Because I can't write anything inspired right now, I figure I may as well write some drabble that no one will read. :D
I might as well explain my novel, yeah? I mean, I'm spending a month writing the shit out of it (and researching as I go, which is a whole 'nother story), so I feel I should at least try and explain WHY I'm writing it.
First of all, it's been a while since I read Hunger Games and I honestly didn't have Suzanne Collins in mind when I began writing the story of Daphne the Epic Bitchy Main Character. Not that I think Katniss is a bitch. She's sort of clueless, actually. But Daphne Watercress is despicable because she's the exact opposite of clueless and she uses every bit of information she gathers to manipulate people and get her way.
I've never written a character I didn't like. Not even my villains or antagonists were all that bad in my head because I understood them psychologically. So writing Daphne is a really strange experience. There's literally nothing I like about her. Except her best friend, Walker. Poor, poor Walker. Everyone loves him. I made him universally lovable on purpose so that when his heart breaks, the reader's heart breaks, too. And when he gets nommed on by a snake, the reader's right there with him writhing in the dirt while Daphne does her best to suck out the poison and fails. And when he gets sad about leaving his family behind, the reader's sad, too, even though they don't ever meet his family in the story.
It's a tragedy, really. I really wish Walker could be the one to change Daphne, and in the end he sort of is. But it's actually Logan--fabulously flawed Logan--who makes her realize how terrible she is. He's the one that silently pushes her to apologize for the first time in her life. How does he push her? By being just as HORRID as she is. Once she gets stuck with someone so much like her, she finally sees how big a bitch she is. It takes her a long time, but it does eventually happen. And when she tries to make things right, it's too late. Because, let's be realistic. I hate realistic endings, though (but I can't help but adore Sarah Dessen - damn her), so I designed it to be a little more governmentally twisted and somewhat hopeful. Sort of just like Mockingjay.
I apologize to Suzanne Collins for accidentally stealing your claim on bittersweet hope. Sort of.
So, basically, I didn't tell you anything about my story. Here's the main story line:
It hasn't rained for 30 years and the citizens of America have been split up over the country into tribes.
Daphne's mom gets married to the future leader of the tribe which gets Daphne pissed.
Daphne plans to run away with Walker once she discovers there's a city nearby.
The two of them embark on a long ass walk through desert, mountain and national park to get to Sacramento.
Walker gets holed up in the hospital and Daphne ditches him to go be a charity case foster kid to some middle class family after meeting Logan.
Walker gets out of the hospital and stalks Daphne until she's forced to talk to him.
Logan overhears them talking and "invites" them back to his place where a cornucopia of secrets is revealed.
Some shit happens and Walker decides to go on his own back to the tribe. Daphne goes with him and she brings Aunt Eadie back, but leaves Walker there.
More shit happens.
Three years pass and the government falls.
Daphne breaks up with Logan and returns to her tribe to try and convince them to move to the city. They chase her out of the camp.
She conspires to kill her baby half brother, but when she goes into the camp to do it, she's thrown into 'jail' and finds Logan already tied up there.
Walker helps them escape, gathers up his family and goes back to the city with Daphne and Logan.
All is well. Sort of.
That's the HIGHLY WATERED DOWN version. Go read my posts on Nicole's wall if you want the whole shebang. But it's only a little more informative than what I just gave you.
I don't think that really answered the "why" part of "why I'm writing this novel."
1. It's a challenge to write a character I despise.
2. It's a challenge to have every bad thing happen to the only good character in the whole story.
3. It's NaNoWriMo and when you only have 30 days to write 50,000 words, you fuckin' write whatever comes your way.
4. This is completely different from anything else I've ever written and I appreciate how unique it is (despite Hunger Games).
5. To be straight to the point, Urinetown inspired me to research Malthus and he fascinated me, the crazy old coot.
So there it is. It's called The After, but I really want to find a better name. It'll be stand alone, of course. And The After really works, but it just sounds so boring. =/
Oh well. I'll figure out the title when I finish it.
Happy NaNoWriMoing! :)
Friday, November 12, 2010
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Trying Poetry...Again.
So, I don't read poetry, I don't write poetry, I don't really care about poetry. Ironically, the first piece I ever had published was a poem.
Something's been bothering me for over a month now and I couldn't figure out how to deal with it. Then, at 12:30 am yesterday, as I was trying to fall asleep in my boss's living room to the sound of a little boy crying, the first line of a poem popped into my head. (For the record, this poem is NOT about the crying little boy.) From there, everything else just fell into place in my head. I wrote it out as a prose poem last night before bed and revisited it today. I like it as prose poetry, but I liked it even better as poetry, so I broke it up, enjambed it to my liking, added concrete imagery and ended up with this:
Left Unsaid
Sometimes, I really
Can’t stand you.
Like when you relate everything
Back to sex.
Or how you never ask about
My opinions or thoughts.
My favorite position
On what issue?
Then I see you in person
And you’re attractive
With your ashy blonde hair and
Your whiter than eggshells smile.
You’ve got this scent,
Light as celery and
Prominent as peppermint.
You tease to make me laugh,
So I flirt
Because it’s easy.
I like to see you objectify me.
I like to twist you through my fingers
Until you can’t escape.
I like to think of you as my conquest.
Not yours.
You say I make you nervous,
That you can’t think straight around me.
You ask me
All the time
If I’ve forgotten you.
It’s how you start every
Conversation that ends pointlessly.
You say you really like me.
Which part of me?
You never said until
You got in my bed.
The immature part of me says
I should be happy
Because I won the
Battle of sexes.
The grown woman in me
Stays silent because
She feels nothing.
And neither do I.
No success or disappointment,
And no attachment to you.
Just emptiness and complete
Disinterest.
What goes left unsaid
Is why I bothered with you at all?
I have no answer.
