ADDITIONAL WRITING
Fall 2015 to 2019
This page is dedicated to the additional pieces of writing outside the confines of the Rising Star Saga that are either part of Topaz's story or were directly inspired by her and her story. One will find that Topaz has not only spilled over into several different visual mediums, but literary mediums as well. As I stated before, Topaz has inspired poetry. And comic books. Aaannd storyboards. Aaaaannnd song writing....
Sections within this page:
1. "Shooting Star" Prologue
2. "Crashing Comet" Storyboard
3. "Jewel of the Azure Dragon" Concept
4. The Rough Draft of "Rising Star"
5. "Lapaz"
6. Poetry
There's an overview in each section, and more details on the individual images should one click on or hover over them.
"SHOOTING STAR" PROLOGUE
Taking place just before the events of "Shooting Star" (Part 1), this short piece, a combination of storyboard images followed by subsequent screenplay, was a flash of inspiration that had hit me one day. I think I was sitting over my table, bent like Igor, just trying to think of something to draw (at least that's what comes to mind—the need to vent a steaming creative energy). There's no date on these, but, since the next drawing in my sketchbook is dated June of 2019, it must've been from the summer of that same year. This prologue is canonical.
The drawings and dialogue are in chronological order (the dialogue proceeds after the drawings).
"CRASHING COMET" STORYBOARD
These few pages are the beginning (and the end) of an animation I thought I'd tackle when I was trying to learn the craft. And, hard-headed, ambitious turd that I am, I thought I'd take a crack at a fully realized fight scene and drama piece—something that would've likely added up to 10 minutes or more. Of course, I never went through with it. There was no way I could have gone through with it and remained sane. There's a chance I would still be working on it to this day.
This storyboard resembles thumbnails in style, crammed into a few pages: I did not want to spend much time (or paper) on it. It will likely be confusing in some areas; I'll try to eliminate confusion in the expanded information about each page should one click on any image. (The most important thing to keep in mind is to read it from the left side down, then to the right side down.)
The entirety of the Rising Star Saga (Parts 1, 2, and 3) takes place between the episodes "Keeping It Together" (S2E7) and "Beta" (S3E22). This animation would have taken place after Part 3, during the same timeframe of "Beta," in which Jasper returns to the place of her birth. It mainly features Topaz, Little Sister, and, of course, Jasper. This animation would have depicted conflict and fighting between Topaz and Jasper. Should these events have been realized in some form, they would be canon with the Rising Star Saga, but for now they remain as my headcanon (maybe I'll put them down in writing some day...).
I didn't have a title in mind for the animation, but, thinking of it now, I guess I would have titled it "Crashing Comet," or something similarly to do with the theme of titular stars.
Started planning it in spring 2017 and gave it up in 2019.
"JEWEL OF THE AZURE DRAGON" CONCEPT
Often when I was on the bus to and from college campus, I would listen to music. Certain tracks would get my imagination going, and I'd think about certain characters of mine doing things that fit the music. Of course, in 2016, I mostly thought of Topaz, especially when I listened to certain graceful pieces of music ("Infinity" by Danny Rayel is one).
One of the tracks to my YouTube playlist at the time was a composition by Peter Gundry called "Ulia - Jewel of the Ocean." I don't think I imagined anything in particular when I first heard it, but over time, as I listened to it more, a full-fledged miniature episode came to mind. This episode would've been called "Jewel of the Azure Dragon."
Now, to me "Ulia" has a flavor to it that just makes me think of China (whether or not the instruments or composition are meant to be reminiscent of China is beside the point). I thought of China, then Topaz, and then wondered what the heck she would be doing in China. As usual with Topaz, she is very practical in her actions and often has an ulterior motive: to her, she has a good reason in being in a certain part of China. As "Ulia" plays out, the audience becomes privy to why she was there, and why she was being followed by police.
The episode would have started out in a crowded market street in some city in China (not necessarily a metropolis; there aren't any sky scrapers in this city). It is during winter, the sky is gloomy, and there is snow on the ground. In this crowd is a young boy whose pushing his way through people. He bumps into someone and falls. He looks up and meets the piercing gaze of a tall stranger. The stranger is heavily clothed with their face covered, and keeps walking nonchalantly past the boy.
