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.

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.

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.

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!

mobile2: need

it's a horrible feeling knowing that nobody needs you.

the translation.

for all of you math buffs, no, it is not the sliding of something around in a plane keeping orientation the same and all. (bad joke, sorry.)

i really liked this story, surprisingly. the opening was a little weird and it took me a bit to follow and understand it, but i ultimately got it. which is really good. i don't think i've done enough analysis of the short while i read it to say anything about  joyce carol oates's personal style, but i think i agree with what she's saying--the fact that if we go to a foreign country with a translator, the translator becomes one of our senses. depending on who our translator is, we will have a good or bad experience, as shown by oliver's story.

the translation is a short story about a middle-aged man named oliver who goes to russia. i'm thinking that this takes place during the time period where russia is still the ussr because there's some underlying tension between oliver and the setting (though not exactly man versus nature...) as he seems amazed that people can be living so well behind the iron curtain. (this comes with the disclaimer from before, i don't know if this is soviet russia. actually, JK he said it was central europe. so somewhere in the ussr but not soviet russia.) oliver is first taken through the city by his first translator, liebert. liebert becomes oliver's mouthpiece and also his method of perceiving other people through their questions and the dialogue that happens between the oliver and his surroundings. oliver eventually meets a woman named alisa who he thinks he falls in love with. however, once oliver's translator is switched, the magic of the city vanishes, and everything (including alisa) is drab, uninteresting, hypocritical, and all sorts of other Things Made of Bad. now, for the analysis. that's the hard part. :(

abp#6: what insight, what wit...! why don't you say this normally. SOYMOO.

abp:
so. people are just Really Great sometimes over the interwebs. like they aren't afraid to open up and share their Nuggets of Wisdom with the world. i really recommend this person's blog because there is lots of incredible insight as well as just the general struggle of the artist determining exactly where to strike through with the truth, and where to cover up. also, this one is fun because the author just has hilarious things to say and it's awesome and Full of Win. lemme go blorp through the blogroll to see who else i stalk and if you are ever wondering what a story really means, go here because it's just up-to-date (mostly) and there's lots of wisdom there. also, POKEMANNNNNNN here and yeah. it's tons of fun. i think that's everyone who i stalk read on a super-regular basis. but in case you guys really wanted... just kidding, i'm lazy. go look at the blogroll and read some good posts. :)

also, since you have to verify your post on blogger, you have to type in a randomized letter code. i was doing this lately, and the code i got was "soymoo." just thought i'd share that with you guys.

EDIT:
one of my stalkers good good friends linked me to her blog. i thought it was interesting to read about her analysis of my writing--i think it's pretty accurate in what it says. you can see it here and read her wonder. :) also, her blog is just Things Made of Awesome and Wonder and Good. keep it up girl, i hope to see more from you. <3

edit2:
this post here is truly inspiring--one of the few inspiring posts that i have read. someone has said that i should be a motivational speaker, but i think the hidden words from this blogger should be used in a motivational speech from the person himself. keep it up, dude.

this is what it means to say... CITY, STATE. eavesdropping. ep.

this is what it means to say phoenix, arizona:
so i really liked this story, like a lot.
sherman alexie just has this amazing style (and it really comes out through thomas builds-the-fire, who is just All Sorts of Awesome and Things Made of Win) and he's super hilarious and it made me lol. like for serious, guys, i laughed out loud. anyway.
dialogue.
it's super short, clipped, sounds like normal dialogue. (why is not this a way to spell dialog? what if i like the fancy british spelling? also, if this is not the british spelling and i'm just being half-delusional, oops i fail. like a lot.) that's part of the fun in writing stories, trying to come up with life-like conversation (which really isn't that hard) although our speech patterns are actually pretty hard. we speak in short sentences strung together although we don't realize it. though, tbqh, prism kids speak in long-winded sentences because we are tres verbose. anyway.

eavesdropping:
i really can't remember anyone's conversations because they were really boring and mundane, and i just don't do mundane. it's gotta be wild, huge, crazy! that's how i remember it, at least. really. like:
"i didn't know that grapes came in different flavors!"
and yeah. something like that. idk. maybe i'll just make stuff up i definitely remember the mundane. no, seriously, halp what do i dooooo.

