I don't mean as in how you present your physical self. You dress quite nicely, better than me by any standards. I've never seen you looking unpresentable. What I mean by "frumpy" is your deplorable attitude--it's a frump of the mind, you see, and a much harder frump to fix.
Each day you come wading in through your grief. Once again, you didn't get enough sleep. Once again, you've fallen prey to some deadly form of a head cold. Once again, you're feeling "overwhelmed." You adorn yourself with the most pious exhaustion, a martyr to the realm of upstanding high school students.I tell you now, tired eyes are only becoming when paired with a genuine smile.
Everyone you meet must know of your sorrows. You pass each peer, each teacher, jiggling your upturned had for donations of sympathy, constant affirmation, and hand outs in exchange for your trade: your craft of weaving intricate, tangled tales of pity and woe. "I'm not used to this," "I don't want to put that burden on my parents," "It's all because my sister..." You have yet to grow out of your egocentricity. Every avenue of conversation leads back to that upturned hat.
Your own desires come first, and you don't hesitate to make them known. You are slow to come, bitter to stay, and quick to leave. The only time you seem to come alive is when you must make a vice around what you want, a Venus Flytrap snapping with its death grip only when necessary. Control gives you strength, the power to bend others to your will. To take it away is to pull the springs from a wind up toy.
Yes, you are indeed presentable from the outside. If we were, however, able to pull back the thick, velvet curtain of what appears and catch even a glance of what actually is, we would see you sliding into your desk each day, a toddler aroused too soon after its nap, still wrapped in wrinkled pijamas, chewing on its baby blanket, whiny and garbled. In a word, frumpy.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
My Story
I will now try to explain as clearly as possible the setting and plot of the story that I've been working on for the last few years--the one I hope will become my first novel one day. Of course, not all the details are set in stone, but this is the general idea. Enjoy. :)
The story is set in the not-to-distant future, a mild dystopia (because I'm not going to the extremes of robot overlords and brain scanners, etc.), where a hereditary disease has mutated that nearly wipes out a generation. In response, the government attempts to wipe out the gene. Forty years later, the gene is almost extinct, but the government is insistent of snuffing out every trace. Those who have the disease must become wards of the state, usually lab rats in the search for a cure.
Kennedy Belle has the disease, and as her closest friend, Spencer has taken it upon himself to protect her. But, he might not have long. Kenn is fading fast, and the government is closing in on their trail. In addition, Spencer has to look out for his brother Cole and his troubled friend Amalia. Can Kennedy Belle's doctor find a cure, or will he have to say goodbye? Will hope come from an unexpected source, or is it too late?
Yes, I'm aware that the end of that sounded like the cheesy back cover of some Prama book, but if I take you through every painstaking detail, you won't read this. So, there you go! Hope you liked it.
The story is set in the not-to-distant future, a mild dystopia (because I'm not going to the extremes of robot overlords and brain scanners, etc.), where a hereditary disease has mutated that nearly wipes out a generation. In response, the government attempts to wipe out the gene. Forty years later, the gene is almost extinct, but the government is insistent of snuffing out every trace. Those who have the disease must become wards of the state, usually lab rats in the search for a cure.
Kennedy Belle has the disease, and as her closest friend, Spencer has taken it upon himself to protect her. But, he might not have long. Kenn is fading fast, and the government is closing in on their trail. In addition, Spencer has to look out for his brother Cole and his troubled friend Amalia. Can Kennedy Belle's doctor find a cure, or will he have to say goodbye? Will hope come from an unexpected source, or is it too late?
Yes, I'm aware that the end of that sounded like the cheesy back cover of some Prama book, but if I take you through every painstaking detail, you won't read this. So, there you go! Hope you liked it.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
My love for my story has rekindled!
Yes, my story. The story. The one I've been working on since the beginning of high school. For the longest time I didn't even think about it--probably not since last November. But just as the school year was about to begin, I began to revisit it. Now, another round of prewriting is in full swing. (I'll post the plot in another entry, because some of it goes into tedious details that will only distract from the point of this one.)
Since I've been working on this idea for so long, it's gone through several overhauls in setting, each time growing a little closer to where I need it to be in order to get my messages across. I refer to it as a "mild" dystopia, only because it has been my mission in this prewriting go-around to stay away from some of the major dystopian stereotypes. Besides, the dystopia isn't really the point of the story, just a context which I can use to tell it. Therefore I don't want my message diluted by cheesy robot overlords and brain scanners, or whatever other ludacris thing you can think of. Actually, one of my earlier settings included a goddess and her daughter ruling over the futuristic dystopia. It was an interesting juxtaposition, but it didn't fit in with the rest of my story, so I scrapped it.
The characters have stayed basically the same, though now I am adding a few more minors just to flesh out the story's surroundings, and this time, I've added a lot of symbolism to several of the characters, particularly the three female leads and their relationship to the protagonist, Spencer. The only drawback of this is that I originally wanted the heroine-in-distress (how I refer to her, anyways) to be the focal point of the story in a very Lani Garver-type fashion (for those of you who haven't heard me say it a thousand times, my favorite book is What Happened to Lani Garver by Carol Plum-Ucci). However, I'm also realizing that that route would more or less be piggy-backing off of Plum-Ucci's setup and structure of her novel, and that I need to find my own way of telling the story. The plot still revolves around her, but the story becomes more and more about Spencer as it develops. Of course, you could argue the same thing for the plot of Lani. Maybe great minds think alike. (Or maybe it's copyright infringement. If anything, immitation is the sincerest form of flattery.)
As for plot...Well, I've never really had one. One of my biggest flaws as a writer is that I focus so much on characterization that I normally neglect the plot. I've done a few plot graphs for the story before, but they all turned out forced and uniteresting. Lately, however, I've been trying to take the advice of several authors who have exhorted us aspiring wannabes to listen to the characters, to the story they're telling, not the one we're trying to make up for them. Just last week, I finally tuned in to their frequency. Through a freewriting excersise in my creative writing class (thank you, Mrs. Weekman!), I suddenly had half the plot scribbled onto some loose-leaf paper, and I built on that in the days that followed.
My next great task in prewriting, though I've always had some vague concepts, is to nail down my themes and figure out how to infuse them into the story. Thankfully, I feel as if I have plenty to work with, and I have a few ideas, but I actually have to kneed them into the dough. I think of themes and messages as the yeast--the thing that makes bread bread, the thing that makes a great novel truly great. It's what separates the best of Young Adult Literature from the thousands of others that never make it farther than a teenager's bookshelf. I want to count mine among those few.
All of that said, I'm in no rush to actually write this book. Seeing how far the story has come already, I can only imagine where I can take it as I grow older and wiser. Also, I won't bore you with the details of how hectic my senior year of high school is going to be, what with all of my AP classes and senior activites and general pandemonium--hopefully, I'll live long enough to actually write this book. Still, I know that every wave of revisions is another healthy step towards what I hope will be a substantial debut novel.
Since I've been working on this idea for so long, it's gone through several overhauls in setting, each time growing a little closer to where I need it to be in order to get my messages across. I refer to it as a "mild" dystopia, only because it has been my mission in this prewriting go-around to stay away from some of the major dystopian stereotypes. Besides, the dystopia isn't really the point of the story, just a context which I can use to tell it. Therefore I don't want my message diluted by cheesy robot overlords and brain scanners, or whatever other ludacris thing you can think of. Actually, one of my earlier settings included a goddess and her daughter ruling over the futuristic dystopia. It was an interesting juxtaposition, but it didn't fit in with the rest of my story, so I scrapped it.
The characters have stayed basically the same, though now I am adding a few more minors just to flesh out the story's surroundings, and this time, I've added a lot of symbolism to several of the characters, particularly the three female leads and their relationship to the protagonist, Spencer. The only drawback of this is that I originally wanted the heroine-in-distress (how I refer to her, anyways) to be the focal point of the story in a very Lani Garver-type fashion (for those of you who haven't heard me say it a thousand times, my favorite book is What Happened to Lani Garver by Carol Plum-Ucci). However, I'm also realizing that that route would more or less be piggy-backing off of Plum-Ucci's setup and structure of her novel, and that I need to find my own way of telling the story. The plot still revolves around her, but the story becomes more and more about Spencer as it develops. Of course, you could argue the same thing for the plot of Lani. Maybe great minds think alike. (Or maybe it's copyright infringement. If anything, immitation is the sincerest form of flattery.)
As for plot...Well, I've never really had one. One of my biggest flaws as a writer is that I focus so much on characterization that I normally neglect the plot. I've done a few plot graphs for the story before, but they all turned out forced and uniteresting. Lately, however, I've been trying to take the advice of several authors who have exhorted us aspiring wannabes to listen to the characters, to the story they're telling, not the one we're trying to make up for them. Just last week, I finally tuned in to their frequency. Through a freewriting excersise in my creative writing class (thank you, Mrs. Weekman!), I suddenly had half the plot scribbled onto some loose-leaf paper, and I built on that in the days that followed.
My next great task in prewriting, though I've always had some vague concepts, is to nail down my themes and figure out how to infuse them into the story. Thankfully, I feel as if I have plenty to work with, and I have a few ideas, but I actually have to kneed them into the dough. I think of themes and messages as the yeast--the thing that makes bread bread, the thing that makes a great novel truly great. It's what separates the best of Young Adult Literature from the thousands of others that never make it farther than a teenager's bookshelf. I want to count mine among those few.
All of that said, I'm in no rush to actually write this book. Seeing how far the story has come already, I can only imagine where I can take it as I grow older and wiser. Also, I won't bore you with the details of how hectic my senior year of high school is going to be, what with all of my AP classes and senior activites and general pandemonium--hopefully, I'll live long enough to actually write this book. Still, I know that every wave of revisions is another healthy step towards what I hope will be a substantial debut novel.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
The three hour car ride to Boone was definitely "Theatre Illuminata"-themed.
I was rereading Eyes Like Stars to review for the book blog, and my sister and I started talking about what I was going to say, and about how crazy the plot was, and how much “Drink Me” juice it must have taken to come up with something like that.
Then we started talking about what So Silver Bright might be like. We concluded that something bad has to happen to Ariel, since nothing really bad has happened to him yet, while everything that could have possibly gone wrong has happened to Nate.
Which, of course, brought us around to the love triangle. We’re both going to be rooting for Ariel even though we’re putting our money on Nate. We debated who was taller, because Eyes Like Stars says one thing, while Perchance to Dream implies another. I argued that Ariel has to be taller to compensate for Nate being buffer.
And when the issue of Man Cards came up, I found myself having to defend Areil’s, what with my sister making fun of his butterflies and my mom in the front seat insisting that “Ariel” was a “girl’s name.”
Somewhere along the way, we talked about who would be the dream cast for an Eyes Like Stars movie. I told my sister I thought Emma Stone might be a good Bertie, and that Ariana Grande just had to be Ophelia. We liked Ben Barnes for Nate, but we couldn’t think of any one who’d really fit Ariel, so we gave up with our half-finished casting.
It was a fun trip. I hardly got any actual reading done, but it was probably the most fun I’ve had with my sister in a while. Lately, I've had a hard time connecting with her, and I think that car ride did us a lot of good. I guess I owe my thanks to Lisa Mantchev. Needless to say, I can't wait for So Silver Bright in September.
Then we started talking about what So Silver Bright might be like. We concluded that something bad has to happen to Ariel, since nothing really bad has happened to him yet, while everything that could have possibly gone wrong has happened to Nate.
Which, of course, brought us around to the love triangle. We’re both going to be rooting for Ariel even though we’re putting our money on Nate. We debated who was taller, because Eyes Like Stars says one thing, while Perchance to Dream implies another. I argued that Ariel has to be taller to compensate for Nate being buffer.
And when the issue of Man Cards came up, I found myself having to defend Areil’s, what with my sister making fun of his butterflies and my mom in the front seat insisting that “Ariel” was a “girl’s name.”
Somewhere along the way, we talked about who would be the dream cast for an Eyes Like Stars movie. I told my sister I thought Emma Stone might be a good Bertie, and that Ariana Grande just had to be Ophelia. We liked Ben Barnes for Nate, but we couldn’t think of any one who’d really fit Ariel, so we gave up with our half-finished casting.
It was a fun trip. I hardly got any actual reading done, but it was probably the most fun I’ve had with my sister in a while. Lately, I've had a hard time connecting with her, and I think that car ride did us a lot of good. I guess I owe my thanks to Lisa Mantchev. Needless to say, I can't wait for So Silver Bright in September.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Cat and Mouse
The story begins with my sister, the heart breaker, who, in her quest for happiness and attention, leaves scores of lovesick puppies in her wake. The current one she's "dating" at the moment is from our church--not the first from our (small) church, and probably not the last. They've been going steady for about six months now (which is a record for Jamie), blissfully disturbing my peace as they sit in the living room, hog the TV, and make googoo eyes at each other almost every weekend.
Now, here's the thing. This boyfriend has a brother. An older brother. Who's my age. And this brother is desperate to go out with me.
I don't know why fate has chosen to torture me, but it seems that the guys I am attracted to show absolutely no interest in me, while the guys I wouldn't give a second thought to come tripping over themselves to get to me. So it is the way with this new suitor. He is a musiciann (that can't sing yet still tries), phlegmatic (I want a sanguine), short and stocky (I like tall and wiry), blond (I prefer dark hair) with facial hair that is reminiscent of a satyr (I find both facial hair and satyrs unattractive), who complains about money (one of my pet peeves). Oh, and did I mention he's my sister's boyfriend's brother?
We have never spoken to each other in all of my four years attending this church, and yet now that his brother is dating my sister, he suddenly has a profound interest in me. Over the past months, he has sent me several messages over Facebook, none of which I have responded to because I'm never on Facebook anyways. He has tried to contact me through my sister on numerous occasions, and sseveral times I have noticed him lurking around the door to the toddler class I volunteer in on Wednesday nights, hoping to catch me. Thank goodness there are two doors in and out of the room, and I have been able to either slip away quietly or cling to my father's side before he can approach me. His brother, who (may I remind you) comes over to the house almost every week, has been incessantly and tactlessly been trying to convince me that he is the man of my dreams.
Well, last Sunday, he finally did catch me. With my mother feeling sick, my father took my sister to church early (for he works the sound board), and told me to meet him there second service. Sometime in between the two services, my suitor caught wind that I would be arriving shortly. Lo and behold, upon arriving at church just fifteen minutes past the start of second service (out of sympathy for my ailing mother, I walked the dog upon her request before leaving, then stopped by Krispy Kreme for a short breakfast), I find my suitor sitting patiently on the bench just by the doors, waiting for me. I had been caught. The game was over.
As I approached, he jumped up and invited me to join the Young Adults small group, which has become nothing more than an elite club for the upperclassmen in high school and the few twenty-somethings that still attend our church. It seeming that the worst of this encounter was over, I made a move for the door, and that's when he blurted,
"And I was also wondering if you would like to get a coffee or see a movie sometime."
