so one thing i know that i'm good at is being super negligent and leaving characters out.
12.31.2010
pss:secrets.
a/n: well that title is super redundant, isn't it. i forgot to do one this sunday, so here it is. it is mucho late.
12.30.2010
jtllab:my mind is really just a jumble right now.
really, it is. i have some crazy trains of thought. the most recent of which brought me to the thought of what would happen if someone took the expression "social strata" literally. yup, i took a Journey To Literal Land And Back.
muse:hangover clock.
a/n:i was listening to "boys boys boys" by lady gaga, and this idea just ran through my mind. i've got to write it down, or it'll be gone forever. i wasn't exactly sure how to pull this off, so this is all kinda word vomit. the ending is horrid, i know. if any of you want to take this as an idea for your story, feel free to.
12.29.2010
everything is a story.
i've been reflecting on some of the posts that i have on this blog. not all of them pertain to writing. eventually, i think i'll take the thoughts and emotions behind the posts and spin stories out of them... so that everything on here does (in some way) pertain to lying eloquently writing fiction.
12.28.2010
the power of words.
some words by themselves can just have really "bam" effects. sorry for my horribad. for instance:
empty.
broken.
goodbye.
power.
there is a story behind each of these words. and like juli's story, "saudade," there is a whole boatload of emotions that come along for the ride. this is why it's so important that we as writers continue to choose our words carefully. select the wrong word, and you might end up picking your father with your dear old potato. (spanish speakers, i'm sure you can figure that one out.)
empty.
broken.
goodbye.
power.
there is a story behind each of these words. and like juli's story, "saudade," there is a whole boatload of emotions that come along for the ride. this is why it's so important that we as writers continue to choose our words carefully. select the wrong word, and you might end up picking your father with your dear old potato. (spanish speakers, i'm sure you can figure that one out.)
12.27.2010
rules for unlikeable character contest.
just in case some of you missed the memo, the official ruling on spacing for the unlikeable character contest is that the entry has to be four pages. double spaced. i finished mine yesterday and it was almost bursting out of four pages.
unlikeable character contest.
so i just finished the first draft of my entry... and i think it's pretty good. although i'm not sure how unlikeable my character really is... it's all subjective, i guess. i don't even know.
12.26.2010
likeably unlikeable.
so after reading the description of what we're Actually Supposed to Be Doing, things make a lot more sense. and i also was somewhat on the right track.
unlikeable characters.
what exactly makes a character unlikeable?
emotions (or lack thereof), handling of social situations, mannerisms, quirks, interpersonal skills, extreme extroversion/introversion, the list goes on and on. but then what makes an unlikeable character likeable? there's some redeeming factor, i think... maybe Showing the Sweet Side, Honor of Discipline, something that just endears the character to us. just how to weave two of those factors together is the problem.
emotions (or lack thereof), handling of social situations, mannerisms, quirks, interpersonal skills, extreme extroversion/introversion, the list goes on and on. but then what makes an unlikeable character likeable? there's some redeeming factor, i think... maybe Showing the Sweet Side, Honor of Discipline, something that just endears the character to us. just how to weave two of those factors together is the problem.
12.23.2010
lyrics:crying for a christmas.
unfortunately, youtube isn't working for me. but go listen to this song--it's the most
beautiful thing i've ever heard.
beautiful thing i've ever heard.
wdyl:two boys.
so since i just want to return lorrie moore's like life to the library soon, i will be posting my notes of the stories online.
mobile6:bag in the bag in the bag.
"would you like your bag in your bag?" the cashier asks, grinning a bit sheepishly.
12.22.2010
death of my otp. irl. but idk. srsly.
that was the most shorthand i've ever put into any title anywhere. anyways.
i was so happy to find here that my otp might live. but then i actually watched that snippet (so as to not ruin the whole entire episode) and found the description to be inadequate. so the writers maybe insinuating to another pairing which makes me disappoint. either way, what is happening irl is not destined to be in the writers' heads. i hope that their heads and my head match up.
i was so happy to find here that my otp might live. but then i actually watched that snippet (so as to not ruin the whole entire episode) and found the description to be inadequate. so the writers maybe insinuating to another pairing which makes me disappoint. either way, what is happening irl is not destined to be in the writers' heads. i hope that their heads and my head match up.
muse:back to december.
"so if the chain is on your door, i'll understand... but this is me standing in front of you swallowing my pride sayin' i'm sorry for that night."
a character interview.
inspired by pink's character dialogue, because i feel that i need to develop the two main characters' voices. so, without further ado, here it goes. this all takes place after the time in the story.
so what do you do for a living now?
so what do you do for a living now?
12.21.2010
yearning.
what i really hate is when things slow down enough so that i have enough time to just sit around and think.
12.19.2010
you are the best thing that's ever been mine.
no, i'm not going to post the lyrics of the tswift song.
12.17.2010
12.16.2010
muse:laundromat
a/n: this is actually a somewhat true story, based off of the fact that i just washed one of my jackets and forgot to take a pack of gum out of the pockets. and this was all in our brand spankin' one day old laundry machine. go, me.
12.15.2010
social experiments.
so, if anything at all, i have learned from this social experiment that none of the guys really will bother to ever call me (not that it happened ever before, tbqh). only claire calls me and it makes me feel All Sorts of Appreciated and yeah. so in conclusion (halfway through the week) this Social Experiment isn't going so well. i really do not think it's helping our connectivity--especially in those people who tend to wait for interactions (i.e., me.) to happen. some of the participants have found wild success--but all i find is just a phone that never rings.
12.14.2010
peppermint winter~
thanks to my cousin andy who is just amazing and all sorts of awesome and i love him a ton for my music for tonight and also putting up with my weirdness and just everything.
a poem inspired by peppermint winter, owl city's newest single. listen to it--it's beautiful.
snowflakes swirl through the silvery air
some landing on my eyelashes, others in my hair
i can't believe it's winter already--the seasons are flying by.
in about half a year, i'll be on a journey away from here
and away from you.
though we've had our ups and downs (and mostly downs)
i'll miss you.
so i'm looking back up towards the sky
blinking out the snowflakes
and wishing on this wintry night that
at least we'll have some time.
a poem inspired by peppermint winter, owl city's newest single. listen to it--it's beautiful.
snowflakes swirl through the silvery air
some landing on my eyelashes, others in my hair
i can't believe it's winter already--the seasons are flying by.
in about half a year, i'll be on a journey away from here
and away from you.
though we've had our ups and downs (and mostly downs)
i'll miss you.
so i'm looking back up towards the sky
blinking out the snowflakes
and wishing on this wintry night that
at least we'll have some time.
12.13.2010
muse:hallways.
muse:
hallways are always where i see you. between class, before school, after school--regardless of what time it is, i always see you in the hallways. the same strange hallways where we used to walk side by side, laughing about inane things that i said in the midst of my insomnia. and now every time i see you in the hallways, your eyes meet mine but then sweep away. i'm not sure when or why or how i became a stranger to you, or if i can take it much more.
i'm waiting for you to pick up the pieces. you've done it once before and i was surprised that you actually cared enough to do it. but now that i know that i'm waiting all in vain, just tell me to leave. make me leave. 'cuz that is in all ways better than leaving me here, waiting in the hallways.
hallways are always where i see you. between class, before school, after school--regardless of what time it is, i always see you in the hallways. the same strange hallways where we used to walk side by side, laughing about inane things that i said in the midst of my insomnia. and now every time i see you in the hallways, your eyes meet mine but then sweep away. i'm not sure when or why or how i became a stranger to you, or if i can take it much more.
i'm waiting for you to pick up the pieces. you've done it once before and i was surprised that you actually cared enough to do it. but now that i know that i'm waiting all in vain, just tell me to leave. make me leave. 'cuz that is in all ways better than leaving me here, waiting in the hallways.
12.12.2010
i love my (extended) family.
okay, i posted this here but was thinking about how to tie it into writing. i think i got it.
pink has been having insane character dialogues between herself and her main character. while she thinks this is crazy, i think it's great--it's only going to help her develop the character in her story very well. i should probably try and do the same with my characters to flesh them out and help them to find the right words in which to respond.
tying this in, characters should be a sort of extended family to the author, quite honestly. we should be able to know them on such a level that we know their exact mannerisms, their exact speech, and exactly how they act and feel. in some ways, youparent your character are best friends with your character to the point where you consider them family. now i'm not saying that you should go and ask your characters to counsel you on life's problems--they probably won't help you there since they are constructs of your imagination (and maybe sometimes your subconscious), but you need to know them well. when you're writing the story, the characters are your best friends, and you're simply telling their story through your eyes. you simply just happen to be playing god, and this is probably the best time to be doing so.
reward video for you guys for dealing with my three posts in one day. :D
pink has been having insane character dialogues between herself and her main character. while she thinks this is crazy, i think it's great--it's only going to help her develop the character in her story very well. i should probably try and do the same with my characters to flesh them out and help them to find the right words in which to respond.
tying this in, characters should be a sort of extended family to the author, quite honestly. we should be able to know them on such a level that we know their exact mannerisms, their exact speech, and exactly how they act and feel. in some ways, you
reward video for you guys for dealing with my three posts in one day. :D
pss:good tidings we do not bring.
so this postsecret actually made me nearly start crying. ):
pss:
natalie sat alone at her cold, old, oaken kitchen table writing her christmas cards. she looked at the picture of her beautiful smile, her shoulder-length auburn hair tied off with a bow, all surrounded by the most beautiful autumn leaves that anyone had ever seen. normally, she had fun sending christmas cards. she would try and picture what people would say and react to, what exactly people would think. that was much more fun to do with an actual person than a stuffed moose doll. vance had been that person for her until that one night when he asked her to leave him alone.
but i'm really not that messed up, i promise, she thought. and even if i am, you told me when we were little that we would get old and get married. what happened to that? what happened to best friends forever, what happened to friends no matter what?
