Maya Angelou Response Questions

Question: Are you a person that remembers everything or a person who remembers almost nothing? Which is better to be? Which periods of time in your life are the clearest? Which periods of your life are the fuzziest? Do you have a better recall of the times you consider happy or the ones you consider sad or embarrassing or uncomfortable or humorous?

Response: I am an individual with extremely good memory. I find it better to be someone who remembers an abundance of things compared to someone who has a hard time remembering things. Since I am an auditory, written/reading, and visual type of learner it is easy for me to remember parts of conversations, reading/writing material, and lessons. This comes in handy on tests and when information is needed for something important. But it also keeps events in my life very clear. The clearest time in my life at the moment would be from when I was eight through now. This is a time frame where a lot of change has occurred in my life. I have moved to a lot of different places when I am introduced new surroundings it is easier to remember who I was at that time and the new experiences I had. I remember becoming a musician like it was just yesterday and everything that I have done musically is clear in my mind. I think I mostly remember the happy times in my life. But, just like anyone else, sad and embarrassing things can be clearly remembered as well. There are still times when I dwell over the embarrassing things that have happened to me, but that’s because people, most of the time, are not constantly embarrassed so it is easy to remember those kinds of things.

Question: Angelou quotes Nathaniel West as saying, “easy reading is just damned hard writing” and says writing is “just hard work, you know?” Do you agree with this? What is easiest or hardest to you about writing? Is writing hard work?

Response: I completely agree with Maya Angelou and Nathaniel West. Being a writer and creating pieces that attract readers is very hard. I tend to find myself over editing, then re-writing, then deleting my work several times in a row. The hardest thing about writing is having complete thoughts and planning far enough ahead so I don’t find myself lost at the end of each sentence. Another very hard thing for me is being able to be satisfied with my writing. I get very picky because I want to focus on the big idea, but I can’t focus until my writing is perfect. I want everything perfectly written and it to flow nicely and sound sophisticated and mature. And I know that it is almost impossible to create a perfect writing piece, but that doesn’t seem to stop me from trying. I also know that my writing will mature with age and as I continue to write, but I think my mind would rather ignore that fact and try to sound wise beyond its years. I have so much respect and appreciation for writers like Maya Angelou who can write so honestly and beautifully.

Ballet Slippers

'keep your hair in a bun, you must have fun,

up on your toes, perfectly ironed clothes, 

slippers must always be laced, keep a smile on your face'

but one day her hair fell from the bun,

a wrinkle formed in her clothes,

the slippers were forever unlaced 

and she wore a frown on her face,

old age came too fast.

Butterscotch

I remember the bowl that sat by the chair, 

an abundance of candy meant to be shared,

Reeses that melt in your mouth,

Hershey's chocolates begging to be eaten,

but if you see the amber wrapper beware,

butterscotch candy is found in there,

grandmother said they taste of gold and honeycombs,

maybe she is right but I'd rather steer clear.

Parades

Midsummer parades,

Involving clouds of grey,

Nine large floats make their way down the road,

Introducing themselves with a loud 'hey',

Various bands march and play,

In the crowd children shout 'hooray',

Old couples try to seize the day,

Large amounts of candy are thrown the crowd's way,

Everyone cheers as the last float says, 'have a nice day',

Ten people beg the floats to stay.

Haiku Poems

Harbor Light

Light cascades over the bay,

white waves crash upon the shore,

grey clouds drift away.

Memory Lane

A stroll on the beach,

navy waves chatter and screech,

as the moonlight sinks.

Sterling Silver

I hear church bells ring,

silver streams and wedding rings,

a crowd claps and sings.

Men and Dandelions

Author's Note: This is a fictional (not real) piece I wrote inspired by a dandelion I found at the park.

The city breeds business; young men and women eager to make millions off of manipulation, intimidation, and an inviting false smile. The city drools over the dreamers; young men and women ambitious to make a name for themselves by memorizing poorly written scripts, strumming busted guitars, and flashing a crooked smile. And if one is lucky enough to find the other, the two will balance reality and dreams together.

