Failure is an ugly word. I don't like it at all. Sometimes, though, it is the only word that can really describe what has happened. This is one of those cases. I completely and utterly failed Nanowrimo. I wrote 2,000 or so words and just stopped. There was a lot of "oh I'll just write double tommorrow" and "well if I write 10,000 words this weekend it can still be done" but in the end I just didn't succeed. Those 2,000 words were not for nothing, however. I fully plan on continuing the story. I really like the characters I've begun and the setting is crystal clear in my mind. Now it's just a matter of doing it. That's where all my writing problems seem to come from. When I actually make myself sit down to write, the words come easily. It's the making myself sit down and open the computer part that gets me every time. I truly do LIKE to write. It's not that I don't. So I have no idea why it is so hard for me to make myself do it. I'm the same way with running. I love the feeling I get as a run, but I'll be damned if you can make me put on the running shoes. I guess I'm just weird like that.
Something good did come of Nanowrimo, though. In my never ended quest to procrastinate doing what I know I should be doing, I made up an entirely different project for myself. The crazy thing is...I actually finished it! That's right. I finished a project. I have never been more excited or enthusiastic about one either. This may be the best, most important thing (creativity-wise) that I've ever done. Unfortunately, I can't talk about it. It's a present for someone you see, and until they open it on Christmas day, there will be no hints out of me as to what it is. Just know that it's special, and it could mean the beginning of big things (relative to my tiny world) for me. And with that teaser, I bid you adieu.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Monday, October 24, 2011
S'not an Excuse
I've been really sick the past week. The whole family passed around a cold that could knock you on your ass. I would love to say that I was so sick I couldn't write, but that would be a lie. The real reason I haven't written any posts lately is because I haven't made the time for it. It's a conscious choice a writer makes every day. "Today, I am going to write!" I've been choosing to do other things. For instance, I painted so many pumpkins I began to feel like I missed my calling in life. I should have been a professional pumpkin painter all along! I also went to a lot of wedding-ish events and read a lot of books.
Books I Read/am Reading:
1. The Scorch Trials by James Dashner. I read The Maze Runner (the first book in the trilogy) back in the Spring when a classmate suggested it. It was ok, but like a lot of trilogies, nothing was resolved in the first book and you're left with more questions than answers. Even though I only thought the book was decent I had to read the rest of the trilogy just to have all my questions answered. Book 2 was a vast improvement over the first, but it still left you wondering "what's the point?" at the end.
2. The Death Cure by James Dashner is the final book in the trilogy. I am not quite done with it, but so far it has been the best of the three. I haven't had any major questions answered yet, so he better pack a lot of information in the last hundred pages or I will be one very unhappy reader!
3. The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett. I started this behemoth of a book months ago...I am sure I will get around to finishing it one day. I went into it with zero expectations of enjoying it, so I was pleasantly surprised when it held my interest for five hundred pages. Now if I could just pick it back up and read the last five hundred I will feel like I've put a challenge behind me. Maybe when I'm done with my current reads...
4. The Invisible Man by H.G. Wells. I just finished watching every episode of Warehouse 13. Anyone familiar with the show knows the intriguing storyline crafted around H.G. Wells. Between that and my desire to read as many of the classics as I can, I decided to give Helena a try. When I'm not struggling to decipher the bizarrely spelled vernacular of the English villagers, I actually like it. Literary people don't shoot me for this, but I was always under the mistaken impression that The Invisible Man was about a black man in pre-integration America. Oops! Not so much...
5. Before I Fall by Lauren Oliver. This book brings us back to the monster cold I'm nursing. When you're already congested and stuffy and miserable, the last thing you want to do is cry. Crying only makes nasal problems worse in my experience. Not to mention the massive headache that usually accompanies serious bawling. I went into this book knowing it was about a girl who dies. I knew the premise- she lives her last day seven times and has revelations about her life and death. I knew this, and yet it never occurred to me that I might be turned into a heaving, sobbing, wailing mess as I read it. I cried when Dumbledore died. I cried when Dobby died. I cried when the bodies were catalogued at the end of the castle fight. I cried for The Host, 13 Reasons Why, and Ella f'ing Enchanted. But I have never, in all of my reading years (19) sobbed until I thought my head would split apart at the seams and all the water and salt in my body would gush out in a fountain of tears. I cried hard and long is my point, people. It's not even that it was sad, which it was. It was that you come to know and care about Sam(MC) so completely that her death is real. I wasn't just crying for Sam, I was grieving. That words can have that much power...that 26 letters strung together in a near infinite number of combinations to make words that are then strung together in more infinite combinations that when read produce emotions and physical reactions that hurt and dig and cut...that is why I want to be a writer.
Books I Read/am Reading:
1. The Scorch Trials by James Dashner. I read The Maze Runner (the first book in the trilogy) back in the Spring when a classmate suggested it. It was ok, but like a lot of trilogies, nothing was resolved in the first book and you're left with more questions than answers. Even though I only thought the book was decent I had to read the rest of the trilogy just to have all my questions answered. Book 2 was a vast improvement over the first, but it still left you wondering "what's the point?" at the end.
2. The Death Cure by James Dashner is the final book in the trilogy. I am not quite done with it, but so far it has been the best of the three. I haven't had any major questions answered yet, so he better pack a lot of information in the last hundred pages or I will be one very unhappy reader!
