Thursday, January 31, 2013

Day 6: Mood Journal

General Mood: Frazzled

Still haven't managed to sleep the night through because baby-monkey is recovering, she was noisy and wanted to be held all the time (which is natural for her since baby monkeys spend most of their time hanging on to their mother's body) but since my cat wanted to sleep in my room, monkey could not go out.

Hence, I didn't manage to sleep very well. Currently have panda eyes. Strangely, I woke up early today and then took down laundry, fold laundry, fed cats, fed baby-monkey, fed bigger monkey, fed bro and sis, gave baby-monkey a bath, fed her again, put her to sleep (on top of me since she's so loud) while reading a book, and then fed cats, fed bro, fed baby-monkey again. 

Yeah, I didn't get to write at all. 

My mood is a lot better since yesterday in general I am left alone (but for baby-monkey) and since baby-monkey is healthy. 

Today could be worst I guess. 

Weird thing though, today I seemed to be on auto-pilot, my body moving to do things while my mind is at other places so when I remembered that I intend to do something turned out I already did. 

It's a sign that my mind is cramping and that I need some serious hours of writing time to exorcise the voices inside my head. 

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Day 5: Mood Journal

General mood: Unsatisfied

I've been irritated all day and I hate being like this. Most of it is, I think, because I'm still caught with the whole unfairness of having to take care of the monkeys since they are not my pets anyway. Especially since because I have to take care of them, I have to neglect my cats. 

My cat usually sleeps with me but she doesn't like it that I have other animals in my room, most especially not now when she's pregnant. But baby monkey is still sick so I have to watch over her. It's not like anyone else would. 

And I didn't have much sleep last night because I had to check on baby monkey whether she's still breathing or not. 

I got a few pages of writing in but I know it's crap because people keep bothering me about the monkey. Which of course irritates me even more. 

And now because of everything, I have a stupid migraine. 

I also hate feeling angry at my two sisters because they don't know how to be responsible, but I don't want to always be lecturing or having to be curt at them, but that's just how I feel today. 

In short, today sucks. Hard. 

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Day 4: Mood Journal

General Mood: Pissed off and Upset

At first today started off pretty cool. Found an awesome material with an awesome texture and color!

(I think of making it into a hat)

And then books!

And got new shoes! Which I really need because my old sneakers' soles are like...holey. 

So I was pretty chillin'. I had to get up early though to pick up laundry and fold it. Fed cats and then monkeys etc. 

Then my sisters came home which then of course the unthinkable happen. 

They found out that baby monkey is half-dead (okay, not really, but it was all weak), it got hung up by the neck, tangle up in one of the bars on the window, and I was really afraid that it snapped its neck. 

I took it down, and parted it from the Otan-the big monkey which of course made her crazy. I kept checking whether its breathing for five minutes, cooked food for family then took baby to my room; gave it water, then milk which made it wake up more. It started to move around and made noises. 

I was so sad and so angry. Nobody had any business of getting a baby anything without its mother coming along. And most of all, when family got the monkey I told them that the monkey must be taken care of and the it wouldn't be me. Because monkey's aren't pets, for crying out loud. 

But of course with sisters in school and mom working, I'm always stuck with it anyway. And I DESPISE IT. 

But I don't blame the monkey.

And I was so upset looking at it so weak and unmoving. I was about to cry. 

But baby is safe now, and looking much healthier after a meal of banana meshed with milk. Its now sleeping soundly.


 Hopefully, it will get even better tomorrow.

Monday, January 28, 2013

Day 3: Mood Journal

General Mood: Nothing special

I think I spent most of time sleeping today since I only went to bed like 3 in the morning, then was woken up by my mom at 9 to give the little monkey a bath and to clean out the closet for stuff that we're not using. Then I continued sleeping until around 1 where I showered, folded laundry, fed my cats, fed monkeys, ate, then made banana bread.

Then I had to cook for my sisters then I only had a small amount of time to write which I spent drawing while waiting for the bread to be ready.