she sighed again, brushing her tangled hair out of her eyes. she blinked, fiddling with her glasses before looking down at the address sheet. there was only one left--vance. natalie sat in silence, her lips pursed before an idea dawned on her. she scribbled a note on the picture along with an address on the back. at least that picture wouldn't go completely to waste.
muse:trains.
muse:
it's hard to keep waiting in that old abandoned train station for you to come by. you always say "i'll be on the afternoon train." so i keep waiting on those old, rotting, rickety benches for you to come. the drafts blow through the crumbling stone columns, but still i wait. i wait for you, because that's all i've ever known. waiting.
whenever i've asked someone to wait for me, i show up. most of the time. most of the time, my train comes on time and i run off to meet whomever i've asked to wait for me--and of course they're always a bit disappointed but there's always the relief of having made the meeting.
but with you, the train never comes. i'm sure that nobody's visited the train station where i wait for you, day in day out. the ticket booth is always empty, the speakers just blare static, and the temperature monitor doesn't even work. i'm not even sure that a train runs through here anymore--the new gauge of the tracks is much wider than this, someone once told me. but habit and something else always push me down the stairs and down into that dump.
you always make it hard to leave the platform too, you, with your gentle hugs, your heartfelt whispers, and your promises of "being back to talk to you more." i learned long ago that that phrase actually meant "i'm not coming back" or "i'm not talking to you anymore" but still i wait on the platform. i'm not sure how long it's been, but i know for sure that it's nothing like waiting for godot--i know what you look like. or... at least i'm sure i know what you look like.
so i'll just sit or stand here and wait all day, all night, all week, all year, all my life for you to come.
but of course, you never will.
it's hard to keep waiting in that old abandoned train station for you to come by. you always say "i'll be on the afternoon train." so i keep waiting on those old, rotting, rickety benches for you to come. the drafts blow through the crumbling stone columns, but still i wait. i wait for you, because that's all i've ever known. waiting.
whenever i've asked someone to wait for me, i show up. most of the time. most of the time, my train comes on time and i run off to meet whomever i've asked to wait for me--and of course they're always a bit disappointed but there's always the relief of having made the meeting.
but with you, the train never comes. i'm sure that nobody's visited the train station where i wait for you, day in day out. the ticket booth is always empty, the speakers just blare static, and the temperature monitor doesn't even work. i'm not even sure that a train runs through here anymore--the new gauge of the tracks is much wider than this, someone once told me. but habit and something else always push me down the stairs and down into that dump.
you always make it hard to leave the platform too, you, with your gentle hugs, your heartfelt whispers, and your promises of "being back to talk to you more." i learned long ago that that phrase actually meant "i'm not coming back" or "i'm not talking to you anymore" but still i wait on the platform. i'm not sure how long it's been, but i know for sure that it's nothing like waiting for godot--i know what you look like. or... at least i'm sure i know what you look like.
so i'll just sit or stand here and wait all day, all night, all week, all year, all my life for you to come.
but of course, you never will.
12.09.2010
ep:separate
ep:
i know why gravity hurts now. since you're the center of everything that i ever think of, instinctively i draw near to you. you attract me like a moth to the flame, your gravity is too much for me to bear. i fly closer and closer hoping that this time, just this time, the flame won't burn my waxen wings and i won't fall to earth.
but as i'm falling (for possibly the last time), i realize why gravity hurts.
gravity says that i can't be with you, that i have to let you go, that i shouldn't fly. gravity says that i'm forbidden to be emotionally invested, gravity says that i must stay by myself on the ground.
gravity says not to love you.
gravity says to pick myself up off the floor and walk away.
but i'm still reaching for you, still reaching skyward. how can something so good be so bad for me? i thought that maybe, just this once, i could fly.
gravity says no.
i know why gravity hurts now. since you're the center of everything that i ever think of, instinctively i draw near to you. you attract me like a moth to the flame, your gravity is too much for me to bear. i fly closer and closer hoping that this time, just this time, the flame won't burn my waxen wings and i won't fall to earth.
but as i'm falling (for possibly the last time), i realize why gravity hurts.
gravity says that i can't be with you, that i have to let you go, that i shouldn't fly. gravity says that i'm forbidden to be emotionally invested, gravity says that i must stay by myself on the ground.
gravity says not to love you.
gravity says to pick myself up off the floor and walk away.
but i'm still reaching for you, still reaching skyward. how can something so good be so bad for me? i thought that maybe, just this once, i could fly.
gravity says no.
muse:masks and bones.
muse:
i've had this mask plastered on me for a while. a mask with a fake, plastic smile stuck on it. perpetually. i don't let anyone get too close, i hold everyone at arm's distance. they're all put off by my laughing demeanor--if you laugh, nothing must be wrong with you.
then he came. he crashed in, with his stern manners, his gentle smile, his amazing knowledge--it was all too much. i'm not sure when my mask cracked, but it did. and i think i may have thrown him off too--it might have been love. but i never gave him a chance. he was willing to give me everything he had, everything, everything... and i let him down. holding people at a distance is a habit, so of course it was rational that it would kick in at the right moment. or... in this case, the wrong moment.
so these little signals that i've been getting from the universe, from these bones, they're telling me that i was wrong. that i should've let him in, that i should've let him through, that i should've given him a chance, that i... that maybe, i was wrong.
now, it's three months later and he's all that's on my mind. he holds my thoughts, my mind, my heart. how could he hold such power over me? it's not logical at all--humans can only control their own feelings, their own emotions. how could someone do this to me? these bones say that it's possible, that i was wrong to not let him in.
and now, as i'm crying in his car because he's with someone, i realize that i was wrong. for the first time in a long lifetime of being right, i'm wrong. i'm embarrassed because he's watching me as the tears are falling, the mask is breaking, and my world is crashing down.
i've had this mask plastered on me for a while. a mask with a fake, plastic smile stuck on it. perpetually. i don't let anyone get too close, i hold everyone at arm's distance. they're all put off by my laughing demeanor--if you laugh, nothing must be wrong with you.
then he came. he crashed in, with his stern manners, his gentle smile, his amazing knowledge--it was all too much. i'm not sure when my mask cracked, but it did. and i think i may have thrown him off too--it might have been love. but i never gave him a chance. he was willing to give me everything he had, everything, everything... and i let him down. holding people at a distance is a habit, so of course it was rational that it would kick in at the right moment. or... in this case, the wrong moment.
so these little signals that i've been getting from the universe, from these bones, they're telling me that i was wrong. that i should've let him in, that i should've let him through, that i should've given him a chance, that i... that maybe, i was wrong.
now, it's three months later and he's all that's on my mind. he holds my thoughts, my mind, my heart. how could he hold such power over me? it's not logical at all--humans can only control their own feelings, their own emotions. how could someone do this to me? these bones say that it's possible, that i was wrong to not let him in.
and now, as i'm crying in his car because he's with someone, i realize that i was wrong. for the first time in a long lifetime of being right, i'm wrong. i'm embarrassed because he's watching me as the tears are falling, the mask is breaking, and my world is crashing down.
brainbroth, i finally get it! and writing.
first order of business--
i finally understand your name, brainbroth! so many ideas have been bouncing around in my head lately, just begging to be written about. i do not usually carry around loose paper with me, and i rely too much on my self-proclaimed "good memory" and the ideas fade. whenever i open the "new post" window, i find myself struggling a bit on what to say because i know that i had a good idea up there and now it's just gone. ): the soup of my ideas needs to be captured at some point and recorded so i can write down something! i haven't done a muse in a while, and sorry, i don't have one on hand at the moment.
second order of business. writing.
as y'all probably know, the short story i'm writing for class is finished. not completely finished (because i do need to make sure that i end the workshop with a bang), but completely written. it is currently in its third draft... and i'm struggling trying to find the correct words and ways to phrase things. should i put this in? does this really need to be here? what's going on here, is it really necessary? and of course, sometimes, i just wonder about why i'm starting so early because everyone else seemed to have done a last minute job and come up with pretty fantastic stories (see starsandthemoon and dwgt). and maybe, just maybe it's me being egotistical about being put as the last person (and therefore putting upon myself the pressure of being the best story) and having to blow err'one out of the water, but... i don't know. the story is progressing really nicely, though. so you all have a really great story to look forward to on the last day of workshop... hopefully.
i finally understand your name, brainbroth! so many ideas have been bouncing around in my head lately, just begging to be written about. i do not usually carry around loose paper with me, and i rely too much on my self-proclaimed "good memory" and the ideas fade. whenever i open the "new post" window, i find myself struggling a bit on what to say because i know that i had a good idea up there and now it's just gone. ): the soup of my ideas needs to be captured at some point and recorded so i can write down something! i haven't done a muse in a while, and sorry, i don't have one on hand at the moment.
second order of business. writing.
as y'all probably know, the short story i'm writing for class is finished. not completely finished (because i do need to make sure that i end the workshop with a bang), but completely written. it is currently in its third draft... and i'm struggling trying to find the correct words and ways to phrase things. should i put this in? does this really need to be here? what's going on here, is it really necessary? and of course, sometimes, i just wonder about why i'm starting so early because everyone else seemed to have done a last minute job and come up with pretty fantastic stories (see starsandthemoon and dwgt). and maybe, just maybe it's me being egotistical about being put as the last person (and therefore putting upon myself the pressure of being the best story) and having to blow err'one out of the water, but... i don't know. the story is progressing really nicely, though. so you all have a really great story to look forward to on the last day of workshop... hopefully.