3. The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett. I started this behemoth of a book months ago...I am sure I will get around to finishing it one day. I went into it with zero expectations of enjoying it, so I was pleasantly surprised when it held my interest for five hundred pages. Now if I could just pick it back up and read the last five hundred I will feel like I've put a challenge behind me. Maybe when I'm done with my current reads...
4. The Invisible Man by H.G. Wells. I just finished watching every episode of Warehouse 13. Anyone familiar with the show knows the intriguing storyline crafted around H.G. Wells. Between that and my desire to read as many of the classics as I can, I decided to give Helena a try. When I'm not struggling to decipher the bizarrely spelled vernacular of the English villagers, I actually like it. Literary people don't shoot me for this, but I was always under the mistaken impression that The Invisible Man was about a black man in pre-integration America. Oops! Not so much...
5. Before I Fall by Lauren Oliver. This book brings us back to the monster cold I'm nursing. When you're already congested and stuffy and miserable, the last thing you want to do is cry. Crying only makes nasal problems worse in my experience. Not to mention the massive headache that usually accompanies serious bawling. I went into this book knowing it was about a girl who dies. I knew the premise- she lives her last day seven times and has revelations about her life and death. I knew this, and yet it never occurred to me that I might be turned into a heaving, sobbing, wailing mess as I read it. I cried when Dumbledore died. I cried when Dobby died. I cried when the bodies were catalogued at the end of the castle fight. I cried for The Host, 13 Reasons Why, and Ella f'ing Enchanted. But I have never, in all of my reading years (19) sobbed until I thought my head would split apart at the seams and all the water and salt in my body would gush out in a fountain of tears. I cried hard and long is my point, people. It's not even that it was sad, which it was. It was that you come to know and care about Sam(MC) so completely that her death is real. I wasn't just crying for Sam, I was grieving. That words can have that much power...that 26 letters strung together in a near infinite number of combinations to make words that are then strung together in more infinite combinations that when read produce emotions and physical reactions that hurt and dig and cut...that is why I want to be a writer.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
What's in a Name?
I have a lot of trouble naming my characters. My automatic inclination is to use names of people I know. My mind always turns to names that I find interesting and unique, but also to names I am familiar with...like for instance the names of people I went to high school or college with. The problem is that when using a name for a character, I do not associate any of the qualities of the real person with the qualities of the character. The person whose name I am using might not understand that, however. So if I want to name the villain of the story Robert, I anticipate having to explain to my father (Bob) that I was not in fact making a statement about him or his parenting when I named my character (on the off chance the book ever gets published and he reads it). I just liked the name Robert-there is no relation to him whatsoever. Then there is the problem of, "Wow, I love the name Blakely, but will the real Blakely, who I am only vaguely friends with, think I have some weird girl crush on her if I use her name? Will she think I want to be best friends or something?"
The worst is the situation I find myself in now. I asked a friend if I could use her boyfriend's name for my main character's love interest, and she agreed. Now, they are broken up, but I don't want to change my character's name. Is it awkward for her? Should I bite the bullet and change my character's name to make her more comfortable? GAAHHHH I could tear my hair out thinking about all the complications that come with naming a character!
All this complaining has a point! The other day I was writing something, and I made a typo. Before I hit space and it auto-corrected itself, I looked at the word I had typed and realized that I loved it as a name for a character. The word I was trying to type was "every" and the word I accidentally typed was "evry". It's happy little accidents like this that make me excited to be a (wannabe) writer.
For my Nanowrimo novel, my main character is going to be a girl named Evry Greenhill. Evry because I like it and it's not based on a real person, and Greenhill because I miss Nashville and the Green Hills mall/theater. Also, Greenhill seems like an appropriate name for a family in a heavily agricultural, rural society.
There you have it, my naming process in a nutshell.
The worst is the situation I find myself in now. I asked a friend if I could use her boyfriend's name for my main character's love interest, and she agreed. Now, they are broken up, but I don't want to change my character's name. Is it awkward for her? Should I bite the bullet and change my character's name to make her more comfortable? GAAHHHH I could tear my hair out thinking about all the complications that come with naming a character!
All this complaining has a point! The other day I was writing something, and I made a typo. Before I hit space and it auto-corrected itself, I looked at the word I had typed and realized that I loved it as a name for a character. The word I was trying to type was "every" and the word I accidentally typed was "evry". It's happy little accidents like this that make me excited to be a (wannabe) writer.
For my Nanowrimo novel, my main character is going to be a girl named Evry Greenhill. Evry because I like it and it's not based on a real person, and Greenhill because I miss Nashville and the Green Hills mall/theater. Also, Greenhill seems like an appropriate name for a family in a heavily agricultural, rural society.
There you have it, my naming process in a nutshell.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Fan Girl Moment
I haven't written anything today, but I actually have a really good excuse! I have spent the entire day, when I wasn't in class, reading Ready Player One by Ernie Cline. I'm not a professional reviewer, and I hate when a book review just gives you a detailed summary of the plot. So...all I have to say about this book is that once I started it I didn't put it down. I read it while I drove to class, I read it in the parking lot (I was 30 minutes late because I kept reading just one more page!), and I read it in the shower. The book is black so it stained my hands dark blue, but I just kept reading! I read the entire book cover to cover in about 12 hours. It wouldn't have taken me that long, but I had to take a few breaks for class and food and talking to people. There is no higher praise I can give a book than that I couldn't put it down. Actually...I take that back. There is one thing that makes this book even more amazing. At the end, I was left satisfied and with a sense of completion. A lot of books leave me wanting one more chapter, or even an entire sequal to tie things together. This book ends right where it should. I highly reccommend this book to anyone who has a remote interest in the 80's, gaming, or dystopian novels. Please, please, please read this book. I promise you will be glad you did!