Then I had to put my sisters to sleep. And now I'm finally here.

Anyways, made this sketch, inspired by Mey Yeng's poem The Hole and Hourglass, it's a quick sketch and it's not even finished yet but I thought I should put it here so at least I could show I had something done today. Procrastination is strong with me.

There's a hole in my chest
Where an hourglass sits perfectly
Watching tears fall in uniform drops
Going drip, drip, drip

Today, because of something that happened with a friend a couple of days ago got me thinking about privacy. I like my privacy, I LOVE my privacy. I like talking about myself (obviously) but not when it comes about personal stuff.

And I think because of it, it had restrained any curiosity I have about other people's life, even my friends. I always feel strange about why people want to know about other people's life, much less people that you don't actually know, like all those shows about celebrities? I'm like pssh, I'd rather read a book or watch a good movie.

And then I realize that this outlook I have about privacy is actually something that I have since I was a kid, and since I live in a small, close-knit, sheltered community that has everyone know about everyone, it kind of gives you the idea of how oblivious or some would say intentionally set apart I was from most people.

For instance, when my mother asks about my friend and who their parents are I'm like, "I dunno". And at that second I have this tone in my voice that would probably tell the one who are talking to me about of how completely ridiculous that question sounds to me. My logic was--and still is--I am friends with her/him...not their family. What interests me, what I like is him/her, not them. Those two things have no connection and they exists separately in my mind.

I have befriend people who I have known since kindergarten...and I STILL have no clue who their parents are (which, as I think back on it, is REALLY weird, since we are a REALLY close-knit group) or how many siblings they have.

And that kind of attitude is still relevant to how I connect with my friends now. Of course some of them wants me to meet their family and of course when that happens I try my best to be kind and polite. But even then, it's not like I want to suck up to the family but more like, okay, his/her family is important to them, my good relationship to his/her family is important to them so I will be on my best behavior.

My views on friendship is quite liberal, I think. Even now, I can count on one hand the people that I am friends with and interestingly enough, the closer I am, the lesser we talk when we are apart. Oh, we text, sure, but usually over random comments and never a 'conversation'.

But when we do get together, we usually hang out and can talk all day, still comfortable and at ease like we see each other every day.

I'm lucky in that way, that my friendships are with people that are confident in their relationships so they don't cling. Whenever I'm in my hibernation mode, they understand and they leave me well alone. It's awesome.

But, even then, there are some aspects to my views of friendship that seem peculiar to other people. For instance, when I met this one friend, our schedule clashed with her appointment to her doctor and she really needed to go to her doctor so, I'm like, "we should go". And she keeps apologizing to me like it's a problem and I'm like, "dude, chill. We were going to hang out, look, we're hanging out."

And she's like, "This is okay? I mean, don't you want to go somewhere?"

Me, "I'm here to see you."

And she has this look on this face that kind of gives me an inkling of how weird that sounds to her. I guess to her, a day with a friend is like going to the mall or somewhere where you can do stuff. To me, a day with a friend can be anywhere; a trip to the dentist, grocery shopping, sitting at home reading without even having to speak to each other.

To me friendship isn't about sharing your secrets or experiences or whatever, it is creating a quiet space inside your heart, inside your life for them to make a home in, for them to feel safe and not fear of rejection or ridicule.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

Day 2: Mood Journal

(slightly fancier sketch)

General mood for today: Sleepy and slightly irritated. 

Today have been very busy with dealing with monkeys, yes, monkeys with an s, we have 2 monkeys now, with the laundry and cooking. The hours passed by pretty quickly and haven't done any writing. Instead, I've been catching up on my favorite TV series and doing some sketches for DW. 

(look! monkey!)

(gurrrrl, you gotta let me borrow this)

Most people would look at my life and think how boring it is but I disagree. Contrary to some of my friends disbelief, I do like my easy going and simple life. Yes, I lack ambition, and yes, I do admit it. But no, I am not unhappy with how my life is. 