ep:
so right now i'm blasting my brains out with just random musical crap and by crap i mean bass-heavy stuff that you'd listen to at mindless dances LIKE HOMECOMING all because of things that went down today. basically to say it wax poetic:
every time i see my laundry, you're there. you're in my head 'cuz that's when you call. folding laundry is always the logically equivalent time to talk to you. it just makes me feel like we're together (which will never ever happen) even though we really shouldn't be and it makes me feel like we're just friends, which would be really nice, quite honestly. i looked up at the moon this evening, and empty october skies make me think of you. it's cold, maybe you'd offer me your jacket and walk with me through a park. maybe we'd talk about everything, or maybe we'd talk about nothing. but we'd be there together. and thinking of december nights just makes me feel so cold. 'cuz we could enjoy a movie. maybe something about sled dogs. warm, and enjoying each other's company with some others. on a black leather couch (because those are coziest) with other things that have connotations of winter. but, really, i know that it's not possible. we haven't even gotten past square one of friendship 101, being honest. because though as hard as i try, i can't really be honest with you. i try really hard, i do.

muse:martin.

the little post cards! they were so fun to write. i read mine aloud in class but yeah, i wanted to post it here because it was fun to write and yeah. i want to remember it question mark.

muse:
running through the woods, breathless, briars reaching with insistent hands at her clothing almost whispering, "slow down, my sweet, slow down." she screams before something trips her and makes her fall on her bad leg. the pain jerks her awake, and janet eyes the sterile white hospital room around her. her ankle throbs in rhythm with the heart monitor. sighing, she clutches her head. what got her in here? oh, right. martin.

honestly, it had started out like any other day. she woke up grumpy, ate breakfast grumpy, and went to school grumpy. all the previous night before going to bed, she had vowed that she wouldn't do anything stupid in front of him (and hopefully, this didn't count). martin had said "hi" to her from across the courtyard and janet had been so happy and enthralled that she missed the first step of the descending stairs. then the next, and the next, and suddenly she was close friends with pain and the ground. martin, being the nice guy he was, offered to drive her to the hospital. yes, this was all his fault.

muse:static hearts

muse:
the soft, piano and stringed music rolls out of my speakers. a beautiful female voice sings of how math cannot possibly compare with an infinite love, and i find myself agreeing. as her voice vaults higher and higher into the star-laden night sky, the speakers fizz, static is the accompaniment to my whispered singing for a moment. my heart races, the metallic ruby splash comes to life--but only for about a second, merely announcing The Great Coming of Nothing. my heart falls, my face darkens to match the velvet heavens. my downcast stare is met by the blank gaze of my white desk. i ponder a moment before trying to turn my attention back to my book. the words don't leap off the page like they used to. i keep trying to tell myself that i don't need you to top off my night cap, but maybe i do. the static buzz that makes my heart race echoes again, and i glance at my phone. it's...

ep:if you snark and muse:record

so, i was considering things to write about for abp#5 and was thinking "douche" and along the lines of that is "let your lab partner collect data all by himself while you go out to lunch and totally don't help him at all." said person that is being addressed doesn't seem to really mind what happened, although i and certain others feel very inflamed and up-in-arms about it. why do people suck, seriously? when people pull their weight, things work. but when they don't people get angry. also, another thing that pisses me off is when people complain, but do not have a solution slash are not planning the stupid thing. homecoming planning for dinner was extremely difficult, people, SO DO NOT SNARK AT ME IF YOU DON'T ENJOY THE RESTAURANT. YOU MAY GO EAT DINNER BY YOURSELF AND THEN COME TO THE DANCE WITH THAT FABULOUS SNARKY ATTITUDE AND THEN DANCE BY YOURSELF IN THE CORNER. 


anyway.
a muse. once again inspired by the ending of bones.
muse:
i'd told her that he likes records, especially a certain one by a certain band. the record itself turned different colors when the light hit it at different angles, making for a rather psychedelic effect. i knew he'd love it, but it wasn't my place to give it to him.