The boy gets up, looks back at the stranger walking away, then turns back to keep heading where he was going. Then he starts to notice a few police officers (or security police) pushing their way through the crowd, back the way the boy had come. There's an indication that he gets the idea that they may be after the stranger.
The camera pans out, to put a few officers who are pushing through the crowd into frame. Then maybe the camera pans out more, or pans over to gaze into the direction the stranger had gone.
Then there's a pursuit scene—the police after the stranger—down various streets and alleys of the city, with the camera at various dramatic angles. As the pursuit goes on, less and less civilians are present, and more and more police amass. Eventually, there is a shot of the stranger in which they run down an alley between two tall buildings. We see the police scramble into the alley after them. There's a low shot, on the ground, centered between the two buildings that make up the alleyway, looking up at the police that ran out of they alley to the street on the other side of it. They look around the street to try and see where the stranger had gone. Some disperse in various directions. But, in the same low shot, after the police go their separate ways, we see a figure on the rooftops leap over the alleyway, from one building to the other. The camera cuts to the rooftops and follows the stranger.
There's some quick cuts as the stranger is followed. Then we find the stranger's destination. There's an open window to an apartment building that they jump into.
Alone in the room, the stranger removes their hood. It is Topaz. She pulls out something wrapped in cloth. She opens it. It is a very large gemstone set in an elaborate dragon ornamentation made of gold. She looks at it a moment, before wrenching the gem free of its golden setting. Under the bed of the apartment is a satchel weighed down by its contents. She opens it. She gazes at the gem a moment before dropping it into the satchel that contains several other gemstones. Then she tosses the golden dragons out the window.
The camera cuts to see the golden ornament land in the snow. It is in an empty alleyway; there's a noticeable trail through the snow made by pedestrian activity, but there is only one person in this alley at the moment. That same boy from the beginning comes along and picks it up. He's bewildered. He stuffs it under his coat, and continues on his way. The episode fades out on the boy walking away (likely to his home).
This episode would play in my mind every time I heard "Ulia." Until now, this episode never had a name. I was wanting to keep up with the theme of stars, but titles such as "Starlight," "Star Wind," or "Asterism" aren't as catchy or interesting as "Jewel of the Azure Dragon." The Azure Dragon, according to Chinese astrology and mythology, is one of the four major constellations, so... the title is loosely connected with stars! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
The furthest I was originally going to take this idea was to turn it into an animatic, but I never got around to it. All that currently exists of it are the doodles below. Maybe one day I'll make the animatic, but not even I'm holding my breath! Should it have been realized, it would be canonical with the Rising Star Saga. It would have taken place during a time skip in the middle of part 3, during which no one knew where Topaz was.
(Hover over or click on the images for additional information.)
I've embedded Peter Gundry's "Ulia - Jewel of the Ocean" for convenience.
THE ROUGH DRAFT OF "RISING STAR"
Here are a few pages of the rough draft of "Rising Star" (Part 3) to give you an idea as to how much (or how little) the story changed in the final draft, and to show generally what the idea stage of writing this story looked like. I have included the original ending among these pages as it was written back in 2016—the pages as they are listed here are in chronological order to the story, but I had written the original ending before the first 2 pages were even thought of.
Either hover over or click on each image for more information.
Notes on my formatting:
-Anything between parentheses ( ) = I'm unsure of wording or I don't know a word that I want there, or I'm inserting an idea into the text and have little room to do so.
-Anything between forward slashes / / = words to be italicized in the final draft; otherwise, they mean I couldn't decide how to phrase something (sort of like how I used parentheses).
Scenes included within this section:
1. "Discontent"
2. "PeriHOT"
3. Original Ending to "Rising Star" (the last 4 pages) [noncanonical]
"LAPAZ"
This was a little something I was inspired to write somewhere around the time I was writing "Falling Star" (part 2), in which Lapis Lazuli and Topaz fall for each other and, well, at least have a fling. This ship obviously didn't captivate me for long, as all that exists of it are these few paragraphs. I'm not sure I ever thought of this as canonical to the Rising Star Saga, especially due to the more adult nature it would have had. This was just something silly that came to me on a whim, inspired by how fun and silly I thought certain fanfictions were—fanfictions of a more, shall we say, zesty nature. (God, thinking about it now, I recall images of Lapis and Topaz sharing a cigarette after sex: Topaz lying back with one hand behind her head and the other propped up with the cowboy killer between two fingers, and Lapis laying on Topaz's chest, but craning her head up as a gesture for wanting a drag, so Topaz lowers her hand toward Lapis's face and lets her have her fix—all very grungy and reminiscent of Pulp Fiction. It's all so stupid! I can't remember the last time I've thought about that.)
