Author Archives: semag6489

About semag6489

I am a recent college graduate with a BA in English with an emphasis on Creative Writing. I enjoy reading, writing, video games, crocheting, knitting, baking, eating, and getting lost on Tumblr. I swear like a trucker and have a low tolerance for stupidity. I am a smol angry person. Hey, look, me in five sentences or less.


Today, after school, I am going to go home and make pages. I am going to find a spot to hang out and I am going to make pages.

Y’hear that, Universe?! TODAY! I am going to MAKE. PAGES. There are going to be so many words and so many pages. ALL THE PAGES! Today, the geologists will not win because I will make pages.



Writer Problems

I am writing a thing and it is an emotional thing. It is making me tear up. That’s hard to do because I’m not an emotional person. But tearing up is a good thing because that means the writing will be emotional too, right? Robert Frost said that thing, “No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader,” so emoting while writing is a good thing!

My husband is in the other room, gaming. I’m about to cry and then I hear, “Stop knocking me into the fire, you whore!” Cue snorting laughter.

I am no longer writing my emotional thing. I’ll try again later.

Conversations About Cannibalism

I am taking a creative nonfiction writing class. Because of how much this genre encompasses, we end up reading a lot of different things. We’ve been reading food articles, lately, and today I read this article. To those who don’t wish to read, the gist is this: In olden times, sailors lost at sea would draw straws, and the loser was killed and eaten. So, if you became lost at sea for some reason, would you kill and eat your spouse/significant other to survive?

Immediately, several scenes from the movie Ravenous came to mind. Of course, being the odd little ball of human that I am, I had to ask my husband, Lum, about it. What followed was a discussion where both of us evaluated our willingness to eat each other.

Both Lum and I agree that we would probably not be able to kill each other. I suppose I could do it, but it would be an absolutely last resort kind of thing. We also doubt that we would be able to let someone else kill one of us to be eaten. We agree that we would be more likely to gang up on the other person and eat them, instead.

Eating each other after we’ve died, however, is a different story. Both Lum and I are very pragmatic people and survival is the goal. While I personally do not relish the idea of chowing down on my husband’s corpse, but if he were to die before me and that was the only means of survival I had, pass me a fork.

Lum agreed with me, saying that he likely wouldn’t be able to kill to eat me. He really, really doesn’t like the idea of snacking on me, either. In this half of the scenario, I don’t really care either way since I’m already dead. I would, however, prefer him to live. Plus, I want to be cremated, mixed with glitter, and shot out of a cannon into the ocean, and somebody has to make sure my body gets home so that can happen, dammit.

Me: I’m glad we’re on the same page. I love you, Meatloaf! ❤

Him: … … …

To those just joining us, this is not the weirdest conversation we have ever had. Not by a long shot. I find this rather funny.

What’s even more hilarious to me is that Lum has been researching cruise prices for the both of us. I think I’ll wait until we’re closer to that date, then bring this up again.

Cream Puffs!

I have recently finished watching the latest season of The Great British Baking Show on Netflix. This show is dangerous. Why, you ask? Because the bakers make everything look so easy and it tricks me into thinking, “I could make that.” And so I try. I don’t always succeed, and I don’t have Paul Hollywood there to tell me how I messed up.

Anyway, I set out to learn to make cream puffs. They’re actually made with choux pastry, which is supposedly very difficult to make. The recipe I found didn’t look too hard, though. There weren’t even a ton of ingredients: butter, water, milk, salt, and sugar. Heat to a simmer, then lower the heat and add flour. Mix until the dough follows the utensil around the pan. Simple enough, right? I mixed the batter, piped the dough onto a tray covered in parchment paper, sprinkled water on the tray, nearly forgot to add the egg wash on top, and then stuck it in the oven. The instructions said to bake at 400° for 20 minutes and then to turn the temperature down to 350° for 10 minutes after that.

So, then they were in the oven and I just had to wait for them to come out. That means I did it correctly, right?

Wrong! The first batch came out very pale in some places and perfectly golden in others. They had puffed up nicely, but their outer shell was still soft and chewy. It felt and tasted like they hadn’t baked all the way through: eggy and sticky and nothing like a choux puff should taste like. I couldn’t even put them back in the oven because I had let all the steam out when I opened the door. My poor choux puffs collapsed into sad little piles of undercooked pastry.

choux 1

Poor puffs…

Anyway, I decided to try again. I left them in the oven for longer, this time: 20 minutes first, and then 15 minutes versus the original 10. They came out better-looking, but much darker than a Google image search suggested.

So, third time was the charm! I made more dough and stuck them in the oven. This time, I let them cook for the same 20 minutes and then 12 at the lower temperature. They came out perfectly!

choux 3.jpg

From the left: First batch, second batch, third batch.

Here’s the link to the recipe:

Ekphrastic Poetry

Today in my poetry class we discussed ekphrastic poetry. This is poetry based on art. My teacher asked us to view The Scream by Edvard Munch. For those who are unfamiliar, here is the painting:

(Obviously, I don’t own this picture).

Everybody else’s poems were dark and mysterious, focusing on the blue and the orange and the horror that is behind the picture. And then there’s mine… which… is none of those things. I think I might have missed the purpose of the exercise. ANYWAY, here’s my poem.

Pale, wide-eyed, open mouth.
A reaction of unimaginable horror.
What is he even screaming at?
Is that Salad Fingers?
Did he ask someone if they liked rusty spoons,
And they dared to say no?
Oh, the horror.
Or perhaps he’s Voldemort on a bad acid trip
For the sky is rolling with color
Like the sea below it.
All rolling, roiling, rotating, returning
Back and forth upon themselves
And each other
Carrying with them unimaginable things
All of them terrible.
Perhaps that’s enough to scream about.

Sonnet 1

I’m taking a poetry class this semester. So far, I have learned that rhyming is hard and iambic pentameter can die in a fire. To quote Benedick in Much Ado About Nothing, “I was not born under a rhyming planet.” Either way, here’s what I came up with. I don’t even care that it isn’t in iambic pentameter because–as I stated above–the damn thing can go die.


Clouds cover the moon, leaving the night black.
Lightning flashes streak through the darkened sky
Perfect darkness momentarily wracked.
Thunder comes seconds after, miles away.
There’s something calming about storms, soothing.
The best nights are those with no rain or snow
When the wind is warm, whipping, wild, wailing,
And the grass is cool beneath my bare toes.
The thunder calls and I must go to it,
Swaying in the yard, peaceful, blissful,
In the noise of wind and crash and spirit
Eternity awaits in thunder’s lull.
I have never slept so well as during a storm,
Peace in my bed, trusting thunder to bring me home.