As you can see, it needs some work. I got rid of the biggest cliches, but I've been trained to hunt down and eradicate every cliche in a piece of literature or poetry, so even things like the word "bothered" bothers me. And the ending stanza was a last minute addition that is VERY WEAK. Especially the last line. Gross.
Oh well. I'm gonna try and get my professors to help me with it (since I'm not in a poetry class where I could workshop it) and get it cleaned up in time to hand it into the Acorn Review (of which I'm an editor). I'd turn it in as is, but I'd rather have it down to minimal errors before the editing staff rips it to shreds in front of me. :P
Comments and constructive criticism is welcome! So is telling me I should stick to fiction writing - I know I'm no poet. :P
Something's been bothering me for over a month now and I couldn't figure out how to deal with it. Then, at 12:30 am yesterday, as I was trying to fall asleep in my boss's living room to the sound of a little boy crying, the first line of a poem popped into my head. (For the record, this poem is NOT about the crying little boy.) From there, everything else just fell into place in my head. I wrote it out as a prose poem last night before bed and revisited it today. I like it as prose poetry, but I liked it even better as poetry, so I broke it up, enjambed it to my liking, added concrete imagery and ended up with this:
Left Unsaid
Sometimes, I really
Can’t stand you.
Like when you relate everything
Back to sex.
Or how you never ask about
My opinions or thoughts.
My favorite position
On what issue?
Then I see you in person
And you’re attractive
With your ashy blonde hair and
Your whiter than eggshells smile.
You’ve got this scent,
Light as celery and
Prominent as peppermint.
You tease to make me laugh,
So I flirt
Because it’s easy.
I like to see you objectify me.
I like to twist you through my fingers
Until you can’t escape.
I like to think of you as my conquest.
Not yours.
You say I make you nervous,
That you can’t think straight around me.
You ask me
All the time
If I’ve forgotten you.
It’s how you start every
Conversation that ends pointlessly.
You say you really like me.
Which part of me?
You never said until
You got in my bed.
The immature part of me says
I should be happy
Because I won the
Battle of sexes.
The grown woman in me
Stays silent because
She feels nothing.
And neither do I.
No success or disappointment,
And no attachment to you.
Just emptiness and complete
Disinterest.
What goes left unsaid
Is why I bothered with you at all?
I have no answer.
As you can see, it needs some work. I got rid of the biggest cliches, but I've been trained to hunt down and eradicate every cliche in a piece of literature or poetry, so even things like the word "bothered" bothers me. And the ending stanza was a last minute addition that is VERY WEAK. Especially the last line. Gross.
Oh well. I'm gonna try and get my professors to help me with it (since I'm not in a poetry class where I could workshop it) and get it cleaned up in time to hand it into the Acorn Review (of which I'm an editor). I'd turn it in as is, but I'd rather have it down to minimal errors before the editing staff rips it to shreds in front of me. :P
Comments and constructive criticism is welcome! So is telling me I should stick to fiction writing - I know I'm no poet. :P
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Finals Week?! Whaaaa?
It's amazing how lacking in drive I am right now. Finals start next week and I'm seriously considering skipping my anthropology test.
I've always been a fairly inconsistent student, but when you add a hatred for the school, the fifteen minute drive it takes to get to the school and the idiocy of the professors there waiting for me, it makes it really hard for me to find the will to get out of bed or to even hop in my car and go to class.
I'll fail anthropology even if I don't go to the final, but I might as well go and try to get myself a high F. Guitar's gonna murder me since I'm terrible with strumming patterns and switching chords. Creative Writing is the only class I feel I'll pass with flying colors. I wasn't always in attendance, but I worked my ass off on the assignments and it paid off. I'm now published and soon to be published again.
This tells me what I should do next semester: Stick with the English program.
I'm going to start private guitar lessons this summer (hopefully, if it doesn't cost too much with the added bonus of paying rent), so taking a class in the fall would be a waste of time and money (even though I adore Benedetti). Anth I'll just take again with a better teacher. Might as well.
English, however, will fill my schedule (hopefully). I know I want to take Novel Writing and the editing class (Acorn Review). I need one (maybe two) more three unit classes to be made full time and still have a little leeway if I decide to drop a class.
I have all of summer to figure it out.
But first, I need to start studying for finals.
I've always been a fairly inconsistent student, but when you add a hatred for the school, the fifteen minute drive it takes to get to the school and the idiocy of the professors there waiting for me, it makes it really hard for me to find the will to get out of bed or to even hop in my car and go to class.
I'll fail anthropology even if I don't go to the final, but I might as well go and try to get myself a high F. Guitar's gonna murder me since I'm terrible with strumming patterns and switching chords. Creative Writing is the only class I feel I'll pass with flying colors. I wasn't always in attendance, but I worked my ass off on the assignments and it paid off. I'm now published and soon to be published again.
This tells me what I should do next semester: Stick with the English program.
I'm going to start private guitar lessons this summer (hopefully, if it doesn't cost too much with the added bonus of paying rent), so taking a class in the fall would be a waste of time and money (even though I adore Benedetti). Anth I'll just take again with a better teacher. Might as well.
English, however, will fill my schedule (hopefully). I know I want to take Novel Writing and the editing class (Acorn Review). I need one (maybe two) more three unit classes to be made full time and still have a little leeway if I decide to drop a class.
I have all of summer to figure it out.
But first, I need to start studying for finals.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Horror Stories
In grade school, there was this kid Eric. He was friends with everyone, but for some reason the popular kids thought he was awkward (when what’s really awkward is that the popular kids managed to be popular in a school with only 40 students). I don’t know where Eric is now, but I know he was in high school for 5 years. Anyway, I remember one year for English, we all had to write horror stories. Every story based on the students in class had a common theme: Eric’s death.