This lemon, back when I had written it in 2015, back when I had a completely different ending in mind for the entirety of the Rising Star Saga (if I had even thought up an ending by that point), would have taken place after most of the major events of Topaz's story. (The idea was that, eventually, Topaz would have cut ties with Homeworld and was to explore her new home and newfound freedom, which is fairly on point with what is canon in part 3. "Lapaz" would have happened at some point during that time.)
This piece was written in the span of an hour (probably). Noticeably, it never stood a chance in making it past the rough draft stage, so some sentences may not make sense (I don't think I quite knew what the word shibboleth meant, but I sure liked the sound of it; I think I thought it had something to do with barriers or thresholds). Since there is so little of it that exists, there is no downloadable PDF. However, all the original formatting is intact.
Notes on my formatting:
Anything between parentheses ( ) = I'm unsure of wording or I don't know a word that I want there
Anything between brackets [ ] = Here, I'm using them for reminders of what I would have written, should I have continued the story
The document is dated 9/18/2015. "Lapaz" is noncanonical.
"Lapis and Topaz (Lapaz)"
In her searching for renewed purpose, Topaz sifted along a shoreline where the ocean met the continent—a “beach” humans called it. In this serenity, and loneliness, of isolation, she decided to learn what this “beach” felt like between her toes. It was grainy, frothy, slew-like, and not entirely unpleasant. Topaz gazed out at the ocean and took in its vastness. Its waves rolled over her feet.
She thought a lot of things recently past, how much had changed, occasionally drifting back to who and what she and everyone else was from epochs ago. Those thoughts made her angry and sad, so she demolished them as soon as they reared. She tried to focus on what and who she was going to be—who she is, and who she will be. But the difficulty about that was that as she has nothing laid in front of her, the past seemed to be the only thing that insisted on her attention, and, by that, she is held back. What was this lowly little extraterrestrial supposed to do? She hoped an answer would show itself soon. And the sickening humor of that is not lost on her—hope has been exactly what’s kept her going her entire existence. …more or less.
Topaz blinked twice, then blinked hard the third time—in the distance she could swear something was irregularly disturbing the surface of the ocean. She watched, and moved some hair behind her ear. Something was coming. Topaz backed out of the water as it rippled strongly and surged for the shore. Topaz backed up more—whatever it was it felt big. She braced herself as the ocean opened up and shot into the air. The waves in stasis blocked Topaz from seeing whatever manipulated them. Then, there, at the shibboleth of sugar sand and mud, emerged a small blue Gem. Topaz blinked three times again.
The little blue Gem crawled from the ocean, listlessly thrashing—she looked so frustrated and absolutely exhausted. Once onto the sugar sand, she let herself fall in it, and let go of the sea, sending the waves crashing down and flowing again over the beach.
The blue Gem didn’t move—she just laid there. Topaz felt something crawling under her skin, in her chest. She moved to the blue Gem. (She kept her boots gone). As she got closer, she saw just how small the blue Gem was. She probably only came up to her midsection. But she was prostrate, and choosing to breathe, albeit shallowly. Her form was delicate, but the ocean and her fatigue played with that, making her ragged, disheveled, even wiry. But her skin was deep blue, and her hair and dress were deeper so. Her Gem was centered on her back, (teardrop) cut. A lapis lazuli. It rose and fell with her breathing—sand kicked about from her lips. Topaz noticed the lapis was barefoot. And Topaz, unsure and itchy, awkwardly flicked some sugar sand with her toes onto the lapis. She did not react. Embarrassed, Topaz knelt. She poked the lapis on the shoulder—she felt grimy—to which she groaned. Topaz flipped her; she offered no resistance. The lapis must have passed out. Her face was wrung but just as delicate as everything else about her. Her nose was small and her lips were curt, her brow was pulled up into (consternation). Her wet bangs tried to hide it, but failed. The lapis nevertheless chose to keep breathing.
