Words, Collection Two

Sometimes I hang out with people who say really funny things. I’m sorry, people. If you don’t want to be written about then you probably shouldn’t hang out with me. 
These two have been sitting in my draft email on my tablet for a while. See, I can edit a draft email on my tablet even if I don’t have an internet connection – while we’re driving down deer infested roads at nine o’clock at night, for example. Although usually I’m too busy watching out for deer to be writing. But anyway. I have a draft email that is now at least several hundred words long, full of random lines and thoughts and such like the two below.

I’m very busy working on my Camp Nano project so this is a short blog post, sorry. I’m almost at my word count goal and I would really like to finish by the end of the month so I can win. It is very satisfying.

Copyright 2016 by Annie Louise Twitchell

An Unwanted Gift





Sometimes I really don’t know if I like Pinterest after all.





Because sometimes I get pictures like these.

And every so often one comes around that just shatters something inside. 

The above was one of those pictures. Even without reading the caption. I just stared at it for a while and then started typing. I don’t remember how long I typed before coming up with the following poem:


An Unwanted Gift
Annie Louise Twitchell

You said I could have your bicycle

when you didn’t need it anymore.
Well, they called you to go away
and you left it chained to the tree,
the one we built a wobbly house in.
I couldn’t find the key to unlock it.
Mum said I’d have to wait until you
came home, so I waited.
I waited for so long.
All that came home was a letter that
made Mum scream,
made Dad cry.


Afterwards, they said I could cut

the chain and have the bicycle.
But I didn’t want it anymore.
I just wanted my big brother to
stop playing games and come home,
come back up the driveway and —
and you never came home.


Your bicycle is still there.
The tree has grown around it and
sometimes I wonder if those two wheels
could lift the tree, the house, and me
and carry us all away to wherever
that war took you. And maybe
I could say I miss you,
and I love you,
and why couldn’t you come home?




I just remember stopping after some time and reading over what I had written and feeling completely devastated. And the funny thing was that I almost didn’t mind. 


I have spent more time crying over that poem. I started practicing reading it out loud to my cat. The first couple (dozen) times I couldn’t even read the whole thing without crying. 

Finally I got a bit disgusted – I’m an easily emotional person and I was afraid I was overreacting or something. So I printed out a copy and gave it to my mom. (This time I did remember to tell her it was a sad poem.) 

Apparently I wasn’t really overreacting…

I mailed it in to Webster Library’s Annual Poetry Contest and kept practicing. I wanted to be able to read it out loud if I got the chance, without completely losing it. Finally I got so I could read it through several times in a row without breaking down into tears.

Then was the tricky part. If I made my mother, who is not an easy person to make cry, cry when she read my poem, how on earth I was going to survive reading to an audience? I start crying when I see other people crying!

Well, luckily for me, my oldest brother and my sister in law were up for dinner and so I just kind of decided to read it out loud to the whole family. I managed it alright, caught almost all of the right twists I wanted to, didn’t start bawling, and I didn’t get stage fright. deep breath

And then last week I got sick and didn’t do much with any of my writing for a couple days. I finished making lunch or something like that and wobbled back into the living room to take a nap on the couch, and picked up my tablet to see if I had gotten a reply about a silly question (not the knife question, a different one) from my friend, and found the notification that

I won

second place Adult Category

with my poem.

It was a couple more hours before I was able to take my nap because I got so excited at the news, I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t even lie quietly very well. I would like to formally apologize to anyone who got overwhelmed by me messaging them in a feverish excitement because I won.


I did make it down to the library with my dad to read my poem. For a while I wasn’t sure I would be well enough to go, which I was really upset about because I’d put so much blood and sweat and tears into that poem. I didn’t do as well as I expected I would, although apparently the video camera didn’t pick up my shaky hands, and I guess my reading worked alright. 



And a shout out to the fabulous Connie Jean for making me the sketch at the top. I’d tried several different things for a cover image and that is my favourite.

Copyright 2016 by Annie Louise Twitchell

‘Unwanted Gift Sketch’ by Connie Jean

Words, Collection One

Don’t say I didn’t warn you! 
People who hang out with me have hopefully acquired a general understanding that I file almost everything I see, hear, touch, smell, or taste. I have very large files. So if we’ve had a conversation at some point, and you find yourself reading something of mine that sounds very familiar, that’s probably because it is.
Okay, so I haven’t actually made that into a t-shirt because the printer was acting up and wouldn’t talk to my computer, so then my computer got upset and wouldn’t talk to the printer, so I was stuck with all kinds of things to print and nowhere to print them to.
I watch people and then I think how to describe them. Sorry, guys. Deal with it.

At least this friend knew what she was in for.
This thought of mine made my parents wonder what they’d done wrong raising me. I don’t know why they wondered that because it seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do. My mother was also bothered the other night because I was wondering what it would look like if Mr. Spock had to substitute for Santa Claus.
And this gem. 🙂 

Copyright 2016 by Annie Louise Twitchell