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Nanowrimo
No, that is not the result of a seizure or the dog walking across my keyboard. Nanowrimo is the acronym for National Novel Writing Month (which I will now refer to as Nano for brevity's sake). Nano is apparently a BIG DEAL in amateur writing circles, and since I am trying to join those ranks I figure I'll play along. The basic premise is for the month of November, you write a 50,000 word novel. It isn't supposed to be good, or even coherent, as long as it reaches the minimum word limit. The point is to get you used to producing large quantities of work at a fast pace. I am in desperate need of practice with that skill so I am going to do it. I already know how terrible the writing will have to be for me to write 50,000 words in a month, so I am not going to write a story that I actually care about. I want this to be something that I am interested in enough to write about, but not serious enough about that I will want to write it well enough for publication. I just read a great book called Divergent that was a YA dystopia. I loved it, and now I have dystopias on the brain. I think I will start outlining and plotting now, so that when November 1st comes around I'm not stuck staring at my keyboard blankly.
Premise: In the distant future, science has all but eradicated disease and injuries are healed almost instantly by nanobots (LOVE nanobots!). When people started living long lives and eating/drinking/drugging as much as they want because of the "no-consequences" due to medicine thing, the population rose too quickly for the food supply to keep up. America shut its borders and the government took drastic measures to bring things under control. Secret death squads eliminated the elderly and scientist worked around the clock to fix the food shortage crisis with bio engineered foods and fabricated nutrient pills. When people found out about the death squads there were riots. The government had to take even more drastic action and interrupted all interstate commerce/communication. Now, each state is responsible for its own food production. Only the wealthy and powerful have access to the miracle medicines, so population and life expectancy aren't a problem anymore. The focus on food production means there is actually a surplus, but the people are led to believe famine is a problem in all the states except their own. There is no communication between states and the federal government controls any and all supply trade. Fences surround the borders of the states and are guarded as much by superstition and fear of what is on the other side as they are by guards. The federal government deliberately spreads lies to each state about the world outside the fences in order to keep the people inside. This has been going on long enough that the people within each state do not know another way of life. They are wary of the "others" that live in the other states. The northeast is one big state, Texas and California got broken into two states each, and the Dakotas become one (random, but details matter!). This story will take place primarily in the state formerly known as Arkansas (because it requires the least agricultural research on my part). When the fed isolated the states from each other, they gave them all designations based on what they produced the most of at the time. Florida became Citrus, Kansas became Corn, and so forth. Arkansas became Rice, so the people living there call themselves Ricers. Ricers are lucky because the climate and terrain is ideal for all kinds of crops and farming. The main diet of the Ricers is obviously rice, but also corn, soy, and tomato based. There is plenty of fishing and game hunting (deer, bass, trout, duck, turkey, and chicken)as well as cattle and pigs. Mushrooms and nuts are other staples, and the rest of the food supply comes from what people grow in their gardens. Other than grapes and apples, fruit is rare. Oranges and lemons from Citrus are highly sought after items. Bananas are non-existent outside of the bio labs in the capitol, which of course are only for the rich and powerful. Life revolves around farming, gardening, and tending the animals. The capitol is the only place where life is not totally rural and borderline feudal. In the capitol, there is an upper class that do not grow their own food. They have normal jobs that contribute to the comfort of the government officials, such as hairdressers, chefs, artists, and clothing makers. The people in the capitol can get almost anything grown in other states. There is a small internal police force in each state, but the federal government recruits its own police force that is responsible for border control and keeping the "peace" in the states. They use intimidation and fear to control the populace. The main character will be a teenage girl, probably 16, who is a farm worker in Rice. All kids attend school until they are 16 where they learn basic skills in math and reading as well as any skills they will need to be good farmers. At 16, they take a test that determines where they will be assigned to work (kind of an aptitude test that points to manual labor, or animal husbandry, or crop rotation, or whatever). There will be a few questions on the test that the fed throws in to find potential recruits for the federal police force. The MC will be sarcastic and jaded, so she will mark her test randomly and end up being recruited by the fed (even though she is not a conformist with bullying tendencies like they desire) to her surprise. As much as she has learned to fear the fed police growing up, she will see it as a change from the monotony of farm life and join the force. After training, which she excells at, she will be assigned to an interstate transport squad. Basically, she will be a trucker transporting goods from one state to another (actually a very important job becuase of the value of the goods...think of it like an armored car gaurd). All her life, the MC will have listened to how terrible the other states are, and how lucky she should feel to be a Ricer where food is plentyful. Traveling to all the other states with her transport squad, the MC will come to realize that she has been lied to. The other states are in exactly the same state as hers (a wealthy capitol supported by the farm labor of the populace). Food is no longer scarce and population is stable. She will realize that the fed has made it so the majority of the population labors and lives poorly to support the capitols that contain the priveleged few. The fed police are mostly kids who grew up farming and eating the same foods their whole lives, so when they suddenly find themselves in a position of power, and with all the exotic foods at their disposal, they don't question things. The MC will be the only one to question the fed, and knowing she is alone in her dissent, she will use her police training and farm skills to infiltrate the federal government and broadcast a message to all the states at once that reveals the lies the government has been telling. She will be captured right after the broadcast and thrown in fed prison. She will be stuck there a long time wondering if her message was recieved, and if it made a difference. The story will end with her crush (there's always gotta be a love interest!) from the police force opening her cell and sneaking her out to join him in the resistence that has sprung up since her broadcast. So, she didn't cause a total governmental overthrow, but she planted a seed and started the wheels of change. The end. (until the sequal...)