that night, we were all sitting around in their comfortably cramped apartment, waiting for him to come home. wine glasses were on the table, and all of us (me, her, and our two friends) were sipping our drinks. white dessert wine, the type that is sweet and then kicks you in the mouth as a reward. the black leather couches were warm and comfortable, and i thought that i could never bring myself to stand up. as the door clicks open, our two friends stand up. they manage to mumble something before pushing their way out the doorway. it's just me, him, and her left. he notices the iridescent record on a table next to the couch.

"what's this?"

"oh, avery told me that you love records. especially this band, and it has your favorite song on it."

she stands up, padding her way over to his side.

"look, it even changes color when you move it around!"

he smiles broadly, winningly. i beam.

"thanks!"

"you're welcome," she and i both answer. they don't seem to hear me, and they kiss simply, but lovingly. i can almost hear my heart shattering on the ground, but this is not my place. i cannot cry here, this is not my place.

"i... i should go. i'll see you tomorrow, glass."

i pick my things up, and i'm almost out the door. his voice grabs my ears, stopping me.

"no, wait, you should stay for dinner."

"yeah," she agrees. "we have enough space for you."

"i'll make that lamb dish i know you like," glass says, his eyes showing something. somehow, i think he's on to me. but that's purely speculation. after all, i just deal with the facts.

"no thanks. you see, normally the first time two people sharing a domicile have dinner together, the person who doesn't live there leaves. so... i'll see you tomorrow."

i turn to face the door, push it open, and brush out without much ceremony. i haven't noticed that devon has followed me until he calls my name.

"avery!"

i whirl around, careful to plaster on an indifferent face.

"yeah?"

he's silent for a moment before mumbling, "see you tomorrow."

i try to smile, i really do, as hard as i can.

"yeah. good night."

as i turn around, i swear he's on to me. he's on to me, but for some reason, the door clicks shut behind me.

silver water, and communism.

so far, as of this moment (11:00 pm), i have only read silver water. i loved it. maybe because i love stories about the crazies, or maybe because i am one myself question mark.

agh2o (see what i did there? i'm definitely a dork.):
i'm not sure i really got why rose went crazy slash how she was crazy. she just seemed to not have any limitations on what she said slash did, thereby making her crazy only to society. also, bloom uses amazing metaphors, like the gold and silver voices, etc. i really super liked it! now, to address pov. 1st person. i'm not sure what else i'm supposed to say about pov... really. also, time passage on 78 is really really All Sorts of Wonderful. "watched the stars fade... and when they were invisible" and i was like oh my goodness, i wish i could write this goodly (that's not a word).

now, for communism. jay kay, communist.
(can't think of anything witty):
umm... what a weird story. i didn't like it. told from 1st person again, don't know what to do with that.

a warning and musicas.

so, another blogpost about music.
also, this is a warning. i have another blogpost coming, it's the assignment we turned in today. 


so right now, my two current obsessions are brooke fraser's "something in the water" (diane, claire, vicki, caitlin, and other people who've heard me singing random lines from it can attest to this) and also, just all of jon mclaughlin's stuff--it's quite good. industry, beautiful disaster, and human are his best ones in my opinion. so if you guys are looking for some good music, there are my recommendations. i'm sure that there will be more musica posts coming with quite some just out-there stuff as my music tastes are just all over the place. :)

reflections on girl. why is there no boy? muse:human

so, girl. (SO, GURRRRRRRL.)
no, but this was an interesting story. it was from a "teacher" point of view, telling a girl how to be a girl. kinda. which was just hilarious to read because kincaid was constantly like "don't be a slut like i know you wanna be" and i'm just over here laughing my head off. 'scuse me, i'm a boy. write a story for me please? :) in other words, i liked this one.