I don't drink coffee.
I don't go to movies with strangers.
"Actually, no. I should just tell you now that I have absolutely no interest in you whatsoever, and that you are wasting your time. Please stop sending me your desperate messages, and please, tell your brother to stop trying to set us up."
At least, that's what I wanted to say. Instead, I had no choice to say something along the lines of,
"Sure!"
And that was that. I went inside, and I couldn't curse because I was in a church.
That was last Sunday. At midnight on Thursday, he sent me another message on Facebook asking if we could go out next Tuesday. I didn't know how to respond, so I left it sitting there for the better part of the day. After complaining sufficiently to my friends, I figured I had no choice but to go out with him this once. I was just about to go onto facebook, when the worst of it began.
As I was sitting at my desk Thursday, I was suddenly getting message after message from him--on Facebook, by email, he even messaged me on AIM. I don't even know how he got ahold of my AIM address. But he did, and the spam flooded my computer all of Thursday night. And by then, I was too frightened to respond.
So far this week, I have been able to avoid him. I had an art class Wednesday night, and I was relieved to find out that we'll be going to my grandparents' church this Sunday for Father's Day. Still, I can't hide forever. Just last night, my sister knocked on my door, on the phone with her boyfriend, and said that his brother was wondering if I'd gotten his message. I just didn't answer her, and after a few moments, she walked away.
I know this post will make me sound awful. The fact is, I'm a double-introverted personality, prone to evasive behavior, and, in all honesty, I don't want to waste my time on someone who I am not compatible with in any regard whatsoever. Moreover, I don't want to waste his time, or his money, or lead him on in any way. But I don't know how to tell him that without sounding like more of a jerk than I've already been by ignoring him. So, I hide, like I do with everything else.
We'll see how this plays out, especially approaching Tuesday, and next Sunday. It's only a matter of time before I have to explain myself, and I'm hoping by then I'll have figured out just what to say. I'll keep you posted.
Now, here's the thing. This boyfriend has a brother. An older brother. Who's my age. And this brother is desperate to go out with me.
I don't know why fate has chosen to torture me, but it seems that the guys I am attracted to show absolutely no interest in me, while the guys I wouldn't give a second thought to come tripping over themselves to get to me. So it is the way with this new suitor. He is a musiciann (that can't sing yet still tries), phlegmatic (I want a sanguine), short and stocky (I like tall and wiry), blond (I prefer dark hair) with facial hair that is reminiscent of a satyr (I find both facial hair and satyrs unattractive), who complains about money (one of my pet peeves). Oh, and did I mention he's my sister's boyfriend's brother?
We have never spoken to each other in all of my four years attending this church, and yet now that his brother is dating my sister, he suddenly has a profound interest in me. Over the past months, he has sent me several messages over Facebook, none of which I have responded to because I'm never on Facebook anyways. He has tried to contact me through my sister on numerous occasions, and sseveral times I have noticed him lurking around the door to the toddler class I volunteer in on Wednesday nights, hoping to catch me. Thank goodness there are two doors in and out of the room, and I have been able to either slip away quietly or cling to my father's side before he can approach me. His brother, who (may I remind you) comes over to the house almost every week, has been incessantly and tactlessly been trying to convince me that he is the man of my dreams.
Well, last Sunday, he finally did catch me. With my mother feeling sick, my father took my sister to church early (for he works the sound board), and told me to meet him there second service. Sometime in between the two services, my suitor caught wind that I would be arriving shortly. Lo and behold, upon arriving at church just fifteen minutes past the start of second service (out of sympathy for my ailing mother, I walked the dog upon her request before leaving, then stopped by Krispy Kreme for a short breakfast), I find my suitor sitting patiently on the bench just by the doors, waiting for me. I had been caught. The game was over.
As I approached, he jumped up and invited me to join the Young Adults small group, which has become nothing more than an elite club for the upperclassmen in high school and the few twenty-somethings that still attend our church. It seeming that the worst of this encounter was over, I made a move for the door, and that's when he blurted,
"And I was also wondering if you would like to get a coffee or see a movie sometime."
I don't drink coffee.
I don't go to movies with strangers.
"Actually, no. I should just tell you now that I have absolutely no interest in you whatsoever, and that you are wasting your time. Please stop sending me your desperate messages, and please, tell your brother to stop trying to set us up."
At least, that's what I wanted to say. Instead, I had no choice to say something along the lines of,
"Sure!"
And that was that. I went inside, and I couldn't curse because I was in a church.
That was last Sunday. At midnight on Thursday, he sent me another message on Facebook asking if we could go out next Tuesday. I didn't know how to respond, so I left it sitting there for the better part of the day. After complaining sufficiently to my friends, I figured I had no choice but to go out with him this once. I was just about to go onto facebook, when the worst of it began.
As I was sitting at my desk Thursday, I was suddenly getting message after message from him--on Facebook, by email, he even messaged me on AIM. I don't even know how he got ahold of my AIM address. But he did, and the spam flooded my computer all of Thursday night. And by then, I was too frightened to respond.
So far this week, I have been able to avoid him. I had an art class Wednesday night, and I was relieved to find out that we'll be going to my grandparents' church this Sunday for Father's Day. Still, I can't hide forever. Just last night, my sister knocked on my door, on the phone with her boyfriend, and said that his brother was wondering if I'd gotten his message. I just didn't answer her, and after a few moments, she walked away.
I know this post will make me sound awful. The fact is, I'm a double-introverted personality, prone to evasive behavior, and, in all honesty, I don't want to waste my time on someone who I am not compatible with in any regard whatsoever. Moreover, I don't want to waste his time, or his money, or lead him on in any way. But I don't know how to tell him that without sounding like more of a jerk than I've already been by ignoring him. So, I hide, like I do with everything else.
We'll see how this plays out, especially approaching Tuesday, and next Sunday. It's only a matter of time before I have to explain myself, and I'm hoping by then I'll have figured out just what to say. I'll keep you posted.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
The Book Blog Launches Tomorrow
Yesterday I was panicking, telling myself that I didn't want to do this, that I couldn't do it. Naomi and I have been working on it all day today, and now I'm feeling confident again. The blog's design is simple but nice. We have a wide variety of subgenres and ratings of books going up. All the pages are in order, and the pictures in their right place. We have profiles about ourselves, lists of books and authors, and a disclaimer just in case we make anyone mad. I have to say I'm kind of proud of it.
All that's left to do in preparation for tomorrow is one last review I have to write tonight, and a check through in the morning to make sure everything's in top shape. We launch at noon.
Of course, it will forever be an ongoing project. We have to keep writing book reviews, plus other articles that have to do with YA Lit. Sometime soon I want to make a logo for ourselves, and maybe if our blog starts to grow, we should consider hosting advertisements.
I know at first the following will probably be slow, limited to friends and family. And as the summer gets busier, and eventually school starts up again, keeping up with the blog will grow continuously more difficult. That is why I am choosing to make this an exercise in perserverence. I won't get discouraged when only my teachers and grandparents have subscribed (no offense, Mrs. Weekman or Mema!), and none of the authors we email have gotten back to us. I won't give up when I've got ten errands to run and a summer book report to finish. I'm going to stick with this until at least the end of my senior year. If not until the end of college. If not until the end of grad school. If not beyond...
This blog could become a big hit, or it could just be something fun my friend and I keep up with to stay in touch and share our passion. Part of it is chance, part of it divine providence, and part of it my attitude, motivation, and persistence--what I choose to make it. And I want to make it the best that it can be.
All that's left to do in preparation for tomorrow is one last review I have to write tonight, and a check through in the morning to make sure everything's in top shape. We launch at noon.
Of course, it will forever be an ongoing project. We have to keep writing book reviews, plus other articles that have to do with YA Lit. Sometime soon I want to make a logo for ourselves, and maybe if our blog starts to grow, we should consider hosting advertisements.
I know at first the following will probably be slow, limited to friends and family. And as the summer gets busier, and eventually school starts up again, keeping up with the blog will grow continuously more difficult. That is why I am choosing to make this an exercise in perserverence. I won't get discouraged when only my teachers and grandparents have subscribed (no offense, Mrs. Weekman or Mema!), and none of the authors we email have gotten back to us. I won't give up when I've got ten errands to run and a summer book report to finish. I'm going to stick with this until at least the end of my senior year. If not until the end of college. If not until the end of grad school. If not beyond...
This blog could become a big hit, or it could just be something fun my friend and I keep up with to stay in touch and share our passion. Part of it is chance, part of it divine providence, and part of it my attitude, motivation, and persistence--what I choose to make it. And I want to make it the best that it can be.
"Tell me about your five best friends."
That was the question that appeared on your blog.
I leaned into the moniter, my body going numb, eager to read.
We've been getting closer, right? We've been getting closer...
One is God. That works--that's actually a good thing, I guess.
Two is your girlfriend. I expected it, but I still get a little nauseous when you say you want to be with her forever. And when you talked about how much she's helped you. Didn't I help you, all those years ago. I thought I was helping; I tried. We were so young, but I did everything I could. Wasn't that enough...?
Three is my replacement. That was no surprise either. So why does my head go fuzzy? Why do I feel suddenly dizzy? You say you're so much alike, and that isn't true at all. You're so different, so glaringly different. Almost as different as we were. And that's why we gelled so well, and why the two of you gell so well now. I still hate her.
Fourth is another kid from school. I wasn't expecting that, but now that I think about it, you do spend a lot of time together, right? And you've known each other for such a long time. I suppose it makes sense...
Fifth is a bunch of empty words about how "everyone" is your best friend. People always say that to make their less-important friends feel better. I know that. It means nothing.
How have we fallen so far? Three, almost four (so much time has passed already?) years ago, I would have been at the top of that list. Maybe still below your current girlfriend, who you always broke up with before the end of the school year. Then, for just a little while, maybe only weeks, or days, or even once hours, it was just you and me before the next one came along.
You were my best friend at school. We went everywhere together--even the teachers noticed. At lunch, between classes, at our lockers, which were only two apart. We did projects together. You came early once the day of my birthday party, and we made smoothies and watched Dr. Phil and Nancy Grace.
You never knew that I liked you. We would walk arm in arm down the halls, and I'd pretend that we were actually together. Once you asked me to carry your jacket to class for you, and when no one was looking, I put it to my face and smelled it, because I've heard that if you're meant to be with someone, you're attracted to their smell. I was so scare someone would see that I actually forgot what it smelled like right away, and I didn't dare try again. Still, it's one fond memory I have of my secret crush on you.
My secret crush on you. Is it even still there? Am I only clinging onto it for the sake of having someone to care about, or am I just letting my emotions control me, despite what's really true? Do I still care about you that way?
I feel like we don't even know each other any more. It really has been almost four years. Four years of growing and changing and living. There's so much I don't know, maybe that I never knew, maybe that I should have asked about when I had you right there beside me, instead of making jokes.
We rode out the worst of the storm together, despite everything around us trying to rip us apart.
We stuck together.
It was the after shocks that got us.
The reprecussions, the broken friendships around us, the new ones that formed. They pulled us apart, slowly, subtly. I don't know when I first noticed, but it's painfully obvious now. The gap between us is so much wider than I thought.
And we've been getting closer...
I feel like there's just no point anymore. No point trying to win you over, to earn your favor, to climb onto the list of your top five friends. I had my time with you, and it's over.
But I'll keep coming back. Because even if I can't ever be that close to you again, I still want to hear your laugh. I still want to hear all of your crazy, exaggerated stories. I still want to look into your beautiful, smiling eyes. I still want to watch the way you kick your feet back sometimes when you shift them, and pass things back and forth in your hands as you talk, and flip your hair every now and then, and do impressions of many different people, but in the same generic ways. I want to hear more about your plans for the summer, for college, for the future. More about what you want to do when you grow up. More about your relationships with your parents, and how you feel about not fitting in.
I know it's only the surface of who you are, only the show you put on for others, or the "safer" topics you like to discuss with your lesser friends.
But, if it's all I can get from you, then I am going to hold onto it as tightly as I can, and relish in every moment of it.
I leaned into the moniter, my body going numb, eager to read.
We've been getting closer, right? We've been getting closer...
One is God. That works--that's actually a good thing, I guess.
Two is your girlfriend. I expected it, but I still get a little nauseous when you say you want to be with her forever. And when you talked about how much she's helped you. Didn't I help you, all those years ago. I thought I was helping; I tried. We were so young, but I did everything I could. Wasn't that enough...?
Three is my replacement. That was no surprise either. So why does my head go fuzzy? Why do I feel suddenly dizzy? You say you're so much alike, and that isn't true at all. You're so different, so glaringly different. Almost as different as we were. And that's why we gelled so well, and why the two of you gell so well now. I still hate her.
Fourth is another kid from school. I wasn't expecting that, but now that I think about it, you do spend a lot of time together, right? And you've known each other for such a long time. I suppose it makes sense...
Fifth is a bunch of empty words about how "everyone" is your best friend. People always say that to make their less-important friends feel better. I know that. It means nothing.
How have we fallen so far? Three, almost four (so much time has passed already?) years ago, I would have been at the top of that list. Maybe still below your current girlfriend, who you always broke up with before the end of the school year. Then, for just a little while, maybe only weeks, or days, or even once hours, it was just you and me before the next one came along.
You were my best friend at school. We went everywhere together--even the teachers noticed. At lunch, between classes, at our lockers, which were only two apart. We did projects together. You came early once the day of my birthday party, and we made smoothies and watched Dr. Phil and Nancy Grace.
You never knew that I liked you. We would walk arm in arm down the halls, and I'd pretend that we were actually together. Once you asked me to carry your jacket to class for you, and when no one was looking, I put it to my face and smelled it, because I've heard that if you're meant to be with someone, you're attracted to their smell. I was so scare someone would see that I actually forgot what it smelled like right away, and I didn't dare try again. Still, it's one fond memory I have of my secret crush on you.
My secret crush on you. Is it even still there? Am I only clinging onto it for the sake of having someone to care about, or am I just letting my emotions control me, despite what's really true? Do I still care about you that way?
I feel like we don't even know each other any more. It really has been almost four years. Four years of growing and changing and living. There's so much I don't know, maybe that I never knew, maybe that I should have asked about when I had you right there beside me, instead of making jokes.
We rode out the worst of the storm together, despite everything around us trying to rip us apart.
We stuck together.
It was the after shocks that got us.
The reprecussions, the broken friendships around us, the new ones that formed. They pulled us apart, slowly, subtly. I don't know when I first noticed, but it's painfully obvious now. The gap between us is so much wider than I thought.
And we've been getting closer...
I feel like there's just no point anymore. No point trying to win you over, to earn your favor, to climb onto the list of your top five friends. I had my time with you, and it's over.
