of Latin phrases) but he adds his signature subtle humor by frequent use of footnotes.*
And if this were a style critique, I’d say Jason effectively uses rhetorical questions to bolster his theme of doubt. This also keeps the writer (Jason) from sounding elitist or arrogant. The reader thinks hey, this guy’s got a lot of questions too! I can trust him!
If this were my Sojourn column, I’d tell you that you should buy the book just because Jason is a stellar human being. If this were a cannarf review, I’d give it a +5. If this were my blog – and it is – I’d direct you to Jason’s blog because he does a better job of promoting himself than I.
Also, you should go buy his book.
* footnote. Yeah, I know, I’m clever with this whole footnote thing. Right after I tell you about Jason’s use of footnotes, I add my own. 
But one thing that’s really attractive about this book is its size. I’m not the first one to comment on this either (ahem, Katie McCollister). It’s small enough to keep your hands from cramping, but the print is still large enough to read without squinting. Kudos to Zondervan on this one.
Lauren
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Lauren is a college graduate with degrees in journalism and writing. This summer she is westward bound to Seattle, Washington, in order to pursue graduate school ... and good coffee.

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Creative Writing: Head vs. Heart

I wrote this over Christmas break.

I like imagining what my head and heart talk about – they’re always disagreeing. This is the manifestation of that. Enjoy.

P.S. Well, just don’t read too much into it. Just … enjoy.

–
My head and my heart are always at odds with each other. Head is pragmatic, reasonable and is always making those ridiculous pro-con lists. Heart is passionate, stubborn and can convince Head of nearly anything. Today they’re in a full-out death match. (Head can be so brutal!)

HEAD: Heart, it’s time you get over this boy. He doesn’t like you anyway. Remember that movie? Let me spell it out for you: he’s just not that into you!

HEART: Gah, shut up, will you? Can’t a girl dream? He did act like he liked us in the beginning – hullo?! You were there. You’re the one who had to convince me that he liked us. I was the one who kept telling you that “oh, he probably treats all his friends like this,” or “he just likes our company.” You had to be so adamant about it!

HEAD: Well, he did seem to like us at first.

HEART: So he lost interest? Great. That makes me feel awesome.

HEAD: Hey, I don’t know. Boys can be weird. And gosh, haven’t you ever lost interest in a guy?

HEART: Well, yeah, but I usually have some good reason to. … You don’t think he stopped liking us because of something I did, do you?

HEAD: You can be a little over the top.

HEART: But so can you, Miss Let’s-Analyze-Everything!

HEAD: I’m just doing my job, Heart. If no one analyzed the situation you’d still be caught up with your last crush … the engaged guy? Remember him?

HEART: Hey, you promised to let that go. I wasn’t myself. I was too busy marking off your stupid checklist.

HEAD: That’s a perfectly good checklist!

HEART: It’s a stupid checklist. It is supposed to tell me what we want in a husband. Really? When did you make that list, anyway?

HEAD: Uh, five years ago.

HEART: Exactly, we were fifteen years old and you thought you’d know what we’d want in a husband. Guess what? THAT ENGAGED GUY WAS NOT OUR TYPE!

HEAD: Geesh, calm down! It was one simple mistake.

HEART: One mistake? What about TallGuy and ObamaFan and WorshipLeader? They fit your little checklist.

HEAD: Hey, don’t blame me for all of those crushes. You’re the one who fell for them.

HEART: Yeah, but not because I thought they were hot or romantic or whatever – the things hearts usually fall for. No, it was because they fit your stupid standards. Stupid you with your stupid, stupid standards!

HEAD: Stop calling me stupid! That’s very offensive.

HEART: Sorry, Head. You’re just upsetting me.

HEAD: Why, Heart? He’s just like every other crush.

HEART: But he’s not! He’s the one that didn’t fit your list, but is so perfect for us.

HEAD: How do you know without my list?

HEART: I just know. I mean, he is smart like you, and creative like me, and he sees beauty the way we do, and he is really clever and quirky, and he would fight for me – I know it!

HEAD: Is he cute?

HEART: You know he is. But that’s not even the half of it. He’s like someone you’d read about in a book and fall in love with. … Maybe that’s why you’re so eager to get over him, because you think he’s just a storybook character.

HEAD: Maybe. … He does seem to have that too-good-to-be-true quality about him.

HEART: And for once I didn’t make it up. He really is that amazing.

HEAD: He really is.

Sigh.

This isn’t helping anything. He’s not calling us and you are not over him yet.

HEART: So what are we going to do?

HEAD: For once, I don’t know.

–

I love that last line.

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Lauren is a college graduate with degrees in journalism and writing. This summer she is westward bound to Seattle, Washington, in order to pursue graduate school ... and good coffee.

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