I mean, when I gave the condition for me to living back home (to have a room for my own use) was pretty much 'as long as I have space for a bed, my books and a plug for my laptop, I don't care how it looks or how tiny it is' (--just paused to apologize to a friend about something I shouldn't have done, it's been nagging  me all day. Feel better now) as long as I have an escape from company 

I don't need a super duper important job. I don't need a lot of money. I don't want fame *shudder* and I certainly don't want attention. All I want is to do something that I love, eat awesome food, the health of my family, a room to call my own and all the books I can read. Oh, and internet connection.

For people like me headphones are our best friend, failing that, books. Just something that takes us away from not just life but from ourselves. 

Totally not saying that I don't love myself, I do, but sometimes it's nice not being myself--and not having the problems that comes with myself--for a little while. 'Cause when you're set in your ways--like I am--the possibilities that you usually have when you're much younger lessens and sometimes you sort of just follow the same path over and over again. Again, not saying that I don't love my life (especially since my book is getting published. Yey!) but you need a change now and again to appreciate what you do have. 

So books and music and writing and painting kind of helps me to get out of my head--and sometimes when the occasion calls for it immerse myself inside my inner-self--for a little while. 

It, especially writing and painting especially helps when my mind and my heart wars (it happens way too much for my liking) in reaction towards something that happens in my life. And usually there's no compromise between them it's either the heart wins or the mind. 

No, I don't feel like changing much of my life...except, I do want to stop being so lazy though. And to actually like exercise. I am such a cat right now, all I do is sleep, eat, roll around with my fellow siblings (my pet cats). 

(you finally did your job and fed me. now you get your reward. You may pet me)

Btw, recently I have a variety of wounds: monkey bite, monkey scratches ( I always get the dirty work), a burnt tongue, and a long scratch on my leg because of my clumsiness.

And I have a runny nose and a fever. 

(slightly more fancier sketch. Look, HANDS, er, a hand!)

Friday, January 25, 2013

Day 1

After talking to a friend who is dealing with a bout of clinical depression we decide to help each other out by making a mood journal either by way of sketches or words or a combination of both. 

Okay, the picture above is a really simplistic sketch but it is the one that I can do in the time I have. And it describes my mood perfectly.

I guess today I am thoughtful.

After a discussion with said friend I start asking myself, 'am I happy?' and truth be told the only answer I can give is 'I am not unhappy' and the most definite answer I can admit is, 'I am content'.

To me happiness isn't a state of mind or a state of being, it is a feeling, a momentary one at that. If something good happens, I'm happy...then after a few seconds later I am back to being me. 

My emotions are usually flat although like most people I do have some ups and downs. And let me tell you, those downs

Not that I ever thought of suicide--I love myself too much--but I do think about death, and I would have this scenarios in my head on how I would later die and imagine how people would react to my death.

But that's normal, right?

I think one of the things that makes me have those low moments is my tendency to compartmentalize just a little too much and after I do, I never take the moment to settle the problems that I've shoved aside and because of it the emotions and the problems had had time to fester and simmer until it just had to go somewhere.

Rather than that, I live my life the way I see fit with all the restrictions that I have. I accept my flaws and value my self. I have great friends; both a blessing and a curse.

I do have times where I cry for no reason at all, where the tears cannot seem to stop.

But then it passes.

Then I wake up, I clean, I fold the laundry, I write, I listen to music, I sing, sometimes I dance. I play with my cats, I write again, I watch movies, I talk with my sister over food, I bond with my mother over recipes, I cook, I live my life. 

Like I said, I am not unhappy but I am content.

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Recipe: Banana Bread with Apple Sauce

Since people have asked, I will write down the banana bread recipe that I have. It's really easy to make and very yummy. 

First, let's go with the banana bread!