But I'll keep coming back. Because even if I can't ever be that close to you again, I still want to hear your laugh. I still want to hear all of your crazy, exaggerated stories. I still want to look into your beautiful, smiling eyes. I still want to watch the way you kick your feet back sometimes when you shift them, and pass things back and forth in your hands as you talk, and flip your hair every now and then, and do impressions of many different people, but in the same generic ways. I want to hear more about your plans for the summer, for college, for the future. More about what you want to do when you grow up. More about your relationships with your parents, and how you feel about not fitting in.
I know it's only the surface of who you are, only the show you put on for others, or the "safer" topics you like to discuss with your lesser friends.
But, if it's all I can get from you, then I am going to hold onto it as tightly as I can, and relish in every moment of it.
Monday, May 30, 2011
The Year in Review
It's over.
The hardest year. The longest year. The worst year of high school. The worst year of your life. All warnings I'd been given going into my Junior year of high school. Now, I'm on the other side.
I have to evaluate these titles now. The hardest year--academically, maybe. But other things were harder. The longest year--definitely. I honestly still can't believe it's summer. The worst year of high school--it's hard to beat ninth grade. I don't think so. The worst year of my life? Well, I guess that's up to me.
The school work wasn't as bad as teachers and previous students made it seem to be. This was my first year taking AP classes, and they really weren't that bad. Of course, May was hell, but that comes with the territory. Yes, there were many weeks where I felt stretched beyond my limit. But, in the back of my mind, I always knew, I'll survive. And that hope is what got me through.
As far as friends are concerned, I think it went well. I know a few more people now, came out of my shell just a little. And my two best friends at school, previously fighting, have made up. I still don't feel like a social butterfly, but I don't feel like a hermit, either.
I think I made my mark in some of my classes, too. The teachers chose me to be editor-in-chief of my school magazine for next year.It's a daunting responsibility, and sometimes when I think about it, I start to psych myself out. But no matter what, I'm going to give it my all.
In addition, I think my skills have improved--in writing, designing, and shaping stories. I would like to hope that I'm a better person than I was going into this school year.
And yet, as the year closes. I'm angry. I'm frustrated. I want to scream. In the course of this year, I've realized that there are 900 students under an administration that does not care for them. They are numbers, figures, notches on our superindendant's belt. We are not individuals to him, but a collection--each pinned to the school so he can roam the halls and admire his work. We are a "Christian school," but he is the god here. And his word is law. And we will all fall short of his glory.
Now I am fighting a battle I cannot win, other than by some merciful act of the true God. I am trying to stand up, stand out, violate his perfect order, for one class. One class that means the world to me. One class that the god of this school, in his infallible knowledge and wisdom, has decided I cannot take for my senior year. Against all my pleas and petitions. Against all my tears and cries for exception. The god has said no, and I challenge his order. If not for me, then for those I will leave behind me once I finally escape from this school. Nobody understands, and at this point I really don't care. It is a battle of wills, and I am willing to fight to the death.
We'll see what comes of next year. I know that I am going to carry a resentment that will only fester, now with this knowledge of the character of those who are in power over me. Maybe this sounds dark--it's not some sentimental note about the good times I've had this year. But, it's on the forefront of my mind, and it will be for the coming year. We'll see what happens.
The hardest year. The longest year. The worst year of high school. The worst year of your life. All warnings I'd been given going into my Junior year of high school. Now, I'm on the other side.
I have to evaluate these titles now. The hardest year--academically, maybe. But other things were harder. The longest year--definitely. I honestly still can't believe it's summer. The worst year of high school--it's hard to beat ninth grade. I don't think so. The worst year of my life? Well, I guess that's up to me.
The school work wasn't as bad as teachers and previous students made it seem to be. This was my first year taking AP classes, and they really weren't that bad. Of course, May was hell, but that comes with the territory. Yes, there were many weeks where I felt stretched beyond my limit. But, in the back of my mind, I always knew, I'll survive. And that hope is what got me through.
As far as friends are concerned, I think it went well. I know a few more people now, came out of my shell just a little. And my two best friends at school, previously fighting, have made up. I still don't feel like a social butterfly, but I don't feel like a hermit, either.
I think I made my mark in some of my classes, too. The teachers chose me to be editor-in-chief of my school magazine for next year.It's a daunting responsibility, and sometimes when I think about it, I start to psych myself out. But no matter what, I'm going to give it my all.
In addition, I think my skills have improved--in writing, designing, and shaping stories. I would like to hope that I'm a better person than I was going into this school year.
And yet, as the year closes. I'm angry. I'm frustrated. I want to scream. In the course of this year, I've realized that there are 900 students under an administration that does not care for them. They are numbers, figures, notches on our superindendant's belt. We are not individuals to him, but a collection--each pinned to the school so he can roam the halls and admire his work. We are a "Christian school," but he is the god here. And his word is law. And we will all fall short of his glory.
Now I am fighting a battle I cannot win, other than by some merciful act of the true God. I am trying to stand up, stand out, violate his perfect order, for one class. One class that means the world to me. One class that the god of this school, in his infallible knowledge and wisdom, has decided I cannot take for my senior year. Against all my pleas and petitions. Against all my tears and cries for exception. The god has said no, and I challenge his order. If not for me, then for those I will leave behind me once I finally escape from this school. Nobody understands, and at this point I really don't care. It is a battle of wills, and I am willing to fight to the death.
We'll see what comes of next year. I know that I am going to carry a resentment that will only fester, now with this knowledge of the character of those who are in power over me. Maybe this sounds dark--it's not some sentimental note about the good times I've had this year. But, it's on the forefront of my mind, and it will be for the coming year. We'll see what happens.
It's hot.
Because the upstairs air conditioner is messed up.
Which is probably my fault.
Because I was messing with it.
Because the air up here is always too hot.
And my mom doesn't listen to me when I tell her that.
So I just mess with it myself.
And now I almost broke it.
And now my mom's mad at me.
And it's 85 degrees upstairs and I can't take my clothes off becasue my sister's boyfriend is here...
...AGAIN.
Why is he here?
It's Memorial Day.
Why is it so hot.
I hate the summer.
I hate the heat.
If I had to choose between sitting in this hot room and freezing to death...
...okay, I'd still rather sit in this hot room. But I hate the heat.
It's my least favorite thing about summer,
About North Carolina,
About the south,
About the weather channel.
If I die from heat stroke, let this be my last will and testament.
The end.
Which is probably my fault.
Because I was messing with it.
Because the air up here is always too hot.
And my mom doesn't listen to me when I tell her that.
So I just mess with it myself.
And now I almost broke it.
And now my mom's mad at me.
And it's 85 degrees upstairs and I can't take my clothes off becasue my sister's boyfriend is here...
...AGAIN.
Why is he here?
It's Memorial Day.
Why is it so hot.
I hate the summer.
I hate the heat.
If I had to choose between sitting in this hot room and freezing to death...
...okay, I'd still rather sit in this hot room. But I hate the heat.
It's my least favorite thing about summer,
About North Carolina,
About the south,
About the weather channel.
If I die from heat stroke, let this be my last will and testament.
The end.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Moving Right Along
This book blog is actually going to happen.
We've got a Facebook page, a Twitter account, and reviews already stocked up for posting. The blog account has been created, and we're in the process of fine-tuning it. The launch date is for June 17.
At this point I'm trying to think beyond just the reviews. What else can we post? What else can we do to promote? Sometimes I feel like we should just take baby steps, and sometimes I feel like we need to be buying a billboard or something.
As it stands, we have sixteen page likes on Facebook and five followers on Twitter.
We've only been promoting those pages for about a week. I don't know much about Facebook or Twitter, so I don't know how much progress that actually is. I have a feeling that more people are going to like the Facebook page than actually follow the blog. Which means we need to get the word out to more Facebookers.
If only I actually used my own Facebook account.
Well, my partner uses hers more than mine, and I have a feeling at least half of our page likes come from her friends. Still, it's something.
I can't wait to see what this is going to become. I have no idea how big it's going to get or how small it might stay--I just hope it doesn't flop. Right now I'm so burnt out with school, I can't hope for much else. Hopefully I'll recover some energy once summer break starts and be able to focus more on this blog. Until then, I have to keep daydreaming.
We've got a Facebook page, a Twitter account, and reviews already stocked up for posting. The blog account has been created, and we're in the process of fine-tuning it. The launch date is for June 17.
At this point I'm trying to think beyond just the reviews. What else can we post? What else can we do to promote? Sometimes I feel like we should just take baby steps, and sometimes I feel like we need to be buying a billboard or something.
As it stands, we have sixteen page likes on Facebook and five followers on Twitter.
We've only been promoting those pages for about a week. I don't know much about Facebook or Twitter, so I don't know how much progress that actually is. I have a feeling that more people are going to like the Facebook page than actually follow the blog. Which means we need to get the word out to more Facebookers.
If only I actually used my own Facebook account.
Well, my partner uses hers more than mine, and I have a feeling at least half of our page likes come from her friends. Still, it's something.
I can't wait to see what this is going to become. I have no idea how big it's going to get or how small it might stay--I just hope it doesn't flop. Right now I'm so burnt out with school, I can't hope for much else. Hopefully I'll recover some energy once summer break starts and be able to focus more on this blog. Until then, I have to keep daydreaming.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Phew.
Last week was a load off my shoulders. It was my second-to-last week of school, and it was one of the most stressful weeks of the school year. It was intellectually exhausting--I had three quizzes, four tests, one pop quiz, a paper, and three projects due in that one week. It was physically exhausting--I was up until midnight every night working, and I was so stressed I could hardly eat. Even the smell of food made me nauseous. It was emotionally exhausting--I had a fight with my friend, I recieved both the best and worst news of the school year within the same two hours, and my angst with authority multiplied ten million-fold, for multiple reasons. To top it all off, the world was going to end.
But now it's over. The projects and the paper were turned in on time and in one piece. I did well on all my quizzes and test (except for the pop quiz, but that's the story of my life), and I'm managed to pull some of my waning grades up (except for math, thanks to that pop quiz, which is also the story of my life). I made up with my friend, I'm working out the issues that made me so upset, and I'm eating somewhat normally again.
I have only a couple more projects left, a paper, and two tests. Five more days, one or two exams, and the hardest year of high school will be over. Over. Done. Dead. The summer is all mine, and I'm going to revel in that freedom. I'm going to soak in as much joy, hope, patience, and goodwill as my body can hold, so I can carry it with me through my senior year.
Five more days. What a year. More to come on that note. Until then.
But now it's over. The projects and the paper were turned in on time and in one piece. I did well on all my quizzes and test (except for the pop quiz, but that's the story of my life), and I'm managed to pull some of my waning grades up (except for math, thanks to that pop quiz, which is also the story of my life). I made up with my friend, I'm working out the issues that made me so upset, and I'm eating somewhat normally again.
I have only a couple more projects left, a paper, and two tests. Five more days, one or two exams, and the hardest year of high school will be over. Over. Done. Dead. The summer is all mine, and I'm going to revel in that freedom. I'm going to soak in as much joy, hope, patience, and goodwill as my body can hold, so I can carry it with me through my senior year.
Five more days. What a year. More to come on that note. Until then.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Book Review--Identical
I should start out by saying that Ellen Hopkins' books are not for the faint of heart. She gives an uncensored, first-person point-of-view on sexual abuse, drug and alcohol usage, and disorders such as bulimia, Identical being no exception. However, I think she opens up several important conversations that are often hushed in society, which is why I decided to pick up a couple of her books.
What caught me by surprise is that Hopkins writes completely in free verse (or sometimes concrete) poems. Although sometimes getting from line to line is a bit confusing, it's a unique style that creates a certain blunt atmosphere that you couldn't otherwise achieve through regular prose. Hopkins writes in first person, switching between the protagonist twins, Kaeleigh and Raeanne, an easy transition that occurs within the length of a typical chapter. Each twin has a distinct verse--I can't recall ever forgetting which perspective I was reading in. Altogether, it was an interesting and well-written style that I will enjoy seeing more of in the future.
The focus of most if not all of the character development falls on the main characters, the Gardella family. Each of the four family members is dissected and explored thoroughly, leaving no loose ends as to their personality or the motives behind what they do. The twins contrast each other nicely, and the family dynamics feel real, despite unbelievable circumstances. The handful of other characters are not nearly explored so thoroughly, and maintain a surface-level status-quo through most of the book. However, it is clear that those characters are not in any way the focus of the story, and are in-fact outsiders to the Gardellas and their personal lives. The believability of these supporting characters are not compromised due to their lack of exploration.
The plot is suspenseful and often intense. At times, you have to set the book aside and let the contents sink in. At other times, you can't stop turning the pages. It can be emotionally exhausting, simply because of the gravity of its contents. Still, Hopkins spins an artfully told, heart-gripping story. There are no grand adventures or quests to fulfill. It is simply a glimpse into the day-to-day life of a shattered family. Of course, there is still a build, a climax, and resolution, and the day-by-day story-telling is by no means tedious. I feel I can't say much more, other than the story draws you in and causes you to imagine yourself in the family's shoes. Also, it causes you to think. What more could you ask from a book?
Identical is an incredible novel, although not for those with weak constitutions. For the strong-willed though, it is a wonderful way to start a dialogue about a silent epidemic that is becoming more prevalent. Unfortunately, Hopkins' novel might become more and more relevant as time goes on. But then, hopefully, it will shine as a beacon of hope and courage for all who stumble upon it.
What caught me by surprise is that Hopkins writes completely in free verse (or sometimes concrete) poems. Although sometimes getting from line to line is a bit confusing, it's a unique style that creates a certain blunt atmosphere that you couldn't otherwise achieve through regular prose. Hopkins writes in first person, switching between the protagonist twins, Kaeleigh and Raeanne, an easy transition that occurs within the length of a typical chapter. Each twin has a distinct verse--I can't recall ever forgetting which perspective I was reading in. Altogether, it was an interesting and well-written style that I will enjoy seeing more of in the future.
The focus of most if not all of the character development falls on the main characters, the Gardella family. Each of the four family members is dissected and explored thoroughly, leaving no loose ends as to their personality or the motives behind what they do. The twins contrast each other nicely, and the family dynamics feel real, despite unbelievable circumstances. The handful of other characters are not nearly explored so thoroughly, and maintain a surface-level status-quo through most of the book. However, it is clear that those characters are not in any way the focus of the story, and are in-fact outsiders to the Gardellas and their personal lives. The believability of these supporting characters are not compromised due to their lack of exploration.
The plot is suspenseful and often intense. At times, you have to set the book aside and let the contents sink in. At other times, you can't stop turning the pages. It can be emotionally exhausting, simply because of the gravity of its contents. Still, Hopkins spins an artfully told, heart-gripping story. There are no grand adventures or quests to fulfill. It is simply a glimpse into the day-to-day life of a shattered family. Of course, there is still a build, a climax, and resolution, and the day-by-day story-telling is by no means tedious. I feel I can't say much more, other than the story draws you in and causes you to imagine yourself in the family's shoes. Also, it causes you to think. What more could you ask from a book?