12.08.2010
stories -- your own, personal cannibal.
travesty. three blogposts in one day. how could i.
anyway.
on page 13 in the writing life dillard brings up the fact that "we have no choice" in finding what to spin a story off of. she equivocates an idea to a "strip from our own thighs." and i agree with her. the best stories and reflective pieces that i have written come from my own person experience. starsandthemoon can also relate (even though i equivocate her to taylor swift, to her chagrin) as most of her pieces are just spin-offs of her life. and then it's also a bit of lovetowrite2011's wisdom too--the experience that we went through is so personal to us. if you haven't gone through heartbreak, don't write a story about it. if you've never lost someone, don't write a story about it. if you've never been in love, don't write a story about it. a kind of echoey answer to waysofgettinghome's blogpost here, as well. if you've never had sex, don't write a story about it.
anyway.
on page 13 in the writing life dillard brings up the fact that "we have no choice" in finding what to spin a story off of. she equivocates an idea to a "strip from our own thighs." and i agree with her. the best stories and reflective pieces that i have written come from my own person experience. starsandthemoon can also relate (even though i equivocate her to taylor swift, to her chagrin) as most of her pieces are just spin-offs of her life. and then it's also a bit of lovetowrite2011's wisdom too--the experience that we went through is so personal to us. if you haven't gone through heartbreak, don't write a story about it. if you've never lost someone, don't write a story about it. if you've never been in love, don't write a story about it. a kind of echoey answer to waysofgettinghome's blogpost here, as well. if you've never had sex, don't write a story about it.
my voice, la mia voce
inspired by my friend's post on tumblr, here.
vox is latin for voice. it is also the name of my youth group's quarterly praise night. as part of the worship team and the senior leadership in my youth group, it's extremely important for me--and if you're wondering as to why, feel free to come out to see us. we'll be at:
275 118th Ave SE, Suite 100
Bellevue, WA 98005425.467.5848
vox is latin for voice. it is also the name of my youth group's quarterly praise night. as part of the worship team and the senior leadership in my youth group, it's extremely important for me--and if you're wondering as to why, feel free to come out to see us. we'll be at:
275 118th Ave SE, Suite 100
Bellevue, WA 98005425.467.5848
additionally, on another note, italiano. it's so beautiful, so i decided to include it in the blogpost title. signore, apri gli occhi per le ingiustizie del mondo.
memento, and a dance.
for those of you who were utterly confused and brainsploded by memento, here's a link to help you understand what happened. pink and i went through it and it was super helpful to understanding the movie.
and now, the dance portion. you're only gonna know who you are and maybe some other people will know who you are, but here's a song. may i have this dance?
and now, the dance portion. you're only gonna know who you are and maybe some other people will know who you are, but here's a song. may i have this dance?
12.07.2010
stories and shoutouts
so here we are, at blog post one hundred and ten. will i ever stop? maybe. important question!
but more importanter (that's not a word) are the stories. i just skimmed through both of them. mira's has a fantastic ending line that just made me smile like crazy, and then blender has an awesome opening because there is buttery sunlight and thanks for making my day, dear sir. and yeah.
to those who have beta'd for me, thanks a ton! your advice is totally valued, and really helpful. huge shoutout to brainbroth who gives herself way less credit than she deserves. more shoutouts to catandamouse, nameless, and blender for also beta-ing and helping me come up with fabu-tastic endings. additionally, for those of you who want another eye for your story, i'm open to it! a note in advance--i tend to take awhile on these 'cuz i mark up what i like and what i think can be changed. just make sure to give me a couple hours ahead of time to work my magic.
but more importanter (that's not a word) are the stories. i just skimmed through both of them. mira's has a fantastic ending line that just made me smile like crazy, and then blender has an awesome opening because there is buttery sunlight and thanks for making my day, dear sir. and yeah.
to those who have beta'd for me, thanks a ton! your advice is totally valued, and really helpful. huge shoutout to brainbroth who gives herself way less credit than she deserves. more shoutouts to catandamouse, nameless, and blender for also beta-ing and helping me come up with fabu-tastic endings. additionally, for those of you who want another eye for your story, i'm open to it! a note in advance--i tend to take awhile on these 'cuz i mark up what i like and what i think can be changed. just make sure to give me a couple hours ahead of time to work my magic.
12.06.2010
abp#7:old friends, brand new eyes.
first things first. to those of you who got the paramore reference, congratulations. please don't be ignorant, please don't play god, and above all, let someone be the only exception.
anyways.
to be honest, this isn't the first short story that i've ever written (well.. but it is the first one finished, at least). sure, the other stuff that i've tried my hand at were just total honest junk and trash (although there are some things that i've written which are not!) and storywriting is kind of an old friend that i keep meeting up with. however, it's an old friend that somehow looks different all the time. either that, or i'm seeing it through different eyes. also, there are some days on which i'm able to take a hold of the writing and really just craft beautiful worlds with my words--others, on which i cannot. take some of my blogposts. some of the postsecret stories are just not that good. sure, they could be better with (lots and lots of) revision, but sometimes, they are just bad. some of my muses are bad, and sometimes i'm just bad with words. to me, writing this short story has been revisiting my old friend, viewing it in a new light yet again. i've managed to choose my words okay, but of course writing begs and demands that i do it better.
anyways.
to be honest, this isn't the first short story that i've ever written (well.. but it is the first one finished, at least). sure, the other stuff that i've tried my hand at were just total honest junk and trash (although there are some things that i've written which are not!) and storywriting is kind of an old friend that i keep meeting up with. however, it's an old friend that somehow looks different all the time. either that, or i'm seeing it through different eyes. also, there are some days on which i'm able to take a hold of the writing and really just craft beautiful worlds with my words--others, on which i cannot. take some of my blogposts. some of the postsecret stories are just not that good. sure, they could be better with (lots and lots of) revision, but sometimes, they are just bad. some of my muses are bad, and sometimes i'm just bad with words. to me, writing this short story has been revisiting my old friend, viewing it in a new light yet again. i've managed to choose my words okay, but of course writing begs and demands that i do it better.
12.05.2010
listening.
i was talking with one of my friends today, and it struck me exactly how hard it is to just truly listen (just as rick mentioned in his story). i found myself wanting to jump in and add my own two cents--but that wasn't what my friend needed. i just needed to listen, and be a touchstone at the moment. and it's hard. i want to be able to respond and offer my insight--but sometimes, people don't need that.
another part about listening that's hard is passing judgment on the person. for instance, when i'm listening to my friends sometimes, their comments just leave me a little bitter and slash or caustic and i want to rip them for making such comments. if i'm talking to them not in person, i roll my eyes to try and get that feeling out of my system because what they really need is someone to listen to them.
and finally, to those of you that have listened to me while i ramble on and on as i am wont to do, a huge thank you. listening is quite possibly the hardest thing to do.
another part about listening that's hard is passing judgment on the person. for instance, when i'm listening to my friends sometimes, their comments just leave me a little bitter and slash or caustic and i want to rip them for making such comments. if i'm talking to them not in person, i roll my eyes to try and get that feeling out of my system because what they really need is someone to listen to them.
and finally, to those of you that have listened to me while i ramble on and on as i am wont to do, a huge thank you. listening is quite possibly the hardest thing to do.
pss:the roads we would've traveled
so this is getting to the point of ridiculousness where i am over 100 blogposts and i am still blogging. what is wrong with me.
disclaimer: all names and characters are purely fictional. any overlap or coincidence with reality is accidental.
disclaimer: all names and characters are purely fictional. any overlap or coincidence with reality is accidental.
pss:
"we'll go to vegas, erica baby," sean used to say. "we'll go to vegas, and then we'll go to reno and just hit up cities from there. and we'll travel across the country and once we hit the nyc, we'll go worldwide."
when sean used to say that, all erica could do was smile brightly and nod. she had bought into the fact that she and sean would be together forever. they would get married, fulfill the american dream and get a medium-sized suburban house with a white picket fence, they'd have two children, and then they'd retire and get old together. so, it came as a surprise to her when sean just picked up everything and left her.
"i'm sorry, baby, i just can't do this any more," he had mumbled, trying his best not to cry. erica had just let him go--what else could she have done? the instant those words had tumbled from his lips she had just gone on autopilot. she had been so numb and couldn't react.
but now, three months after the breakup, she could hold herself extremely well. she had gone out for drinks with friends, partying with the neighbors, everything that she hadn't done when she was with sean. it was like she was an entirely different person. one summer day, she had decided to fulfill an old promise that she had heard. she called up her friend.
"hullo?"
erica giggled at her friend's groggy voice.
"hey valerie, wanna go on a road trip with me?"
"sure, why--wait a minute, where did this come from?"
and then erica had told valerie of her plans to travel all across the country, and maybe the world if she wanted. valerie (being the adventurer that she was) had wholeheartedly agreed. they had gotten together a ragtag group of friends and had flown down from alaska to las vegas and had roamed freely around the country, taking in the sights and the smells of the entire u. s. of a. and now, here they were at the jfk airport, waiting to get on their international flight to london.
"you know, val, i never thought that we'd go through with this," erica said, grinning happily. "and we all got to know each other so well!"
her friend nodded.
"i guess flaky sean was good for something then after all."
