New Murder Mystery Chapter (or lack thereof)

Dear all,

School's about to start pretty soon, which means a couple of things. I won't have much time on my hands to brainstorm about my murder mystery, let alone produce drafts. This disappoints me, because B♭ is the first story I've come up with in a very long time. Nonetheless, this gives me hope, because I proved to myself that I can think outside of my poetry box and reach out to other types of literature. I'm positive that the best is yet to come. Thanks to all of you who have read my drafts, especially to those who have given me feedback.

On the other hand, I'm sure I'll be posting some interesting papers as the year progresses. The topics will range from Jane Austen to Latin American visual culture, or whatever they ask me to write! So, be excited! I know I am!

We'll see how this new year goes, since it will be a brand new adventure. I decided to change my major to English, while still following my pre-med track. Hopefully, I'll be able to master the English language and advance in my pre-med studies simultaneously.

Once again, thank you to all of my visitors. I'm sure you'll hear from me very soon!

Cheers,

A very excited and optimistic Char

Chapel Hill, NC

This poem is basically a summary of my nights on campus and the grandeur I discovered in the smallest things, like the famous uneven bricks and ancient roads. I'll translate it the day I figure out how to make it justice. Enjoy!

***

Extraño esas noches

Extraño esas noches, vagando por callecitas oscuras

Fundadas en el 1789...

Estas calles han visto miles de pasos.

Primero, fueron de aquél, de aquella.

Ahora, estas calles son nuestras.

Ya los ladrillos reconocen nuestros zapatos,

Pues anticipan la misma ruta de siempre.

Nos guía hacia nuestros lugares favoritos,

A Franklin y varios lugares secretos, no tan secretos,

Caminamos mano en mano.

En Polk, me quito el bulto, los zapatos, los mahones...

Bailo entre los sprinklers una danza reprimida y

Una felicidad que he descubierto a los 18 años.

Mi risa, la de una niña, mis pasos de infante...

Mi traje de flores mojadas y aromas confundidos,

Nadando entre sueños de agua sucia y un mar de árboles.

Dirijo la mirada hacia South, el rey de nuestro campus,

Veo a mi cubano sentado en los escalones,

Acariciando su guitarra, llorando dulces melodías

Y el humo de su cigarro tan disfrutado...

Sólo puedo pensar en las siguientes horas,

Cuando respire el dulce tabaco de sus manos,

Cuando me trate de seducir con su español incongruente...

Mientras tanto, tocaba una canción para mí,

Aunque estuviera muy lejos para escuchar cada nota con certeza.

Dos horas más tarde, nuestros pasos se dirigían a nuestro hogar.

Observo a mi genio musical bajo la manta de

Luz anaranjada, blanca, azul, de los postes...

Ocho meses y todavía no sé el color de sus ojos, de su pelo...

Llegamos, nos bañamos, entramos a nuestro cuarto.

Vemos televisión, la apagamos, nos miramos, hablamos...

Lo mismo de siempre, aunque nada sea igual.

Respiro el recuerdo del tabaco, mi cabeza en su pecho,

Nos hundimos en un sueño ligero, olas pequeñas de

Te amo mi osito charmonita y miles de enredos en broken spanglish.

Extraño esas noches, cuando la Hill era de nosotros y de nadie más.

***

Cheers,

Char

B♭ - Chapter 2

Hello!!!

I made several changes to the first chapter, but I won't post the revised version until I finish writing the whole story. Here's part 1 of the second chapter, which provides some background information on Sam. I'm still working on part 2, which should move the plot forward. Once again, please disregard the weird indentations. There's something about this blog that messes up my formats. Anyways, I hope you enjoy reading my drafts! :)

Cheers,

Char

***

Chapter 2:

The fact we share the same last name… doesn’t mean we’re sisters.

~

When we’re together, it’s like a double case of androgynous ambiguity. Those who don’t know us, usually poke around in curiosity in attempts to figure out exactly what we are. Strangers’ insinuating remarks such as “You two certainly don’t look much alike to be sisters,” nag at me. To this, I reply in a very polite manner, “That’s because we’re not, ma’am,” “That’s because we’re not, sir.” Now, if they ask Gab, the reply is most likely to be something along the lines of, “I never said we were sisters,” or “You’re right. She’s actually my partner. Girlfriend. Spouse. Whatever you wanna call it.”

My parents were charming folks. They thought it would be endearing to give their firstborn a nickname as a first name. However, I’m positive they regret the one they chose. My elementary school teachers would always look at me in confusion whenever I raised my hand to “Sam Porthos” the first day of class.

“Excuse me, honey. I think your brother is supposed to be in this class. Did you swap groups by mistake?”

“Um, no, Miss. Um, my name… tha-- that’s my name. I’m Sam Porthos.”

“Oh, Sam!” a smile. “Like Samantha, right?”

“No, Miss. I’m Sam, like Sam. That’s… that’s just my name,” I always said, embarrassed, twirling a finger around my ponytail.

This just seems like an issue I’ll never be able to get rid of. I snort-laughed at the image of the disoriented officer who knocked on my door earlier. I could almost see his innards working hard trying to figure out why Sam Porthos looked like a woman.

“So, Sam. I see you find it amusing to be locked up in a cage, huh?”

“That’s Ms. Porthos to you, sir.” After all, that bald-headed, bucktoothed detective wasn’t my friend.

~~~

Chapter 2, Part 2 *coming soon*

The Wonderful World of Customization!

I've been struggling with templates for a while now... I was pretty happy with the last one I had (green/ floral design, jungle-like feel), but it was full of glitches. I'm on a quest to find the perfect template, and I just hope the one I end up choosing is virtually glitch-free. So, please excuse the crazy avalanche of styles, colors, and formats you're about to experience.

Not very happy,

Char

Drift! A melodramatic poem about le floating.

A poem about imagination, daydreams, and memories.

~

Drift!

Charlene Joy Ruiz

I don’t want to open my window this morning,

For I fear that everything I’ve been working on

Will escape and flow out of my soul, across the room,

Out the window, then back again into the world…

After hours searching for the right words

For my mental show and tell, a thought hit my mind.

It spent hours searching for me, and here it is,

Trapped somewhere between my ribs and my throat.

There’s me drifting under a cumulus sky,

Disturbing the thoughts of onlookers…

I step on freight trucks, with catlike surreptitiousness,

Claiming my nighttime alley roof in broad daylight.

Interstate flooded with my stepping-stone trucks.

Jumping on them, one by one, I feel

The heat of the day adhered to my skin,

The healing wind on my naked feet.

Star-studded asphalt,

Furiously dashing below an asphyxiating sun.

Silvery memory-threads in the back of my head.

How I live for this cat-and-mouse game!

~

Cheers,

Char