Identical is an incredible novel, although not for those with weak constitutions. For the strong-willed though, it is a wonderful way to start a dialogue about a silent epidemic that is becoming more prevalent. Unfortunately, Hopkins' novel might become more and more relevant as time goes on. But then, hopefully, it will shine as a beacon of hope and courage for all who stumble upon it.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Maybe this "Teen Paranormal Romance Section" isn't such a bad idea...
...Now I can skip all the crap and get straight to the good stuff, and I'm serious when I say that.
The typical plight for me as a fan of (good) YA Lit is searching through the mounds upon mounds of rehashed, formulaic, Twilight knock-offs for something decent to read. I was getting pretty good at sifting the chaff from the wheat (the cover art is always your first clue to the contents of a book, followed by the description, but that's a blog for another day), but it was still a tedious, time-consuming task that often left me empty-handed. The harder I tried, the more vampire vomit flooded the shelves.
At first I was appalled when I walked into Barnes and Noble and found that the Teen section had been segregated, in essence, by how close each book came to resembling Twilight. What a disgusting idea, I thought. What is this world coming to? Once again, I left the store without a book. I couldn't wrap my mind around what possessed some evil marketers to do such a sleazy thing. The next couple of times I went to the bookstore, I just stared despondantly at the massive new section until it was time t go.
Yesterday, however, was a different story. I went to pick up a book for a project in English, and my sister and I decided we might as well explore the teen section while we were there. Maybe the shock had finally worn off, or maybe it was the pressure I felt from the Pre-Calculus work awaiting me at home, but I breezed right by the "Teen Paranormal Romance" section and straight to the smaller shelves labeled simply "Teen Fiction."
In about fifteen minutes, I had more success at finding good titles than I've had searching for an hour or more.
I'm not putting a hex on every book that resides in the "Teen Paranormal Romance" section. In fact, there are several books that I enjoy that have wound up there (for what I think is a total stretch of the definition "paranormal"). Still, my favorite books are sitting snug in the"Teen Fiction" section, and I suspect that it will be much easier from now on to add more favorites from these humble, half-sized shelves.
The typical plight for me as a fan of (good) YA Lit is searching through the mounds upon mounds of rehashed, formulaic, Twilight knock-offs for something decent to read. I was getting pretty good at sifting the chaff from the wheat (the cover art is always your first clue to the contents of a book, followed by the description, but that's a blog for another day), but it was still a tedious, time-consuming task that often left me empty-handed. The harder I tried, the more vampire vomit flooded the shelves.
At first I was appalled when I walked into Barnes and Noble and found that the Teen section had been segregated, in essence, by how close each book came to resembling Twilight. What a disgusting idea, I thought. What is this world coming to? Once again, I left the store without a book. I couldn't wrap my mind around what possessed some evil marketers to do such a sleazy thing. The next couple of times I went to the bookstore, I just stared despondantly at the massive new section until it was time t go.
Yesterday, however, was a different story. I went to pick up a book for a project in English, and my sister and I decided we might as well explore the teen section while we were there. Maybe the shock had finally worn off, or maybe it was the pressure I felt from the Pre-Calculus work awaiting me at home, but I breezed right by the "Teen Paranormal Romance" section and straight to the smaller shelves labeled simply "Teen Fiction."
In about fifteen minutes, I had more success at finding good titles than I've had searching for an hour or more.
I'm not putting a hex on every book that resides in the "Teen Paranormal Romance" section. In fact, there are several books that I enjoy that have wound up there (for what I think is a total stretch of the definition "paranormal"). Still, my favorite books are sitting snug in the"Teen Fiction" section, and I suspect that it will be much easier from now on to add more favorites from these humble, half-sized shelves.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
We were together again...
...for the first time
In a long time.
Just you and me.
Nobody else there to distract you,
Nobody to compete with.
Just the two of us.
And we talked.
For a long time.
Or at least it felt that way.
It felt like forever,
And that's a good thing.
We talked about some stupid stuff,
Funny stuff.
Like my goldfish dying and your church's geese dilemma.
We laughed.
You made me laugh,
And I made you laugh.
I love to make you laugh.
But then we talked about plans for the summer,
And college,
And careers,
And other miscellaneous plans for the future.
And for just a moment we brushed upon each other's dreams.
While you talked I couldn't help but stare at your eyes,
Such a beautiful,
Beautiful color.
And I thought of how silly it was
That you used to wear colored contacts over them.
But you decided to stop using them because you wanted to look like your birth mother.
And I thought that was tender.
So we talked,
And laughed.
And the conversation was only a little bit awkward.
Sometimes it would take a few seconds to bring up a new topic,
But only a few.
And that's remarkable, considering how it used to be.
When we were so far about we had nothing to say to each other.
The tide is pulling us together once more.
The current is weak, and it might not last.
It probably won't.
But still, I can feel it,
Ever so gentle,
Ever so hopeful.
And as you talked on,
And I stared at your eyes,
I said to myself:
I think I love you.
Then, the conversation began to turn.
You mentioned your girlfriend
One too many times.
And was it just me,
Or were we both uncomfortable every time you said her name?
Did your voice soften,
As if in apology,
Or am I delusional?
Then you got a call.
I thought it was your mom.
You didn't say,
But I think it was her.
So we walked towards the parking lot together.
And we parted ways.
And as I sank into my steaming car,
I said to myself:
I don't think I love you.
Love.
I've never experienced it before,
So I'm terrified of it.
To even speak its name,
To give away that first, "I love you."
I'm terrfied to be hurt.
To be jaded.
To turn love into a joke.
A sick joke,
Where no one ends up laughing.
I don't know how I feel about you,
But I'm terrified to call it love.
Because sometimes I feel it,
And sometimes,
That feeling turns cold.
Adults say all the time,
"Love's not just a feeling!"
And that's what I keep telling myself,
When I cling to you.
To the hope that one day
You might finally see me.
But I'm beginning to lose hope again.
Even though that current pulled us
For just a few moments,
It fizzled away again.
And I'm treading water again.
Water.
Why is that my analogy for us?
The survivors of a great storm,
Now slowy drifting apart,
In an endless, grey ocean.
Treading water.
With my heart strings still attatched to yours,
Pulling and hurting,
Sometimes going numb.
Like now.
Even after that blissful moment
When my heart felt good again.
I didn't even feel the pain this time.
It just went straight to numb.
Does that mean something?
Am I done with you?
So many times, I've been tempted to cut the strings.
To be free from this endless,
Fruitless hope.
But when I think of my ideal man,
I can only see you.
Okay, well maybe a little bit taller.
But that's beside the point.
So I guess my question is
What do I do now?
In a long time.
Just you and me.
Nobody else there to distract you,
Nobody to compete with.
Just the two of us.
And we talked.
For a long time.
Or at least it felt that way.
It felt like forever,
And that's a good thing.
We talked about some stupid stuff,
Funny stuff.
Like my goldfish dying and your church's geese dilemma.
We laughed.
You made me laugh,
And I made you laugh.
I love to make you laugh.
But then we talked about plans for the summer,
And college,
And careers,
And other miscellaneous plans for the future.
And for just a moment we brushed upon each other's dreams.
While you talked I couldn't help but stare at your eyes,
Such a beautiful,
Beautiful color.
And I thought of how silly it was
That you used to wear colored contacts over them.
But you decided to stop using them because you wanted to look like your birth mother.
And I thought that was tender.
So we talked,
And laughed.
And the conversation was only a little bit awkward.
Sometimes it would take a few seconds to bring up a new topic,
But only a few.
And that's remarkable, considering how it used to be.
When we were so far about we had nothing to say to each other.
The tide is pulling us together once more.
The current is weak, and it might not last.
It probably won't.
But still, I can feel it,
Ever so gentle,
Ever so hopeful.
And as you talked on,
And I stared at your eyes,
I said to myself:
I think I love you.
Then, the conversation began to turn.
You mentioned your girlfriend
One too many times.
And was it just me,
Or were we both uncomfortable every time you said her name?
Did your voice soften,
As if in apology,
Or am I delusional?
Then you got a call.
I thought it was your mom.
You didn't say,
But I think it was her.
So we walked towards the parking lot together.
And we parted ways.
And as I sank into my steaming car,
I said to myself:
I don't think I love you.
Love.
I've never experienced it before,
So I'm terrified of it.
To even speak its name,
To give away that first, "I love you."
I'm terrfied to be hurt.
To be jaded.
To turn love into a joke.
A sick joke,
Where no one ends up laughing.
I don't know how I feel about you,
But I'm terrified to call it love.
Because sometimes I feel it,
And sometimes,
That feeling turns cold.
Adults say all the time,
"Love's not just a feeling!"
And that's what I keep telling myself,
When I cling to you.
To the hope that one day
You might finally see me.
But I'm beginning to lose hope again.
Even though that current pulled us
For just a few moments,
It fizzled away again.
And I'm treading water again.
Water.
Why is that my analogy for us?
The survivors of a great storm,
Now slowy drifting apart,
In an endless, grey ocean.
Treading water.
With my heart strings still attatched to yours,
Pulling and hurting,
Sometimes going numb.
Like now.
Even after that blissful moment
When my heart felt good again.
I didn't even feel the pain this time.
It just went straight to numb.
Does that mean something?
Am I done with you?
So many times, I've been tempted to cut the strings.
To be free from this endless,
Fruitless hope.
But when I think of my ideal man,
I can only see you.
Okay, well maybe a little bit taller.
But that's beside the point.
So I guess my question is
What do I do now?
Awkward Moment + Thoughts
For our final project in AP Language and Comp., our teacher is letting us pick any classic novel on which we will do a report and presentation. To get our brains thinking, he gave us a list of options, and briefly described each novel. Many of the ladies in class seemed intersted in the The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. Our teacher told us to go home and think about it, and to try to choose one within the next few days.
He presented the project to us yesterday, and sure enough, many students researched the books that most intrigued them. Today, as I sat down at my desk and began preparing my mind for molding, the girl who sits in front of me came racing into the room with a cringing grin.
"So I looked up that book The Handmaid's Tale..." at which point she had to pause and take several scandalized breaths while she groped for the right words. "And it's all about women and sex and sexual exploitation." Her tight grin became accompanied with wide eyes, "It was so bad. I mean, it's all about..." She srunched up like an accordian and barely whispered the "S-E-X" word.
"Oh..." was all I could say. May I remind you that I go to a Christian school with some of the sweetest, most sheltered people you will ever meet, this girl (and probably myself as well) among those numbers. All I could do was raise my eyebrows in mock-surprise as she went on about how hedenistic the book sounded, and how it wasn't something she could even bring herself to read.
Of course, I didn't disclose any comments, because I'm sure it would have horrified her. The truth is, I want to become a pyschologist specialized in the field of human sexuality. That fact, combined with my love of reading, should tell you that I am intensely interested in any novel that explores sexuality, particularly sexual abuse, which is one of the areas I'm most passionate about. I am currently reading three novels focused on teen sexual abuse.
So, I just kept the conversation at, "....Yeah.."
Sometimes I feel strange for wanting to pursue this particular field, the discussion of which is often taboo, especially within fragile Christian bubbles (the other area of human sexuality that I'm most interested in is sexual orientation, so you can just imagine). Already, I'm feeling consciencious, because I know my Creative Writing teacher is going to read this as part of my blog project. What will she think? What will my parents think when I finally muster up the courage to tell them all this? What will the Christian community think if I ever step into the public arena with this topic(Dr. Phil gets enough crap just for having homosexuals on his show!)?
Of course, one of my biggest flaws is that I'm too worried about other people's opinions of me. Whenever these doubts creep in, I remind myself that I want to be one of the few Christians out there who actually stands up and adresses these issues.
Anyways, I should probably stop now before I roll out any "Christ Cliches." Just an incident that happened today, accompanied by a few thoughts. That is all.
He presented the project to us yesterday, and sure enough, many students researched the books that most intrigued them. Today, as I sat down at my desk and began preparing my mind for molding, the girl who sits in front of me came racing into the room with a cringing grin.
"So I looked up that book The Handmaid's Tale..." at which point she had to pause and take several scandalized breaths while she groped for the right words. "And it's all about women and sex and sexual exploitation." Her tight grin became accompanied with wide eyes, "It was so bad. I mean, it's all about..." She srunched up like an accordian and barely whispered the "S-E-X" word.
"Oh..." was all I could say. May I remind you that I go to a Christian school with some of the sweetest, most sheltered people you will ever meet, this girl (and probably myself as well) among those numbers. All I could do was raise my eyebrows in mock-surprise as she went on about how hedenistic the book sounded, and how it wasn't something she could even bring herself to read.
Of course, I didn't disclose any comments, because I'm sure it would have horrified her. The truth is, I want to become a pyschologist specialized in the field of human sexuality. That fact, combined with my love of reading, should tell you that I am intensely interested in any novel that explores sexuality, particularly sexual abuse, which is one of the areas I'm most passionate about. I am currently reading three novels focused on teen sexual abuse.
So, I just kept the conversation at, "....Yeah.."
Sometimes I feel strange for wanting to pursue this particular field, the discussion of which is often taboo, especially within fragile Christian bubbles (the other area of human sexuality that I'm most interested in is sexual orientation, so you can just imagine). Already, I'm feeling consciencious, because I know my Creative Writing teacher is going to read this as part of my blog project. What will she think? What will my parents think when I finally muster up the courage to tell them all this? What will the Christian community think if I ever step into the public arena with this topic(Dr. Phil gets enough crap just for having homosexuals on his show!)?
Of course, one of my biggest flaws is that I'm too worried about other people's opinions of me. Whenever these doubts creep in, I remind myself that I want to be one of the few Christians out there who actually stands up and adresses these issues.
Anyways, I should probably stop now before I roll out any "Christ Cliches." Just an incident that happened today, accompanied by a few thoughts. That is all.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Book Review--Cloaked
I have to admit, I wasn't looking forward to reading Cloaked by Alex Flinn. She's not my favorite author, and the plot seemed too haphazard to enjoy. But, out of my loyalty to the fairy tale genre, I read it anyways, and I wasn't impressed.
First of all, the writing is bland. Flinn tries a little too hard to write like a teenage boy. I appreciate her dedication to staying in character, but that doesn't mean you have to sacrifice style. There's no color or flavor to the language. Scenes that should have been gripping or nail-biting floated on drab words and passed by like a mild breeze.
What got me through those first boring chapters is the likability of the protagonist, Johnny. However, most of the other characters, especially the supporting characters, are two-dimensional. It was a shame to see some personalities that could be interesting as flat and cliched. Personally, I found the French accents (all the th's replaced with z's) irritating. I couldn't take any character with an accent seriously--all i could think of when one of them spoke was of the French peas in VeggeTales. It added an unintended silliness to their character that I just couldn't overcome.
