fading/vanishing characters.

so one thing i know that i'm good at is being super negligent and leaving characters out.

the writing life, chapter two.

dillard says it's all about locations.

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. 

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.

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.

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.)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

yearning.

what i really hate is when things slow down enough so that i have enough time to just sit around and think.

lyrics:indiana

indiana, by jon mclaughlin:

pss:alone at the airport.

you are the best thing that's ever been mine.

no, i'm not going to post the lyrics of the tswift song.

the writing life, chapter one. some truths.

truth part first.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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, you parent 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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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!

• 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.