12.04.2010
how to end a story.
now that i've written up the first draft of "the longest recess," i'm really stumped about how to end it well. i know that i've wrapped up several loose ends (and left one hanging purposely) but i have a problem pulling out of the story. i know that it's good to get opinions, but i don't want to run it by many people for fear of dampening the surprise.. i think i might keep it a maximum of five people who get to help me make my ending better. blender's already given his input, so one down, four to go.
oh, wit.
so, continuation of rick's and puneet's posts. this sounds so much like a knowledge issue. if any of the juniors are stalking reading this, go make your knowledge issue on "how does (insert tok terms here) affect what we view as humor."
anyway.
merriam-webster defines wit (in our sense of the word) as "apt or clever humor."
yup... that's suitably vague. thanks, dictionary.
anyway. (again.)
to me, humor doesn't have to be slapstick or just outright dumb (sorry rick, i am not a fan of will ferrell for this reason, he always seems to play really just dumb slash annoying characters). humor's hard to pin down, it's hard to define. which takes me back to the conversation we had in calvert's class near the end of the year.
for me, humor (or my sense of humor) is based on a smattering of sarcasm, exaggeration, toeing the taboo, references (especially to pop culture and by that i mean music), outlandish connections, and also deadpan. deadpan has got to be my most favorite type of humor--saying something hilarious with a completely straight face. (i'm on a tangent, oops.)
in relation to rick's post, i think i'm the opposite. i love british humor and hate american humor, mainly because i also think america's just really dumb and stupid. british humor to me is what i do a lot of--i comment on the situation and hide behind my attempted humor. rick likes humor that reveals something about the characters, but i think that the british style of humor reveals things about characters. if the characters are pointing something out, then it has to hold some sort of importance slash significance to them, it wouldn't be completely just burned at random. this is also maybe why i really dislike american humor. will ferrell doesn't cease to annoy me, and steve carrell's character in "the office" makes me cringe on a regular basis.
anyway.
merriam-webster defines wit (in our sense of the word) as "apt or clever humor."
yup... that's suitably vague. thanks, dictionary.
anyway. (again.)
to me, humor doesn't have to be slapstick or just outright dumb (sorry rick, i am not a fan of will ferrell for this reason, he always seems to play really just dumb slash annoying characters). humor's hard to pin down, it's hard to define. which takes me back to the conversation we had in calvert's class near the end of the year.
for me, humor (or my sense of humor) is based on a smattering of sarcasm, exaggeration, toeing the taboo, references (especially to pop culture and by that i mean music), outlandish connections, and also deadpan. deadpan has got to be my most favorite type of humor--saying something hilarious with a completely straight face. (i'm on a tangent, oops.)
in relation to rick's post, i think i'm the opposite. i love british humor and hate american humor, mainly because i also think america's just really dumb and stupid. british humor to me is what i do a lot of--i comment on the situation and hide behind my attempted humor. rick likes humor that reveals something about the characters, but i think that the british style of humor reveals things about characters. if the characters are pointing something out, then it has to hold some sort of importance slash significance to them, it wouldn't be completely just burned at random. this is also maybe why i really dislike american humor. will ferrell doesn't cease to annoy me, and steve carrell's character in "the office" makes me cringe on a regular basis.
censoring the truth--fiction, or just plain lying?
so i was stalking browsing through some people's blogs and came across this post on vicki's blog. it was linked to this page on wikipedia regarding hypergraphia. at the end of the article, i came across the line:
the diary was edited by daniel aaron and published in 1985 by harvard university press.which prompted me to think, why would you ever edit a diary? that seems to me a heinous crime against the author of the diary. sure, they wouldn't want certain secrets being divulged to the public, but then if the diary is published posthumously there is no problem. so why would you ever edit a diary? if you edit a diary, then you are changing what the author is saying--and that is just outright lying. a diary is a good (truthful) window into a person's mind, and changing anything in the diary is almost the same (to me) as murdering that person's thoughts and replacing it with a surrogate which is totally not honest at all. so, why people edit diaries, i might never ever know.
12.03.2010
story update.
so it is 12:30 in the morning and i am now editing my first draft of my short story! 13 pages long. and my story is on the last day of workshop... if you'd like to tell me that i'm going overboard right now, please do so.
12.01.2010
story planning.
now i am just being ludicrous and breaking 100 posts. this is totes ridonkulous, i'd like my life back please.
anyways, this is totally copying julia and posting my short story research online so that y'alls can get a sneak peek at what it's going to be about. hopefully, we don't go over my story last 'cuz then that's a Huge Responsibility that i probably cannot live up to. le sigh.
so, my story involves the court system. i have no knowledge of the court system. these notes are a courtesy of austin and julia. thanks a ton guys!
anyways, this is totally copying julia and posting my short story research online so that y'alls can get a sneak peek at what it's going to be about. hopefully, we don't go over my story last 'cuz then that's a Huge Responsibility that i probably cannot live up to. le sigh.
so, my story involves the court system. i have no knowledge of the court system. these notes are a courtesy of austin and julia. thanks a ton guys!
- there's a court case. it is a civil case. meaning that there is a plaintiff, a defendant, attorneys for both, bailiff, and judge.
- dialogue i shall not post here, because it would take too many lines. but thank you so much austin for all of that!
- the lawyers are (sometimes?) introduced to the jury. this is when the two characters (kayla and mira, you shall both be familiar with them. they are verse-y.) have their less-than-joyful reunion party. without the party.
- recess is the part of the trial where the judge announces that people are taking a break! like afternoon break, or breaking for lunch, or overnight. my title is a play on this word, and kayla knows the general plot already.
edit: this is also being posted on the separate page that my story will be on as soon as it is finished slash after my workshop day. slash whenever.
11.30.2010
a challenge! and an answer.
important business first.
100th blogpost! oops, this is also codename for i have no life. whops.
anyway.
so someone requested here that a horror story should be written. and while i have absolutely no experience at writing horror (see the perspectives post for more fail), i shall try. to the prompt of "OCD: Wear slippers when you leave the bedroom - otherwise your personality will be overwritten by anyone else who has walked on that carpet. If you scrape against something, you must sweep the bit of your soul that got caught off of it and rub it back into the tear."
answer:
as violet pads into the old dreary mansion, she notices bloodstains on the ground. strange, because number one--nobody's lived here in years and number two--the only other person that should be in here besides her is her younger brother, robert.
"robbie?" she calls. her voice echoes around the high ceilings of the foyer, bouncing back into her ears. a sudden creak grabs her attention, and she accidentally brushes against the nearby windowsill. pain shrieks through her arm. "what the--?" as she turns to look at the offending bruise, she notices that the piece of her where she hit the wood is gone. completely gone. not gone in the sense that there's a cut, but completely and utterly gone. violet is about to scream in surprise when a strong, warm, familiar hand clamps over her mouth.
"quiet, little girl, let me help you with that," a voice hisses, rough and slimy to violet's ears. another hand (along with an arm) carefully sweeps a bit of something off the windowsill and starts rubbing it back onto her arm. "there, there. you'll be okay now."
but, of course, violet is now the farthest thing from comforted. as she pries herself from her assailant's grip, she spins around.
"who are yo--robert?!"
her brother (or what seems to be her brother) cocks his head jerkily.
"who's robert?" the unfamiliar voice asks, the words falling off of his tongue.
violet pales.
"if you're not robert, then who are you?"
robert's body cracks it's knuckles before the voice answers again.
"i'm gladys. i killed the last resident of this house before hanging myself on that chandelier."
robert's finger points up to the ornament. violet's gaze follows, and she jumps when she notices a skeleton dangling from the lights.
"i don't have a body anymore, but since your brother insisted on taking off his socks and shoes, i kindly took his place." gladys uses robert's left hand to gesture at his now bare feet. "if you'd like to join in with the fun, you can take your shoes off too."
violet slowly shakes her head.
"sorry, gladys, i can't agree to that. can you... bring my brother back?"
a cackle leaps out of his mouth, bouncing around the eerie foyer.
"no can do, violet dearie. you see, whenever someone walks barefoot on the carpet in the lapelle mansion, their sense of self oozes out through their feet and the last person to walk on the floor fills that body with their own personality. frightening, isn't it?"
there's a silence. violet can only hear her thumping heart. she inches towards the door.
"i... i have to go."
"no, no violet, please stay!"
violet swings the door wide open before robert's body sails across the room, slamming the door resolutely shut.
"i said, stay."
violet sinks to the ground, quivering.
"what... what do you want from me?"
gladys smirks, distorting robert's usually handsome face.
"your body."
violet shakes her head vehemently.
"no."
gladys growls, the most frightening sound that violet has ever heard. she still lets her hand drift quietly up towards the door handle. she keeps her gaze fixated on gladys to attempt and distract her from the movement.
"what are you waiting for?! take of your shoes!" gladys hisses. she tries to flash a smile, but once she notices violet's hand on the doorknob, her expression turns murderous. suddenly producing robert's pocketknife, she stabs it into violet's hand, pinning it to the door. violet screams. gladys laughs. "please don't leave, violet, i'm so lonely!"
100th blogpost! oops, this is also codename for i have no life. whops.
anyway.
so someone requested here that a horror story should be written. and while i have absolutely no experience at writing horror (see the perspectives post for more fail), i shall try. to the prompt of "OCD: Wear slippers when you leave the bedroom - otherwise your personality will be overwritten by anyone else who has walked on that carpet. If you scrape against something, you must sweep the bit of your soul that got caught off of it and rub it back into the tear."
answer:
as violet pads into the old dreary mansion, she notices bloodstains on the ground. strange, because number one--nobody's lived here in years and number two--the only other person that should be in here besides her is her younger brother, robert.
"robbie?" she calls. her voice echoes around the high ceilings of the foyer, bouncing back into her ears. a sudden creak grabs her attention, and she accidentally brushes against the nearby windowsill. pain shrieks through her arm. "what the--?" as she turns to look at the offending bruise, she notices that the piece of her where she hit the wood is gone. completely gone. not gone in the sense that there's a cut, but completely and utterly gone. violet is about to scream in surprise when a strong, warm, familiar hand clamps over her mouth.
"quiet, little girl, let me help you with that," a voice hisses, rough and slimy to violet's ears. another hand (along with an arm) carefully sweeps a bit of something off the windowsill and starts rubbing it back onto her arm. "there, there. you'll be okay now."
but, of course, violet is now the farthest thing from comforted. as she pries herself from her assailant's grip, she spins around.
"who are yo--robert?!"
her brother (or what seems to be her brother) cocks his head jerkily.
"who's robert?" the unfamiliar voice asks, the words falling off of his tongue.
violet pales.
"if you're not robert, then who are you?"
robert's body cracks it's knuckles before the voice answers again.