I wonder how he felt about that. I wonder if hearing his own death scene in ten different versions scarred him in an irreversible way. I wonder if I’m to blame for some of his bad childhood memories. I wonder if he even remembers that assignment.
I wonder how he felt about that. I wonder if hearing his own death scene in ten different versions scarred him in an irreversible way. I wonder if I’m to blame for some of his bad childhood memories. I wonder if he even remembers that assignment.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
New Leaves
On the subject of Teresa, there are some bright, magnanimous memories, and there are also some really terrible ones. For a little over a year, she was my best friend. Lucy and I weren't the closest of friends junior year and we remedied a good portion of that senior year, but it was Teresa that I bonded most with. Coco was there, too, but Reesa and I were together more often and Coco was busy with her romantic interests.
It's kind of funny how it all worked out. Reesa always saved time for her friends when she was dating Nick. I wasn't the biggest fan of him (and he turned into a giant d-bag once they were really, officially over), but he wasn't the most interesting person, so it was easy for her to divide up her time between him and friends and family.
At my "good riddance" party the day before I left for my 5 day roadtrip across the continental US, Coco cried when she said goodbye to me. I only cried when I said goodbye to Teresa, even though she was going the same way 19 days after me.
That was when everything changed. I didn't even know what was happening until it was all over.
I made all sorts of new friends and new best friends, and I did my best to keep my old friends, too. Maybe I changed. I don't really know. Maybe I was just adapting. Maybe that's what Teresa did, too.
Looking through the old "love" book we used to write in, I could see that we had interesting and at least semi-thoughtful conversations. Sometimes it was just funny stuff, or random stuff, but most of the time, it was stuff that really mattered to us.
At some point during our first year in college, those conversations stopped. When I wanted or needed to say something that mattered, she had to talk about boys. Or sex. Or how what's-his-face said such and such to her and how that made her want to drop her pants.
When I got back to this coast during the summer, I found out how often she'd lied to me to keep me from hating her or being disappointed in her. And honestly, if she'd just been up front about it, I would've been angry, but at least I would still have had some respect for her character.
Coco, Nelle and I confronted her about her behavior last summer, too. She promised to be different, and with her boyfriend on the east coast, she was different. She was herself. Or, well, one version of herself. I can't pretend I don't know how people edit their social selves to keep it separate from their alone selves. But either way, she was back to "normal" and we were all pretty happy about it. But in the back of our minds we knew, the moment she went back there, she'd just fall back into that new persona and probably get worse.
We were right.
At first, I only got a few texts from her, sometimes of pictures of her and Ty, or her new haircut, and the like. Then there was nothing. For about five months, there was complete silence. One day, I got a text from her saying she had a box in my grandparents' storage and could I please be her owl and let my grandparents know she wanted it back. I gave her my grandparents' number and told her to figure it out herself. After that, I didn't hear anything else from her until the day I announced on facebook that I was going back to PA for spring break. We talked a little about it, she brought up the storage thing again ('cause she just never got around to doing anything about it), and that was the end of it.
I was shocked, therefore, when I looked on facebook yesterday and discovered that she'd tagged me in a note titled "This is probably wayyy long overdue..." She addressed about 8 of us directly, and in the letter to me she said she knew what I thought had happened to our friendship.
It's not exactly hard to figure out. She dropped her dignity with her pants and I didn't bother to keep in contact. I would've just heard the same sex stories over and over again. Why bother?
Apparently, though, she's turning over a new leaf. Again.
I still love her, even if I have to think back to all the good times we had senior year to acknowledge it, but I can't help but wonder: How long will it last THIS time...?
It's kind of funny how it all worked out. Reesa always saved time for her friends when she was dating Nick. I wasn't the biggest fan of him (and he turned into a giant d-bag once they were really, officially over), but he wasn't the most interesting person, so it was easy for her to divide up her time between him and friends and family.
At my "good riddance" party the day before I left for my 5 day roadtrip across the continental US, Coco cried when she said goodbye to me. I only cried when I said goodbye to Teresa, even though she was going the same way 19 days after me.
That was when everything changed. I didn't even know what was happening until it was all over.
I made all sorts of new friends and new best friends, and I did my best to keep my old friends, too. Maybe I changed. I don't really know. Maybe I was just adapting. Maybe that's what Teresa did, too.
Looking through the old "love" book we used to write in, I could see that we had interesting and at least semi-thoughtful conversations. Sometimes it was just funny stuff, or random stuff, but most of the time, it was stuff that really mattered to us.
At some point during our first year in college, those conversations stopped. When I wanted or needed to say something that mattered, she had to talk about boys. Or sex. Or how what's-his-face said such and such to her and how that made her want to drop her pants.
When I got back to this coast during the summer, I found out how often she'd lied to me to keep me from hating her or being disappointed in her. And honestly, if she'd just been up front about it, I would've been angry, but at least I would still have had some respect for her character.
Coco, Nelle and I confronted her about her behavior last summer, too. She promised to be different, and with her boyfriend on the east coast, she was different. She was herself. Or, well, one version of herself. I can't pretend I don't know how people edit their social selves to keep it separate from their alone selves. But either way, she was back to "normal" and we were all pretty happy about it. But in the back of our minds we knew, the moment she went back there, she'd just fall back into that new persona and probably get worse.
We were right.
At first, I only got a few texts from her, sometimes of pictures of her and Ty, or her new haircut, and the like. Then there was nothing. For about five months, there was complete silence. One day, I got a text from her saying she had a box in my grandparents' storage and could I please be her owl and let my grandparents know she wanted it back. I gave her my grandparents' number and told her to figure it out herself. After that, I didn't hear anything else from her until the day I announced on facebook that I was going back to PA for spring break. We talked a little about it, she brought up the storage thing again ('cause she just never got around to doing anything about it), and that was the end of it.