(baking is a messy business)
  • 3 or 4 ripe bananas, smashed (make sure it's the kind of bananas that are sweet when cooked)
  • 1/3 cup melted butter (make sure it has cooled down before use)
  • 1 cup sugar
  • 1 egg beaten
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla
  • 1 teaspoon baking soda
  • A pinch of salt
  • 1 1/2 cups of all-purpose flour

  • Preheat oven to 175 C
  • Mix butter with mashed bananas
  • Mix sugar, egg, vanilla. Then sprinkle baking soda, salt and mix it in. Add flour last.
  • Pour mixture into buttered 4x8 loaf pan.

  • Bake for 1 hour ( or until you insert a toothpick in it and nothing sticks)


Apple Sauce


  • 1 or 2 medium size apples (I used Fuji because, well, it tastes good and when cooked doesn't change its taste)
  • Sugar as needed
  • Water as needed
  • Brown sugar as needed
  • Cinnamon as needed

  • Core and peel apples, cut into cubes.
  • Put into mixer (occasionally splash water)
  • Heat a pan and pour it inside, stir, add sugar and brown sugar and cinnamon as needed (until it is as sweet as you want)
  • Turn off stove and let it cool. 
  • Afterwards put it into a jar and store in a fridge or room temperature. 


 In my house, it didn't even last A DAY.

At night we, and by we I mean me, cooked Cheese Chicken enchiladas.

Saturday, January 19, 2013

Dreamwalkers: DreamWalker's OST: Ellie Goulding's Halcyon

Dreamwalkers: DreamWalker's OST: Ellie Goulding's Halcyon: Like all of my writing efforts, there's always a playlist involved. And this time, I found the perfect album to accompany my writing of Dre...

Friday, January 18, 2013

Dreamwalkers: Chapter 0

Dreamwalkers: Chapter 0: Medea dreamt of running.  This wasn't anything strange because running just happened to be one of her most favorite activities; n...

Artwork for DreamWalkers

On a whim I made my own artwork for DreamWalkers, just simple things, images that I had in my had as I write.

I'll probably do more to accompany each chapter as I post.

Sunday, January 13, 2013

Dreamwalkers: Artwork!

Dreamwalkers: Artwork!: So, this one of the first efforts of Chin Cheng Low's artwork for DreamWalkers. She's working on a back version of this one which is more...

Friday, January 11, 2013

Thursday, January 10, 2013

Favorite Fanfic Authors

I'm making a list and checking it twice.

This is a list about all of my favorite fanfic author. I will start from:


She is a master of angst and humor and clever writing. I just LOVE, LOVE, her work. She writes Twilight (Team Jacob), Avatar: the Last Airbender (Zutara) and lost of other fandoms.
It’s one of those nights.

My head is quiet; the night is calm, my bed is comfortable and I am surrounded by family in a house that is not just a clever design of bricks and glass, but a home.

But in my heart there is a gathering storm. 

It’s on nights like these that when I write, the words would crash across the page like ocean waves, leaving me awed and baffled when I reread it later.

On nights like these, feeling would ebb and flow between one word and the other. On nights like these, writing would not be about putting images that exists in the mind into words, no, on nights like these, writing would be like scraping my heart out of my chest, where it would beat, brilliantly crimson, between paragraphs.

It is on nights like these, that I would pull out every layer of feeling that is in me—agony, pain, joy, sadness, bitterness, loss, delight—and smear it across the page where everyone can see.

It is on night like these where I stare at empty pages and watch it fill regardless of what I want. 

It is on night like these where I do not think. I only feel.

Original Poetry: His Eyes

She loved his dark ever changing eyes.

She didn't mean their color, their color remain unchanged.

Clear. Warm. Vivid. True.

It was his mood that changed them; hard with anger, soft with love, bright with humor.

She loved his dark ever changing eyes.

She watched sunlight shift and die in them--streaking the endless depths with streaks of gold and red--and the rush of ocean waves and the simmering sulky bruise of storms.

She watched the pounding silver rain and the impossible green of spring time.

She loved them for those little glimpse of the world in his eyes.

But most of all, she watched those eyes reflect back the lingering marks of years gone by on her face. her surprise, she had come to love them for those too.