Just as I suspected, the story flies all over the place. In an effort to include as many fairy tales as possible, Flinn jumps from subplot to subplot, never really focusing on one particular item long enough for the reader to become invested in it. It doesn't help that most of the tales she uses are so obscure that the reader will have no previous emotional attachment to them. Also, I believe some of the fairy tales should have been modified to be more believable (particularly "The Six Swans"), which Flinn is usually better at. Aside from the sporadic fairy tales, the plot was unexciting and predictable. It was anticlimactic where it should have been intense, and overindulgent where Flinn should have let things go. The end dragged on forever.
Cloaked was definitely my least favorite of Flinn's fairy tale series. I like the idea of bringing several old folk tales together, but she's better at developing just one at a time (Beastly, A Kiss in Time). But, don't get a bad taste for her just because of this review--the book is one flop in a series of good good modern-day fairy tales. I still look forward to what she writes in the future.
First of all, the writing is bland. Flinn tries a little too hard to write like a teenage boy. I appreciate her dedication to staying in character, but that doesn't mean you have to sacrifice style. There's no color or flavor to the language. Scenes that should have been gripping or nail-biting floated on drab words and passed by like a mild breeze.
What got me through those first boring chapters is the likability of the protagonist, Johnny. However, most of the other characters, especially the supporting characters, are two-dimensional. It was a shame to see some personalities that could be interesting as flat and cliched. Personally, I found the French accents (all the th's replaced with z's) irritating. I couldn't take any character with an accent seriously--all i could think of when one of them spoke was of the French peas in VeggeTales. It added an unintended silliness to their character that I just couldn't overcome.
Just as I suspected, the story flies all over the place. In an effort to include as many fairy tales as possible, Flinn jumps from subplot to subplot, never really focusing on one particular item long enough for the reader to become invested in it. It doesn't help that most of the tales she uses are so obscure that the reader will have no previous emotional attachment to them. Also, I believe some of the fairy tales should have been modified to be more believable (particularly "The Six Swans"), which Flinn is usually better at. Aside from the sporadic fairy tales, the plot was unexciting and predictable. It was anticlimactic where it should have been intense, and overindulgent where Flinn should have let things go. The end dragged on forever.
Cloaked was definitely my least favorite of Flinn's fairy tale series. I like the idea of bringing several old folk tales together, but she's better at developing just one at a time (Beastly, A Kiss in Time). But, don't get a bad taste for her just because of this review--the book is one flop in a series of good good modern-day fairy tales. I still look forward to what she writes in the future.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Monster
I didn't realize it until just now, when I saw an old photo of her.
I thought she was someone else.
I had to do a double-take before I went back to examine the image, and sure enough, it was her.
All those years ago.
I can't even picture her that way any more.
Back when we were the best of friends.
And now I realize.
You're not that same person anymore.
I couldn't tell you who that other person was.
The one smiling back at me from the photos.
My memory of her is blurred and distorted by the person who now stands before me.
Streaks of dark eyeliner now mar that face that used to be so bright and beautiful.
I do remember, though, exactly what happened, how you transformed, how you changed.
How you stabbed us in the back, how you tore us all apart.
It still hurts to think about it.
And it hurts to see you now, what you've corroded into.
When I see you in class, I often think to myself,
"How could I ever have been friends with you?"
Now I see that I was never friends with you.
I was friends with her, the one whose skin you now walk in.
You're a monster.
You're not the girl I loved.
Sometimes I still want her back.
But I'm still so angry at you, and you've stolen her face.
I can't look at it anymore, especially after what you've done to it.
I hate you.
But now I realize that I can't hate her.
Maybe she let you in, but she could have never known how you'd devour her this way.
How you'd eat her soul and spit out poison in its place.
I hate you.
And because of you, I've lost her.
We all have.
Deep down, we all miss her.
Won't you bring her back?
Even for a moment.
Just to see that sparkle in her eye one last time.
Before we all go our separate ways.
Or will I even be able to look?
After what you've done to her?
You monster.
I thought she was someone else.
I had to do a double-take before I went back to examine the image, and sure enough, it was her.
All those years ago.
I can't even picture her that way any more.
Back when we were the best of friends.
And now I realize.
You're not that same person anymore.
I couldn't tell you who that other person was.
The one smiling back at me from the photos.
My memory of her is blurred and distorted by the person who now stands before me.
Streaks of dark eyeliner now mar that face that used to be so bright and beautiful.
I do remember, though, exactly what happened, how you transformed, how you changed.
How you stabbed us in the back, how you tore us all apart.
It still hurts to think about it.
And it hurts to see you now, what you've corroded into.
When I see you in class, I often think to myself,
"How could I ever have been friends with you?"
Now I see that I was never friends with you.
I was friends with her, the one whose skin you now walk in.
You're a monster.
You're not the girl I loved.
Sometimes I still want her back.
But I'm still so angry at you, and you've stolen her face.
I can't look at it anymore, especially after what you've done to it.
I hate you.
But now I realize that I can't hate her.
Maybe she let you in, but she could have never known how you'd devour her this way.
How you'd eat her soul and spit out poison in its place.
I hate you.
And because of you, I've lost her.
We all have.
Deep down, we all miss her.
Won't you bring her back?
Even for a moment.
Just to see that sparkle in her eye one last time.
Before we all go our separate ways.
Or will I even be able to look?
After what you've done to her?
You monster.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
An Adventure
Yesterday started as a fairly normal day. My parents were going to be at an all-day conference in town, so they woke me up early to tell me they were leaving and that my sister and I could go out and use their card for more or less whatever we wanted. After sleeping a couple more hours, I got up, ate a slow breakfast, and read while my sister played Harvest Moon on the Wii. Around noon, we decided it'd be a good time to head out. We decided to go to the mall.
We got there without any trouble, parked outside the food court, ate lunch, and went to almost every clothing and department store on a purse hunting mission. Afterwards, we sat in Barnes and Noble and flipped through an Avatar: The Last Airbender art book while sneaking peaks at an attractive college guy across the cafe. Outside, it was dark and windy. My sister had said something about a tornado watch that morning, and we overheard some employees worrying over what was going to happen. After three and a half hours at the mall, we figured it was time to get going.
It was pretty windy as we walked back to the car, and as we climbed in, it began to sprinkle. I could feel the wind rocking the car, and I had to adjust my steering wheel to stay in my own lane. Was the wind really this powerful? Still, the traffic wasn't so bad, and we made it to our neighborhood easily. Already, the huge nets that surround the driving range next to our neighborhood were torn and hanging. Just after we got home, it started to rain.
My sister and I tried to coax the puppy to go to the bathroom in the rain, but we didn't have any luck, so we took him inside. The power flickered, and it took a long time for the cable box to reboot. When it did, I found an old movie that I'd always wanted to watch, and we curled up with some snacks and relaxed. Our grandmother called to warn us about the storm, urging us to go into the powder room if anything were to happen. We smiled at each other as we assured her that we were all right, then resumed our movie. All the while, I noticed the wind and the rain growing louder outside.
With a pop, the electricity went out. This time, it didn't come back on. We had nothing to listen to but the storm outside, steadily growing louder. At first, it wasn't so bad--I ran upstairs and grabbed all the old scented candles from my room and began to light them. But the weather became frightening. Rain pounded the roof, and the wind made the windows creak and shudder. We put the puppy in his carrier so he wouldn't near the glass door. With the house shaking, we decided it would be best to sit in the bathroom for a while.
A huge gust of wind rocked the house, and suddenly the front door burst open, bringing the tempest roaring into our home. My sister screamed as I ran to shut it. I had to fight the wind in order to push it closed and deadbolt it. The doorknob had dented the plaster on the wall and there was water all over the floor. My sister threw a towel down, and we hurried into the powder room with the carrier and the candles. I made sure to grab my cell phone, but we weren't getting a signal. Outside, it started hailing. My sister was crying--she thought the cats were still outside. I did a quick pet check. The puppy was in the carrier, and all the cats were there near the powder room save for one who normally spends his day under the house. He should be fine, shouldn't he? I tried to comfort my sister as we waited out the worst of the storm.
As we waited, I lit the rest of the candles there in the bathroom. After a few minutes, the wind stopped. It was still raining, but not nearly so violently as before. We decided to venture back into the living room. None of the windows were damaged, no water had seeped in, and all the animals were fine. Tentatively, we brought the candles into the living room and settled back onto the couch, where we read with shaking hands as the darkest clouds finally passed over us.
It was growing lighter. For a minute, the sun even peaked out behind a thin veil of clouds. My sister went to look for a rainbow as I let the puppy out of his carrier. Neighbors were venturing out onto their porches. The whole neighborhood was without electricity. Still, we were safe, and comforted knowing that the storm was over. Just as we settled back down to read, I heard an annoying beeping noise. As my sister took the puppy outside, I climbed upstairs to investigate. It was the carbon monoxide alarm.
I felt fine--no headache, no fatigue. The animals were acting fine. In fact, they'd been calm through the whole ordeal. But, my sister complained of a headache. We opened the front door to let some fresh air in, and I called my dad's cellphone. He didn't pick up, but called back a few seconds later. I told him about the alarm. He told me to reset the carbon monoxide alarm. It was still beeping. I told him that we both felt fine, and that the alarm downstairs wasn't going off. My dad told me to go ahead and pull the battery out of the alarm, and that he and my mom would be home in about an hour. My sister was upset to hear that they'd be so long. In the mean time, people were beginning to call our cell phones and check on us. My sister spent a long time on the phone with her boyfriend.
Finally, our parents came home. My dad checked the carbon monoxide alarm and concluded that it was set off only a faulty battery. There was no threat of poison, but we were hungry. After taking our orders, Dad went out to Jersey Mike's while my mom, my sister, and I sat in the living room and talked. When, he came back, we all ate that the kitcehn table together. Then, we ate the last of the ice cream before it went bad. Finally, we wandered back into the living room. By now it was getting dark.
We found a few more candles and sat in a room illuminated by pinpricks of golden light. The ugliest candles had the most beautfiul flames. I honestly couldn't tell you what we did as we sat in the dark for an hour or more. We talked some, and made lazy suggestions about games to play or things to do while we waited for electricity. For the most part, I watched the candle nearest me as its flame floated in the airless room. Just watched.
In a flurry of clicks and whirrs, the lights burst into life again, and all the machinery resumed its normal business. My family cheered as they ran for their respective laptops and waited for the TV to reboot. Mom said I looked disappointed. I told her I liked the candles, and my sister ran around the room shamelessly blowing them all out in my face. The storm was over, and the calm was over. We resumed our normal lives, clicking away on our computers while a murder mystery droned in the background. My sister went to bed, and my dad fell asleep on the couch. When the murder show was over, I said goodnight to Mom and retired to my room.
It was a strange day, with such a normal beginning and ending. Today is bright and sunny and cold, as if the wheather was trying to trick us. Sure, there are flags thrown about, and a few distant trees down, but nothing more. It was as if nothing had ever happened...
We got there without any trouble, parked outside the food court, ate lunch, and went to almost every clothing and department store on a purse hunting mission. Afterwards, we sat in Barnes and Noble and flipped through an Avatar: The Last Airbender art book while sneaking peaks at an attractive college guy across the cafe. Outside, it was dark and windy. My sister had said something about a tornado watch that morning, and we overheard some employees worrying over what was going to happen. After three and a half hours at the mall, we figured it was time to get going.
It was pretty windy as we walked back to the car, and as we climbed in, it began to sprinkle. I could feel the wind rocking the car, and I had to adjust my steering wheel to stay in my own lane. Was the wind really this powerful? Still, the traffic wasn't so bad, and we made it to our neighborhood easily. Already, the huge nets that surround the driving range next to our neighborhood were torn and hanging. Just after we got home, it started to rain.
My sister and I tried to coax the puppy to go to the bathroom in the rain, but we didn't have any luck, so we took him inside. The power flickered, and it took a long time for the cable box to reboot. When it did, I found an old movie that I'd always wanted to watch, and we curled up with some snacks and relaxed. Our grandmother called to warn us about the storm, urging us to go into the powder room if anything were to happen. We smiled at each other as we assured her that we were all right, then resumed our movie. All the while, I noticed the wind and the rain growing louder outside.
With a pop, the electricity went out. This time, it didn't come back on. We had nothing to listen to but the storm outside, steadily growing louder. At first, it wasn't so bad--I ran upstairs and grabbed all the old scented candles from my room and began to light them. But the weather became frightening. Rain pounded the roof, and the wind made the windows creak and shudder. We put the puppy in his carrier so he wouldn't near the glass door. With the house shaking, we decided it would be best to sit in the bathroom for a while.
A huge gust of wind rocked the house, and suddenly the front door burst open, bringing the tempest roaring into our home. My sister screamed as I ran to shut it. I had to fight the wind in order to push it closed and deadbolt it. The doorknob had dented the plaster on the wall and there was water all over the floor. My sister threw a towel down, and we hurried into the powder room with the carrier and the candles. I made sure to grab my cell phone, but we weren't getting a signal. Outside, it started hailing. My sister was crying--she thought the cats were still outside. I did a quick pet check. The puppy was in the carrier, and all the cats were there near the powder room save for one who normally spends his day under the house. He should be fine, shouldn't he? I tried to comfort my sister as we waited out the worst of the storm.
As we waited, I lit the rest of the candles there in the bathroom. After a few minutes, the wind stopped. It was still raining, but not nearly so violently as before. We decided to venture back into the living room. None of the windows were damaged, no water had seeped in, and all the animals were fine. Tentatively, we brought the candles into the living room and settled back onto the couch, where we read with shaking hands as the darkest clouds finally passed over us.
It was growing lighter. For a minute, the sun even peaked out behind a thin veil of clouds. My sister went to look for a rainbow as I let the puppy out of his carrier. Neighbors were venturing out onto their porches. The whole neighborhood was without electricity. Still, we were safe, and comforted knowing that the storm was over. Just as we settled back down to read, I heard an annoying beeping noise. As my sister took the puppy outside, I climbed upstairs to investigate. It was the carbon monoxide alarm.
I felt fine--no headache, no fatigue. The animals were acting fine. In fact, they'd been calm through the whole ordeal. But, my sister complained of a headache. We opened the front door to let some fresh air in, and I called my dad's cellphone. He didn't pick up, but called back a few seconds later. I told him about the alarm. He told me to reset the carbon monoxide alarm. It was still beeping. I told him that we both felt fine, and that the alarm downstairs wasn't going off. My dad told me to go ahead and pull the battery out of the alarm, and that he and my mom would be home in about an hour. My sister was upset to hear that they'd be so long. In the mean time, people were beginning to call our cell phones and check on us. My sister spent a long time on the phone with her boyfriend.
Finally, our parents came home. My dad checked the carbon monoxide alarm and concluded that it was set off only a faulty battery. There was no threat of poison, but we were hungry. After taking our orders, Dad went out to Jersey Mike's while my mom, my sister, and I sat in the living room and talked. When, he came back, we all ate that the kitcehn table together. Then, we ate the last of the ice cream before it went bad. Finally, we wandered back into the living room. By now it was getting dark.