I was shocked, therefore, when I looked on facebook yesterday and discovered that she'd tagged me in a note titled "This is probably wayyy long overdue..." She addressed about 8 of us directly, and in the letter to me she said she knew what I thought had happened to our friendship.
It's not exactly hard to figure out. She dropped her dignity with her pants and I didn't bother to keep in contact. I would've just heard the same sex stories over and over again. Why bother?
Apparently, though, she's turning over a new leaf. Again.
I still love her, even if I have to think back to all the good times we had senior year to acknowledge it, but I can't help but wonder: How long will it last THIS time...?
Grass Is Greener
Wrote this the Wednesday night of my departure from Etown and it's taken this long for Blogger to stop being a giant bag of douche:
I cried again when I left. It was harder than the first time when I still held the belief that I would be back in just a few short months. It was so much harder to say goodbye while thinking of how I had no idea if I could ever come back. I don’t just mean for a visit, either. Visits just aren’t good enough. They aren’t good enough for me and they aren’t good enough for these people I’ve grown to call my “other family.” It feels wrong to just visit them. Like I’m just teasing. Like I’m not serious about it. Like I don’t think, at least once a day, how much I would do anything to go back and stay.
I wish I was exaggerating. I wish it wasn’t a constant longing. I wish I didn’t have to wake up every morning and realize that I’m in a bedroom, alone, in my parents’ house on the other side of the country from the room I should be in. The room that I shared with Elisabeth, that served as my home for a year, that contained so many memories and so much love and laughter. That is the room I should be in when I wake up every day. But it’s not.
And what’s holding me back? What on earth could keep me from the one place where I really, truly belong? It’s the same thing we all hear in news on a daily basis. If only we all had a little more money, everything would be better.
“The love of money is the root of all evil.” I’ve known this since I was old enough to sit and pay attention in Sunday school. I won’t lie, I love money. I love having it. Having money means freedom. I can buy whatever I want, go wherever I want, see whatever I want. Absolute freedom. Freedom comes with a cost, and it’s the everyday currency. It’s not lives or wars or peace treaties. When it all comes down to it, it’s money. Money, money, money. And let me tell you, if I had $50,000, there’s only one place I would be.
People ask me all the time how I ended up there. How could a girl, born and raised in San Diego, California, a city girl, choose to live in a place that is literally in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by dairy farms and the occasional McDonalds? When people ask me this it’s because they don’t get it. I mean, they ask me because they think it’s ridiculous. San Diego has near-perfect climate, four beaches within a thirty-mile radius, beautiful scenery and sunshine 52 weeks of the year. They honestly don’t get it.
They don’t get that San Diego is always the same. That the people are always the same, narrow-minded, judgmental people. That the streets are always the same. That the idiots are always the same. Don’t they get it? Don’t they understand what it’s like to be bored? Don’t they understand that the novelty of going to the same places and seeing all the same faces and driving all the same streets all the time wears off and becomes…boring? They may think cow towns are boring, but I have to disagree. Sure, you may have to drive a little further to find a mall or a good restaurant or a Wawa, but adventures happen on the way there. Yeah, you might get snowed in once or twice a year, but who doesn’t enjoy a little time off from studying to go play in the snow?
My point is, people may think San Diego is exciting, but I think having different adventures every day, on the road, in the dorms, around the town…all that is way more exciting. It requires imagination, patience and good humor. It requires people who are all vastly different, yet all equally good.
So is it really a ridiculous concept? Do you really need to ask me why I’m so desperate to come back?
I think the answer is fairly obvious. I suppose the grass may look greener on the other side, but, honey, I’ve been on both sides of the fence and I can tell you for certain that the grass is greener in Elizabethtown.
I cried again when I left. It was harder than the first time when I still held the belief that I would be back in just a few short months. It was so much harder to say goodbye while thinking of how I had no idea if I could ever come back. I don’t just mean for a visit, either. Visits just aren’t good enough. They aren’t good enough for me and they aren’t good enough for these people I’ve grown to call my “other family.” It feels wrong to just visit them. Like I’m just teasing. Like I’m not serious about it. Like I don’t think, at least once a day, how much I would do anything to go back and stay.
I wish I was exaggerating. I wish it wasn’t a constant longing. I wish I didn’t have to wake up every morning and realize that I’m in a bedroom, alone, in my parents’ house on the other side of the country from the room I should be in. The room that I shared with Elisabeth, that served as my home for a year, that contained so many memories and so much love and laughter. That is the room I should be in when I wake up every day. But it’s not.
And what’s holding me back? What on earth could keep me from the one place where I really, truly belong? It’s the same thing we all hear in news on a daily basis. If only we all had a little more money, everything would be better.
“The love of money is the root of all evil.” I’ve known this since I was old enough to sit and pay attention in Sunday school. I won’t lie, I love money. I love having it. Having money means freedom. I can buy whatever I want, go wherever I want, see whatever I want. Absolute freedom. Freedom comes with a cost, and it’s the everyday currency. It’s not lives or wars or peace treaties. When it all comes down to it, it’s money. Money, money, money. And let me tell you, if I had $50,000, there’s only one place I would be.
People ask me all the time how I ended up there. How could a girl, born and raised in San Diego, California, a city girl, choose to live in a place that is literally in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by dairy farms and the occasional McDonalds? When people ask me this it’s because they don’t get it. I mean, they ask me because they think it’s ridiculous. San Diego has near-perfect climate, four beaches within a thirty-mile radius, beautiful scenery and sunshine 52 weeks of the year. They honestly don’t get it.