"i'm gladys. i killed the last resident of this house before hanging myself on that chandelier."
robert's finger points up to the ornament. violet's gaze follows, and she jumps when she notices a skeleton dangling from the lights.
"i don't have a body anymore, but since your brother insisted on taking off his socks and shoes, i kindly took his place." gladys uses robert's left hand to gesture at his now bare feet. "if you'd like to join in with the fun, you can take your shoes off too."
violet slowly shakes her head.
"sorry, gladys, i can't agree to that. can you... bring my brother back?"
a cackle leaps out of his mouth, bouncing around the eerie foyer.
"no can do, violet dearie. you see, whenever someone walks barefoot on the carpet in the lapelle mansion, their sense of self oozes out through their feet and the last person to walk on the floor fills that body with their own personality. frightening, isn't it?"
there's a silence. violet can only hear her thumping heart. she inches towards the door.
"i... i have to go."
"no, no violet, please stay!"
violet swings the door wide open before robert's body sails across the room, slamming the door resolutely shut.
"i said, stay."
violet sinks to the ground, quivering.
"what... what do you want from me?"
gladys smirks, distorting robert's usually handsome face.
"your body."
violet shakes her head vehemently.
"no."
gladys growls, the most frightening sound that violet has ever heard. she still lets her hand drift quietly up towards the door handle. she keeps her gaze fixated on gladys to attempt and distract her from the movement.
"what are you waiting for?! take of your shoes!" gladys hisses. she tries to flash a smile, but once she notices violet's hand on the doorknob, her expression turns murderous. suddenly producing robert's pocketknife, she stabs it into violet's hand, pinning it to the door. violet screams. gladys laughs. "please don't leave, violet, i'm so lonely!"
11.29.2010
muse:last
le sigh.
muse:
i know that i shouldn't read into it. i really do. but after the phone calls from ___ stop coming, the fond glances and smiles stop lighting up my day, i can't help but suspect that i've done something wrong. but what, really? what have i done? a couple hours on the phone with ___, laughing and being distracted from homework isn't that bad. i get my stuff done regardless--even though i'm up late. it doesn't matter to me... what matters is just being there for ___, just any amount of time with ___.i didn't count ___ on leaving, i didn't count on staying and waiting, i didn't count on any of this changing. i knew that it'd have to end sometime, but i didn't realize that it'd be so soon. i don't want to have a last moment with ___, a last call with ___, a last conversation with ___, a last anything with ___. i want to be ____ first moment, ____ first call, ____ first conversation, ____ first everything. i've never been this for anyone--but for ___ of course i'd try.
muse:
i know that i shouldn't read into it. i really do. but after the phone calls from ___ stop coming, the fond glances and smiles stop lighting up my day, i can't help but suspect that i've done something wrong. but what, really? what have i done? a couple hours on the phone with ___, laughing and being distracted from homework isn't that bad. i get my stuff done regardless--even though i'm up late. it doesn't matter to me... what matters is just being there for ___, just any amount of time with ___.i didn't count ___ on leaving, i didn't count on staying and waiting, i didn't count on any of this changing. i knew that it'd have to end sometime, but i didn't realize that it'd be so soon. i don't want to have a last moment with ___, a last call with ___, a last conversation with ___, a last anything with ___. i want to be ____ first moment, ____ first call, ____ first conversation, ____ first everything. i've never been this for anyone--but for ___ of course i'd try.
ep:people--life's biggest puzzle.
...how powerful.
too often we take the ones that love us and help us for granted and focus on those that leave us and hurt us. we want those that hurt us and leave us--why? good question. another hard question--why does life's hurts give us our greatest inspirations?
pining sucks. and i'm too lazy to turn off the song. it's katy perry "the one that got away." now, it doesn't completely truly apply to me, but i still resonate with the emotion of the song. some time eventually, i'd like to go up and do karaoke, but with music that i'm super familiar with. i'm sure it'd turn out like (500) days of summer (except minus the booze) and it wouldn't be very good, but i really can't take it anymore. i want to--no, need to say something.
11.28.2010
muse:drying machines
muse:
i push the button to start the dry cycle, and quickly bolt out of the laundry room and up the stairs. it's not that i hate doing laundry, mind you. my laundry machine just has this horrible tendency of screaming at the top of its mechanical lungs and when it does, i can't hear myself think at all. and no, it has nothing to do with the fact that every time i hear the screech, it reminds me of that one phone conversation we had about your laundry machine while i was, ironically, folding my clothes.
"what the heck was that?" i giggled, cellphone cradled between my head and my shoulder. "it sounds like you're toying with a robot or something."
"my laundry machine... it makes noises?"
"sounds like it's trying to sing."
"it so does not!"
i snorted, folding a towel. "whatever you say."
the metallic shrieking shakes me out of my memory as i book it up the stairs. now, i hate doing laundry. the dryer protests and every time i take my clothes out to fold them, i wait for you to not call me.
i push the button to start the dry cycle, and quickly bolt out of the laundry room and up the stairs. it's not that i hate doing laundry, mind you. my laundry machine just has this horrible tendency of screaming at the top of its mechanical lungs and when it does, i can't hear myself think at all. and no, it has nothing to do with the fact that every time i hear the screech, it reminds me of that one phone conversation we had about your laundry machine while i was, ironically, folding my clothes.
"what the heck was that?" i giggled, cellphone cradled between my head and my shoulder. "it sounds like you're toying with a robot or something."
"my laundry machine... it makes noises?"
"sounds like it's trying to sing."
"it so does not!"
i snorted, folding a towel. "whatever you say."
the metallic shrieking shakes me out of my memory as i book it up the stairs. now, i hate doing laundry. the dryer protests and every time i take my clothes out to fold them, i wait for you to not call me.
11.27.2010
muse:cucumbers and flirting
if y'all haven't heard j.r.a.'s "by chance (you and i)" please go find it--it's amazing and beautiful. also, "agents of secret stuff." go watch it on youtube. :)
muse:
the lab had run much later than blake had expected. but he got to work with ariana, so he was perfectly content that he was able to spend more time with her. she was just so beautiful, so smart, nice, funny... he was starstruck. but of course when it came to talking to her, he was tongue-tied. as he walked with her out to the student parking lot, he resolved that tonight would be the night that he would talk to her and ask her out. the two were just passing the courtyard when he saw the bench under the tree. he motioned for her to follow him to the nook.
"what's up, blake? i have to get going, you know."
"ari--ariana... hi."
"hey yourself," she replied, giggling. "now, what's up?"
"well... you're beautiful today and... can i have your number? we can go grab some food and eat some cucumbers--why did i say that?" he blushed furiously as she burst into a fit of laughter.
"your rhyming is cute," she gushed, trying to calm herself down.
"your smile is the best thing i've ever seen," he managed to stutter. "it fits you, and it makes me smile too."
it was ariana's turn to blush a deep crimson.
"oh stop it, you," she mumbled happily, slapping his arm. silence echoed between them and the starlight. slowly, though, ariana's hand sneaked towards blake's. "so, dinner..." she started. "you still on for it?"
blake grinned from ear to ear as he took ariana's hand in his.
"sure. let's go."
muse:
the lab had run much later than blake had expected. but he got to work with ariana, so he was perfectly content that he was able to spend more time with her. she was just so beautiful, so smart, nice, funny... he was starstruck. but of course when it came to talking to her, he was tongue-tied. as he walked with her out to the student parking lot, he resolved that tonight would be the night that he would talk to her and ask her out. the two were just passing the courtyard when he saw the bench under the tree. he motioned for her to follow him to the nook.
"what's up, blake? i have to get going, you know."
"ari--ariana... hi."
"hey yourself," she replied, giggling. "now, what's up?"
"well... you're beautiful today and... can i have your number? we can go grab some food and eat some cucumbers--why did i say that?" he blushed furiously as she burst into a fit of laughter.
"your rhyming is cute," she gushed, trying to calm herself down.
"your smile is the best thing i've ever seen," he managed to stutter. "it fits you, and it makes me smile too."
it was ariana's turn to blush a deep crimson.
"oh stop it, you," she mumbled happily, slapping his arm. silence echoed between them and the starlight. slowly, though, ariana's hand sneaked towards blake's. "so, dinner..." she started. "you still on for it?"
blake grinned from ear to ear as he took ariana's hand in his.
"sure. let's go."
11.26.2010
muse:magnetic
a/n: so i'm not actually in an abusive relationship, i swear. this is on my mind every time i listen to "love the way you lie" by eminem and rihanna. it breaks my heart that relationships like these exist, but they do. ):
muse:
he hit me again. my cheek is bruised horribly, i don't even want to look at myself in the mirror. i can't cry about it--he'll hit me again. but i know that he loves me, that's enough, right? even though i know that everything else that he says is a lie, he still loves me.
everything was okay, i swear. just about up 'till last week. he had been all high-and-mighty, and i decided to try and talk him down from his pedestal. bad idea. that was the most frightened i'd ever been during a shouting match. the angriest. and i nearly stormed out. i was about down the driveway when he swung the door open.
"baby, come back!"
i couldn't help it. we're like magnets, we have to stay together no matter what. wherever he is, i've got to be--without him, i'm nothing. so of course, i pick my bags up and off the sidewalk and slowly walked back in. i was greeted by a kiss on the forehead, followed by "i love you," stale with the alcohol on his breath. i can't tell him to stop--love is accepting, right? love accepts wrongdoings and hides them under the carpet.
but of course, after one fight, there's bound to be others. they got more and more frequent, which led up to me getting my face bruised like hell. but he apologized--he won't do it again!
"baby, next time i'll show restraint! that's what the drywall's for, right?"
i couldn't help but laugh at that, that's one of the things that i love about him--he always throws in some sort of humor.
...but it's one day later, and i'm out on the sidewalk. and he's watching me, i can tell, and right like that i hear the door snap open.