muse:
as i stare at his retreating figure, i finally feel some trace of regret. but not much, just a sliver. the wind blows my hair, and some strands flow across my eyes. i hate it when that happens. he's finally out of sight, but i think i can still see him from my vantage point up here on this beautiful hill. this beautiful hill that i'm going to hate for the rest of my life, simply because every time i come here, it'll remind me of what happened here. who knows, later, it might make me cry or smile, but for now it makes me angry. and sad. and all sorts of other emotions, but that's for another time. but... to risk my heart and put it on the line. that's not being stupid is it? isn't it just the same as just living, just being human?

musica, and oh my goodness. oh, and how to become a writer and also a bit of you're ugly, too.

so addressing oh em gee first:
i stayed away from the blog the entire weekend! well... more like since friday. which is easily explainable really... i had internship and then got home, ate dinner, and then went to youth group. and then saturday i... actually did a whole lot of nothing and maybe some chem (and by some, i mean like none at all, for those who are super curious) but yeah. and then today, i went to work, got home and then cleaned my room for my new desk (yay! now while i don't have a new computer, it sure as heck seems like i have a new one.) and then finally started on my homework... blog, whatever. i should do hw. really.

musicas. yes. mui importante. (that's about the extent of my spanish knowledge, don't get your hopes up.) brooke fraser has a new single (well... relatively new) called "something in the water." it's really country-esque and i'm kinda addicted to it (diane can testify to this) and then taylor swift's album is coming out this month and it's just All Sorts of Awesome. really.

how to become a writer was just All Sorts of Hilarious and it was great. lorrie moore has just an amazing style and i love it because it's hilarious in a snarky way, and she's just really really great. and then you're ugly, too has some great lines. i think i texted them to kayla, and they were just really great non-sequiturs... as follows:

• i swear, if this fucking xerox machine breaks on me one more time, i'm going to slit my wrists.
• a painting like that, it just makes you shit. 

and yeah. :) i haven't finished reading it yet, so no spoilers plx. okay. i shall go study for psych now. D:

reflections, reflections, and ow my head hurts a TON.

so.
half skinned steer.
i didn't even finish reading it.
i can't do it, it's too hardddddd. because it just doesn't make no sense, and emus is bad for claws. (no seriously, i know what that means, but it's just so bad.)

also, if you are following my blog, i apologize for flooding your blogwatch with just a bazillion posts a day. i just realized that this is probably the case for all of y'alls and it's probably a bit ridiculous (and because i just have nothing better to do with my time, apparently).

also, a headache. ouch. pain. like since i got home (around 6ish) and i just took advil and pain. D:

additionally, for anyone who really cared slash noticed, my naming options was the one that wasn't read in class today for obvious reasons (being the fact that we are in high school and apparently we cannot ever ever ever mention booze or sex or drugs or what. seriously.) but i really really think that one of the names sounded super legit! the first one, cognac city, sure, not too classy. but it still does give an air of sophistication. and the second one, lagerton, sounded super legit. like seriously. but, of course, since lager is a type of booze, it can't be there. so, sadface.

a temporary matter (of life and death?)

wow.
that's all i have to say about this story. (in case you can't hear my tone of voice through the typed characters, i like this story.)
lahiri is so talented at crafting settings, it's a little ridiculous. now i couldn't picture the characters, but that's not the focus of the story. until baltimore was mentioned, i pictured shukumar and shoba living somewhere in new york city, in more of the suburb-ish areas in a house just like the one from the stuart little movie. i could picture it all, and it was thanks to all the tiny details and nuances of setting that lahiri chose to include. it was pretty freaking amazing.

also, lahiri did a really good job at describing her characters--the way shoba sleeps, the way that shukumar knows how his wife looks like even in the dark... it was done extremely well. i'm thinking that one of the reasons why i liked all these details so much is because that's what i want in a significant other (which makes perfect sense)--i want someone who can tell how i'm feeling not by what i say but by my eyes, i want someone who just knows me inside and out (don't go places with that comment).

the darkness in the story was used so well to just show secrecy... and even when the lights went back on, shukumar and shoba still felt the need to confide to each other their final secrets in the dark. and i guess sometimes we need that separation, whether it's over the internet, through the phone, or just sitting together in the dark.