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!"

lyrics:the one that got away.

a/n: i do not own this song, credits go to katy perry!

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.

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.

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.

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: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.

---

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.

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!

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.

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.

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. :)

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?!

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.

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. :)

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.  

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)

me: lool i really hope i'm not your mother. that'd be icky. :(

also, guess what? I MISS YOUR FACE

him: 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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

movies, and how they are stories.

so, a group of us (sorry everyone, there weren't enough letters to evenly link so starsandthemoon got an entire word. love you~) got together today to watch the worst movie EVAR best movie in the world: mega shark vs. giant octopus.

now, let me start this off by saying that i personally knew it would be bad, it was pimped badly on livejournal. i think i let everyone else know this, and maybe we all knew this because of the faces of the actors on the box just tipped us off. like a lot. additionally, actor credits are le horrible. 'cuz lorenzo lamas is just a horrible person and he honestly said (to the japanese character): don't worry, we're not taking you to manzanar. which is absopositively horrible, and america just sucks.

anyway, we all tromped over to kayla's house to watch this thing trainwreck brain-numbing mush movie. people, watch it. watch it with friends to make it better. we made so much commentary that we didn't even know what was really happening. for instance, there was a scene where the characters suddenly decided to make out, and we didn't even know. like, seriously. there was no context, no nothing aside from a sketchy porno night that we deemed happened ourselves. and by ourselves, i mean that i kinda yelled that and we decided it was so. and then, ace hannah (being the genious director he is) decided to make the characters do the nasty. (but not onscreen, 'cuz that's icky and like the matrix.) once again, no context aside from the fact that the two characters got horny in the laboratory because they were doing chemistry junk (which was really pouring water with different food coloring in it together) and then decided, hey, we're doing chemistry, oh wait, we're doing chemistry and we have chemistry so let's snog and make babbies but in all reality this was just a device for them to realize that they could lure giant animals into largely populated bays with pheromones! and they had to have sex to realize this! (and the pheromones were a glow-in-the-dark green. go figure.)

anyways. my point. right.
there was no flow in the movie. horrid transitions, even more horrible storyline. but, i really think this could've been a slightly more decent movie with just better everything. and by everything, i mean everything that we've learned to do in our class as we've learned how to write fiction. ('cuz that movie, people, is pure fiction. i'm pretty sure we won't find a megalodon cryogenically preserved in a glacier up near alaska.) and my final comment about it is that it falls into the category of "so bad that it's good."

yearning inspirations.

i think i will maybe have characters with yearnings based off of these song lyrics.

"please don't be in love with someone else. please don't have somebody waiting on you."
bits:
how could she have missed him? such a witty, funny, humorous person, such a free soul, so much of everything that she wanted? how on earth could she have not seen him before? the night they had spent talking, laughing, and just enjoying each other's company had shown her how much they fit. but as he walked her to her car in the parking lot, she realized that he... they wouldn't see each other again. they were just two strangers in a bar. how they met was just chance. she had heard of love at first sight, but hadn't really believed in it until now. now, she never wanted to leave his side, she wanted to spend forever with him having nights just like these. she squeezed her eyes shut before she started her car. please don't be in love with someone else. i don't think i could bear it.


"you said that you loved me, so why did you go?" (this one isn't as good, oops.)
bits:
his sweatshirt, his scarf, his sweatpants. she had put them on and then just sat and cried in the middle of her room. why did you go? those were the things that she had bought for him, and they turned out to be his favorites. he liked them so much he decided he would let his favorite person keep them--so there would be just a place where he could be safe from the world. they still smelled like him. soon, with all this crying, they wouldn't. she sniffed, rubbing her tearstained eyes. all that she had lived for, breathed for, had come crashing down in just one night.

ohcrap.

hi, 11:45.
this is me starting my homework. FUHHHHHHHH.

in other words, TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: i'm blaming my sleepiness on you. love you anyway.

mobile4:songs.

i don't know when/why my brain decided that listening to "last kiss" by taylor swift was a good idea. i did and i cried, but inspiration came along too.

edit:
i originally had an idea for my short story that i thought was awesome. but then i listened to this song (on repeat for like half an hour before my eyeballs decided i wouldn't anymore) and thought that this would create a more organic story... but i don't want to be the king of mope. THIS IS IMPORTANT, HALP.

reflection on how it's kinda like the movies.

was just listening to katy perry's not like the movies and just thinking.
the line, "it's a crazy idea that you were made perfectly for me, you'll see." it just struck me really hard.