We found a few more candles and sat in a room illuminated by pinpricks of golden light. The ugliest candles had the most beautfiul flames. I honestly couldn't tell you what we did as we sat in the dark for an hour or more. We talked some, and made lazy suggestions about games to play or things to do while we waited for electricity. For the most part, I watched the candle nearest me as its flame floated in the airless room. Just watched.
In a flurry of clicks and whirrs, the lights burst into life again, and all the machinery resumed its normal business. My family cheered as they ran for their respective laptops and waited for the TV to reboot. Mom said I looked disappointed. I told her I liked the candles, and my sister ran around the room shamelessly blowing them all out in my face. The storm was over, and the calm was over. We resumed our normal lives, clicking away on our computers while a murder mystery droned in the background. My sister went to bed, and my dad fell asleep on the couch. When the murder show was over, I said goodnight to Mom and retired to my room.
It was a strange day, with such a normal beginning and ending. Today is bright and sunny and cold, as if the wheather was trying to trick us. Sure, there are flags thrown about, and a few distant trees down, but nothing more. It was as if nothing had ever happened...
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Animal Magnetism
After seventeen years consisting of two dogs, four cats, five hamsters, and multiple aquarium fish, I have come to the conclusion that I do not like animals. We just don't mix. My sister is great with animals--in fact, she's been compared to an angst-ridden Snow White. In my opinion, however, I have some irreparable complaints against the animal kingdom. Some are as follows:
1) They don't speak the human tongue. We just had a discussion in my English/Closet Philosophy class about how language is the key to communication and identity. It goes without saying, then, that there is a disjunction in communication between myself and the animal population, and therefore I cannot possibly identify with them and their personal problems. I don't care how much you sit whining and staring at me with your puppy dog eyes, if you can't tell me exactly what's wrong, I'm not going to help you.
2) They don't clean up after themselves. I don't want to shovel poop out of the sand for you, kitty. If you want to poop in a sandbox so badly, I suggest cleaning it yourself, or finding a bigger one in one of the neighbor's yards.Hamsters and fish, this goes for you as well.
3) They need feeding on a regular basis. I've survived about a fourth of my life without my mother feeding me, I think pets should be able to do the same. I'm a busy person; I don't have time to run around placing bread crumbs in your path. If you're hungry, forage, or hunt, or do whatever your species was actually bred to to.
4) They smell and they shed. What more do I need to say?
5) They leave you unwanted favors. No, no, I don't want the mole you caught, or the bird, or the rabbit, or the woodchuck, or the deer, or the Sasquatch, or anything you hunted down. I don't want it dead and bleeding on my carpet, and I don't want it alive and running around my house. I don't want it, period. Do whatever you like with it (hey, eat it!), as long as I don't see it. Dogs? Dogs are worse, they bring you slobbery toys or poop.
Those are just a few of the reasons I do not care for any species of the animal kingdom. All of the above could just as easily be applied to human babies, and I don't like them either. It's all in the personality, I guess, and mine is definitely short on "animal magnetism."
1) They don't speak the human tongue. We just had a discussion in my English/Closet Philosophy class about how language is the key to communication and identity. It goes without saying, then, that there is a disjunction in communication between myself and the animal population, and therefore I cannot possibly identify with them and their personal problems. I don't care how much you sit whining and staring at me with your puppy dog eyes, if you can't tell me exactly what's wrong, I'm not going to help you.
2) They don't clean up after themselves. I don't want to shovel poop out of the sand for you, kitty. If you want to poop in a sandbox so badly, I suggest cleaning it yourself, or finding a bigger one in one of the neighbor's yards.Hamsters and fish, this goes for you as well.
3) They need feeding on a regular basis. I've survived about a fourth of my life without my mother feeding me, I think pets should be able to do the same. I'm a busy person; I don't have time to run around placing bread crumbs in your path. If you're hungry, forage, or hunt, or do whatever your species was actually bred to to.
4) They smell and they shed. What more do I need to say?
5) They leave you unwanted favors. No, no, I don't want the mole you caught, or the bird, or the rabbit, or the woodchuck, or the deer, or the Sasquatch, or anything you hunted down. I don't want it dead and bleeding on my carpet, and I don't want it alive and running around my house. I don't want it, period. Do whatever you like with it (hey, eat it!), as long as I don't see it. Dogs? Dogs are worse, they bring you slobbery toys or poop.
Those are just a few of the reasons I do not care for any species of the animal kingdom. All of the above could just as easily be applied to human babies, and I don't like them either. It's all in the personality, I guess, and mine is definitely short on "animal magnetism."
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Just the fumes of my 2011-2012 course registration angst.
“Haley,
Bible is a required class for every year of attendance at [school], so you can not drop Bible to pickup another elective. You will have to choose between Honors Spanish III and AP Psychology; both are good classes and will look good on your transcript… I think it comes down to which one you have more interest in.”
Oh, of course! How could I even be so twisted by the wiles of the Evil One to even suggest such a thingu? Get behind me, Satan!
After all, Bible is obviously the most important thing at our school, considering there are only four classes in the entire department and not enough teachers to cover even those four. Of course I have no freedom in choosing what type of biblical curriculum I would like to pursue, because my weak, naiive mind needs to imbimbe every last drop of indoctrination you can press into my brain before I’m thrown out into this dark, heathen world!
Besides, God is supposed to be a chore, a burden, a long, hard pursuit. As it says in his Holy Word, we are to take up our cross daily, for precisely fifty minutes of the academic school day, to learn all the facts we can about Him. We children are too spiritually blinded by our disentegrating culture to nurture our own, personal relationships with Him. We need an academic supervisor do be our go-between.
Plus, we are a Christian school, which means we have to take every shallow, half-assed, picturesque step we can to look like the perfect Christian school. We have to pray before every class, cut time out of academia to attend chapel once a week (in skirts and ties, no less!), and give every student the privelege and the blessing of going to Bible class. We should be grateful, because their are so many wayward Chrisitans out there in those public schools who have never even heard of such thing as a Bible class.
Therefore, I would like to recant for even posing such a rediculous question. Maybe I won’t get enough academic credits to get into my dream college, but I’m sure my four elective Bible credits will give me an edge at Liberty University. Thank you for rebuking me in the name of the LORD. Amen.
Bible is a required class for every year of attendance at [school], so you can not drop Bible to pickup another elective. You will have to choose between Honors Spanish III and AP Psychology; both are good classes and will look good on your transcript… I think it comes down to which one you have more interest in.”
Oh, of course! How could I even be so twisted by the wiles of the Evil One to even suggest such a thingu? Get behind me, Satan!
After all, Bible is obviously the most important thing at our school, considering there are only four classes in the entire department and not enough teachers to cover even those four. Of course I have no freedom in choosing what type of biblical curriculum I would like to pursue, because my weak, naiive mind needs to imbimbe every last drop of indoctrination you can press into my brain before I’m thrown out into this dark, heathen world!
Besides, God is supposed to be a chore, a burden, a long, hard pursuit. As it says in his Holy Word, we are to take up our cross daily, for precisely fifty minutes of the academic school day, to learn all the facts we can about Him. We children are too spiritually blinded by our disentegrating culture to nurture our own, personal relationships with Him. We need an academic supervisor do be our go-between.
Plus, we are a Christian school, which means we have to take every shallow, half-assed, picturesque step we can to look like the perfect Christian school. We have to pray before every class, cut time out of academia to attend chapel once a week (in skirts and ties, no less!), and give every student the privelege and the blessing of going to Bible class. We should be grateful, because their are so many wayward Chrisitans out there in those public schools who have never even heard of such thing as a Bible class.
Therefore, I would like to recant for even posing such a rediculous question. Maybe I won’t get enough academic credits to get into my dream college, but I’m sure my four elective Bible credits will give me an edge at Liberty University. Thank you for rebuking me in the name of the LORD. Amen.
Book Review--Unwind
I was looking forward to reading Neal Shusterman's Unwind on account of the fact that I knew Shusterman is a great writer, one of my favorites, in fact. Now, Unwind has earned its place among the sacred top bookshelf that hosts my favorite YA novels of all time.
The one drawback of Unwind is the unique yet sometimes distracting style of writing. As most dystopian novels are, it's written in present tense, which makes it a fast-paced, script-style read. Although it is in third person, it changes perspectives frequently between the characters. Every now and then, i would forget whose perspective I was reading in and would have to check back to the chapter heading to remind myself. However, it didn't take long to adjust to this style, and it made more sense as the book went on. Altogether, it was an infinitesimal problem.
Shusterman's characters are some of the most vivid and poignant I've read. In contrast with a society that sees a faceless crowd, each character sticks out and speaks in his own voice. they are beautiful in their imperfections, and experience dynamic growth and change throughout the story. Even the antagonists hold a special place in my heart.
At first the plot seems to impossible to believe, but through Shusterman's incredible storytelling, he makes you not only believe it, but feel it--the tension, the anxiety that the characters experience. I found myself rocking in my seat as my fingers twitched to turn the page. There were unexpected twists and turns, and the conflict brought forth thought-provoking issues such as the value of life and the definition of humanity. In the end, Unwind leaves you breathless.
The one drawback of Unwind is the unique yet sometimes distracting style of writing. As most dystopian novels are, it's written in present tense, which makes it a fast-paced, script-style read. Although it is in third person, it changes perspectives frequently between the characters. Every now and then, i would forget whose perspective I was reading in and would have to check back to the chapter heading to remind myself. However, it didn't take long to adjust to this style, and it made more sense as the book went on. Altogether, it was an infinitesimal problem.
Shusterman's characters are some of the most vivid and poignant I've read. In contrast with a society that sees a faceless crowd, each character sticks out and speaks in his own voice. they are beautiful in their imperfections, and experience dynamic growth and change throughout the story. Even the antagonists hold a special place in my heart.
At first the plot seems to impossible to believe, but through Shusterman's incredible storytelling, he makes you not only believe it, but feel it--the tension, the anxiety that the characters experience. I found myself rocking in my seat as my fingers twitched to turn the page. There were unexpected twists and turns, and the conflict brought forth thought-provoking issues such as the value of life and the definition of humanity. In the end, Unwind leaves you breathless.
Friday, April 8, 2011
UNCW
Today, I visited UNCW. I consider it my first college visit (since the first one was a total snooze), and now I'm pumped. It was great, everything about it was great. I loved the location, right near the beach. I loved the dorms, the different options you could have. I loved the amenities, the cafeteria, the free laundry service, the campus. THE CAMPUS!!! It's beautiful! It's not too big, but it's so secluded from the highway outside, and the main street is gorgeous. Everyone was biking, and now I want a bike so I can get around the campus.
That's it, that's why I loved it--I could see myself there. For the first time, I imagined myself as a college student. I could imagine what my day would be like, who I'd hang out with, what activities I'd be involved in. I could see myself going to the beach--which I never do--and spending time outside--which I also never do.
I just can't wait for the autonomy, the independence that comes with college life. I'll be starting fresh--I won't feel like I have to match anyone's expectations of me. I can create new expectations, better ones, ones that aren't left over from middle school or freshman year. I can be a new, better person.
I think I'm experiencing some early signs of senioritus.
My expectations are probably too high. I might not change much, and UNCW might not be all it's choked up to be After all, upon declaring my love for UNCW, I was corrected by several of my peers who were determined to make sure I knew that the Chapel Hill campus is far superior. Actaully, I'm going to UNC Chapel Hill in a couple of weeks, so I'll have to compare. I'm sure itwill be just as wonderful if not more so. What was most important is that I got a glimpse of college life, and now I'm looking forward to it.
That's it, that's why I loved it--I could see myself there. For the first time, I imagined myself as a college student. I could imagine what my day would be like, who I'd hang out with, what activities I'd be involved in. I could see myself going to the beach--which I never do--and spending time outside--which I also never do.
I just can't wait for the autonomy, the independence that comes with college life. I'll be starting fresh--I won't feel like I have to match anyone's expectations of me. I can create new expectations, better ones, ones that aren't left over from middle school or freshman year. I can be a new, better person.
I think I'm experiencing some early signs of senioritus.
My expectations are probably too high. I might not change much, and UNCW might not be all it's choked up to be After all, upon declaring my love for UNCW, I was corrected by several of my peers who were determined to make sure I knew that the Chapel Hill campus is far superior. Actaully, I'm going to UNC Chapel Hill in a couple of weeks, so I'll have to compare. I'm sure itwill be just as wonderful if not more so. What was most important is that I got a glimpse of college life, and now I'm looking forward to it.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Some Words of Inspiration for Aspiring Authors (Including Myself)
Being published does not mean you're a good writer. It means you are marketable. If you're in it for the money, then by all means push to publish. And while you're at it, you can weave some threadbare tale of vampires, wizards, and tired love triangles. Surely, you can make a quick buck off of it, as many have already done.
But, if you wish to be a good writer, if you wish to inspire, to change lives by your words, to be a true author, then slow down. Hone your skill--practice daily, take classes, recieve advice and feedback. Enjoy the bitersweet process of creating and destroying, editing and reviewing, spinning words into a beautiful tapestry of story and language. If your are destined to be published, then the time will come.
Good writing makes people think, it makes them uncomfortable. It makes people put themselves in place of the characters and wonder, "What would I do?" It makes people change--for the better or worse is up to you, for words have power no matter the source. The gem of your work might not be acknowledged. Indeed, it might not even be discovered until after you're gone, or maybe not at all. Your name might not ever be on the New York Time's Best Seller list, or on an English teacher's white board forty years from now. Your book might not even be available in most bookstores. A fruitless endeavor, then? Maybe so, but let me tell you this--it was one little black book crammed in the shelves of the teen section at the back corner of a North Carolina library that changed my life forever. The author might not ever know, though I hope to tell her some day. Even so, changing even one life has made her an angel, and now I aspire to change lives as well as foster others' desire to change lives, in an unending and beautiful cycle. And that is what it is to be an author.
But, if you wish to be a good writer, if you wish to inspire, to change lives by your words, to be a true author, then slow down. Hone your skill--practice daily, take classes, recieve advice and feedback. Enjoy the bitersweet process of creating and destroying, editing and reviewing, spinning words into a beautiful tapestry of story and language. If your are destined to be published, then the time will come.