Copyright © 2010 by D.F. Jules

About the Responsibility of Being A Writer

Writing comes naturally to me. I do it not only because I want to do it but because it’s something that well, just is to me.

It’s either that or spend days of walking around with a crowded brain, filled with characters and scenes and dialog rattling inside my head.

I do it to please myself.

But when I write, when I’m neck deep into a story, I don’t only think of pleasing myself, I think of pleasing my readers. Scenarios bloom inside my head and I write it down with thoughts of “If I was reading this book, I would want it to happen like this” and that works for me. And it also works for my readers.

It works because I write to share my story, not just to channel what I have in my mind. I want my readers to love my characters, to relate to them, to feel with them, to sympathize and empathize…so I sometimes don’t get other writers that just write whatever they want or people who defend themselves by saying, well, it’s my story. I can do whatever I want.

*shrug* but I guess, that’s their right. But they’re missing out on one of the greatest experience that a writer can have; connecting with their readers.

I felt pride and happiness if a reader claimed that she sighed when my character sighed, cried when my character cried, felt anger when my character was angry because what’s the damn point of telling a story that people won’t care about?

If they just read it for the sake of reading, they might as well read a textbook.

But, sometimes, being a writer or any other artist I suspect, have their burden. Certain responsibilities of what they put out into the world; some kind of message or symbolism that they convey through their art.

We, as the artist, may not meant to do so, but sometimes people latch on to the strangest things when they are troubled.

You might not think your work means something other than just a pretty, exciting thing but some people would think of it as something else.

One of my readers mentioned that one of my stories helped her out of a very difficult situation in her life, her brother had died in an accident and since the characters of my story was also dealing with a loss of a love one, she managed to relate to them and somehow, it helped her out.

I didn’t see how it could because the story was dealing with some dark emotions and my characters were falling apart every which way…but maybe, that was what helped her. Maybe sadness or grief was like a poisonous wound and you have to purge all the poison for the wound to finally heal. And reading about my characters being true to their grief, probably helped her out in voicing hers.

I’m glad I managed to do that for her.

I admit to a certain range of reluctance and anxiety that I managed to influence her life like that but, that’s what art is all about, right?

I also admit to a sudden attack of the conscious, I started thinking, “should I be more careful about what I write? Should I tone things down?” Then of course I shrug those thoughts away.

While it is true that art can influence people in a certain way, humans are not Pavlov dogs. They are not an empty vessel waiting to be filled with ideas and idiosyncrasies. They can think for themselves, decide for themselves, and pick and choose which idea suit them for the better.

I know. I know. Utterly naive, right?

But that is how I am. That was how I was raised. My parent’s didn’t do any parental control about what I watched. I watched Kung Fu movies since I could walk, scenes with violence and drugs (of course I didn’t understand what it was) and kick ass. My brothers killed and played warrior in video games.

And I had always known the difference between reality and games. So, if I could do it, why not other people?

So, with that thought, I stayed writing as I have. And it hasn’t failed me yet. Here’s to hoping it would never will.

New Books!

Family Drama

It's official, I am moving out of this house. Just for the sake of my mental state.

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

DUDE, the weirdest (and awesomest) dream to date:

Genre: Horror/ Supernatural Thriller
Characters: Me (for a change) and some other people that I thought I knew but not really.
Location: A somewhat creepy yet atmospheric mansion+grounds.
World: Kind of dystopian
Timeline: Future
Summary: The world is hit by a new virus, and people who are (as always) are isolated inside a compound and observed closely. No this is not another zombie dream.
Atmosphere: Dark, gloomy. Storm clouds overhead, and the colors are strictly pale blue, gray blue, black and green with the forest surrounding the mansion.

Anyway, I share a room in this so called mansion (dark wood, dark wood paneling, floors, kind of posh and vaguely disturbing and vast) with two other girls. The situation is pretty bleak but somehow not hopeless, we all know there was something wrong with us, that we are turning into something more than human, evident in the others who had fully turned shown by the paleness of their eyes and the pin prick of their pupils. And strangely, the length of their hair. They had awesome hair.