Topaz looked around, reminding herself there was an/of the environment. Itchy, she dug her hands into the sugar sand and scooped the lapis lazuli in her arms.
…
[Lapis awakens under some shelter, Topaz isn’t there but is close by—what is she doing?—Maybe they keep moving together, on a journey, neither knowing where to go. They fall for each other, embarrassing and cute, and cuddly, fluffy, whatever. Sexual. Handsy with the Gem on her back. Pulls her into her lap, kissing deeply. Get to know each other. Both had been trapped]
POETRY
As mentioned elsewhere on this site, Topaz inspired poetry. Unexpectedly, she became so inspirational to me that she could not be contained within the walls of her own story and, against my will (or better judgment), burst onto the pages of other narratives and songs. After all, I thought of her so strongly that she often walked with me between classes (metaphorically speaking, but also I would actually imagine her walking with me sometimes, more often when I was emotionally stressed out). She was a comfort to me because, among other things, she was one of the few things during that time in my life that felt consistent and over which I had control. Consistent in the sense of character and emotion (emotion that reflected my own, so there was a sense of kinship or solidarity in that), and control in the sense that I had the ability to make drawings of her or her narrative a reality, that I could bring her into reality (not so much control the ideas I had for her narrative, because inspiration can strike at the most unexpected times). So Topaz became something that was always available for me to call on and trust. I feel I became rather dependent on her, psychologically and emotionally. And I'm truly glad she came into my life when I needed her most. Whether or not that was healthy, I don't regret the time I spent with her.
Did I mention that these poems were written for a weekly poetry workshop? (Hence why writing these poems may have been against my better judgment. But, then again, what is poetry if not the expression of feelings? And if one feels something strongly enough, how can anybody expect one to not put them to the page if a poem is demanded from them?)
Most of the poems I'd written for that class were written in this one rather secluded area near my dorm—a spot with a bench, a couple of youthful yet crooked trees, under a street lamp that resembled a beacon in the night.
Poems within this section:
1. "Vaccine"
- (Followed by a word on the poem)
2. "One Thing Makes—"
- (Followed by a word on "One Thing Makes—")
3. "In the Name of a Gem"
- (Followed by a short word)
*I do not promise any of these poems will be good (they are still in rough draft form), but, out of the 13 poems I'd written for that workshop course, my feelings of Topaz bled over from her story and stained these 3 more than the other poems. There are certain existential feelings in some of those other poems that echo the miasmic feelings I had for and about Topaz, but only fleetingly (one or two lines); those other poems were not centered on nor directly inspired by Topaz or her story. The proceeding 3 poems were directly inspired by Topaz and/or her story.
"Vaccine"
Ryan Wingfield
CRW3310
Assignment 11
10 Nov, 2015
Vaccine
(Why do I think about her every time there is graceful music?)
Look. She’s not dead.
Her teeth are small. Her lips are full. Her jaw is locked.
And when she speaks, the air listens.
She never says much at once.
Sometimes I think her breath is as quick and lethal as ethylene fire.
Her hair is dark and shoulder-length,
And she likes to have a single braid in the front,
Like a scorpion’s tail.
(Her forehead is kind of big.)
Her eyes are dark, very dark,
Like they are two big black pupils,
And they are like metal
When they look at me.
She is aloof,
But there is a harsh quality in her energy,
And she moves like ice—unforgiving.
(There’s even a strangeness in the way she laughs.)
I was terrified to approach her,
Even when we became… friends?... acquaintances…
There was something about her that filled me with deep longing.
I did not—have not—loved her as a lover
But as something more dear.
(How can anyone ever describe where such things come from.
Or what they are.)
(I think she’s gay anyway.
I’ve never asked.
I don’t want things weirder than they already are.)
Even though she’s a woman,
There’s hardly a softness in her face.
She feels like I’m looking at C4—
Malleable, but with the potential to explode.
And one day she did. Just not in the way I had expected.
I had known her for unknowable days, and that day she was particularly silent.
I pried.
Then, with her face twisted in a sordid mess,
She exploded.
It was a spontaneous thing,
Like I was falling from the sky,
To see her cry.
The last thing I expected was to watch her die,
I saw it in her dark eyes,
As they glossed over and spilled down,
Down her big curled nose.
Blood told her she was a burden, worthless, expendable.
And she believed them.