               

                Elle Fitz strode through the New York City streets, easily juggling her tasks for the day. She rushed through her morning routine which consisted of grabbing the daily newspaper and a freshly brewed cup of coffee before heading into work. She navigated through the streets carefully; her new Louis Vuitton heels were not to be ruined.  The young business woman was the editor for Elle magazine and as much as the job gave her, it took equally as much. Being editor gave Elle a materialistic outlook on the world. She no longer daydreamed of possessing better belongings; she had them, and never settled for anything but the best the world had to offer. She spent thousands of dollars on designer clothing and beauty products; she kept her nails finely manicured and her hair curled to perfection. After all, the editor of Elle magazine must look highly professional and up-to-date with current trends.

                As she neared the magazine’s office building she spotted something vibrant and yellow peeking out at her from between a crack in the sidewalk. It had grown right outside the entrance of her work place. A disgusted look appeared on her face as she murmured something about city workers not doing their jobs correctly. She quickly kneeled down and plucked the dandelion from the ground, but as she stood up and stared at it occurred to her that she was no longer holding a dandelion, but a memory.

                Elle had spent her days as a child exploring the outdoors picking crab apples from trees, blueberries from bushes and dandelions from the ground. She remembered trying to put a dandelion in a small glass and place it in the center of the table every night before dinner, like her mother did when she received bouquets of flowers. But every night her mother would let out a disgusted grunt and immediately throw the flower away. One night, in particular, she explained to Elle that the dandelion was ‘nothing more than a weed’ and ‘wasn’t the least bit special’. Elle struggled to understand that there was no value to the flower, it was beautiful to her. When mentioning the flower was extraordinary to her, her mother added ‘there are millions like it, one day you’ll notice it's insignificance’. And that is where the conversation ended.

                It wasn’t until years later that Elle understood and agreed with what her mother said. The dandelion resembled her relationship with her ex-husband, Adam. Upon finding him, she thought he was beautiful, inside and out. The two of them spent countless nights at dinner parties and business gatherings. Elle believed that the two of them were inseparable and that they were compatible on every level, until she began to observe her husband’s co-workers. Each of the men and their dates were following the same routine every night, much like Adam and herself. Foolishly, Elle believed once the two were wed and living together that everything would change and they would act like a real couple. But after months and months of waiting for things to change Elle came to the realization that Adam was like a dandelion. There was nothing special about the man she agreed to spend the rest of her life with and there were several other men that were just like Adam. All men in the world were the same and there was nothing beautiful about it. Mother was right.

                The dandelion was quickly destroyed as Elle clasped her hand shut. She looked up in search of the nearest trash can and quickly paced towards it. She satisfyingly threw the yellow disaster in the trash and turned to walk into her office, but not before slamming into a stranger. The coffee cup slipped out of Elle’s hand and the scolding liquid poured onto her Louis Vuitton heels and her exposed skin. The repeated question ‘are you okay’ could be heard faintly through Elle’s thoughts. A tear threatened to fall from her left eye, but she quickly composed herself and attempted to ignore the pain. All she could manage to mumble was ‘Louis Vuitton’. She watched as a curly haired man quickly took off the plaid shirt that was wrapped around his waist and kneeled to the ground to dry off Elle’s shoes. The man was dressed casually in a black tee and tattered jeans. A busted guitar hung off of his back. After drying off Elle’s shoes he quickly stood up, flashed a crooked smile and said, “good as new”. And strangely, she agreed with him, although she knew that the shoes were wrecked beyond belief. Perhaps her analogy about dandelions was flawed.

I am... Magdelaine Mueller

I am…

the daughter of two unwed, separated parents.

a step daughter to my father’s wife and my mother’s husband.

The cat lady who cares for wild cats named Apollo, Athena, and Sophia.

a sister to four siblings, two brothers and two sisters, the eldest child in my mother’s house, but the second to youngest in my father’s house.

a musician who dreams of being a tour manager, songwriter, and scriptwriter.

I am…

cool coffee places with tasty coffee.

Panera’s broccoli cheddar soup and grilled cheese sandwich.

art and photographs that make you feel something.

newly written songs, some with poorly written lyrics.

the vibrating hum of a guitar, a captivating voice in a crowded room.

bodies running into each other at jam-packed concerts.

intriguing, thought provoking films and admirable directors, actors, and scriptwriters.

I am…

wrinkled shirts and funky socks, band tees and tattered vans.

long sleeved shirts and skinny jeans with the bottoms rolled up.

a faux fur coat and mismatched clothing.

wavy brown hair and green eyes, crooked teeth and freckles.