But, I digress.

It was also evident in the way they move, in their silence as if they're hearing something that normal people doesn't.

No, again. It is not zombies, not vampires not even werewolves. Strangely, this virus that we all have is actually turning us into--wait for it--changelings.

What is changelings you ask?

A changeling is a creature found in Western European folklore and folk religion. It is typically described as being the offspring of a fairy, troll, elf or other legendary creature that has been secretly left in the place of a human child.

So, anyway, Fairies, in the lore has always have problem with their offsprings, either they die, they can't have it with each other or they don't last long. So, to get over this problem, they either kidnap human babies, lure children away or get it on with humans.

But, in my dream, apparently the fairies are a dying race but they've managed to find a solution. They virused their blood and infect pure humans and turn them in some ways, into a hybrid of human and fairie. They would enrich their blood and their kind in a much faster way.

Don't ask me how, don't ask me about the science. Anyway, that was the dream. I didn't get to finish it.

Damn. Still cool though. I wonder what I'll be dreaming tonight.

It gets a little creepy sometimes because you go on about your life with them still inside your head and you look at the world and all of sudden you think in their mindset, how one character will deal with what is currently happening to you, what this character would say when they’re in your situation, how that character will solve this problem you’re having.

And sometimes you do it their way.

Sometimes you look at a shirt and think, ooh, that will look good on (name of character) as if they are a real person and sometimes you are more considerate of them than you are of your friends and family.

But then again, it’s good that the characters are real to you because if they don’t feel real to you then they won’t feel real for your readers and then what’s the point of you writing?

I guess, if you really think about it, of course your characters would feel real to you because in every single one of them, you put a piece of yourself inside them: maybe it’s your insecurities, maybe it’s your love for art, maybe it’s your sarcastic humor, maybe it’s that little girl inside of you, sometimes it’s your shame and your guilt and sadness and pain…and if you’re lucky you are able to make them rise above that. You are able to give them little victories, spots of happiness in an unfair world, watch them grow in both strength and spirit and feel—wow, this character is someone that I imagined, someone that I made up and they used to be so small, so ordinary but look at them now. It is through them that you see who you are, who you've become, how far you've traveled; that is a piece of me and it’s beaten the odds.

And you think that maybe, just maybe, you can do that, too.

Sometimes I just want to gather everyone of them and give them a big hug for making me feel so good about myself.

And yes, I do find writing therapeutic.

Original Novel: How To (Not) Be Popular

“Popularity is like those heels you wear.
At first glance, it looks good. At first try, it feels comfortable.
—but you’ll never be able to move as fast as you want, as free as you want. One wrong move, and you’ll fall.
And the longer you wear it, the more painful it will feel.”
Nikolas Brahma

Copyright © 2011 by D.F. Jules

Original Poetry: Sweetheart

We have our moments, we have our ways

We have our secret smiles, our quiet looks.

But still, I need to remind you—


I am not her, she is not me

You are not him, and he is not you

and this—this is not us


There is no we

And this—this will never be

This is nothing but a fantasy

Of two empty hearts

Coming together in a lonely dream.

a/n: This is something I wrote while humming a vague melody. this was the words that played with the melody. The lyrics I guess. Wrote it under 2 minutes.

Copyright © 2011 by D.F. Jules

Original Poetry: Dance of Swords

And I see you dance; loose hair and flared skirts,
Quick feet and even quicker smile.
On the wings of shadows and light we treat words like swords—
And we swing, we cut, we bleed.

Original Poetry: Mortal

You have seen the world with weary eyes 
Have stepped upon the wonders of the world, spread at your feet 
Have tasted such feasts, experienced such pleasure, have indulged your senses— 

But have you ever dreamt a dream such as mine? 
Lived a life such as mine? 
Loved a love such as mine? 

I am mortal. 