"baby, come back! take your bags off the sidewalk! come back, please!"
and of course, i'm right back with tears in my eyes, empty "sorries" mumbled into his shirt and he holds me close, "i love you" echoing like one bad punchline. but i love those words--they're what i live for. it doesn't matter how beat up i get, those words are my lifeblood.
muse:
he hit me again. my cheek is bruised horribly, i don't even want to look at myself in the mirror. i can't cry about it--he'll hit me again. but i know that he loves me, that's enough, right? even though i know that everything else that he says is a lie, he still loves me.
everything was okay, i swear. just about up 'till last week. he had been all high-and-mighty, and i decided to try and talk him down from his pedestal. bad idea. that was the most frightened i'd ever been during a shouting match. the angriest. and i nearly stormed out. i was about down the driveway when he swung the door open.
"baby, come back!"
i couldn't help it. we're like magnets, we have to stay together no matter what. wherever he is, i've got to be--without him, i'm nothing. so of course, i pick my bags up and off the sidewalk and slowly walked back in. i was greeted by a kiss on the forehead, followed by "i love you," stale with the alcohol on his breath. i can't tell him to stop--love is accepting, right? love accepts wrongdoings and hides them under the carpet.
but of course, after one fight, there's bound to be others. they got more and more frequent, which led up to me getting my face bruised like hell. but he apologized--he won't do it again!
"baby, next time i'll show restraint! that's what the drywall's for, right?"
i couldn't help but laugh at that, that's one of the things that i love about him--he always throws in some sort of humor.
...but it's one day later, and i'm out on the sidewalk. and he's watching me, i can tell, and right like that i hear the door snap open.
"baby, come back! take your bags off the sidewalk! come back, please!"
and of course, i'm right back with tears in my eyes, empty "sorries" mumbled into his shirt and he holds me close, "i love you" echoing like one bad punchline. but i love those words--they're what i live for. it doesn't matter how beat up i get, those words are my lifeblood.
---
it's two in the morning, and everything's so hot. i can't move, my hands and feet are tied to the bedposts. somewhere i can hear maniacal laughter and raucous cries. what got me into this? oh right, he said he'd do this. shit.
i was out on the sidewalk for about the eighth time this week, and like a broken record the door is open again and the words "come back!" ring through the neighborhood. but this time, there's a different spin on it. "come back, baby, i love you!" as i'm back in his arms, i hear him muttering, "if you try and fuckin' leave again, i swear i'll tie you to the bed and set this house on fire."
i didn't count on him following through with that. but he loves me, right? it's getting hotter, and flames are starting to lick the bedpost. my wrists are sweating, and the rope is agonizingly tight. i try to shout, but my mouth is bound. the first jet of fire screams up the rope and starts to gnaw on my wrist. my eyes water, my throat dries, but i can't do anything. he loves you, it's okay, he loves you. i squeeze my eyes shut, and look up towards to the ceiling, trying to divert my attention from the caustic heat. "i love you" is carved on the ceiling, along with a heart. it's all i see before i forget how to breathe.
who made you king of anything?
you think you know me. but really, you don't.
you think my writing is horrible, it doesn't show who i really am. who are you to say that? you don't know me. you may think you do, but you don't. you think that all you're doing is "helping me to be successful." you don't know how wrong you are. you take me out of everything and insert what you think is me into it. that's not me. this is. and if you can't accept it, i don't care. i'm out of your life next year, and good riddance. think i'm coming back? yeah right. not anytime soon.
you think that being undecided is the worst way to go. in fact, it's not. i know what i want to do, in a general sense. just because i don't have myself planned out step-by-step doesn't mean that you can't invest in my future. you're a horrible person, you don't know what you're talking about, you don't know who i am, so you keep your opinion to yourself.
so really, who made you queen of anything? certainly not me. so get off that pedestal and start living with the plebes.
you think my writing is horrible, it doesn't show who i really am. who are you to say that? you don't know me. you may think you do, but you don't. you think that all you're doing is "helping me to be successful." you don't know how wrong you are. you take me out of everything and insert what you think is me into it. that's not me. this is. and if you can't accept it, i don't care. i'm out of your life next year, and good riddance. think i'm coming back? yeah right. not anytime soon.
you think that being undecided is the worst way to go. in fact, it's not. i know what i want to do, in a general sense. just because i don't have myself planned out step-by-step doesn't mean that you can't invest in my future. you're a horrible person, you don't know what you're talking about, you don't know who i am, so you keep your opinion to yourself.
so really, who made you queen of anything? certainly not me. so get off that pedestal and start living with the plebes.
11.25.2010
giving thanks for thanksgiving.
i guess i should do a thanksgiving post... if i must. le sigh. (totally kidding.)
so in about 3 hours, i will be heading out to my relative's house to spend thanksgiving dinner with them. whoo, fun. especially since there are small children there. and even though they are my cousins, the small child oscillation scale still applies. although i cannot as easily go rat them out to my aunts and uncles. plus, i think i'm the oldest kid there this year, so... i definitely have no excuse. whoops.
but yeah. i'm thankful for family (most of the time), friends (y'all know who you are), the snow, and lots of other things. i don't think i could do what pink did because mine would be all super specific and y'alls would guess who is who in like all of negative 3 minutes. (that's right, that's how good you all are at guessing slash knowing who i'm blathering on about.) so. i shall do a big block post.
friends:
i'm so thankful for all of you. you keep me constantly on my toes as i keep thinking of ways to make you laugh. we've shared so many good memories, from watching movies to even the most mundane lunch conversations that leave us giggling (essentially, i was shagging his bawwwwls). thank you for putting up with my ridiculous singing of even more ridiculous songs, my not-so-often jerktasticness, my annoying tendencies (i don't wanna go to school, i don't wanna go to school!) my mope, my angst, and pretty much just all my crap. love to you all. :)
and i'm eternally thankful to God and all that He's been doing in my life. i know that none of my joys would be possible without Him.
so from me to all of you, a huge thank you, lots of love, and have a fantastic thanksgiving!
so in about 3 hours, i will be heading out to my relative's house to spend thanksgiving dinner with them. whoo, fun. especially since there are small children there. and even though they are my cousins, the small child oscillation scale still applies. although i cannot as easily go rat them out to my aunts and uncles. plus, i think i'm the oldest kid there this year, so... i definitely have no excuse. whoops.
but yeah. i'm thankful for family (most of the time), friends (y'all know who you are), the snow, and lots of other things. i don't think i could do what pink did because mine would be all super specific and y'alls would guess who is who in like all of negative 3 minutes. (that's right, that's how good you all are at guessing slash knowing who i'm blathering on about.) so. i shall do a big block post.
friends:
i'm so thankful for all of you. you keep me constantly on my toes as i keep thinking of ways to make you laugh. we've shared so many good memories, from watching movies to even the most mundane lunch conversations that leave us giggling (essentially, i was shagging his bawwwwls). thank you for putting up with my ridiculous singing of even more ridiculous songs, my not-so-often jerktasticness, my annoying tendencies (i don't wanna go to school, i don't wanna go to school!) my mope, my angst, and pretty much just all my crap. love to you all. :)
and i'm eternally thankful to God and all that He's been doing in my life. i know that none of my joys would be possible without Him.
so from me to all of you, a huge thank you, lots of love, and have a fantastic thanksgiving!
11.24.2010
planning.
so it really seems to me that every time i try and plan something, it fails epicly. all in terms of writing, of course.
for instance, my original short story was going to be based off of roflpets and a prank. i made a story map out of it, but then i tried to write the actual thing. that didn't go so well. i found myself just writing to get from point a to point b, and not really showing everything that unfolded. everything just happened, and i didn't do the story justice by just telling about everything. so, maybe with short stories, you don't really need planning--you just need the premise, what happens in general, and all of that. then, just write, write, write, write your heart out. choose the right words (pun intended) so that everything happens as you picture it--you don't want some part of your world not functioning just because you didn't choose the right word.
for instance, my original short story was going to be based off of roflpets and a prank. i made a story map out of it, but then i tried to write the actual thing. that didn't go so well. i found myself just writing to get from point a to point b, and not really showing everything that unfolded. everything just happened, and i didn't do the story justice by just telling about everything. so, maybe with short stories, you don't really need planning--you just need the premise, what happens in general, and all of that. then, just write, write, write, write your heart out. choose the right words (pun intended) so that everything happens as you picture it--you don't want some part of your world not functioning just because you didn't choose the right word.
11.21.2010
ep:wrecked mess.
a mess. that's what i am. too much chaos to be understood, too much to be handled. maybe i am doomed to push people away with my falsities and lies, while yearning for someone.
i hate myself for pushing you away. i hate myself for letting it affect me this much. to the point where i admit that i need you. i need to hear your voice, see your smile, everything. i need you. it's embarrassing. but of course, being the strong, stoic person you are, you never betray anything. no emotion whatsoever. it took me the longest time to realize that you had feelings. and when i did, it made a difference--but only for about two minutes. i know you have emotions. i know you do. but why can't i break through? i know you didn't feel what i felt, but it seemed like you needed me. and for a little bit, i was on cloud nine. it made my day just how much you needed me--needed to talk to me, needed me to laugh, everything.
but those days are gone now. i'm just left in your wake, broken, hurting once again. and that's right. i hurt. i'm not a one-dimensional person. i'm not always happy, i'm not always laughing. please don't buy into that illusion. please.
all that i've learned:
don't wait around and hurt. i'll find someone who needs me, who loves me for who i am. so, pick up the pieces and try to start walking. i can only get closer to my goal.
but come back. i miss you. i need you.
i hate myself for pushing you away. i hate myself for letting it affect me this much. to the point where i admit that i need you. i need to hear your voice, see your smile, everything. i need you. it's embarrassing. but of course, being the strong, stoic person you are, you never betray anything. no emotion whatsoever. it took me the longest time to realize that you had feelings. and when i did, it made a difference--but only for about two minutes. i know you have emotions. i know you do. but why can't i break through? i know you didn't feel what i felt, but it seemed like you needed me. and for a little bit, i was on cloud nine. it made my day just how much you needed me--needed to talk to me, needed me to laugh, everything.
but those days are gone now. i'm just left in your wake, broken, hurting once again. and that's right. i hurt. i'm not a one-dimensional person. i'm not always happy, i'm not always laughing. please don't buy into that illusion. please.
all that i've learned:
don't wait around and hurt. i'll find someone who needs me, who loves me for who i am. so, pick up the pieces and try to start walking. i can only get closer to my goal.
but come back. i miss you. i need you.
pss:pineapples in the night
so i finally decided to do a somewhat fun one. :)
pss:
jack wasn't sure how long he hadn't seen janice, but he sure did miss his sister. the several years of living single in hawaii had left his skin a deep bronze, and the sunlight had done wonders for his mind. in high spirits, he had finally decided to phone his sister.