Crap. Now I really want to write this.
Premise: In the distant future, science has all but eradicated disease and injuries are healed almost instantly by nanobots (LOVE nanobots!). When people started living long lives and eating/drinking/drugging as much as they want because of the "no-consequences" due to medicine thing, the population rose too quickly for the food supply to keep up. America shut its borders and the government took drastic measures to bring things under control. Secret death squads eliminated the elderly and scientist worked around the clock to fix the food shortage crisis with bio engineered foods and fabricated nutrient pills. When people found out about the death squads there were riots. The government had to take even more drastic action and interrupted all interstate commerce/communication. Now, each state is responsible for its own food production. Only the wealthy and powerful have access to the miracle medicines, so population and life expectancy aren't a problem anymore. The focus on food production means there is actually a surplus, but the people are led to believe famine is a problem in all the states except their own. There is no communication between states and the federal government controls any and all supply trade. Fences surround the borders of the states and are guarded as much by superstition and fear of what is on the other side as they are by guards. The federal government deliberately spreads lies to each state about the world outside the fences in order to keep the people inside. This has been going on long enough that the people within each state do not know another way of life. They are wary of the "others" that live in the other states. The northeast is one big state, Texas and California got broken into two states each, and the Dakotas become one (random, but details matter!). This story will take place primarily in the state formerly known as Arkansas (because it requires the least agricultural research on my part). When the fed isolated the states from each other, they gave them all designations based on what they produced the most of at the time. Florida became Citrus, Kansas became Corn, and so forth. Arkansas became Rice, so the people living there call themselves Ricers. Ricers are lucky because the climate and terrain is ideal for all kinds of crops and farming. The main diet of the Ricers is obviously rice, but also corn, soy, and tomato based. There is plenty of fishing and game hunting (deer, bass, trout, duck, turkey, and chicken)as well as cattle and pigs. Mushrooms and nuts are other staples, and the rest of the food supply comes from what people grow in their gardens. Other than grapes and apples, fruit is rare. Oranges and lemons from Citrus are highly sought after items. Bananas are non-existent outside of the bio labs in the capitol, which of course are only for the rich and powerful. Life revolves around farming, gardening, and tending the animals. The capitol is the only place where life is not totally rural and borderline feudal. In the capitol, there is an upper class that do not grow their own food. They have normal jobs that contribute to the comfort of the government officials, such as hairdressers, chefs, artists, and clothing makers. The people in the capitol can get almost anything grown in other states. There is a small internal police force in each state, but the federal government recruits its own police force that is responsible for border control and keeping the "peace" in the states. They use intimidation and fear to control the populace. The main character will be a teenage girl, probably 16, who is a farm worker in Rice. All kids attend school until they are 16 where they learn basic skills in math and reading as well as any skills they will need to be good farmers. At 16, they take a test that determines where they will be assigned to work (kind of an aptitude test that points to manual labor, or animal husbandry, or crop rotation, or whatever). There will be a few questions on the test that the fed throws in to find potential recruits for the federal police force. The MC will be sarcastic and jaded, so she will mark her test randomly and end up being recruited by the fed (even though she is not a conformist with bullying tendencies like they desire) to her surprise. As much as she has learned to fear the fed police growing up, she will see it as a change from the monotony of farm life and join the force. After training, which she excells at, she will be assigned to an interstate transport squad. Basically, she will be a trucker transporting goods from one state to another (actually a very important job becuase of the value of the goods...think of it like an armored car gaurd). All her life, the MC will have listened to how terrible the other states are, and how lucky she should feel to be a Ricer where food is plentyful. Traveling to all the other states with her transport squad, the MC will come to realize that she has been lied to. The other states are in exactly the same state as hers (a wealthy capitol supported by the farm labor of the populace). Food is no longer scarce and population is stable. She will realize that the fed has made it so the majority of the population labors and lives poorly to support the capitols that contain the priveleged few. The fed police are mostly kids who grew up farming and eating the same foods their whole lives, so when they suddenly find themselves in a position of power, and with all the exotic foods at their disposal, they don't question things. The MC will be the only one to question the fed, and knowing she is alone in her dissent, she will use her police training and farm skills to infiltrate the federal government and broadcast a message to all the states at once that reveals the lies the government has been telling. She will be captured right after the broadcast and thrown in fed prison. She will be stuck there a long time wondering if her message was recieved, and if it made a difference. The story will end with her crush (there's always gotta be a love interest!) from the police force opening her cell and sneaking her out to join him in the resistence that has sprung up since her broadcast. So, she didn't cause a total governmental overthrow, but she planted a seed and started the wheels of change. The end. (until the sequal...)