Good writing makes people think, it makes them uncomfortable. It makes people put themselves in place of the characters and wonder, "What would I do?" It makes people change--for the better or worse is up to you, for words have power no matter the source. The gem of your work might not be acknowledged. Indeed, it might not even be discovered until after you're gone, or maybe not at all. Your name might not ever be on the New York Time's Best Seller list, or on an English teacher's white board forty years from now. Your book might not even be available in most bookstores. A fruitless endeavor, then? Maybe so, but let me tell you this--it was one little black book crammed in the shelves of the teen section at the back corner of a North Carolina library that changed my life forever. The author might not ever know, though I hope to tell her some day. Even so, changing even one life has made her an angel, and now I aspire to change lives as well as foster others' desire to change lives, in an unending and beautiful cycle. And that is what it is to be an author.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Book Review--Numbers 2: The Chaos
What can I say? After the brilliance of Rachel Ward's Numbers, I was thoroughly disappointed by its successor, The Chaos. It's a typical sequel of the Iron Man 2 sort--at best, a snooze, and and it's worst, a complete let-down. I was apprehensive when I heard a Numbers 2 was in the works, and unfortunately my suspicions have been confirmed.
In The Chaos, Ward decides to stray from its predescessor and use dual-first-person in which the narrative is split between the two protagonists. Not only is this inconsistent with the first Numbers, but it creates a host of other problems throughout the novel. The character's voices are hardly distinguishable from each other, a detriment to their personalities as a whole. The dual narrative also creates a rut in the plot in which the characters are continually meeting up, sharing an experience from their own perspectives, splitting of to recount their own tale, then rejoining again to share another experience. She is still a good writer, but had Ward decide to stick to one vantage point, many of these problems could have been avoided.
It would have been better for Ward to have stuck to the characters from the first installment rather than draw new blood. The protagonists Adam and Sarah aren't much more than black-and-white photocopies of the original characters in Numbers. They are stilted and mechanical--their responses to the conflicts around them don't feel human. The relationship between the two is prescribed rather than developed throughout the book. There is no chemistry between them, for they are in love simply because they are destined to fall in love, a fate they share with characters myriads of mediocre literature throughout the ages.
The plot of The Chaos is truly chaotic, I might even say shizophrenic. Ward skips the plot across a lake of conflicts, touching on an overwhelming number of issues without ever breaking the surface tension on any one of them. Topics such as incest, teen pregnancy, and deformity--all subjects meritting volumes of books on their own--become hat tricks in a desperate attempt to dramatize the story. In the end, a series of plot devices were all that held the book together. Even with another sequel promised to come, there were so many unresolved conflicts and unexplicable events that I can't even begin to settle the story in my mind.
Maybe I'm being particularly harsh because I expected more out of a book with such a great first installment. Numbers was raw and real. The problem with The Chaos is that it is so shallow, so sensationalized, and so scatter-brained, that it is simply not believable. It disintegrates into science fiction of the blandest sort, and gives us little to hope for in the final book of the series, Infinity.
In The Chaos, Ward decides to stray from its predescessor and use dual-first-person in which the narrative is split between the two protagonists. Not only is this inconsistent with the first Numbers, but it creates a host of other problems throughout the novel. The character's voices are hardly distinguishable from each other, a detriment to their personalities as a whole. The dual narrative also creates a rut in the plot in which the characters are continually meeting up, sharing an experience from their own perspectives, splitting of to recount their own tale, then rejoining again to share another experience. She is still a good writer, but had Ward decide to stick to one vantage point, many of these problems could have been avoided.
It would have been better for Ward to have stuck to the characters from the first installment rather than draw new blood. The protagonists Adam and Sarah aren't much more than black-and-white photocopies of the original characters in Numbers. They are stilted and mechanical--their responses to the conflicts around them don't feel human. The relationship between the two is prescribed rather than developed throughout the book. There is no chemistry between them, for they are in love simply because they are destined to fall in love, a fate they share with characters myriads of mediocre literature throughout the ages.
The plot of The Chaos is truly chaotic, I might even say shizophrenic. Ward skips the plot across a lake of conflicts, touching on an overwhelming number of issues without ever breaking the surface tension on any one of them. Topics such as incest, teen pregnancy, and deformity--all subjects meritting volumes of books on their own--become hat tricks in a desperate attempt to dramatize the story. In the end, a series of plot devices were all that held the book together. Even with another sequel promised to come, there were so many unresolved conflicts and unexplicable events that I can't even begin to settle the story in my mind.
Maybe I'm being particularly harsh because I expected more out of a book with such a great first installment. Numbers was raw and real. The problem with The Chaos is that it is so shallow, so sensationalized, and so scatter-brained, that it is simply not believable. It disintegrates into science fiction of the blandest sort, and gives us little to hope for in the final book of the series, Infinity.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Update on the Book Blog
I've just done my third book review, and I believe I'm getting the hang of it, at least when it comes to form. I want to cover all the essentials--plot, character, writing style--along with a general reccomendation ("If you like romance novels, than this is the book for you!"), and of course my personal opinion. When I actually get the other blog up and running, I'll also include the summary that comes on the back of the book (quoted and credited, of course), and maybe even a picture of the cover art. It all depends on how I want to format the blog.
In addition, I've decided to partner up with my good friend Pen&Ink (authorofeternity.blogspot.com) to make this site happen. She's pretty good with computers (eons beyond my skill, anyways), and she's probably read more books since last Thursday than I have in my entire life. She's a great writer and a deep thinker. I know she'll be great at writing reviews.
That's all for now. I hope to start working on a spiffy layout soon (I'm letting Pen&Ink experiment on my own blog, so we'll see how that goes), and hopefully we can launch the site as soon as the summer starts.
Until then.
In addition, I've decided to partner up with my good friend Pen&Ink (authorofeternity.blogspot.com) to make this site happen. She's pretty good with computers (eons beyond my skill, anyways), and she's probably read more books since last Thursday than I have in my entire life. She's a great writer and a deep thinker. I know she'll be great at writing reviews.
That's all for now. I hope to start working on a spiffy layout soon (I'm letting Pen&Ink experiment on my own blog, so we'll see how that goes), and hopefully we can launch the site as soon as the summer starts.
Until then.
Book Review--The Body of Christopher Creed
With What Happened to Lani Garver being my all-time favorite book, I expected greatness from Carol Plum-Ucci's award-winning The Body of Christopher Creed. I wasn't disappointed. Though it just can't beat Lani in my eyes, it was still a powerful, convicting, edge-of-your-seat read.
Plum-Ucci's writing style is consistent with what I read in Lani. That is, the words disappear, leaving just the plot and the characters to guide you. I admire this transparent style--after a while, you forget that you're reading. You're feeling, experiencing the story as it's happening. It's one of the highest compliments I can give to an author.
Although he is not the protagonist, all the happenings of the novel revolve around the character Chris Creed. However, he never enters a single scene. Through flashbacks, a diary, and descriptions from other characters, Plum-Ucci creates an ever-present being holding the story together. I've never seen it done before, for such an extended period of time, and boy did it work. I know just as much about Creed, if not more, than I do about any of the other characters. Not that the others weren't just as deep and endearing as Creed himself. Ali McDermott now ranks as one of my favorite YA Lit female characters. The protagonist and narrator, Torey Adams, serves as a lens through which to view the story, giving the reader a vicarious experience while also showing a solid personality of his own.
Of course, the best part of Plum-Ucci's books are the stories. I hesitate to call them plots, because there's so much more to them. There's a theme, a message, a passion that bleeds straight from Plum-Ucci's soul and onto the paper. True, Chris Creed and Lani share many similair elements--a small town shaken up by a strange, out-of-the-box sort of kid, and one seemingly-perfect teenager willing to risk everything for truth and fairness. But each time, the message is a little bit different, and tugs at a different piece of your soul. Once again, Plum-Ucci's story was so convictingthat it initiated a change in my life, and I'm sure in the lives of many others. That's a rare gem in the YA Lit world. And I just have to say--Plum-Ucci is the queen of twist endings!
Great, great read, if you're willing to be uncomfortable at first. Everybody's got a Chris Creed in their life--I do. If you want to read this book, prepare to face him. If you like deep stuff, this is definately for you. But even if you don't, I dare you to give it a try.
Plum-Ucci's writing style is consistent with what I read in Lani. That is, the words disappear, leaving just the plot and the characters to guide you. I admire this transparent style--after a while, you forget that you're reading. You're feeling, experiencing the story as it's happening. It's one of the highest compliments I can give to an author.
Although he is not the protagonist, all the happenings of the novel revolve around the character Chris Creed. However, he never enters a single scene. Through flashbacks, a diary, and descriptions from other characters, Plum-Ucci creates an ever-present being holding the story together. I've never seen it done before, for such an extended period of time, and boy did it work. I know just as much about Creed, if not more, than I do about any of the other characters. Not that the others weren't just as deep and endearing as Creed himself. Ali McDermott now ranks as one of my favorite YA Lit female characters. The protagonist and narrator, Torey Adams, serves as a lens through which to view the story, giving the reader a vicarious experience while also showing a solid personality of his own.
Of course, the best part of Plum-Ucci's books are the stories. I hesitate to call them plots, because there's so much more to them. There's a theme, a message, a passion that bleeds straight from Plum-Ucci's soul and onto the paper. True, Chris Creed and Lani share many similair elements--a small town shaken up by a strange, out-of-the-box sort of kid, and one seemingly-perfect teenager willing to risk everything for truth and fairness. But each time, the message is a little bit different, and tugs at a different piece of your soul. Once again, Plum-Ucci's story was so convictingthat it initiated a change in my life, and I'm sure in the lives of many others. That's a rare gem in the YA Lit world. And I just have to say--Plum-Ucci is the queen of twist endings!
Great, great read, if you're willing to be uncomfortable at first. Everybody's got a Chris Creed in their life--I do. If you want to read this book, prepare to face him. If you like deep stuff, this is definately for you. But even if you don't, I dare you to give it a try.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Self-Evaluation
I'm too hard on myself. I have this idea that I have to look perfect in front of strangers. Literally. I make sure I'm dressed my best, that my makeup is just right. I sit up a little straighter, and my tone gets more pleasant and formal. i watch my "like"s and try to remember my "mam"s and "sir"s. If anything, I sit quietly and pay close attention to whatever the adults are talking about. If I get put on the spot, i try to sound as intelligent and responsible as possible. I try to sound like the demure, ever-patient eldest sister. I try to sound perfect.
The problem is, I'm trying to present a standard that I could never hope to meet. I screw up, spill something, say the wrong thing, get angry. And then, I send myself through hours of torturous mental punishment by telling myself what an idiot I am, and how stupid I looked in front of everyone, and how silly and insignificant I am compared to the rest of the universe. Even now, I'm thinking about how selfish I am because I'm talking about myself and not the tsunamis in Japan or the starving children in Africa. But somewhere in this world of sorrows I know I have to deal with my own problems.
This isn't a sob story, or at least it's not supposed to be. This is a chance to show myself how rediculous I am when I get in this rut. When I cry over a game of Scrabble (yes, that's what happened to spur this post), or spend hours prepping and wringing my hands when guests are coming over. The bottom line is, I'm scared of other people's judgement. I'm scared they're going to go home and whisper aabout me, and tell all their friends, and soon everybody on earth is going to know what a clumsy, geeky, awkward loser I am.
That in itself sounds rediculous, and I'm glad I can read over it and see that. It means I'm making some progress. Hopefully, I'll be able to move forward with this self-esteem thing, and finally learn to be comfortable around other people, even if I don't know them.
The problem is, I'm trying to present a standard that I could never hope to meet. I screw up, spill something, say the wrong thing, get angry. And then, I send myself through hours of torturous mental punishment by telling myself what an idiot I am, and how stupid I looked in front of everyone, and how silly and insignificant I am compared to the rest of the universe. Even now, I'm thinking about how selfish I am because I'm talking about myself and not the tsunamis in Japan or the starving children in Africa. But somewhere in this world of sorrows I know I have to deal with my own problems.
This isn't a sob story, or at least it's not supposed to be. This is a chance to show myself how rediculous I am when I get in this rut. When I cry over a game of Scrabble (yes, that's what happened to spur this post), or spend hours prepping and wringing my hands when guests are coming over. The bottom line is, I'm scared of other people's judgement. I'm scared they're going to go home and whisper aabout me, and tell all their friends, and soon everybody on earth is going to know what a clumsy, geeky, awkward loser I am.
That in itself sounds rediculous, and I'm glad I can read over it and see that. It means I'm making some progress. Hopefully, I'll be able to move forward with this self-esteem thing, and finally learn to be comfortable around other people, even if I don't know them.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Observation/Flying
I saw something pretty sad today. My dad, my sister, and I were at the airport on the way to Florida to see our grandmother, and we were waiting in line to go through security. I noticed a young man, probably in his early- to mid-thirties carrying an eight- to ten- month-old (or at least old enough to sit up but not to walk on her own just yet, if that gives you an idea) in line in front of us. They registered briefly in my mind as “Aw, sweet—a little girl and her daddy,” before dropping off my radar. We continued in line, and they were a good bit ahead of us. I noticed them again when I heard the little girl start to cry.
She was sitting on the airport floor, crying and reaching up to her father as he placed his several bags and pair of shoes in two bins. It took him a good two or three minutes to do this and get his jacket off and get everything moving on the conveyer belt. All the while, this tiny, vulnerable baby sat on the floor and begged to be picked up. People shuffled by her without even looking, their legs like wrecking balls coming as they came too close, and I worried someone might step on her or knock her over. A part of me wanted to walk over and offer to hold her, but I hadn’t gotten past the ticket lady yet. All I could do was watch this distressed child as the father smiled down at her and assured her he was almost ready to pick her up again. The only thing I could think was, That poor kid. Where’s her mother?
I’m not going to assume that the guy was a single dad. I know nothing about him, and I’m not saying he’s a horrible parent for putting his baby on the floor (after all, he didn’t have many other options). If he wasn’t, then he was symbolic of a single parent. It made me sad for those in the same condition as the little girl—with only one set of arms to hold her, with only half a net to catch her when she falls. It also made me thankful that even after all the stuff that’s come up in my family since the summer, my parents are still together for our sakes.
I’ve also made a personal vow never to put my baby on the floor in the middle of airport security. But that’s just personal preference.
Anyways, that’s my spiel. We were on one of those tiny, claustrophobic planes that you feel more likely to die in. And we have this curse where we always end up sitting over the wings and the engine. Still, it’s worth it to see the sky become three dimensional, to soar among the rolling seas and thunderous mountains of clouds, to be at eye level with the sunset, and to see the web of sparkling lights amidst the black earth below. I love flying.
Ciao
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
At Long Last!
My books came in today!
I came home hoping there’d be a package waiting for me, and expecting to be disappointed. After all, I’d been waiting since Friday, and I was mentally wrestling myself into sucking it up and finishing Sunshine, which is just one of those books that you need to take a long break from.
Right before I dashed upstairs, I asked if there'd been any packages that came in during the day.
"Yep," my sister said, and I thought she was joking. "No, it really did come in today. Look over there."