They don’t get that San Diego is always the same. That the people are always the same, narrow-minded, judgmental people. That the streets are always the same. That the idiots are always the same. Don’t they get it? Don’t they understand what it’s like to be bored? Don’t they understand that the novelty of going to the same places and seeing all the same faces and driving all the same streets all the time wears off and becomes…boring? They may think cow towns are boring, but I have to disagree. Sure, you may have to drive a little further to find a mall or a good restaurant or a Wawa, but adventures happen on the way there. Yeah, you might get snowed in once or twice a year, but who doesn’t enjoy a little time off from studying to go play in the snow?
My point is, people may think San Diego is exciting, but I think having different adventures every day, on the road, in the dorms, around the town…all that is way more exciting. It requires imagination, patience and good humor. It requires people who are all vastly different, yet all equally good.
So is it really a ridiculous concept? Do you really need to ask me why I’m so desperate to come back?
I think the answer is fairly obvious. I suppose the grass may look greener on the other side, but, honey, I’ve been on both sides of the fence and I can tell you for certain that the grass is greener in Elizabethtown.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
On Boobs and Why I Generally Hate Them
Okay, this has been bothering me for HOURS now, and I know I won't be able to sleep until I vent about it. I don't wanna do it over text, either, 'cause that'll take too effing long.
I'm going to touch on a couple different things here. I may have already ranted about the first one, but I don't care at the moment. I'm gonna do it again.
Listen up, boys. When I tell you I think your eyes are pretty, you don't fucking tell me my rack is pretty. You're talking about the bags of fat and glands I've had to carry around for eight years. I had to start wearing bras every day - uncomfortable bras. I had to wear sports bras whenever I was playing sports (which, for the record, I played year round starting in 8th grade, and from 3rd-7th grade I played during the school year). When I got into high school, I had to wear TWO sports bras when I played volleyball 'cause otherwise they'd get caught in the net if I got too close. These are the things that ache like migraines once a month. These are the things I've spent most of my life covering up because I don't like to look like a hooker. So don't fucking compliment my boobs.
And the last thing: If you're bitter about me moving on, you don't tell my BOSS you think I'm a slut who shows off her boobs too much. Um, excuse me? What the hell even prompted this? Especially since we happened to be in the same room as an exotic dancer with a boob job and low-cut shirt? For your information, I was wearing two shirts, one tank top and one v-neck shirt over it...TO AVOID SHOWING TOO MUCH CLEAVAGE. And the last time you saw me? Um, yeah, a spaghetti strap shirt underneath a purple boat neck top with minimal cleavage showing. The time before that? A long-sleeve shirt. Tonight? I Threadless shirt that went all the way up to my neck.
Don't go talking shit to my boss because you're sad the college girl you made out with once is no longer looking for a rebound and thinks you're creepy as hell. Go get a nose reduction, cretin.
I'm going to touch on a couple different things here. I may have already ranted about the first one, but I don't care at the moment. I'm gonna do it again.
Listen up, boys. When I tell you I think your eyes are pretty, you don't fucking tell me my rack is pretty. You're talking about the bags of fat and glands I've had to carry around for eight years. I had to start wearing bras every day - uncomfortable bras. I had to wear sports bras whenever I was playing sports (which, for the record, I played year round starting in 8th grade, and from 3rd-7th grade I played during the school year). When I got into high school, I had to wear TWO sports bras when I played volleyball 'cause otherwise they'd get caught in the net if I got too close. These are the things that ache like migraines once a month. These are the things I've spent most of my life covering up because I don't like to look like a hooker. So don't fucking compliment my boobs.
And the last thing: If you're bitter about me moving on, you don't tell my BOSS you think I'm a slut who shows off her boobs too much. Um, excuse me? What the hell even prompted this? Especially since we happened to be in the same room as an exotic dancer with a boob job and low-cut shirt? For your information, I was wearing two shirts, one tank top and one v-neck shirt over it...TO AVOID SHOWING TOO MUCH CLEAVAGE. And the last time you saw me? Um, yeah, a spaghetti strap shirt underneath a purple boat neck top with minimal cleavage showing. The time before that? A long-sleeve shirt. Tonight? I Threadless shirt that went all the way up to my neck.
Don't go talking shit to my boss because you're sad the college girl you made out with once is no longer looking for a rebound and thinks you're creepy as hell. Go get a nose reduction, cretin.
Monday, February 15, 2010
English 126 - Creative Nonfiction Assignment
(Note: This was written for my creative writing class. It is entirely true and not exaggerated. I ask that you don't judge me or my friend for what happened, but feel free to judge the only boy mentioned in this piece.)
It was late in an early sort of way. Late because I was fully conscious of the time I had to be awake for work in the morning, early because I didn't really want the night to end.
I can't really remember if the TV was on--not that we exactly needed it; we were each others sources of entertainment for the night. And what a night it was. It was almost like a regular, every day sleepover, the kinds we had the last time when we were all splitting up. I guess it was a sad imitation of those times. We weren't just saying temporary goodbyes. Teresa wouldn't be back on this coast anytime soon.
Still, it was nice to pretend there was nothing to worry about and no one to say goodbye to. I think, maybe, the worst part was knowing I wanted to go in Teresa's place. I wanted to go back there and live the rest of my college years in that tiny little cow town that every so often filled with the scent of freshly made chocolate and M&Ms. She was going back and I...I was stuck here for God only knows how long.
It wasn't all bad. She was just one friend out of many. I still had Coco, Jenelle, Angela, Matt...
Matt.
Glancing at Coco I realized I wasn't the only one trying to hide away some deeper part of myself for the sake of making this party a happy last memory of San Diego for Teresa. She had just been dumped by her first true love. And me? Well, things weren't going so well on that battlefield for me either.
Coco was diligently writing in my physics notebook, responding to a letter I had composed to her weeks before while bored at work. Her face was strangely blank but I didn't really think about it at the moment because Teresa had disappeared with Angela to talk about the stuff they always wanted to talk about: boys and sex. Used to this, Jenelle and I made the most of their absence and talked about some mundane topic that I can't quite recall. Coco was between us, fully focused on the task at hand. Finally, she handed it to me.