Crap. Now I really want to write this.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
I'm Terrible at Puns
No really...I am the worst punner ever. I would love to make interesting and eye catching titles for these posts, but it is beyond my capabilities. When I do think of a great pun, you better believe I'm going to talk about it for at least two days. It's that rare!
Anyways, on to the post. I did not post anything yesterday, after specifically saying in my first post that I plan to post daily. Basically, life got in the way and I never found a chance to write. I promised myself yesterday that I would for sure write today, but it looks like I won't be posting this until after midnight, which technically means I will have gone two days without a post. Bad Caroline! I will try my best to do better! I did not work on my book at all today or yesterday, so this post is going to be a recycled piece from an assignment I did for one of my classes. The assignment was to write an ode to anything we love. There was a very specific model we had to follow, so the format and imagery is not anything I would have come up with on my own had I been given free reign. The reason I am sharing this ode (which I planned on only the teacher ever seeing) is that it relates well to current events. Yesterday, Steve Jobs died at the young age of 56. I have never been a Mac fan, mostly because I used to game and pc's are better for gaming. I also don't see the point in spending thousands on a computer when I can buy a new pc every two years for 500 or so. Computers aside, I am deeply indebted to Steve Jobs for the one invention of his that I do use. This device is rarely out of my sight, and for all intents and purposes it runs my life. I am talking, of course, about the iPhone. I spend more time on my iPhone than I do almost anything else. I have to charge it two or three times throughout the day I use it so often. I play games on it, I browse the internet, text, call, blog, check my online accounts, and a multitude of other things. My iPhone is an essential ingredient in the recipe of my life, and for that reason, I wrote my ode to it. So thanks Steve Jobs, for making it possible for me to write poetry to a phone.
Ode to My iPhone
It was thin as glass
In a pane,
Shiny as water in the sun
Floating on a leaf
And just as clear:
A finger
Slid across the screen
Opening it.
My iPhone brightened
And showed me the home
Screen with all its square apps
That beckon and entice,
Willing me to click
And be sucked in.
It was thin as bread,
And its cover hard
As a dry crust.
It often buzzed
In my sweaty palm,
Its silencer on
As it rang
Vibrating loud.
It would lie
Like a bar of chocolate
On any hard surface,
Waiting for a call,
Waiting for a text.
It never left my pocket,
Getting warm
From my body heat
It never went dead.
My fingerprints
Left sticky marks to make
A smudged screen.
My iPhone was a miracle
Smaller than a desktop
Bigger than a wrist watch
Like computer and watch
It did everything
With effortless ease.
Anyways, on to the post. I did not post anything yesterday, after specifically saying in my first post that I plan to post daily. Basically, life got in the way and I never found a chance to write. I promised myself yesterday that I would for sure write today, but it looks like I won't be posting this until after midnight, which technically means I will have gone two days without a post. Bad Caroline! I will try my best to do better! I did not work on my book at all today or yesterday, so this post is going to be a recycled piece from an assignment I did for one of my classes. The assignment was to write an ode to anything we love. There was a very specific model we had to follow, so the format and imagery is not anything I would have come up with on my own had I been given free reign. The reason I am sharing this ode (which I planned on only the teacher ever seeing) is that it relates well to current events. Yesterday, Steve Jobs died at the young age of 56. I have never been a Mac fan, mostly because I used to game and pc's are better for gaming. I also don't see the point in spending thousands on a computer when I can buy a new pc every two years for 500 or so. Computers aside, I am deeply indebted to Steve Jobs for the one invention of his that I do use. This device is rarely out of my sight, and for all intents and purposes it runs my life. I am talking, of course, about the iPhone. I spend more time on my iPhone than I do almost anything else. I have to charge it two or three times throughout the day I use it so often. I play games on it, I browse the internet, text, call, blog, check my online accounts, and a multitude of other things. My iPhone is an essential ingredient in the recipe of my life, and for that reason, I wrote my ode to it. So thanks Steve Jobs, for making it possible for me to write poetry to a phone.
Ode to My iPhone
It was thin as glass
In a pane,
Shiny as water in the sun
Floating on a leaf
And just as clear:
A finger
Slid across the screen
Opening it.
My iPhone brightened
And showed me the home
Screen with all its square apps
That beckon and entice,
Willing me to click
And be sucked in.
It was thin as bread,
And its cover hard
As a dry crust.
It often buzzed
In my sweaty palm,
Its silencer on
As it rang
Vibrating loud.
It would lie
Like a bar of chocolate
On any hard surface,
Waiting for a call,
Waiting for a text.
It never left my pocket,
Getting warm
From my body heat
It never went dead.
My fingerprints
Left sticky marks to make
A smudged screen.