I have dreamt dreams of a mortal man, lived a life of a mortal man, loved the love of a mortal man. 

Where every touch of joy carries the sting of sadness 
Every press of courage lies a bombardment of fear 
Every second passing has the weight of centuries 
Where every movement shuffles you closer to death 

I am mortal. I am dying. I am strong. 

Copyright © 2011 by D.F. Jules

Short stories:

I think today is that rare once in a year day that I will cry my eyes out--
Everything seems to just conspire to make me sad. Little things that pile up and become larger and larger.

I think I’m going to explode sooner or later. I think I’ll get out my saddest songs later and cry my eyes out.

To make it even worse, just had this little scene play in my head about two friends talking.

“You love her! You do!” She punched his arm. “Why haven’t you said anything?”

He rubbed a hand over the injury, wincing, drawing back when she made another fist. “Don’t hit me again.”

“If you don’t start talking I will.”

He sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“Oh, god. What are you? Facebook?” She sipped on her hazelnut latte. “Have you said anything to her?”

He played with the spoon on his plate. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’ll only reject me and—hurting me will only hurt her. It’s—that’s a kind of love to, isn’t it? That’s enough.” He shrugged casually but she could see the struggle in the smile that curved his lips.

Her heart twisted at that pitiful smile so she did what she could.

She punched him again.

“Ow. What is wrong with you?” He shouted at her, clutching at his arm, his eyes watering with pain.

“It hurts, right? Stronger men than you have cried after I punched them so you can cry. It’s okay.”

He stared at her, at the way her big eyes looked at him and felt the itch behind his throat and the heat in his eyes grow stronger. He choked out a laugh. He tried to blink away the tears but it wouldn’t go away.

She didn’t know what to do when he bowed his head and started to cry, silent but for the sound of breathing. Her shoulders slouched, her eyes stung but she could barely think of a thing to do. So she only sat there, quietly. And after a minute or two, she lifted a hand and laid it on his back. Then she started to pet him like she would pet her dog.

She panicked when she felt his shoulders shake as if he was crying harder but then she heard a sound that was suspiciously like a laugh.

She heard him mutter. “You’re crap at being a girl.”


“But you’re a good friend.”

Her embarrassment and anger mellowed. “I can live with that.”

His face tilted sideways, his bangs covering half of his face but she could see enough of the smile—it was wobbly and not his usual smile but at least it was real. He opened his mouth, closed it and cleared his throat before saying, “Me, too.”

She smiled. “About what? Being a crappy girl?”

He snorted a laugh, took a deep breath and wiped his face. “Being a good friend.”

Copyright © 2012 by D.F. Jules
That moment where you want to cry but you can't. 
So you hold it in and let it slide inside your skin, 
--down your drown your heart.

Copyright © 2011 by D.F. Jules

Original Poetry: Broken

I am broken

Can’t you see; the cracks and debris that falls on your feet?

Will you be kind enough to pick up the pieces?

Gentle enough to put me all together?

Strong enough to let me fend on my own?

Patient enough to wait until I am whole?

Copyright © 2011 by D.F. Jules

artwork: Copyright © 2012 by Chin Cheng Low

Original Poetry: Tight

There are wolves at the door, dear heart, wolves at the door

Close the door, close the door.


There are shadows in the light, dear heart, shadows in the light.

Close the window, close the window.


There are monsters under the bed, dear heart, monsters under the bed.

Close your eyes, close your eyes.


There are tricksters in the world, dear heart, tricksters in the world

Close your heart, close your heart.


Copyright © 2011 by D.F. Jules

Artwork © 2011 Stacey K. Wall

The Wonder of it All

I often wonder, why did it took me years to finally start on writing a book that is published worthy? I could've saved so much time by starting years ago.

But then I re-reread my stuff now, and re-read my stuff from back then and then realize the answer.

Back then, it was impossible for me to write as I do now. Call it experience, call it maturity, call it whatever. But I do think, I am at the right time to start getting serious about writing.