"hullo?"
jack had blinked a bit, adjusting to the sound of his sister's voice--fondly unfamiliar.
"jan?"
silence for a bit, and then, "jackie!"
they had jabbered on for almost three hours, catching up on each other's lives. around midnight they had gotten to reminiscing about the past.
"remember that one time that we went to old jim's cotton plantation and stole some of his cotton?" janice guffawed. "the look on his face--priceless!"
jack giggled. "you know what's even better than stealing cotton?"
his sister went quiet for a minute. "jack, have you been stealing things regularly?"
he laughed heartily. "no, what do you think i am, a career criminal?" janice didn't laugh. "no, but really, stealing pineapples here is so fun. you just kinda 'yoink' and the thing comes right off! and then you run for it."
the other line continued in silence.
"jan?"
she burst into a fit of giggles.
"i'm coming to visit you soon, so you'd better show me where these pineapple plantations are!"
jack smiled widely.
"for sure."
snow.
one thing that i've noticed about snow is that it has this amazing ability to silence. now, i live in a pretty quiet neighborhood (those of you that have been to my house know this already) but the snow makes the quiet even more silent--and the silence is actually pretty beautiful. the silence was there this morning when i got to church early to help set up. it was snowing, and though there were about five cars in the parking lot, the world remained quiet. and i love it. but... the quiet would be a lot more enjoyable with a friend. :)
11.20.2010
oh hey look another one.
sorry for filling your filters! ):
glenn beck, as mentioned here is nominated for time person of the year. why would you do that?!
glenn beck, as mentioned here is nominated for time person of the year. why would you do that?!
umm.... how people are strange.
totally not the best news source but in my defense, i heard it this morning on npr. my first thought is um... the catholic church doesn't condone condoms? and second is what?! the catholic church condones male prostitutes?! we live in a really wacky world. i don't buy into it all the time. totally not to rip on the catholic church, but it seems a bit hypocritical to condone male prostitutes. just sayin'.
mobile5:small children
my liking of small children tends to oscillate a lot. when they make loud noises repeatedly, it tends to be extremely annoying. like a ton. ):< waiting outside the new restaurant din tai fung (2nd floor of lincoln square if you wanna go) in a huge line, there we these two kids who kept insisting on touching my backpack. which is super annoying, especially because their parents did nothing to stop the behavior. parents and kids these days, yeesh.
11.19.2010
hello, dol--oh, why are you the suck.
so as y'all probably know (maybe from facebook stalking) i went to the dol this morning to try and get my license. good news--passed the driving test! but only barely, i got an 80. mainly due to the fact that i we parked on a hill and i didn't notice. oops. definitely stoned outta my mind. but. we got inside and then i found out that i have to hold my permit for a whole 6 months before getting a license. so i get to trek out to the dol one more time (in about 3 weeks) to finalize this whole schpiel and then i'm done. which is awesome, but it made me so angry this morning. i was absolutely fuming--if you got in my way on my tromping out of the building, you would have ran. seriously.
but anyways. good news--i don't have to do my full 6 months. i only have to do about 2, and then i'm legal!
also, more good news--we have another blogger convert! this makes me super happy because then i don't have to worry about updating my tumblr account as much. which i don't, really, i just post links to connect people to this blog because it is prettier and also this is where i say most of my stuff. but yeah. it made me super excited. :)
but anyways. good news--i don't have to do my full 6 months. i only have to do about 2, and then i'm legal!
also, more good news--we have another blogger convert! this makes me super happy because then i don't have to worry about updating my tumblr account as much. which i don't, really, i just post links to connect people to this blog because it is prettier and also this is where i say most of my stuff. but yeah. it made me super excited. :)
11.18.2010
flashback to the past.
i submitted this one waiting for prof. cross to ask me to post this--but... alas, the request never came. but it's okay, i'll share it with y'all anyway. :)
the clacking of the keys fills the space of my almost noiseless room. itunes hums easily along, singing a wondrously happy song about some boy whose opinion shouldn’t matter because who died and made him king of anything, seriously? but once my fingers slow, the media player decides to start a certain song—with you. the song opens with gentle strums on a guitar, and a giggle rings in my ears.
“really, these are how the lyrics go?”
i look up, see the owner of the voice, and then look back at the wooden windowsill I’m sitting on.
“well, yeah. I mean it’s not like we can sing them though because we definitely aren’t black enough.”
he laughs again, throwing his head back. the sun bounces off of his short, somewhat chaotically organized hair. he looks at me through his glasses again.
“d’ya wanna try singing it?”
i nod slowly, anxious about singing in front of him for the first time. i’m sure that he’ll find something wrong with my voice to complain about—not on-pitch, not good enough, something—
he smiles, eyes closing as he leans back into the wall, listening to the comforting guitar and my voice echoing through the vaulted hallways. his hand taps his thigh in rhythm to the melody. i can’t help but grin—I’d kill to see that smile every day. as i hit the bridge, the lyrics carry me up to ceiling and back down again. and once I’m finished, he’s facing me.
“that was awesome!” he says. he’s still smiling at me. not a smirk. not a smug look. a true, genuine smile. “you should sing more often.”
i can feel my face flush pretty much seven different shades of red before i stammer out a “th-thanks.”
the song continues to bounce around in my ears as we start talking about something—exactly what though, i can’t seem to decide. his voice sounds almost garbled now (like a golden retriever’s) and i can’t even understand what I’m saying. the music swells and i blink my eyes. i’m facing a very, very blank sheet of white computer screen and a russian woman is singing about the disadvantages of being a sailor and how mary-ann is a bitch. as i begin to ponder what’s just happened, i realize that i’m no closer to being done with my paper, and morning is scheduled to arrive in an hour.
11.17.2010
sugar and opinions.
so. tackling things in order. well... actually now that i think about it, there's an overlap.
sugar:
i'm a sucker for sweet things. and not sweet things in terms of sugary things, but sweet things like sappy romantic things. such as this facebook comment conversation with my cousin:
him: guess what? shes wrong!!!!!
(you ARENT my mother but shes wrong about me saying that)
so... your opinion. the writer values it, but sometimes if it's too vicious, hold it back. we are all entitled to our own opinions, meaning the writer is entitled to his slash her own opinion as well. so don't go around holding your head high and thinking you're the only right person in the world--this leads to conflict which is just bad and leads to drama that nobody wants to get into. so if and when you feel a snarky slash mean opinion cross your mind, run "king of anything" through your head and think again.
sugar:
i'm a sucker for sweet things. and not sweet things in terms of sugary things, but sweet things like sappy romantic things. such as this facebook comment conversation with my cousin:
him: guess what? shes wrong!!!!!
(you ARENT my mother but shes wrong about me saying that)
me: lool i really hope i'm not your mother. that'd be icky. :(
also, guess what? I MISS YOUR FACEhim: guess what? your face is in a tiny box next to your name so i can see it even though youre far far away :D
you get the gist. i was all warm and fuzzy inside because number one--it's an amazing feeling when you know people miss you slash need you and number two--he's just a sweet kid. well... when he's not being a crazy weirdo (which is about 97% of the time).
which somehow leads into my second point.
opinions: somehow in workshop, we have to sugarcoat them. we can't be mean about them as this post said and also people who are mean and jerkfacey should just stop because nobody needs it. in fact, if you didn't complain and simply gave a reason why you disliked said thing and then a way to improve it, then it would be fine. kinda.
but yeah. opinions. we are all entitled to them
so... your opinion. the writer values it, but sometimes if it's too vicious, hold it back. we are all entitled to our own opinions, meaning the writer is entitled to his slash her own opinion as well. so don't go around holding your head high and thinking you're the only right person in the world--this leads to conflict which is just bad and leads to drama that nobody wants to get into. so if and when you feel a snarky slash mean opinion cross your mind, run "king of anything" through your head and think again.
11.16.2010
muse:talking heads.
i don't even know. allow me to sort myself out through this.
muse:
the voices continue to echo around in my head as i stare down at the pink math book in front of me. geometry. math for real men. that's me, totally. and you, of course. as i sneak a couple of glances at you, you roll your eyes and continue your rant on about how we aren't prepared for the upcoming test. i'm plugged in to my music, but i can hear you loud and clear. the others try to tell you to believe in our group, that we can pull through the hardship if we work at it. you seem more than skeptical. i sit this entire conversation out. i just want to comfort you, with something like "we'll do fine, i know we will," but my mouth won't open. it's like someone pushed the mute button and suddenly my vocal cords don't work anymore. i want to reassure you, to let you know that we'll be okay--i want to be the one to assuage your fears. but my own fear conquers my speech and i just sit on the sidelines in silence. i'll tell you about it later, i think. he'll call, and i'll be able to say something.
no such luck.
muse:
the voices continue to echo around in my head as i stare down at the pink math book in front of me. geometry. math for real men. that's me, totally. and you, of course. as i sneak a couple of glances at you, you roll your eyes and continue your rant on about how we aren't prepared for the upcoming test. i'm plugged in to my music, but i can hear you loud and clear. the others try to tell you to believe in our group, that we can pull through the hardship if we work at it. you seem more than skeptical. i sit this entire conversation out. i just want to comfort you, with something like "we'll do fine, i know we will," but my mouth won't open. it's like someone pushed the mute button and suddenly my vocal cords don't work anymore. i want to reassure you, to let you know that we'll be okay--i want to be the one to assuage your fears. but my own fear conquers my speech and i just sit on the sidelines in silence. i'll tell you about it later, i think. he'll call, and i'll be able to say something.
no such luck.
musica:blow, amongst other things.
so, ke$ha's album i guess came out like super super early. as in like today. or something like that. i don't even know. but blow came out today too!