some people seem to have it going for them in terms of relationships. you've all heard of the "fairytale" ending--boy meets girl in high school, they keep in touch all through college and end up marrying each other. cute, right? but... how often does it happen? it doesn't. my youth group counselor is a good example of the rare case--he found his wife his senior year in high school. my own father is kinduva good example as well--the first woman that he dated (my mother) was the person he married.

there are also just some people that i see around me that fit that enchanted life. i can't mention their names, but they've been together since the end of freshman year. i really admire that, and that's... what i want. of course, i have no idea when i'm going to meet Her, but that's really up to God. and a lot of the time, it's hard for me to focus on The Bigger Picture and i try to find someone in the given pool of people that i know at the moment--but really, that's not what i should be doing.

just words, or truth?

almost a flashback to this post here. i got off the phone and the first words that ran through my mind were "hi, i miss you." now, i say that a lot. like, tons. (people who know who they are can attest to this.)

most of the time, i think i really mean what i say when i say these words. if my life were a story (which... it sort of is... right?) then i think that would be one of the character's "wantings." i honestly don't think it would fit into the yearning, because missing someone's presence isn't really on the same level (at least to me) as yearning for that person. but the "wanting" would fit under the feeling of being needed slash needing someone, which would be the yearning.

all of this just gets me thinking. how much of what we say do we really mean? especially when it comes to love. english is the only language that doesn't have multiple words for describing different types of love. greek has agape, phileo, and eros--unconditional, brotherly, and passionate respectively. chinese has multiple levels as well--喜爱 (xi'ai: to like something, i.e. i love that movie!)，恋爱 (lian'ai: romantic love. pretty self-explanatory)，热爱 (re'ai: to adore somebody/something)，恩爱 (en'ai: conjugal love)，博爱 (bo'ai: brotherly love)， 父爱 (fu'ai: parental love)， 眷爱 (juan'ai: sentimental attachment to something/somebody)，笃爱 (du'ai: loving someone deeply... i don't even know). in english, it's just love. what does it really mean? there's filial love, unconditional love, lust, the list goes on. there are modifiers, but there aren't any really different words that describe the different levels.

somehow, authors and writers choose the right words (don't even. i know that's a pun, but don't even.) to express what characters are feeling. it's a hard thing to do, which is why we're in a class to learn how to do so. good luck to everyone as we continue writing short stories, i bid thee all good luck in choosing the right words to say.

reflections on yearning and life

so. from the stories that we've read so far, i think the best ones are driven (as professor cross has said) by yearning. and i'm just thinking about why (since i had time to do that all day, since i was home sick. D:).

the reason why these stories are so good is because we're able to relate to the characters. in "gazpacho," monica yearns for a sense of identity--at first, she wants to leave behind her spanish self and claim an american identity. she comes to realize, though, that she can never really do that, and the story kinda finishes with her "achieving" her yearning. kinda the same thing in "mirrors abound." the narrator really yearns for a place in people's lives, a lengthy obit (relating the yearning back to what he does) and so on. in "elapse," the narrator yearns for a sense of community which is achieved but then tragically destroyed. in "orbital," lethe yearns for perfection, shown especially by her rejection of the "nightmare" reality. the depth of the yearning, however, is what really makes the story to me. i really enjoyed "gazpacho," "mirrors abound," and "elapse" because the narrator was able to make clear the yearning and help us as readers to sympathize with them. i wasn't too much of a fan of "orbital" because the narrator put me off with her snobbish voice and as a result, i wasn't able to really discern her yearning until after i had read through the entire story. (maybe this is why i like crime dramedies--because i like to piece these things together.)

in other words, i am le sick but i am feeling slightly le better.

pss:please let me have what i want.

the picture for the pss.

pss:
germaine had dreamed since childhood of being an emt. the thought of being the lifeline for someone inside an ambulance just captivated him, and he couldn't wait to start helping the sick. as soon as he walked out of the training academy, he called up his local emt to see if there were any openings available. "of course," they had said, and immediately put him on graveyard shift.

germaine had dreamed since childhood of being an emt. but that was then. now he pulls himself out of bed, wipes away silent tears, dons a stony stoic face, and departs from his house. his short drive to the emt base is empty and quiet. as he boards the ambulance, he wonders exactly how many crying faces that he'll see tonight, begging him to let them die.

muse:cider

i'm drinkin' cider. it's delicious.

muse:
there's always something just wonderful about cider. the way it smells, the way it tastes, the way it races down your throat to deliver soothing feelings and other Things Made of Good to the rest of your body... all in one convenient small (or very very tall) mug.