My iPhone was a miracle
Smaller than a desktop
Bigger than a wrist watch
Like computer and watch
It did everything
With effortless ease.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Why I'm Here
I am not a typical blogger. I don't have a particular theme I want to write about. I am not doing this so my friends can keep up with my life. The only thing that made me want to create a blog is litreactor.com. I joined the site and saw a discussion thread with members' blogs. I have always been a reader. I grew up reading anything and everything (anything fictional, that is) that I could get my hands on. It wasn't until college that I realized I should try the other end of things...the writing side. I have never been a prolific writer. It takes every ounce of willpower in my body to write the essays and papers required for school. I do not keep a journal or write for pleasure. I do have characters, plotlines, settings, and stories running around my head constantly, though. So, this blog is my attempt to finally do something about the noise in my head. I will try to write here every day. I hope some of you litreactor people read this and give me feedback on any stories or excerpts I post. I am trying to turn myself into a writer by brute force, and I have a feeling it will be hard and messy at times. I am not known for my willpower, but I want to change that if I can. I have been working on the same novel for months, and have only written about six pages. They are not the beginning of the story, so it probably won't make sense to anyone who doesn't know my story concept, but I will post them anyway and hope to get some kind of constructive feedback. My goal is to write in my favorite genre, Young Adult fantasy. This book is the first in (hopefully) a series that I plan to write. The main character is Niki Mayfield, a sixteen year old girl who has recently moved to a new town. Jared is her neighbor, best friend in town, and secret love interest. That is pretty much all you need to know for these first few pages. The fantasy aspect of the story is not present yet, but I will explain more about it in another post. Please keep in mind that this is geared towards a young adult (mostly female) audience. My greatest writing inspiration is Meg Cabot, so if you are familiar with her work you should have an idea of what I am aiming for with my own writing. So, without further ado, here it is!
I tried not to look pissed off as I walked in the door of Mr. Porter's classroom and made my way to the back where Jared was sitting. As I sat down in the empty desk next to Jared's, he leaned over and whispered, “So, I'm guessing you need a ride home today?”
I shot him my best “die-bitch-die” glare and replied, “Shut up ass-face.”
Oh yeah. I'm real mature.
“Smart Niki, insulting your only means of transportation... have fun walking home.” Jared leaned back in his seat and muttered under his breath, “Hope you brought an umbrella.”
I looked out the window and saw that the sky had turned a murky black color in the short time since I'd arrived back at school. Torrential rain was definitely happening in the near future. As I watched the wind snap the flags on the flagpole back and forth, I decided from now on, I will keep an umbrella in my backpack at all times, no matter what. This mountain weather is seriously bipolar.
I tore my gaze away from the depressing landscape outside and pretended to pay attention to Mr. Porter's lesson on polynomial functions. That didn't last long, however.
Is there anything more boring than Algebra? If there is, I have yet to discover it. Jared actually likes Algebra...God knows why. He's tried to explain it to me on several occasions, but even talking about math in the abstract shuts off some part of my brain and I end up staring off into space, thinking about Cheetos, or whatever contraband I have stashed in my nightstand at the moment.
Last week Jared tried to teach me how to “find the square” or something like that, and when he asked me to repeat what he had just said I blurted out, “pizza bagels”. After that, he refused to help me with my homework unless I ate before.
I was fantasizing about the stash of powdered doughnuts I plan on keeping in my car (as soon as I actually GET a car) when the bell rang. As I stood up to leave the room, mentally preparing myself for the thorough soaking I was about to receive on my way home, Jared put his arm around my shoulder and slung my Northface backpack on top of the battered Jansport he totes around.
“Come on, I'm not mean enough to make you walk home in that.” He leaned in close to my face and softly growled, “But don't tell anybody. I've got a reputation to protect.” Oh. My. God. Physical contact and a sexy whisper in my ear? Rain, rain go away my ass! If this is what rain gets me then I will do a rain dance to whatever gods will listen every morning for the rest of my life…or the rest of my high school career. Whatever. The point is, suddenly my day was brighter than an August afternoon in the Arizona desert.
“Could you be any lamer?” I asked with as straight a face as I could manage. He pulled away from me and shrugged, rolling his eyes to the ceiling as he said, “Oh, I don't know. I could be the only 16 year old at Gordon Holt High who doesn't have their driver's license. But wait! That's YOU!”
Just like that my good mood vanished. I hate it when he preys on my one weakness. Okay, so it's probably not my ONLY weakness, but it's definitely my biggest. And he should have known better than to bring it up so soon after this afternoon's most recent humiliation.
I'm talking of course, about my driver's test. And the fact that I have now failed it not once, not twice, but THREE times. I think I must hold some sort of record. The people at the DMV should really send me a plaque or certificate or something. I am after all, the worst driver in the history of vehicular transportation.
The first time I took the test, I failed before I even pulled out of the parking lot, because get this…I couldn't turn the headlights on.
Like that is an essential piece of knowledge for the modern driver? Do they even make cars anymore without automatic lights??
Unfortunately, my strongly worded protests to the driving instructor about this heinous injustice fell on deaf ears. I had to wait six whole weeks before I could take the test again, and this time I came prepared with the knowledge of how to operate every button, switch, knob, or dial on the stupid car. The instructor was very impressed with my gadgety skills, but not so much with my “coming to a complete stop at a stop sign” skills. No one told me that you had to sit at the sign for like five freakin' minutes before going again.
Jared was pretty sympathetic with my first failure, seeing as how when I told him what happened, he tried but couldn't figure out how to turn the headlights on in my mom's Lexus, the car I've been learning to drive in, either. The second time he wasn't so understanding. His exact words when I explained what happened aren't repeatable, but they went something like, “How the freak didn't you know what the freak to do at a freaking stop sign?” Insert stronger F words where applicable.
My silence must have given away how mad I was because Jared sighed and put his arm around me again. “Okay, tell me what happened this time,” he said. I tried to stay mad and aloof, determined to punish his last nasty quip with the soul-quaking power of my disdain, but his arm around my shoulders sort of melted my resolve.