She huffed, and huffed, a hated thing…
She couldn’t—can’t—conceive that she is loved.
I can’t understand it (it’s everyone else I hate)
But it’s powerful, a constant, it’s taciturn—
Moreso than she.
All she can do some days is sit with it and let it
Consume, consume, consume.
Until it decides it’s done.
Or she falls asleep.
To wake up to it again.
Not knowing how to talk to her, I reluctantly embraced her,
And she was reluctant to it,
But then leaned in and buried her face.
She has no chest, but she was warm.
What a mindfuck.
Her aloofness, her distance, her metal—
The reverse of everything—
It wasn’t out of nonchalance, it was out of fear and passion.
“It was a moment of weakness,”
Because the next day she hated herself.
And hated me.
Hating her for hating me,
Because she’s usually alone when she’s “weak,”
Because I had to be the fool and be there when she was.
But this was also when I remembered her laugh—
The strangeness of it.
It’s so strange because it is her,
Being genuine,
Being herself.
(I can’t help but laugh.)
There was no apology, no forgiveness.
Just, the way we were.
(More loitering than there was talking.)
Then one day I broke in front of her
(The only time I ever)
Over something so pathetic
(Being bogged down by people who don’t matter).
Then suddenly… she embraced me.
She has no chest, but she is still warm. Her warmth.
How dare she feel sorry for me,
When I’ve done all the work.
“Don’t do this to yourself,” she said.
“Everything is going to be… alright.”
I couldn’t do anything as she kissed my forehead…
Her lips are magma, and I went cold.
Coming from someone like her,
Someone who is her own nemesis,
Is amazing and she is beautiful,
And I let my eyes spill onto her shirt.
The ghost of her lips is still there.
(I can’t help but cry.)
What a tableau.
She’s certainly made a difference in my life.
Do you think… Do you think she’s thought the same about me?
She’s still alive.
She hasn’t given up.
A word on "Vaccine"
This was the poem that I felt encapsulated my love and warmth for Topaz at the time, albeit vicariously through a poetic doppelganger. There's such intimacy and sincerity in it, especially in how it stumbles around itself, in how the narrator tries to understand the character they're talking about. This poem was inspired by my feelings for Topaz, how enthralled I was with her, and how I wanted to try and express those things. In writing this poem, bits of "Bad Topaz" (in the "Portraits" section of the "Doodles, Drawings, & Portraits" page) and a real-life friend of mine were mixed into the concoction of this Topaz doppelganger; when I wrote this, I imagined human Topaz being Vietnamese; I also can't help but feel in it an essence of the movie Dummy (with Milla Jovovich and Adrien Brody).
This was the poem that upset nearly everyone in my class, including the professor. Their reaction was one of the most surprising and unpleasant experiences of my education. After I had read it to the class, I was sitting there feeling proud of what I had written and felt through this poem. Like an idiot, I expected to make an impression. And I did. I certainly did.
I can't remember what any of the other students said, but it doesn't matter so much because the teacher gave me what was on all their minds. She called it "insulting to this girl."
"Insulting?" I said with the blank stare of confusion.
"Yes. You call to attention about how she looks, and you're critical in doing so, especially with the comment mocking her chest. What you should have said was that she has no breasts."
"It's insulting to say a girl has no chest if she has no boobs?" (Even then, as those words escaped my mouth, I had an inkling of how detestable they sounded, but I was upset, and I didn't think them as serious as I do now. I don't regret saying them, though. I'm glad I said them and with what emotion I said them, not because I buy into insulting women, but because I stood my ground against someone who had power over me. Besides that, I'd heard women that I respect refer to other women's chests in such a way and thought it fine at the time.)
"YES." She said it as if she stamped her foot like a petulant child.
I recall that one of the students let out a disgusted murmur at my confusion about the boobs. Other students joined in on the criticism (again, I don't remember what they said), but I know they completely ignored what the poem was about and harped on the girl character's physical appearance (unless they wanted to make fun of me with the way I worded something). The one other guy in the class was the only one who offered any real constructive criticism in the way of suggesting a different way to word some things (which happened before all the other comments were said). I felt as if he was just as surprised as I was (he didn't say anything else during the "workshop").
I remember saying, after the degradation had gone on for what felt like too long, "Holy shit, y'all...." I said it like a plea. A confused and hurt and angry plea. It was all I could say. I mean, it's a poem I was proud of (and Topaz was in my heart), so it was as if they had all taken turns stomping on my heart.