11.15.2010
pss:on one knee
so i really should go to bed, but not before your weekly pss makes it up! :)
pss:
it had been way too long since charlie had last seen grace. since high school, if he remembered correctly. they had spent a romantic evening after prom sitting at the boardwalk near the beach, talking about a life together. a future together. where they would both conquer their worst fears and emerge the heroes of all, triumphant over life's struggles. but when charlie had woken up that morning in his too-empty bed with no note of where grace had gone, he knew that it was the end. the end of them.
yeah, it had been way too long. he had met other women, tried to fall in love, and just fell flat on his face. maybe grace was the one. no. he shook the doubt out of his head as he stepped off the plane and into the bustling parisian airport. he glanced at the notecard in his hand before using his broken high school french to try and call a taxi to get him to where he needed to be. he knew that grace was the one for him. the taxi puttered to a stop in front of a humble looking building. the driver gestured for him to get out. as charlie clumsily stumbled out of the small yellow car, he looked wistfully at the door of the house. behind it laid his future, his happiness, his true love. he took a deep breath, walked up to the door, and knocked. a man answered it.
"bonjour?"
"hi... i'm looking for grace."
the silvery band on the man's finger didn't stop catching charlie's eye.
"grace? you mean grace, my wife?" the man replied in a thick french accent.
charlie looked around him, wondering at the strange sound of his world collapsing.
it had been way too long since charlie had last seen grace. since high school, if he remembered correctly. they had spent a romantic evening after prom sitting at the boardwalk near the beach, talking about a life together. a future together. where they would both conquer their worst fears and emerge the heroes of all, triumphant over life's struggles. but when charlie had woken up that morning in his too-empty bed with no note of where grace had gone, he knew that it was the end. the end of them.
yeah, it had been way too long. he had met other women, tried to fall in love, and just fell flat on his face. maybe grace was the one. no. he shook the doubt out of his head as he stepped off the plane and into the bustling parisian airport. he glanced at the notecard in his hand before using his broken high school french to try and call a taxi to get him to where he needed to be. he knew that grace was the one for him. the taxi puttered to a stop in front of a humble looking building. the driver gestured for him to get out. as charlie clumsily stumbled out of the small yellow car, he looked wistfully at the door of the house. behind it laid his future, his happiness, his true love. he took a deep breath, walked up to the door, and knocked. a man answered it.
"bonjour?"
"hi... i'm looking for grace."
the silvery band on the man's finger didn't stop catching charlie's eye.
"grace? you mean grace, my wife?" the man replied in a thick french accent.
charlie looked around him, wondering at the strange sound of his world collapsing.
how do i words.
there are sometimes where english words fall short. so... let's find the right words to spin what we're really saying.
11.13.2010
the worst thing in the world.
y'all have been rickroll'd. but not by rick astley! THAT'S RIGHT, KIDS. BY ASHLEY TISDALE. YES, I'M PUKING TOO.
moore on style. pun intended.
more on style (pun intended, i SWEAR.):
moore likes to give us stereotypes and cliche sayings, and just destroy them in an instant with some witty quip or observation. it's just lots of great. moore also likes to capitalize on The Exception. as shown by the quote from page 22. additionally, she likes to give beautiful details along with just absolutely hilarious comparisons to help us visualize what the character is seeing all the more (once again, no pun intended). see the quote from page 24. oh, the exception is back again! the main character uses a vibrator to stir her chocolate milk. this is a problem, because vibrators usually go into -body part- and said body part is not usually sanitary enough to drink chocolate milk. ...nor does any body part aside from the mouth drink chocolate milk. ever. lorrie the author (we're on the first name basis now. just kidding.) also likes to capitalize on ignorance. shown by ze vibrator incident and also the quote on page 30. and then moore likes to bring in previous details to make some slew of utter nonsense. like saying that the most expensive dish in a restaurant is $45, which costs as much as an oil-and-water bra! and then there are some rather riveting and interesting details like how sarah brink says the character's father's name (the quote on 35).
a gate at the stairs:favorite lines.
edit: i think i just need to have this consistently open so i can add my favorite lines.
on fridays there were fish fries or boils at which they served "lawyers" (burbot or eelpout), so-called because their hearts were in their butts. (moore, 17)
all my books had fortunes protruding like tiny tails from their pages. you are the crispy noodle in the salad of life. [...] i had donated my plasma several times for cash, but the last time i had tried, the clinic had turned me away, saying my plasma was cloudy from my having eaten cheese the night before. ...it was so hard not to eat cheese. (moore, 19)
where were the husbands? "oh, at work," the women all said vaguely. all except the journalist, who said, "good question!" (moore, 22)
her hair was cropped short and dyed the fashionable bright auburn of a ladybug. her earrings were buttons of deepest orange, her leggings mahogany, her sweater rust-colored, and her lips maroonish brown. she looked like a highly controlled oxidation experiment. (moore, 24)
"the neighbors just put in that invisible fence," she said. "in november. i'm sure it causes ms or something." (moore, 30)
"...filets and cutlets sprinkled with lavender dust once owned by the pixies..." (moore, 34)
it startled me to hear my father's potatoes--kennebecs, norlands, pontiacs, yukon golds, somethe size of marbles, some grapefruits, depending on drought and digging times and what the beetles were up to--all summed up and uttered that way right here in her living room. [...] he was a... truck farmer, with no real acreage, just some ducks (who every fall raped one another in a brutal fashion we never got used to)...(moore, 35)
we had also once had an ebullient pig named helen, who would come when you called her name and smiled like a dolphin when you spoke to her. and then we didn't see her for a few days, and one morning over bacon and eggs, my brother said, "is this helen?" i dropped my fork and cried, "this is helen? is this helen?!" and my mother, too, stopped eating and looked hard at my father: "bo, is this helen?" the next pig we got we never met and its name was #wk3746. (moore, 36-37)
a gate at the stairs.
so i went to the librario today to get a lorrie moore book. she's written novels. so i got one of those instead of her short stories (oops?). and i can just instantly hear her voice in here--it's the same sort of thing as the ones that we've read in class. moore just goes in and says something, but doesn't really mean it. for example, from page 12 of a gate at the stairs:
i liked children--i did!--or rather, i liked them ok. they were sometimes interesting.
moore just has this great way of just not really being serious but then making us take her seriously (kinda like me? question mark? i don't even know.) with just everything else that happens. also, she just has great lines. like this one. page 13.
twice a week a young professor named thad, dressed in jeans and a tie, stood before a lecture hall of stunned farm kids like me and spoke thrillingly of henry james's masturbation of the comma.
see what i mean here? masturbation of the comma, oh my goodness. this is why lorrie moore is my favoritest author ever (besides sherman alexie) because she's just so wacky, zany, and just slightly insane and i wish to meet her in real life some day.
i liked children--i did!--or rather, i liked them ok. they were sometimes interesting.
moore just has this great way of just not really being serious but then making us take her seriously (kinda like me? question mark? i don't even know.) with just everything else that happens. also, she just has great lines. like this one. page 13.
twice a week a young professor named thad, dressed in jeans and a tie, stood before a lecture hall of stunned farm kids like me and spoke thrillingly of henry james's masturbation of the comma.
see what i mean here? masturbation of the comma, oh my goodness. this is why lorrie moore is my favoritest author ever (besides sherman alexie) because she's just so wacky, zany, and just slightly insane and i wish to meet her in real life some day.
11.12.2010
thanks for your time.
in just a running continuation of abp#6, i'd like to say thank you to ms. snaring, for this post. it's about how people may sometimes only be in our lives for a season, and how sometimes, we just have to move on.
now, easier said than done, for sure. i know that i get super attached to people really fast, and i have a hard time when they decide it's time to pull away. i also know that there are some people that i just pull away from, and in retrospect, i feel bad for doing that. but then i look at my life now, and see just how much it's gotten better--maybe from a lack of said person, or maybe because someone better has just filled their place.
so. to those of you that have moved on from me without me wanting you to--thanks. you've honestly done me a service. you've opened up a void for someone else to fill. someone better than you, someone more worthy than you. and please don't feel offended--it was for the better. and to the people who've taken their places: thank you.
now, easier said than done, for sure. i know that i get super attached to people really fast, and i have a hard time when they decide it's time to pull away. i also know that there are some people that i just pull away from, and in retrospect, i feel bad for doing that. but then i look at my life now, and see just how much it's gotten better--maybe from a lack of said person, or maybe because someone better has just filled their place.
so. to those of you that have moved on from me without me wanting you to--thanks. you've honestly done me a service. you've opened up a void for someone else to fill. someone better than you, someone more worthy than you. and please don't feel offended--it was for the better. and to the people who've taken their places: thank you.
11.11.2010
musica:cannibal
so ke$ha's album hasn't officially come out yet, but singles are coming out like crazy, seriously. i.e. cannibal was supposed to come out like november 12th, but it got leaked november 8th.
for your listening pleasure:
also, what she is wearing slash her outfit. i don't even know.
for your listening pleasure:
also, what she is wearing slash her outfit. i don't even know.
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