the warm smell of winter is what breezes off the top, and it completely permeates the senses. i can hear winter, see winter, feel winter, taste winter. i grip my medium-sized white mug in a firmly gentle hand and bring it to my lips. the brew seems to slip up to my mouth, greeting my tongue in an apple-flavored symphony. i can't really help but smile, because winter's never tasted so good. bringing the cup back down to my desk, i glance out my frosted windows and see newly fallen snow. it's winter, and it's never tasted so good.

mobile3:toxic

hate's burning through my veins like poison. my words are ready to fly with venom. but nobody wants to hear it. so the acid just stays inside and eats away.

muse:memories

a little different from the other muses, but a muse still. inspired by "don't want an ending" by sam tsui. please go listen to it, it's amazing.

muse:
i've sent you a letter from halfway around the world. a photo is enclosed, my smiling face looking up at you. a woman is with me in the background, and you deduce from the matching bands on our fingers that we're married. you smile yourself, happy that i've finally found someone to share life with. you pull open the crumpled, yellowed paper. you can practically hear my voice as you read the words. the writing comes to life and flies off the pages, and suddenly i'm before your eyes.

"hey you," i greet affectionately. i beam, my eyes crinkling shut before i hug you tightly. "i haven't seen you in like, what. forever?" i giggle. (or is that you inserting that from your impression of me?) "i miss you. a lot. as you can probably see, i'm married now. but i miss you. i miss my best friend." my face falls as i pull away, you can hear it through my writing, you can hear the sigh before i continue with my voice faltering. "i'm really sad that we had to fall apart like this after high school." but then i perk up. "but i'm really glad that we've been able to keep in touch throughout these years. your handwriting is still as neat as ever."

you snort, making a soft comment about how your handwriting can't even compare to mine. mine's dynamic, you say. it's all over the place, it's just so you. i nod before continuing. my voice can't stop breaking, though.

"i just wanted to tell you what i should've told you before." your heart seizes as your eyes jump ahead in the letter. i hug you again, pressing myself close to you. "i know you're freaking out, i know. but please don't." your eyes roll and you can hear me smile again. "i'm really sad that we couldn't spend enough time together. we found each other so late in the game. but i wouldn't undo it, i think that's when we were supposed to meet." i unwrap my arms from you, but i'm still close enough to feel your heartbeat. "what i regret is not being able to spend as much time as possible with you. i held myself back with all that drama (i know you're agreeing with me with that goofy smile of yours) and when we finally were on the same page, i couldn't bring myself to do anything. so the memories i have of you hurt me. they're the ones that we made inadvertently, the ones made by accident. singing in the hallway, working on projects, just getting to know each other. laughing about ice cream, having late night talks. i really wish i could do this all over again. i wish that i could have more time with you, time with just us. time to hang out, time to make memories to fill this empty book. time to make memories so that when i finally had to let go of you, i could do it with a tearful smile, saying that we've had our time together. i--" and the words are abruptly cut off, splashes of rust-smelling liquid on the page. you blink a couple times before realizing what they are. your breath catches in your throat. just one more day. just one more day. just one more day, that's all i need. you close your eyes, and once you open them again you're with me in the hallways of our high school. the leaves are turning flaming gold, brilliant crimson, and other colors of autumn. you pull me close, breathing in my scent.

"just one more day with you," you whisper. "if i could, that's all i'd need."

a thanks, and reflections.

to those who responded to mobile2: need. i really appreciated your comments--it was uplifting to me.

also, the stories so far. they are interesting. both have taken interesting viewpoints on traditional things. a second-person view, and then a charmed life view on the question of what is reality. what i must say though that really irks and upsets me is when the characters are flat, one-dimensional, and have no yearning. as professor cross said, yearning is what drives the character. without yearning, the character is still words, a flat being with no life, no direction, no anything. the character is still words. it is our duty as writers to find, mold, and create our characters with their flaws. characters are supposed to be a portrait of the human news, about people's shortcomings. if characters do not have flaws or yearnings, they are one dimensional, still letters on a page. only once a character has things that hurt them, things that they yearn for, and shortcomings that inhibit them do they become a full-fledged character, a magical being woven from words that lives and breathes.

that is our duty as writers. to show the human news in our characters, to create worlds woven from words that live and breathe. that, friends, is what writing is.

edit:
elapse is a beautiful story. the time passage is done amazingly, it moves like a song. this is probably the best story i've read so far, the first to move me to tears. second person draws me in like nothing other, and there is so much attachment built up with the characters that i didn't even realize until the tears almost fell from my eyes. so a congratulations to you, dear sir!