When the professor finally acknowledged that we should move on to the next poem (perhaps she noticed how degraded and confused I was, but did not acknowledge it), I mumbled to myself, "Yes, please," as if it was a grudge. The one other guy heard me.
You know, none of them ever told me why the poem upset them. They didn't take me through the thought process; not even the professor attempted to enlighten me. They just told me what they hated and that was it. And, for the most part, I just sat there and took it. I was just left with the feeling of anger and confusion, and thinking that they hated me (maybe because I was a man (because there were other times in that class, both before and after I had written this poem, which criticism I got from the women felt harsher than necessary, and some of their criticism was mocking)). That sort of environment killed my enthusiasm.
At the time, describing the physical appearance of a woman or a character was all I thought I was doing (I was rather ignorant to subtext, and it was also 2015 and I personally hadn't had much exposure to social media by that point, so a lot of potentially sensitive references to women were completely lost to me). (To be honest, reading it now, while the subtext of "insulting this girl" could be interpreted, the poem doesn't really show evidence to support that the narrator desires to insult this girl. The description of this girl feels like it's more from an observational standpoint, albeit inelegant.) That being said, I don't really regret how I worded this rough draft of a poem. I had strong feelings and I tried to put words to them as best I could. Strong, intimate, loving, frustrated, and frustrated-because-I-didn't-know-how-to-put-my-feelings-into-words feelings. Part of me thinks: good God, if they only knew what this poem was inspired by. I have a feeling that the poem, and likely my reaction to their reaction to it, took them by as much surprise as I was under.
I had that class for a 3-hour period, once a week. Ever since this poem was "workshopped," I was always feeling dread and anxiety about coming to this class, even from the very moment I'd leave after the class period was over. For a whole week, I'd be thinking: God, I have to go back.
When their copies of my poem were returned to me, I noticed how many things were scribbled out on some of them. On one, two bold letters—N and O—hovered over the line about a big, curled nose. On another, there was a deep claw mark of ink that had been scratched straight through the last page of the poem. Writing about this now, I'm perhaps even more floored at their lack of explanation (but maybe, since it was 2015, their ability to put their feelings into words was just as difficult for them as it was for me). I still have all their copies of this poem, claw marks and all. They became more of a badge of honor to me, in retaliation to their hatred of me.
There was also criticism over the title of this poem. I'll admit that Vaccine was a last minute addition because I wasn't sure what to title it. But, looking at it now, I think Vaccine is an alright name for it.
Interpret this poem however you wish; I've already been humiliated in a class full of immature feminists.
"One Thing Makes—"
Ryan Wingfield
CRW3310
Assignment 6
6 Oct, 2015
One Thing Makes—
I feel like I’m running all the time.
You—you—you
You burning everything
Every time I see you.
I see you in everything
My tasks, my toil, my time
Always in my morning,
Even if you’re not there.
If only you didn’t have anything in you,
So I’d be your everything.
I wish everything on you
Anything instead of you
Burning—burning
I see everything in you.
In music, you are dreams.
In dreams, you are music.
It makes me anything
Fire—Earth—Water—Wind (Color)
Black & White blowing, washing, glowing, burning everything
Looking for anything to remember
To cling to
Why we’re here
To go away and come back
Red—Green—Blue—True.
Is there any of me True?
Because of you?
Were we ever Colorless?
With the force of everything
I’ve called you anything
You’ve labeled me everything.
We say to say anything
To win
And everything dies.
We lose
E—ver—y—thing.
I’d give everything
To take back
Time
To take you back
In time
And disguise myself
And never meet you.
-We’ve given everything
-We’ve promised anything.
The warmth of the sun is everything.
I don’t feel—I feel anything
I want
In you.
In my wind, you could be nothing—
Or Molester, Marauder, Maimer
Or Tickler, Titterer, Breathtaker—
You smell like everything,
Like the wind.
I feel like a criminal
(How many times have I been called that?)
But I feel like a criminal
When alone,
Thinking of everything I couldn’t
Burning anything I shouldn’t.
I get bristled up,
But, falling something,
Because I’d have to see you
Again. I’d need to
Because you exist.
If only you didn’t.