I read through the first two paragraphs and looked up at her laughing. I was cut short by the haunted glaze of her eyes, so I kept on reading.
'As your best friend I have to tell you something. You might be mad at me for it but you deserve to know anyway... Matt and I screwed around.'
She went on from there to explain that it had made her feel terrible and that it shouldn't have happened. The entire time I was reading, she had this expression of abject fear--the kind of fear that makes you want to cry.
It's hard to explain why I did what I did. All I knew was that some guy that I had wasted three years of my life on had stabbed me in the back, twisted the knife, and walked away without a guilty conscience. In his wake, he left two girls--best friends--who didn't even know the basics of how to deal with the stupidity of young men.
Not a single tear escaped me as I reached over to her and pulled her into the tightest hug I could manage.
It was late in an early sort of way. Late because I was fully conscious of the time I had to be awake for work in the morning, early because I didn't really want the night to end.
I can't really remember if the TV was on--not that we exactly needed it; we were each others sources of entertainment for the night. And what a night it was. It was almost like a regular, every day sleepover, the kinds we had the last time when we were all splitting up. I guess it was a sad imitation of those times. We weren't just saying temporary goodbyes. Teresa wouldn't be back on this coast anytime soon.
Still, it was nice to pretend there was nothing to worry about and no one to say goodbye to. I think, maybe, the worst part was knowing I wanted to go in Teresa's place. I wanted to go back there and live the rest of my college years in that tiny little cow town that every so often filled with the scent of freshly made chocolate and M&Ms. She was going back and I...I was stuck here for God only knows how long.
It wasn't all bad. She was just one friend out of many. I still had Coco, Jenelle, Angela, Matt...
Matt.
Glancing at Coco I realized I wasn't the only one trying to hide away some deeper part of myself for the sake of making this party a happy last memory of San Diego for Teresa. She had just been dumped by her first true love. And me? Well, things weren't going so well on that battlefield for me either.
Coco was diligently writing in my physics notebook, responding to a letter I had composed to her weeks before while bored at work. Her face was strangely blank but I didn't really think about it at the moment because Teresa had disappeared with Angela to talk about the stuff they always wanted to talk about: boys and sex. Used to this, Jenelle and I made the most of their absence and talked about some mundane topic that I can't quite recall. Coco was between us, fully focused on the task at hand. Finally, she handed it to me.
I read through the first two paragraphs and looked up at her laughing. I was cut short by the haunted glaze of her eyes, so I kept on reading.
'As your best friend I have to tell you something. You might be mad at me for it but you deserve to know anyway... Matt and I screwed around.'
She went on from there to explain that it had made her feel terrible and that it shouldn't have happened. The entire time I was reading, she had this expression of abject fear--the kind of fear that makes you want to cry.
It's hard to explain why I did what I did. All I knew was that some guy that I had wasted three years of my life on had stabbed me in the back, twisted the knife, and walked away without a guilty conscience. In his wake, he left two girls--best friends--who didn't even know the basics of how to deal with the stupidity of young men.
Not a single tear escaped me as I reached over to her and pulled her into the tightest hug I could manage.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Novel Writing Assignment
So, I was told I needed to find images of what my characters look like ideally. Instead of posting them all in this, I'll just put a link to my twitpic account so you can see them yourself. :)
http://twitpic.com/photos/slytherinchick
It took me FOREVER to find Marid. I went through about 20 pages of Middle Eastern young adult males on Getty images, narrowed it down to multiracial males, and eventually found my Marid. I seriously sat here in my computer chair with my mouth open in awe for a full minute when I found him. He's not completely perfect, though. For example, I describe him as having "dark eyes," and I always envisioned him a little more masculine in the jaw and lips, but...I saw this collection of photos with this Middle Eastern man and I realized I'd been going the wrong direction. Alexa describes him as "beautiful" and that's what comes to mind when I look at this picture. So all I need to do is photoshop his eyes to make them dark brown and he's absolutely perfect. :D
The others were a bit easier to find. I kind of realized I wanted Megan Fox to 'play' Aeris after Alexa asks if Megan Fox is Aeris' mirror in the Regular world. At first I had Angelina Jolie's name in there, but then I remembered that Angelina doesn't have blue eyes or wavy dark brown hair. Guess who does? :P
For Jon, all I knew was that he had to be classically handsome, muscular, blonde, blue-eyed, and a little arrogant looking. Who better than Chris Pine as Captain Kirk? He fits the bill perfectly.
Finding Alexa was harder. She's honestly the most average girl you can think of. Average height, medium-length brunette hair (stick straight), average build (though slightly muscular in the shoulders from years of softball), brown eyes, average size lips, average size nose, average size forehead...you get the idea. She's just average. Finding an average famous person is the hardest feat in the world, so I tried two outlets to finding my Alexa. I Google searched 'average brunette young adult female' and came up with nothing, so I checked all my other picture folders that I keep 'characters' in and found Leighton Meester of Gossip Girl fame. I personally think Leighton is gorgeous, so she's a little too pretty to be Alexa, but I found a couple pictures where she's got on casual clothes and very little makeup and those seemed to work out.
My second route to finding Alexa was using Getty again. I found the photographer who did Marid's pictures and I just skimmed through a couple pages of her photos until I found a picture of a very average (yet still attractive) young woman. She's not ugly, she's not breathtakingly gorgeous, she's just...average.
