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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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The Writing-Practice Journal
New Intention:
Now in 2017 and the following years, if any, I shall use this journal for whatever I please to write. 
Still, I reiterate: Read at your own risk!
Old Intentions:
Now, starting with June 2013, I will use this journal for the entries for "I Write in June-July-August "  . Afterward, I'll go back to the part I have down below in red. Still, read at your own risk. 
Now, starting at the end of 2010, I am going to write into this journal directly, without making any other copies. Freeflow, but from prompts. I may use prompts or simple sentences as prompts, which I'll put on the subject line. I'll probably use some of the prompts from the Writing.com app.
And yes, I do intend to make a fool of myself, because I miss writing on a good old fashioned typewriter with no other cares. Maybe some ancient and wise author like Dickens will watch me from Heaven, shake his head, and say, "You haven't made a dent." Not a dent, but making my own mud is my intention. So, if you read, read at your own risk.
Truth is, I had started this journal in 2002 for the different reason of writing down ideas on the craft of writing. Over the years, my personal blog took over what I wanted to do here. Afterwards I continued with writing exercises with no order or plan to the entries. And now, this.
Who says I can't let my hair down! Okay, I can't because my hair is short.  But I've got nerve.
  
October 23, 2020 at 2:34pm October 23, 2020 at 2:34pm
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She always sat on the bench by the fountain. It was her move, and Aiden’s countermove was to amble about as if he were taking a walk, ramrod straight to make his body seem taller than it could ever be, imagining his short stature didn’t belong with him and that she seemed to like his company.
Thus, approaching tentatively, he would wave at her, then would make himself comfortable crouching on the bench next to her. It felt like a cosmic event and it had seemed to be working as Aiden’s long -term goal was to establish an emotionally close relationship with Penny.
“Hi, Penny, how are you, today?”
Then, they would begin chatting. All through his planned coincidences, Aiden never sensed any resistance from Penny. It was as if she approved of these so-called chance meetings.
Until today, when Aiden walked toward the bench by the fountain. When he caught hat sight of Carter, sitting next to Penny. Carter, the tall guy who was both on the basketball and the football teams and on the Dean’s list to boot. Carter sat sprawled with one arm behind the bench where Penny was, obviously expressing his ownership of her.
Aiden slowed down feeling a terror in his bones as if he were losing his gait. As if his being there was now a forbidden act. As he slowed down, he saw Carter put something in Penny’s hand. Penny looked startled and at the same time her eyes found Aiden walking on the path. Carter saw Aiden, too, and waved at him; then Penny did, too. Aiden waved back not daring to disturb their universe or the universe in general that always backstabbed him. It was the pattern of his life, the fabric of his being with bits and pieces of his past following his shortness throughout his life.
So, he kept on walking all the way to the other end of the campus. On his way back, he saw that the bench by the fountain was now empty. He went to it wanting to kick it, wanting to break every slat on it, but he just sat on it exactly on the spot where Carter had been sitting and sighed. His sad frustration now overpowering him, he closed his eyes and felt the place where Penny was sitting when his fingers hit against something, something cold, small, and metallic, but he couldn’t grasp it. Baffled, he opened his eyes and saw that there was nothing on the bench where he sat. Immediately, he heard several shrill clanging sounds right under the bench. What was it he had made fall through the slats?
He stood up, his eyes searching the cement ground. When he bent down to look under the bench, he saw the small key chain with only one key on it. A serrated tiny metal thing encompassing its own entry, a cherished possession. That key had to have the ability to stop or enter someone’s life, but whose was it?
Suddenly, he realized it. He had seen it. He had seen Carter put something in Penny’s hand. This keychain had to be it. A romantic talisman, an invitation, a self-packaging of importance. The importance of the tall, handsome Carter, a tangible reality of what the world was made up. This bulkily knotted world identifying only with its only brand of choice—the outward looks of things and people. Aiden wasn’t going to let this world get to him. He would face it and throw the keyring at Penny’s face.
He found her in front of her dormitory, talking to another girl. “Penny,” he called to her triumphantly, “I have something that’s yours.” The other girl smirked at him before leaving Penny’s side and entering the building. “Aiden? What is that?”
Aiden held the keychain up high and jangled it. “See? This!”
“That is not mine!”
“I saw Carter give it to you.”
“Carter didn’t give any such thing to me. The only thing Carter gave me was a piece of gum. Where did you get that?”
"It was on the bench where you were sitting with him a while ago.”
“Silly! Carter had to go to practice and I had to drop a book at the library. It must belong to someone else. Give it to me. I’ll give it to the house mother, so she can find who lost it.”
Aiden dropped the keychain in Penny’s hand. A coincidental mishap? Of course, he didn’t believe her, but why expose his feelings for her? Why risk being vulnerable?
“Yeah,” he said, “Sure, you take care of it, Penny.”
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Oct. 03, 2020-- CONTEST ROUND: Plot Background Story
All the other non-contest assignments are in "2020 NaNo Prep"
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