I miss the way you’d nudge my shoulder blade.
Who knew something so gentle could withstand
Could stand
So long.
Only time
Consoles me.
Not you.
Not anymore.
“Everything I’ve done for you,
Does it mean nothing?
What? What have you done for me?”
Everything I’ve done to you,
Why is that all you remember?
Anything—everything
Everything—Anything
Is there anything I can do
Anything I can do
Anything I
Anything
To make it up to you
To make it up
To make it
Make it up
Up to you.
Even though we’ve been everything, I still care about you.
A word on "One Thing Makes—"
This poem was likely the roughest of the rough drafts that I turned in. It's just a lot of vague words and random feelings to do with a long-term relationship in distress and on the verge of dissolving. I just thought up a theme and beat it to death and perhaps beat boredom into my readers. There are a few interesting things happening in it, however, but I won't harp on them.
I declare that it's boring, but, you know, reading this 5 or 6 years later, even though I know this poem is a rough draft, it's provoking to absorb impulsive pieces of art such as this and still come out on the other side at least somewhat inspired or beguiled by them. Funny thing, too, is that I notice bits of formatting that I forgot to delete from this poem before I turned it in to be workshopped, and yet because they are there, if the reader should take it for granted that they are meant to be there, they potentially provoke further thought.
Putting all that aside, "One Thing Makes—" was inspired by certain situations and moments present in the Rising Star Saga (one who has read it should recognize which moments, and should one not know and be interested in knowing, THE WHOLE STORY IS READILY AVAILABLE TO ONE WITH A SWIFT HAND AND AN ITCHING TRIGGER FINGER—one will find it through either of the 3 links that have the word star in their titles at the top or bottom of this page or from the website's "Home" page). Other than that, inspiration was taken from a real-life relationship I observed from the sideline, and from personal experience.
"In the Name of a Gem"
Ryan Wingfield
CRW3310
Assignment 3
22 Sept, 2015
In the Name of a Gem
Bent over on a bench,
Contemplation alive,
In the life unchosen,
How should his day arrive?
He pours over papers
From an afternoon’s hours,
Looks again, finds and wonders
Where could come such powers.
She tells him she craves a name.
What struggles to found a gem,
“It should bequeath her, speak her,”
He says, “the crème de la crème.”
She sees, speaks, and now named,
Idles, impatient, in dankness,
For she’s only known to him,
Loves him, but not life’s frankness.
At whom he’s made, he’ll say,
“Now that you can see,
Why with such expectancy
And ire do you look up at me?
“You are my heart
Anger and grief,
Quit burglarizing my freedom,
You dastardly thief.”
He knows through other eyes
And sees that she shall survive.
She’ll be loved as he loves her,
Should his day, her day, arrive.
It’s all in good fun,
Process, progress, my son,
Till the day be done,
Till the war be won.
A word on "In the Name of a Gem"
This poem is perhaps the most "straight-laced" poem I'd written for that class. As well as to have fun, it was an attempt to express the stifling feelings that come from trying to create a character that one can be proud of and satisfied with. Of course, these feelings were prominent in me during the time, when I was diving head first into writing Topaz's story and creating her character.
(I love stanza 3 and 6.)
To take one through these feelings, stanza by stanza, the poem goes a little something like this:
This obsession of creating a character found me, I did not choose it. When will I achieve success and recognition from this life that I did not choose?
I spend so long trying to do this, and what I've already created, as I look over it all, I can't help but wonder where all this stuff came from or how I've managed to create any of it.
The name of this character I created must be perfect, to my satisfaction and pride.
Unfortunately, this character and story only exists to me. No one else knows of this story or character. It's like they're in the dark and no one can see them. Will they die when I die?
Creating a character and story is hard. Sharing them is also hard. I love the character and story I've made, and it was so hard to get it to the point where I was satisfied with it. During the process, and even now, I find it difficult to think of anything else when I have a spare moment.
I believe that these things I've made will be shared and loved passionately, as I have loved them. The day will come when that is a reality.
Have patience. Recognition and success will come, and especially love for who I have created will be real. Just try to have fun while I wait. But, damn, is waiting around hard. And trying to push my work out there is really hard.
Side note: my professor hated rhyming (every time I committed this sacrilege, she would ask why). If I knew any better at the time, I would've asked her why not. (I think she thought it childish.)