Artist's statement

Hello, my name is Agatha the fish throwing cat. before you read my blog, read this.

In my portfolio, I managed to get across humor and entertainment to the other side of the spectrum, believing that in times of need, there is always literature to cheer one’s soul. Happiness is truly a magical thing. I hoped for my collection of hearty and rich short stories to achieve magic in the form of a smile, or even a small chuckle. My favorite piece in this collection would have to be “Turkey!!!” for its sense of humor and sweet, quirky plot. It truly brought a smile to my face. I remember The first draft, which was not as developed as it is now. I took that first draft, added more description of the food, and more figurative language, as well as edited, revised, and finished. I did this with several other pieces, for which I will make a post containing their first drafts. These pieces are important to me, they make me cheerful, they should make you cheerful too. That is also the so what: humor and happiness, the act of entertaining through, as I said before: my own style of magic.








Free verse first draft.

I remember when I was four, I moved into the house I live in today. At the time, I didn’t know what was going on. One day, as my mom picked me up from tennis just as usual, except that we didn’t go home. We came back to the place we had been in a few weeks ago, what I would now know as my house. I came in to see my brother, my dad,  and my uncle(dad’s cousin) sitting on the couch and talking. Wait. These couches are the ones from home. What is going on? We moved in more furniture into the house, and I finally realized what was going on… and I didn’t mind. This house was nice, not as small as our old one. This one also has a basement!  I fell asleep that night happy, and not the least bit homesick.

Extrordinary ordinary first draft

I stare at the sweater. The sweater stares at me. It's worn out, torn, dirty, and four sizes too small. I pick it up, walk over to the garbage can, and stop. Something isn’t right. Even with all my willpower and willingness, I cannot drop it into the trash can. Memories come flashing back. What was I wearing when I won the raffle with only a few tickets? What was I wearing when I aced that test? What was I wearing when Rebecca said hi to me? The sweater remains clutched in my hand as I try to release it, but I cannot. My lucky sweater had been with me for years. Back then, when my mom gave it to me, it still was red, and fit me perfectly. Now, a faded maroon sweater with several holes may have looked shabby, but was nonetheless special to me.