“Courage, Merry. Courage for our friends.”

Starting is the hard part. 


Setting a pen to paper, hands to a keyboard: a moment of infinite possibilities surging through your brain and halting just shy of your fingertips as they coalesce into the here and now — things are changing now, my love, and they won’t stop for anything. Words change things, see. How we look at the world. How we think about the world. How we analyze our own lives. The pen definitely remains mightier than the sword.

That’s what makes it so frightening.

Realizing that your hands hold a tool with more sway than a nuclear weapon is decidedly not for the faint of heart. The oblivious, maybe; the ignorant, perhaps. The truth of the matter is that we should all be shocked anyone in the course of human history has written anything. We’re either sublimely courageous, incredibly stupid, or, and perhaps this is the most accurate, a bunch of foolhardy folk who are full enough of ourselves to consider what we have to say worth considering.

Perhaps what’s even scarier is that sometimes? Sometimes, we’re right.

*title quote taken from the character Eowyn in the film The Lord of the Rings: the Return of the King



& autumn winds come crisply calling
with their leaf friends wildly dancing
swirling all around the trees
flashing colors brown and red and golden —

dwell not upon the neverlands


once, I tried to write a linguistics midterm project. Actually, this all happened much more recently: I delved into the project in early November, struggling to force Aiolic patterns of verse onto a stress, not syllable-based, language. That is to say, I tried to make ancient poetry patterns fit with modern English. It… worked, to a certain degree. I bent a few rules, invented some new ones, tweaked a few ideas, and eventually I created this series of quatrains that more-or-less fit Aiolic patterns.

That, of course, came after many failed attempts. The first of these failed attempts somehow ended up developing into something somewhat larger than what I had in mind at the time: it morphed into this longer, rhyming, more thoughtful poem over the course of a few drawn-out hours.

Continue reading “dwell not upon the neverlands”

the blog project

My roommates conspired against me. They (oh, fine – unconsciously) exploited their knowledge of my love for them, my love for food, my love for photography, and my love for writing to convince me that keeping a blog would be a fun, clever way to spend my time.

Of course, the problem with this semester is I don’t have any time. Still and all, I do enjoy writing; I do enjoy food; I do enjoy photography; and I do love my friends – and thus the blog project was born. One girl, three roommates, a room number to match the year, and a challenge: somehow, somewhere, somewhen – between the rushingtoclass madness, the rushingfromclass madness, the cooking and the grocery shopping and the washing up and the homework and the books and the occasional room decorating spree – I will try to make this worth reading for somebody, somewhere, somewhen.

My name is Connor. Welcome to the Blog Project.

the room number that matches the year