“Well it definitely wasn't my fault this time,” I started, slumping my shoulders a little so his arm went tighter around me. “Of course not,” he said. I looked up at his face, but I couldn't find the hint of a smirk I knew he was hiding. “Anyways, this time I got the old bald guy. You know he doesn't like me.”
The first time I took the test, I tried to make small talk to alleviate some of my nervous tension, but Old Baldy wouldn't cooperate. He actually shushed me like I was some 5 year old and told me to concentrate on what I was doing. Clearly the man is socially challenged.
“So I get past the parking lot stuff, totally nail the lane changes and left turns, and then he tells me to turn right on Marten Street. You know, the street Yellowfield Elementary is on?”
Jared nodded, a confused look on his face. “I was starting to freak out because I had never made it this far before and I was so excited that I might actually, finally, pass. I made the circle around Charles Road, and when we pulled into the parking lot at the DMV I figured I had it in the bag. He hadn't said one word the whole ride, which I took as a good sign, when out of freakin' nowhere he says I failed!”
Jared really looked confused now. “I couldn't believe it. I mean, I did EVERYTHING right, totally by the book.”
“So what happened? Why did you fail if you did everything right?” he asked.
“Because the bald dude hates me!” At Jared's incredulous look I quickly sped through the next part, “And because I went 35 in a school zone. But technically it wasn't even speeding! The sign said 25 when children are present and I didn't see a single kid!”
By the time I finished my hurried explanation Jared was laughing, his full on belly laugh that ends in an involuntary snort. “It's not funny Jared! It wasn't like it was recess...there were NO kids present! Why does the sign even exist if the speed limit is always 25?”
I'm not sure how long I stood there in the hall, waiting for the stupid snort that would end his stupid little episode so we could finally get to the stupid car, but when it finally happened I was well and truly pissed.
Sometimes I wish Ava was here. She’s my best friend from home, the one who tells me exactly what I want to hear even when she doesn’t mean it just because that's what friends do. Instead I have Jared, always-says-what-he-means Jared. The guy who actually answered yes when I asked him if he thought dying my hair black would wash me out. Hello? I was looking for a “you’d look good with any hair color Niki,” not a “yeah, you’re way too pale to pull that off,” which is what I got. Lucky me.
The boy of my dreams thinks I look like a vampire wannabe. I am completely helpless without a license. Even if I HAD a license, I don’t have my own car. And to top it off, I have to find a way to write 3,000 words by Thursday when I don’t even have a topic for my story yet.
The only thing holding me together right now? The sight of Jared, smiling at me with that little quirky half grin, the only clue that two seconds ago he was laughing like an idiot at my expense.
My anger is suddenly gone in a pathetic rush of pride that I made Jared laugh. God I’m screwed.
“I think the sign means anytime school is in session Nik.” Jared hitched up the two backpacks on his shoulder and turned towards the front door of the school. I had to do a little hop step to catch up with his long stride when I realized I had been standing still, staring at his broad shoulders as he walked away. Screwed? No… I think maybe doomed is a better word.
*After previewing the post, I'm noticing that my paragraphs aren't showing up indented. Not sure how to indent so that it shows up on the blog...if anyone is willing to share that knowledge it would be greatly appreciated! Thanks!
I tried not to look pissed off as I walked in the door of Mr. Porter's classroom and made my way to the back where Jared was sitting. As I sat down in the empty desk next to Jared's, he leaned over and whispered, “So, I'm guessing you need a ride home today?”
I shot him my best “die-bitch-die” glare and replied, “Shut up ass-face.”
Oh yeah. I'm real mature.
“Smart Niki, insulting your only means of transportation... have fun walking home.” Jared leaned back in his seat and muttered under his breath, “Hope you brought an umbrella.”
I looked out the window and saw that the sky had turned a murky black color in the short time since I'd arrived back at school. Torrential rain was definitely happening in the near future. As I watched the wind snap the flags on the flagpole back and forth, I decided from now on, I will keep an umbrella in my backpack at all times, no matter what. This mountain weather is seriously bipolar.
I tore my gaze away from the depressing landscape outside and pretended to pay attention to Mr. Porter's lesson on polynomial functions. That didn't last long, however.
Is there anything more boring than Algebra? If there is, I have yet to discover it. Jared actually likes Algebra...God knows why. He's tried to explain it to me on several occasions, but even talking about math in the abstract shuts off some part of my brain and I end up staring off into space, thinking about Cheetos, or whatever contraband I have stashed in my nightstand at the moment.
Last week Jared tried to teach me how to “find the square” or something like that, and when he asked me to repeat what he had just said I blurted out, “pizza bagels”. After that, he refused to help me with my homework unless I ate before.
I was fantasizing about the stash of powdered doughnuts I plan on keeping in my car (as soon as I actually GET a car) when the bell rang. As I stood up to leave the room, mentally preparing myself for the thorough soaking I was about to receive on my way home, Jared put his arm around my shoulder and slung my Northface backpack on top of the battered Jansport he totes around.
“Come on, I'm not mean enough to make you walk home in that.” He leaned in close to my face and softly growled, “But don't tell anybody. I've got a reputation to protect.” Oh. My. God. Physical contact and a sexy whisper in my ear? Rain, rain go away my ass! If this is what rain gets me then I will do a rain dance to whatever gods will listen every morning for the rest of my life…or the rest of my high school career. Whatever. The point is, suddenly my day was brighter than an August afternoon in the Arizona desert.
