Reissue of THE ARCHIVES

*STICKY POST*

I’ve been doing more thinking about writing than actually writing, and I’ve been looking back at several things I’ve written. There isn’t much incentive to start something completely new, mostly because I have zero new ideas, but also because my mind keeps cycling the old stories and characters through my head. They still fascinate me.

So I figure that if I can revisit one (or more?) of them, it might give me more incentive to continue to write (or at least make my existing writing better), and it will make my characters shut up because they will finally get much-needed attention.

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THE ARCHIVES: Chapter 222

Admired

Carrie Lawson
and her friends were standing
outside the gym,
comparing outfits.
I HATE CARRIE LAWSON
seared through my head.
I wondered who had written that
and if it mattered.
Carrie saw me staring at her
and smiled. She’s one
of the nice popular girls.
Such creatures are quite rare,
but, as in the case of Carrie,
they do exist. It is easy
to hate someone who seems
to have it all together
like Carrie does.
Hair, outfit, makeup…
every tiny detail that goes into
making a person admired.
Oh, and playing a sport well—
the essential ingredient
to popularity.

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THE ARCHIVES: Chapter 221

Interesting Choice

Before I could answer the woman,
someone’s voice reached
over the crowd like a hand,
throwing out an answer for me.
“An archivist! She wants to be
an archivist!”
The woman’s brow went up
as if she never expected
an answer like that
from a high school student.
“Interesting choice,” she said.
“You might want to consider
being a history major in college.”
But I didn’t choose to be the Archivist.
It’s just who I am.

I looked around the crowd
for the person who had spoken for me,
but they had become silent, invisible.
I gathered my things
and left Career Day behind.

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THE ARCHIVES: Chapter 220

Goals

A marketing firm’s representative,
her mouse-brown roots
showing under her platinum-blond
dye job, said,
“You should think
about your future
now.
Don’t wait until senior year
to decide your college major.”
Some girls beside me whispered
while the representative spoke.
“Everyone changes their major
all the time. We’re only, like, 15.
How the hell are we supposed
to know the rest of our lives?”
The woman pointed at me.
It was as if her finger had traced
a spotlight around me.
“You,” she said.
“What are your career goals?”
Images of myself
in different roles
bounced through my head.
Nothing felt right.

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