I still haven't decided if I've found the perfect Alexa yet. She's the only one I didn't have a "That's the one!" moment for, so...she's still up in the air. I'll be sure to keep you updated on my hunt, though. :)
http://twitpic.com/photos/slytherinchick
It took me FOREVER to find Marid. I went through about 20 pages of Middle Eastern young adult males on Getty images, narrowed it down to multiracial males, and eventually found my Marid. I seriously sat here in my computer chair with my mouth open in awe for a full minute when I found him. He's not completely perfect, though. For example, I describe him as having "dark eyes," and I always envisioned him a little more masculine in the jaw and lips, but...I saw this collection of photos with this Middle Eastern man and I realized I'd been going the wrong direction. Alexa describes him as "beautiful" and that's what comes to mind when I look at this picture. So all I need to do is photoshop his eyes to make them dark brown and he's absolutely perfect. :D
The others were a bit easier to find. I kind of realized I wanted Megan Fox to 'play' Aeris after Alexa asks if Megan Fox is Aeris' mirror in the Regular world. At first I had Angelina Jolie's name in there, but then I remembered that Angelina doesn't have blue eyes or wavy dark brown hair. Guess who does? :P
For Jon, all I knew was that he had to be classically handsome, muscular, blonde, blue-eyed, and a little arrogant looking. Who better than Chris Pine as Captain Kirk? He fits the bill perfectly.
Finding Alexa was harder. She's honestly the most average girl you can think of. Average height, medium-length brunette hair (stick straight), average build (though slightly muscular in the shoulders from years of softball), brown eyes, average size lips, average size nose, average size forehead...you get the idea. She's just average. Finding an average famous person is the hardest feat in the world, so I tried two outlets to finding my Alexa. I Google searched 'average brunette young adult female' and came up with nothing, so I checked all my other picture folders that I keep 'characters' in and found Leighton Meester of Gossip Girl fame. I personally think Leighton is gorgeous, so she's a little too pretty to be Alexa, but I found a couple pictures where she's got on casual clothes and very little makeup and those seemed to work out.
My second route to finding Alexa was using Getty again. I found the photographer who did Marid's pictures and I just skimmed through a couple pages of her photos until I found a picture of a very average (yet still attractive) young woman. She's not ugly, she's not breathtakingly gorgeous, she's just...average.
I still haven't decided if I've found the perfect Alexa yet. She's the only one I didn't have a "That's the one!" moment for, so...she's still up in the air. I'll be sure to keep you updated on my hunt, though. :)
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Confessions, Questions
Oh, boy, here we go.
Confession time.
1. I said I was going to watch every season of Pokemon ever made on this awesome website shown to me by @3sixty5days...but I never even went back to the website after I bookmarked it initially.
2. I said I was gonna try playing WoW. Instead, I played MapleStory. Once.
3. I needed to have my ten page paper done by 5 PM last Friday. It still only has two sentences written and it's almost Sunday.
4. I wanted to hang out with Lucy before she left for school, but everything got so hectic while my cousin was here that I ran out of opportunities.
5. I ate McDonald's three times in a row for breakfast last week, spending a grand total of $12.40 that I will never get back...and probably adding on ten pounds that will take a year off my life.
6. Instead of editing, I've been writing scenes for the sequel. 10,000 words worth of scenes.
The point of this is that I'm TERRIBLE at setting goals and achieving them. Seriously. How have I made it almost 20 years? How did I graduate high school? How am I actually not on academic probation in college?
It's gotten to the point where I'm legitimately worried for myself. What am I doing with my life right now? I'm focusing on stupid boys and how to throw the perfect birthday party and how to spend my summer in bliss. I should be focusing on school and work and my friends.
I need to seriously rethink my life and what I want to do with it, 'cause right now I have no idea. I don't know what I want to do after school. I don't even know where I want to go after I'm done at Grossmont. Ideally, I'd love to get my Associates, go back to Etown, graduate with a 3.5, write a best-selling novel, fall in love, and be the next JK Rowling. Realistically, I never had the money to go to Etown, even when I was there, and I'm riding a 2.6 GPA that will be incredibly hard to bring up, and with my dismal writing skills and lack of ambition to actually edit the one piece of work I somewhat like and am proud of, I'll never get that best-seller or be as rich as the queen of England. Not to mention that every boy I know now is either not my type, too stupid to be in nerdfighterlike with me, or a smoker.
So, here are the questions I need to answer:
1. What do you do with a BA in English?
2. What is my life going to be?
3. Four years of college, and plenty of knowledge...ahem. Sorry. Continue to number four.
4. How much would I need to save to go back to PA?
5. Can I afford to rent and/or pay for PA State tuition?
6. How much effort can I put into my novel while going to school and working? Is it worth it?
7. Do I really want to focus on music as well as English, or should I just stick to English after this semester?
8. Am I just going to sit back and let them come to me, or do I give chase? How do I know if it's right?
I know I act like I don't care about these things a lot, but in reality I'm always thinking about them. I don't usually like to explain this kind of stuff verbally, and since most of my more personal interactions are done in person, I just don't talk about it. I don't want to say it wrong or hear a long-winded speech about it. I don't want people to make a fuss about it. I'm doing enough fussing of my own.
I'm always open to advice or discussions on this stuff...so long as it's written down. I do need help. I do. Just don't make a big deal out of it if you do want to help me. I'm not freaking out on the outside, so you shouldn't either.
And for the record, I'm not anxious about it all. I've got a lot of time to figure it all out. I'm way too laid back to get nail-biting nervous about stuff that will happen in the next couple years. So, no worries there. :P
Confession time.
1. I said I was going to watch every season of Pokemon ever made on this awesome website shown to me by @3sixty5days...but I never even went back to the website after I bookmarked it initially.
2. I said I was gonna try playing WoW. Instead, I played MapleStory. Once.
3. I needed to have my ten page paper done by 5 PM last Friday. It still only has two sentences written and it's almost Sunday.
4. I wanted to hang out with Lucy before she left for school, but everything got so hectic while my cousin was here that I ran out of opportunities.