“Could you be any lamer?” I asked with as straight a face as I could manage. He pulled away from me and shrugged, rolling his eyes to the ceiling as he said, “Oh, I don't know. I could be the only 16 year old at Gordon Holt High who doesn't have their driver's license. But wait! That's YOU!”
Just like that my good mood vanished. I hate it when he preys on my one weakness. Okay, so it's probably not my ONLY weakness, but it's definitely my biggest. And he should have known better than to bring it up so soon after this afternoon's most recent humiliation.
I'm talking of course, about my driver's test. And the fact that I have now failed it not once, not twice, but THREE times. I think I must hold some sort of record. The people at the DMV should really send me a plaque or certificate or something. I am after all, the worst driver in the history of vehicular transportation.
The first time I took the test, I failed before I even pulled out of the parking lot, because get this…I couldn't turn the headlights on.
Like that is an essential piece of knowledge for the modern driver? Do they even make cars anymore without automatic lights??
Unfortunately, my strongly worded protests to the driving instructor about this heinous injustice fell on deaf ears. I had to wait six whole weeks before I could take the test again, and this time I came prepared with the knowledge of how to operate every button, switch, knob, or dial on the stupid car. The instructor was very impressed with my gadgety skills, but not so much with my “coming to a complete stop at a stop sign” skills. No one told me that you had to sit at the sign for like five freakin' minutes before going again.
Jared was pretty sympathetic with my first failure, seeing as how when I told him what happened, he tried but couldn't figure out how to turn the headlights on in my mom's Lexus, the car I've been learning to drive in, either. The second time he wasn't so understanding. His exact words when I explained what happened aren't repeatable, but they went something like, “How the freak didn't you know what the freak to do at a freaking stop sign?” Insert stronger F words where applicable.
My silence must have given away how mad I was because Jared sighed and put his arm around me again. “Okay, tell me what happened this time,” he said. I tried to stay mad and aloof, determined to punish his last nasty quip with the soul-quaking power of my disdain, but his arm around my shoulders sort of melted my resolve.
“Well it definitely wasn't my fault this time,” I started, slumping my shoulders a little so his arm went tighter around me. “Of course not,” he said. I looked up at his face, but I couldn't find the hint of a smirk I knew he was hiding. “Anyways, this time I got the old bald guy. You know he doesn't like me.”
The first time I took the test, I tried to make small talk to alleviate some of my nervous tension, but Old Baldy wouldn't cooperate. He actually shushed me like I was some 5 year old and told me to concentrate on what I was doing. Clearly the man is socially challenged.
“So I get past the parking lot stuff, totally nail the lane changes and left turns, and then he tells me to turn right on Marten Street. You know, the street Yellowfield Elementary is on?”
Jared nodded, a confused look on his face. “I was starting to freak out because I had never made it this far before and I was so excited that I might actually, finally, pass. I made the circle around Charles Road, and when we pulled into the parking lot at the DMV I figured I had it in the bag. He hadn't said one word the whole ride, which I took as a good sign, when out of freakin' nowhere he says I failed!”
Jared really looked confused now. “I couldn't believe it. I mean, I did EVERYTHING right, totally by the book.”
“So what happened? Why did you fail if you did everything right?” he asked.
“Because the bald dude hates me!” At Jared's incredulous look I quickly sped through the next part, “And because I went 35 in a school zone. But technically it wasn't even speeding! The sign said 25 when children are present and I didn't see a single kid!”
By the time I finished my hurried explanation Jared was laughing, his full on belly laugh that ends in an involuntary snort. “It's not funny Jared! It wasn't like it was recess...there were NO kids present! Why does the sign even exist if the speed limit is always 25?”
I'm not sure how long I stood there in the hall, waiting for the stupid snort that would end his stupid little episode so we could finally get to the stupid car, but when it finally happened I was well and truly pissed.
Sometimes I wish Ava was here. She’s my best friend from home, the one who tells me exactly what I want to hear even when she doesn’t mean it just because that's what friends do. Instead I have Jared, always-says-what-he-means Jared. The guy who actually answered yes when I asked him if he thought dying my hair black would wash me out. Hello? I was looking for a “you’d look good with any hair color Niki,” not a “yeah, you’re way too pale to pull that off,” which is what I got. Lucky me.
The boy of my dreams thinks I look like a vampire wannabe. I am completely helpless without a license. Even if I HAD a license, I don’t have my own car. And to top it off, I have to find a way to write 3,000 words by Thursday when I don’t even have a topic for my story yet.
The only thing holding me together right now? The sight of Jared, smiling at me with that little quirky half grin, the only clue that two seconds ago he was laughing like an idiot at my expense.
My anger is suddenly gone in a pathetic rush of pride that I made Jared laugh. God I’m screwed.
“I think the sign means anytime school is in session Nik.” Jared hitched up the two backpacks on his shoulder and turned towards the front door of the school. I had to do a little hop step to catch up with his long stride when I realized I had been standing still, staring at his broad shoulders as he walked away. Screwed? No… I think maybe doomed is a better word.
*After previewing the post, I'm noticing that my paragraphs aren't showing up indented. Not sure how to indent so that it shows up on the blog...if anyone is willing to share that knowledge it would be greatly appreciated! Thanks!
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