But I'm also pleased that even as my writing style matured, the underlining thread that connects my words together have not; love, family, friendship, adventure…and a whole lot of angst. And usually character death.

I do love my angst.

People in general, suck.

I am learning that no matter how balanced, how together, how steady you are, there's always going to be that one person who knows  exactly where to push the knife. And twist.

With one word, they can take your good mood, twist it around until all that's left from it is a memory.

And you resent yourself for giving them that power.

I know that it has nothing to do with me, I know that it's not my fault, I know that how they behave is out of some disturbed, petty, problematic part of themselves and that I should not take their words or actions to heart.

I know that. But, still--

Compartmentalization and Denial

The trick to compartmentalization is that it isn't about denying your emotions, it's about setting them aside in order to deal with the problem at hand. The follow-through is as important as the actual compartmentalizing, that after said problem is handled, you find a time, a place, a person, reach inside your self, reach out your emotions, yank it out and let it spill all over you.

The trick about compartmentalization is that you don't keep everything--anything--bottled up inside, you don't stew, you don't let it fester.

The thing is, I tend to forget about that rule...and then find myself writing out my emotions as my character's emotions.

...there is a reason why writers are usually an unsociable bunch.

Human Behavior

If asked, my friends would say that I am more often logical than not. Annoyingly so, in fact.

I’m not saying that I am more highly evolved, I’m just saying that in some cases, my left brain rules my actions than my right. Which is a good thing in some cases, and bad in others.

However, that doesn’t really exempt me from making stupid, impulsive decisions that, for my part, I don’t regret but I do regret the affect it would have on the people around me.  

Having said that, this part of myself does make it impossible to understand some aspects of the human behavior, one of those aspects are, for a lack of a better word: pettiness.

Don’t get me wrong, I can be as petty as the next person, for instance, I find people who want to visit my home as an intrusion. When I don’t feel like it, I don’t even want my friends around me. I don’t like it when people just assume they can share my time or my space. If someone does me wrong, I would forgive them but I would never forget. If someone hurts the people I love, I would easily cut them off from my life as taking out the trash. 

Your boyfriend cheats on you. Okay, you break it off with him, maybe punch him in the face a little. MOVE ON. You don’t stalk the woman he cheats on you with, threaten or call her in the middle of the night or say that you’re going to kill yourself. If you want to do something like that, and you have no pride to spare, do that him because he’s the one that you should blame. 

Your neighbor doesn’t return your ladder/lawnmower/whatever—you don’t start a feud because of it, I mean seriously.

Your best friend couldn’t come to your birthday—maybe they had better things to do. You don’t cut them out of your life because of that. You don’t let something like that erase years of friendship and history.

You walk into a bad romance (getting it on with a friend’s significant other, having an affair with a married person) knowingly and when things go bad, you blame everyone and their mother—which is just mind-bogglingly stupid because it’s your own damn pathetic fault—and then act out toward others like they did you wrong.

I mean, everyone deserves to have some revenge once or twice in their life…but don’t make it your life’s ambition to hurt other people (and yourself) just because of hurt feelings. If someone murdered your whole family and escaped justice, now that I get. But the kind of pettiness, the one that is usually born out of some slight either imaginary or real, that I don’t understand…because it doesn’t do anything, it doesn’t give you anything but pity or ridicule. It doesn’t make things better, it doesn’t change things for the better either. 

And by doing so, you’re only hurting yourself and the people who love you. 

Original Poetry: Bleeding Heart

“So I wrap a tourniquet around your bleeding heart;
the very thing that’s keeping us apart
But rather than stop the bleeding,
All I did, was keep it from beating”

Copyright © 2012 by D.F. Jules 

I bet we all know of that one person, who loves their pain so much, who hugs their pain tightly against their chest, using it like a shield. Who wallows in it and sits uncaring of the world outside of themselves.

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Here in me lies a sense of disquiet. Like the calm before the storm.

I do not like it.

But I will survive it.

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

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