I am Natalie, a nerd, a writing nerd to be exact unless a fella is downloadable to a poetry or writing site, I have no interest, unlike my supposedly teenage counterparts. I have been told unless I experience love myself that I will never be a true romantic writer. What twaddle; has the author who writes the latest murder or thriller actually committed murder? I think not, well one would hope not anyway. It would certainly make his book more believable but could it only be sold in the true crime section?
I'm a rhymer at heart, find it great fun, but trying to stretch myself lately with free verse and short stories but I haven't a novel in me, not yet anyways.
"Natalie O'Reilly" my name even rhymes, for flip sake.
I wish my Mother had called me Paige Turner or something, prophetic I would have hoped and certainly tickles my funny side.
"What are you writing?"
"Nothing, I see well if it's nothing, you won't mind me looking at it, or sharing it with the class, will you?"
Ms Jones beckons me up to her desk, detention yet again.
Ms Jones class is so boring
I cannot believe we are all not snoring
By the end of this class
She will be sick of my sass
I will be back in detention
Too many to mention
"Very amusing Natalie, I think they're getting funnier each week but must we?"
"Must we what?"
Ms Jones sighs. "Play this game every week; you are a bright, intelligent, clever girl. Why not just change classes? Pick a subject you have some semblance of interest in and sign up for it."
"I have reached my quota for changing classes. Mr Roberts says I'm the most exasperating child and that it seems there is no class suitable for me."
I roll my eyes in the dramatic way of Mr Roberts and there is an outburst of giggles behind me. I could have sworn Mrs Jones had to stifle a giggle herself.
"Natalie, I can have a word with Mr Roberts and get you signed up for a lot more gym time instead of Home Economics with me. Would that be agreeable?"
"Ms Jones, I'm so sorry I'll sit down and listen to everything you say. I'll get an A as per usual next week in the written exam, probably a D in the cooking if I don't set the kitchen on fire, but please no extra time in the gym I deplore it."
"Okay we’ll say no more about it for now, but no more poetry, not even one, in my class or you really will be in detention for a lot of your foreseeable future, you are getting an advanced warning, not many have that luxury. Sit down, please Natalie."
Down I sit
School is the pits
Gym is not for girls with bits
I would rather be popping my zits
I am stuck betwixt being an introvert and wanting to be a writer. I love when my writing is shared and others enjoy but I haven’t got the courage to do that yet, anonymously, yes, but as myself, no. I never really have gotten on with girls or boys I suppose I am a loner at heart. There are none I have met, yet, that are half as interesting as the characters I read. I do not really know what to say to them but I have to - if I am going to successfully follow my dream of being an author – broaden my social circle and experiences. I am too cool for the Science nerds and not cool enough for everyone else. School life and life, in general, can get in the way of my reading and writing. My English teacher's imagination is limited. She cannot see my brilliance, goes on and on at me.
"Natalie, how you expect to be the next Dickens or whoever it is you aspire to be when you can't grasp basic grammar, like why we use apostrophes and what there for, is beyond me."
"Yes, Miss. Sorry, Miss."
Gawd she is sooooo annoyyyyying hasn't she ever heard of proof-readers and editors. They need a job just as much as anyone else does. Some of our most famous well-loved writers could not use correct grammar to save their life. We love them because they have a natural gift, not because their squashed circles put into squares. We are all future little weak minions with no opinions in the making, curtsying and bowing to whatever man has been able to take us weak little females into his domain, for our own safety and wellbeing.
Not me, I am going to write myself to freedom.
I want to be a hermit, a nice little cottage in the woods, where once a month some nice little inoffensive person, gender not important comes and takes my latest novel, to be proofread of course.
Natalie changed things for her gender
To the rules, they could not bend her
A world famous author
What she knows school never taught her
Homeward I am strolling, a pen tucked behind my ear, notebook and books under my arm. Resolutely minding my own business when a resounding slap on my shoulder nearly sends me sprawling.
"Patrick! I swear I told you to stop doing that."
"I'm sorry Natalie" he giggles "but it's just too easy you walk around in a world of your own. I can't help myself sometimes I have to break in and bring you back down to earth."
Patrick is the only person from school I do let break through repeatedly. We have been friends since first grade and every now and then, he will give me a bit of gossip that will start a story in my brain.
He is also the only person that has seen my stuff and has without my permission shared them.
He only shared the ones I consider bits of fluff as soon as anything gets serious or what I consider in someway readable he’s put it down and moved on. He is much more sociable than I am and I soak up his information like a sponge, he calls me the ultimate party pooper I suppose I am. Sometimes I think why I do not just do that myself get rid of the middle man but people are just too tiresome to put up with on a day-to-day basis. Nobody's company is better than my own some days and cloud nine is the best address.
"Well now that you have broken in, how are you?"
"I'm fine and how are things in Natalie world? Have you anything new to report?"
"Nope, usual stuff stuck behind a desk physically but mentally walking in dreamland."
"Have you any new poems for me to read? Just the funny one's you know the rest are way above my head, no interest."
"I'll bring some in tomorrow, but I don't want them sung to me in the canteen again or you will never, ever get to look at my stuff again."
"Ah, come on Natalie, how many times, they were hilarious I had to share and wasn't that the point to get laughs?"
"Yes, but on my terms, not yours, I wrote them, I get to share them."
Secretly I had loved that he did that and everyone seemed to laugh with them, not at them. I could never tell him that, though, as he is already incorrigible and doesn’t need any encouragement.
"Fine! However, give me one now right off the top of your head, go on, I do not think you should be a writer. You should be a comedienne who writes her own stuff and that dear Natalie is the best career advice you’re ever going to get."
My friend Patrick is being a dick
An annoying little prick
Nevertheless, my funnies he appreciates
My humor he really rates
Therefore, for now, he can hang around
He keeps my feet on the ground