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.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
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.
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