How do I let my sister talk me into these things? I'm not a writer. I'm not exceptionally funny or creative. I sometimes lack the articulation that my dear, sweet Holland has. Yet once again I find myself doing what she tells me to do. In this case...a blog! Really?!
I'm Harlan Tate. The younger, cooler, and wiser sister. Don't tell her I said that. I could write a thesaurus about me and all my awesomeness, but it would be redundant as you will soon discover. Holland created the about us section and kind of summarized The Tate Sisters.
I want to emphasize one point she made. We are JANES (note the name change) of all trades, mistresses of none. We don't have a lot in common but there is one thing that unites us - our lack of sticktoittiveness (I'm putting a patent on that word so don't even think about it). We start things but never finish. Boredom is both of our middle names. If we're not naturals at something, you better believe we'll quit. My motto is "If at first you don't succeed, give up and try something else." Who has time to be mediocre? I'm way too awesome to be bogged down with things that makee me seem...well...not. Anywho, we've tried everything from photography to massage therapy to knitting to pole dancing. Wait, no, I was great at pole dancing. You get the point though.
So I wasn't sure how to end this and if you've paid any attention to what I've already written, then you've probably figured out that I want to quit. Holland told me not to. Meanie. So I'm going to challenge myself to stick with something that doesn't come easy. Wish me luck!

For Lack of Inspired Creativity...Untitled

Perfectly she spins and sways

While the masses sing her praise

Each step written and carefully planned

Choreographed by another’s hand

Day in, day out she dons that smile

Just a prop for quite awhile

Part of the costume she’s forced to wear

To save them all from her despair

They’d all flee if they saw inside

So she pushes it deep, and then she hides

Locked far away within her soul

A little girl she can’t control

She cries and begs and pleads to be freed

But the dancer keeps dancing, fulfilling their greed

The little girl whispers “please let me out”

But her voice is unheard among all the shouts

Eagerly the dancer performs on command

Ignoring the little girl’s need to expand

The melody continues, new expectations to fill

No life, no liberty, no freedom of will

A prisoner to their selfish delights

Too weak to stand on her own and fight

So she keeps dancing till the music fades

But the end of the song is the end of her days

Snow Storms and Hurricanes

Folded up someplace in time

Misplaced words, an unread line

Encrypting all that was to be

Barren seasons lost at sea

Snow storms and Hurricanes

Unrelenting Masquerades

Scattered pieces of debris

Blown about aimlessly

Tossed to and fro and back again

Unprotected from the wind

The salty gale dissipates

Fragmented words congregate

On the ravaged shore they rest

Evidence they stood the test.

The Tale of Two Sisters...from Different Misters...

Thanks to the accessibility and speed of modern technology everyone has a place for expressing their opinions, ideas, and creativity to the world. We have chosen this blog as our very own stage to do just that...express ourselves! We're just a couple of quirky chicks who are surviving this imperfect life just like everyone else. While most of the stories featured here will be embellished versions of true events (what greater muse than real life, right?), it is quite possible that this blog will just be a "hodge podge" of creative writings....I mean, does anyone really know what they're doing as a novice blogger??? This is all very new to us, so hang on and enjoy the show...the world is our stage, we just don't know the end of the script just yet! :)


<3 Holland