Sure enough, on the corner of my dining room table, hidden by the wall, was a huge brown package from Barnes&Noble. I grabbed it, ran up the stairs, and ripped the tape open with a pen. I was too excited to look for the scissors. While my sister turned on the TV, I lay all my books out on the floor and just admired them--nine fresh, thick, shiny books, just for me. Then, I stacked them up in alphabetical order, and after the show was over I hurried to my room and placed them all on my bookshelf, which I am proud to say is now full (and after having it for only three months)!
I don't know why I'm telling you this, or why you'd be interested, other than the fact that I hyped it up so much in my other posts, and that I'm so excited. I'm going to be on a plane Thursday and Sunday, so I should have plenty of good reading time. First up is Carol Plum-Ucci's The Body of Christopher Creed, because it's one of the shortest and I only have a week to read it if I want to stick with my schedule. Plus, Plum-Ucci's the BOMB, and I can't wait to read her award-winning novel.
My review should be up by next weekend then, so look for it!
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Books Again
With the birthday money I received from friends and family, I ordered the first nine books from Barnes&Noble's website last Friday. Unfortunately, they haven't arrived yet. In the meantime, I've set a personal reading goal to prepare. I want to read and review one book every two weeks. Lately, my weekends have been hectic, but they should settle down soon. This gives me two homework-less Saturdays, two procrastinating Sundays, and ten homeroom/post-quiz/lax class days to get through a 200-400 page novel. The longer ones should be more difficult, like the Ellen Hopkins novels, but others like Neal Shusterman's books should be a breeze.
Lately I've had this sudden passion for reading, and now I want to combat against the crowding nature of school and actually get through some good YA lit. If I stick to the plan, I should be able to get through six books by the end of the year, and then I want to ramp up the reading speed over the summer (ideally one book a week, but I'm aware that that's ambitious), and that means I'll have plenty of reviews in stock to launch the book blog I want to do.
In addition, I found a thirty-day book questionare on Tumblr that I want to do once I've finished all these books. I'll post there and here. If there's one thing I love more than reading, it's talking about what I've read and thinking and processing through the stories and characters. So that's one more thing to keep me busy over the summer. I'll post the questions below.
God willing, my books will be here soon. I ordered them four days ago, but I'm not sure if Barnes&Noble ships over weekends. I'll let you know when they get her. Until then.
Lately I've had this sudden passion for reading, and now I want to combat against the crowding nature of school and actually get through some good YA lit. If I stick to the plan, I should be able to get through six books by the end of the year, and then I want to ramp up the reading speed over the summer (ideally one book a week, but I'm aware that that's ambitious), and that means I'll have plenty of reviews in stock to launch the book blog I want to do.
In addition, I found a thirty-day book questionare on Tumblr that I want to do once I've finished all these books. I'll post there and here. If there's one thing I love more than reading, it's talking about what I've read and thinking and processing through the stories and characters. So that's one more thing to keep me busy over the summer. I'll post the questions below.
God willing, my books will be here soon. I ordered them four days ago, but I'm not sure if Barnes&Noble ships over weekends. I'll let you know when they get her. Until then.
30 Days of Literary Questions:
- Favourite male protagonist?
- Least favourite male protagonist?
- Favourite female protagonist?
- Least favourite female protagonist?
- Favourite villain?
- Least favourite villain?
- Favourite quote said by a literary character?
- If you could bring back any character from the dead, who would it be?
- If you could kill off any character, who would it be?
- Character you would bring to real life?
- Favourite pairing (non-/romantic)?
- Favourite “companion”/”sidekick” character?
- The character that relates most to you?
- The most tragic hero?
- An underrated character?
- An overrated character?
- A favourite flaw of a character?
- An irritating flaw of a character?
- A particularly fascinating character?
- The very first remembered literary character you were introduced to?
- A character of your choosing who could be played by any actor?
- A favourite scene of a literary character?
- Something learned from a character?
- Most original character?
- Least original character?
- A character you wish you could be like?
- Most mysterious character?
- Most fleshed out character?
- A character you used to love but not anymore?
- A character you didn’t think you would not like, but end up loving?
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Book Wish List
Remember in elementary school, when the Schoolastic book fair would come to your school's library, and you and your classmates would make a wish list of all the wonderful books that your parents would never buy for you, nor would you ever read? Once again, I think the educational system has flip-flopped its techniques. Along with snack time, recess, nap time, and coloring, I think any high schooler could appreciate a good book fair far more than even the smartest kindergartener. That is, if the educational system would do its job and instill a love of reading in the students of this great nation, which it normally doesn't (but again, that is another rant for another blog).
Anyways, I've decided to relive my childhood and create an extensive book wish list for my birthday. I've asked everyone to get me one thing and one thing alone: Barnes & Noble gift cards. To my surprise, compared to Borders, Books A Million, and even Amazon, Barnes & Noble has the cheapest online store (with a couple of exceptions from Amazon). Still the price tag is a little over a hundred dollars. Once for my birthday, my parents gave me a one hundred dollar gift card to Best Buy, with which I could do almost nothing, because technology hates me. This year, I'm hoping for the same, but for the ol' B&N, plus a few more from my friends. With luck, I'll be able to get them all with my gift money. If not, they're in the order that I want them. Here goes:
Anyways, I've decided to relive my childhood and create an extensive book wish list for my birthday. I've asked everyone to get me one thing and one thing alone: Barnes & Noble gift cards. To my surprise, compared to Borders, Books A Million, and even Amazon, Barnes & Noble has the cheapest online store (with a couple of exceptions from Amazon). Still the price tag is a little over a hundred dollars. Once for my birthday, my parents gave me a one hundred dollar gift card to Best Buy, with which I could do almost nothing, because technology hates me. This year, I'm hoping for the same, but for the ol' B&N, plus a few more from my friends. With luck, I'll be able to get them all with my gift money. If not, they're in the order that I want them. Here goes:
Wish List
The Body of Christopher Creed Carol Plum-Ucci
Unwind Neal Shusterman Identical Ellen Hopkins
Numbers 2: The Chaos Rachel Ward
Stolen Lucy Christopher
Everlost Neal Shusterman
Tricks Ellen Hopkins
The Shack William P. Young
What Happened to Lani Garver (Hardcover) Carol Plum-Ucci
Black Ted Dekker
The featured authors are Carol Plum-Ucci, Neal Shusterman, and Ellen Hopkins. I plan to get more of their books as time goes on, because Plum-Ucci and Shusterman are my favorite authors, and I haven't read Hopkins yet, but I have a sneaking suspicion she will be too. Numbers 2, Black, and Everlost are all parts of series, and soon they'll be a sequel to Chris Creed, so their suceeding volumes are on my much vauger whishlist--The Wishlist for Sometime--along with a few classics such as 1984, Brave New World, and The Scarlet Pimpernel. I already have a paperback copy of Lani, but because it's my favorite book of all time, I want a hardcover copy that I can cryogenically freeze and preserve for my children's children's children's children. And, of course, So Silver Bright, the final book in the Théâtre Illuminata trilogy by Lisa Mantchev, supercedes everything as soon as it comes out this summer.
No time, No Quitting
A few weeks ago I posted a list of books that I wanted to read through. That was at the beginning of the semester. I managed to get through two that I'd already started fairly quickly. But now, I have two books to read for AP English, a chapter a week to read each in APUSH and Ethics, twenty problems a night from my trigonometry unit in Honors Pre-Cal, plus I started tutoring two days a week in addition to working in the toddler room at my church on Wednesday nights. My free time has shrunk tremendously, but I'm here to say that I'm not giving up.
I'm half-way through the third book on my list, Sunshine by Robin McKinley, and unless a miracle happens, the review isn't going to be good. It's a slow read, and the most time I can spend on it is usually for fifteen minutes every morning during homeroom, assuming that I've finished all my homework from the night before and have no quizzes or tests to study for between then and lunch break.
Lately I've been a little overwhelmed, but I still want to pursue this new found passion for reading. If you like to write, then you've probably heard a million times, "If you want to be a good writer, then read, read, read!" That used to be hard for me. I was a picky reader growing up, and it's only been in these past couple of years that I've started to enjoy the task. And lately, I've finally found books that strike my interest--I realize I've been shopping in the wrong genre all along (but that's another story). Now, that I've found my niche, I want to dive in.
Besides, I like this idea of reviewing books, even if I don't have an audience. I've always liked analyzing and reviewing movies, TV shows, and what have you, and doing so with books is just as intriguing. Maybe I can turn it into a hobby, or even a job some day. Might as well start now. That said, if I want to make something of it, I've got to stick to it. I don't intend to give this up--for now, I'll just have to be the tortoise in the race.
***Speaking of niche-finding and book-reviwing, I've made the decision to switch up the order of my books a little bit. As I mentioned when I first posted my book list, I expect to recieve a fair amount of book money for my birthday, with which I plan to buy books that I've been dying for. That knowlege, combined with my disappointment and discouragement over Sunshine (which I'll explain when I review it), has prompted me to move all of my birthday books ahead of the list I've already made. Most of the ones on my reading list now are either from the discount store where I got them for the heck of it, or old books that I'd previously had no desire to finish (usually for good reason). I believe that the less time you have for reading, the more desire you need for it. Therefore, I'm going to read all the best stuff while I'm in this third-quarter-high-school-junior-year-time-crunch, so that I've got the passion to actually finish, then read the lower-quality stuff when I've got more leisure time to put up with it. I'll post the new list after this one.
One last thing--once I've reviewed a substantial amount of books, I think I'm going to transfer them over to a new blog soley for that purpose. This probably won't happen until the summer, but now I've got it in writing, so I won't forget! I'll let you know whenever that happens. Until then, all my reviews will be here on my personal blog.
I'm half-way through the third book on my list, Sunshine by Robin McKinley, and unless a miracle happens, the review isn't going to be good. It's a slow read, and the most time I can spend on it is usually for fifteen minutes every morning during homeroom, assuming that I've finished all my homework from the night before and have no quizzes or tests to study for between then and lunch break.
Lately I've been a little overwhelmed, but I still want to pursue this new found passion for reading. If you like to write, then you've probably heard a million times, "If you want to be a good writer, then read, read, read!" That used to be hard for me. I was a picky reader growing up, and it's only been in these past couple of years that I've started to enjoy the task. And lately, I've finally found books that strike my interest--I realize I've been shopping in the wrong genre all along (but that's another story). Now, that I've found my niche, I want to dive in.
Besides, I like this idea of reviewing books, even if I don't have an audience. I've always liked analyzing and reviewing movies, TV shows, and what have you, and doing so with books is just as intriguing. Maybe I can turn it into a hobby, or even a job some day. Might as well start now. That said, if I want to make something of it, I've got to stick to it. I don't intend to give this up--for now, I'll just have to be the tortoise in the race.
***Speaking of niche-finding and book-reviwing, I've made the decision to switch up the order of my books a little bit. As I mentioned when I first posted my book list, I expect to recieve a fair amount of book money for my birthday, with which I plan to buy books that I've been dying for. That knowlege, combined with my disappointment and discouragement over Sunshine (which I'll explain when I review it), has prompted me to move all of my birthday books ahead of the list I've already made. Most of the ones on my reading list now are either from the discount store where I got them for the heck of it, or old books that I'd previously had no desire to finish (usually for good reason). I believe that the less time you have for reading, the more desire you need for it. Therefore, I'm going to read all the best stuff while I'm in this third-quarter-high-school-junior-year-time-crunch, so that I've got the passion to actually finish, then read the lower-quality stuff when I've got more leisure time to put up with it. I'll post the new list after this one.
One last thing--once I've reviewed a substantial amount of books, I think I'm going to transfer them over to a new blog soley for that purpose. This probably won't happen until the summer, but now I've got it in writing, so I won't forget! I'll let you know whenever that happens. Until then, all my reviews will be here on my personal blog.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Brainstorming on Character Flaws
Today in English, I have to write an in-class essay on two virtues that I should like to improve upon myself, if that makes any sense. The idea was taken from Ben Franklin's Autobiography, and is now being forced upon me through my AP Language and Composition class.
It didn't take me long to think of one--jealousy, or rather, need for the absence of it. I am an uncontrollably jealous friend. I don't like anyone else being as close to someone as I am. It makes me twitchy. For instance, my friend of eight years has in the process of our friendship also become a companion to my little sister. Often times, the situation borders on driving me crazy. It's the worst when this friend is over at our house, and I'm obsessing over who she's spending more time with: me or my sister? Then, when I saw that my sister is applying to the same school this friend attends, I could feel my blood boil a little.
So, seeing that this envy eats me up on a regular occasion, and that my sister might be attending the same school as the friend I am so jealous for, this virtue is something that needs the utmost attention.
Now I need to think of another flaw. Not that I'm at a loss for ideas; it's more of a "Where do I start?" Is peace a virtue? If it is, is that something I need to work on. I'm typically calm, but I'm also paranoid...about everything. Maybe that sounds contradictory, but it's true. Would peace help me then? Maybe so. Considering how I'm almost out of time to brainstorm, that might be the virtue I choose. I'll have to reread the prompt...
...because thinking about it, I already remember one facet of the assignment--I have to use some sort of metaphor, analogy, or irony to convey my point. For jealousy...how about a weed that wraps around its victim, killing all other plants around it until it kills the plant it's hanging on to. That sounds brutal, doesn't it? Well, it works. And for peace? Hmmmmmm...I'm still not sure. Maybe...I'm like a little bird who panics and breaths so fast it explodes? Okay, now I'm just rambling. But, I'm glad I had the time to think some of this out. At least now I have two "virtues" selected.
It didn't take me long to think of one--jealousy, or rather, need for the absence of it. I am an uncontrollably jealous friend. I don't like anyone else being as close to someone as I am. It makes me twitchy. For instance, my friend of eight years has in the process of our friendship also become a companion to my little sister. Often times, the situation borders on driving me crazy. It's the worst when this friend is over at our house, and I'm obsessing over who she's spending more time with: me or my sister? Then, when I saw that my sister is applying to the same school this friend attends, I could feel my blood boil a little.
So, seeing that this envy eats me up on a regular occasion, and that my sister might be attending the same school as the friend I am so jealous for, this virtue is something that needs the utmost attention.
Now I need to think of another flaw. Not that I'm at a loss for ideas; it's more of a "Where do I start?" Is peace a virtue? If it is, is that something I need to work on. I'm typically calm, but I'm also paranoid...about everything. Maybe that sounds contradictory, but it's true. Would peace help me then? Maybe so. Considering how I'm almost out of time to brainstorm, that might be the virtue I choose. I'll have to reread the prompt...
...because thinking about it, I already remember one facet of the assignment--I have to use some sort of metaphor, analogy, or irony to convey my point. For jealousy...how about a weed that wraps around its victim, killing all other plants around it until it kills the plant it's hanging on to. That sounds brutal, doesn't it? Well, it works. And for peace? Hmmmmmm...I'm still not sure. Maybe...I'm like a little bird who panics and breaths so fast it explodes? Okay, now I'm just rambling. But, I'm glad I had the time to think some of this out. At least now I have two "virtues" selected.
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