5. I ate McDonald's three times in a row for breakfast last week, spending a grand total of $12.40 that I will never get back...and probably adding on ten pounds that will take a year off my life.
6. Instead of editing, I've been writing scenes for the sequel. 10,000 words worth of scenes.
The point of this is that I'm TERRIBLE at setting goals and achieving them. Seriously. How have I made it almost 20 years? How did I graduate high school? How am I actually not on academic probation in college?
It's gotten to the point where I'm legitimately worried for myself. What am I doing with my life right now? I'm focusing on stupid boys and how to throw the perfect birthday party and how to spend my summer in bliss. I should be focusing on school and work and my friends.
I need to seriously rethink my life and what I want to do with it, 'cause right now I have no idea. I don't know what I want to do after school. I don't even know where I want to go after I'm done at Grossmont. Ideally, I'd love to get my Associates, go back to Etown, graduate with a 3.5, write a best-selling novel, fall in love, and be the next JK Rowling. Realistically, I never had the money to go to Etown, even when I was there, and I'm riding a 2.6 GPA that will be incredibly hard to bring up, and with my dismal writing skills and lack of ambition to actually edit the one piece of work I somewhat like and am proud of, I'll never get that best-seller or be as rich as the queen of England. Not to mention that every boy I know now is either not my type, too stupid to be in nerdfighterlike with me, or a smoker.
So, here are the questions I need to answer:
1. What do you do with a BA in English?
2. What is my life going to be?
3. Four years of college, and plenty of knowledge...ahem. Sorry. Continue to number four.
4. How much would I need to save to go back to PA?
5. Can I afford to rent and/or pay for PA State tuition?
6. How much effort can I put into my novel while going to school and working? Is it worth it?
7. Do I really want to focus on music as well as English, or should I just stick to English after this semester?
8. Am I just going to sit back and let them come to me, or do I give chase? How do I know if it's right?
I know I act like I don't care about these things a lot, but in reality I'm always thinking about them. I don't usually like to explain this kind of stuff verbally, and since most of my more personal interactions are done in person, I just don't talk about it. I don't want to say it wrong or hear a long-winded speech about it. I don't want people to make a fuss about it. I'm doing enough fussing of my own.
I'm always open to advice or discussions on this stuff...so long as it's written down. I do need help. I do. Just don't make a big deal out of it if you do want to help me. I'm not freaking out on the outside, so you shouldn't either.
And for the record, I'm not anxious about it all. I've got a lot of time to figure it all out. I'm way too laid back to get nail-biting nervous about stuff that will happen in the next couple years. So, no worries there. :P
Sunday, January 17, 2010
sffhdkdsh;jkhg School
How did the spring semester sneak up on me like this?
I mean, really, you'd think I'd have seen this coming.
But, no. Not me. I've just been lolligagging around, wasting time and IQ points.
Why am I freaking out?
Let me tell you why.
I have a ten page paper due by 5 PM Friday. THIS Friday.
Ask me if I've started it. Go on. Ask me.
"Have you started it yet, Karaline?"
The answer: a resounding...
Yes.
I started it.
And by start, I mean...
I've written two sentences of the intro and done a little research.
GAH!
I think I'm taking a sick day tomorrow so I can sit at home, be miserable, and write a bunch of shit about Tchaikovsky. Wish me luck!
I mean, really, you'd think I'd have seen this coming.
But, no. Not me. I've just been lolligagging around, wasting time and IQ points.
Why am I freaking out?
Let me tell you why.
I have a ten page paper due by 5 PM Friday. THIS Friday.
Ask me if I've started it. Go on. Ask me.
"Have you started it yet, Karaline?"
The answer: a resounding...
Yes.
I started it.
And by start, I mean...
I've written two sentences of the intro and done a little research.
GAH!
I think I'm taking a sick day tomorrow so I can sit at home, be miserable, and write a bunch of shit about Tchaikovsky. Wish me luck!
Saturday, January 9, 2010
White Collar
I don't watch TV. I really don't. But every so often, something catches my eye, whether it's an interesting story line or an attractive main character. But I'm totally hooked when it's got both those things.
Let me tell you, White Collar has both those things. For starters, Matt Bomer is freakin' gorgeous. Plus, he plays a badass con artist with a penchant for high rolling and women. All good things if it's put into the right story. I don't know who wrote White Collar, but they definitely put him into the right story. It's not your typical crime drama with strangely murdered people or twenty-six rape victims. It's high fashion crimes (forgery, tax fraud, etc.) solved by an FBI agent and a con artist he chased for most of his career. Add a subplot romance between the con artist and his missing girlfriend, and you've got one hell of a show.
The finale probably aired weeks ago, but I sort of forgot about the show until Nicole randomly texted me about looking at Matt Bomer and his gorgeousness. I knew the name sounded familiar and as I typed it into Google, I realized who he was. The pictures that popped up seconds later only confirmed my realization.
I finally watched the finale on Hulu (thank God for Hulu) just a few minutes ago, and the ending absolutely blew my mind. For the entire episode, you think this guy (who isn't really an FBI agent) has Neil's (Matt Bomer) girlfriend and that the entire set up for the episode is Neil finally getting down to the bottom of who kidnapped Kate (his girlfriend). He DOES find out who kidnapped Kate, but it's not who anyone expected it to be. Seriously blew. My. Mind. I couldn't believe it. The only reason I'm writing all this is because I'm still in shock and I had to tell someone.
So, there you go. A blurb on one of the few TV shows I actually watch. You should watch it if you don't already. It's really well done, very creative, hilarious, and all-around awesome. Besides, there's a really attractive man in it. You can't say no to that.
Unless you're a straight dude. But there are attractive women in the show as well.
Go watch it. Now. Hulu won't help you much, 'cause they only have the season finale up. I would suggest YouTube or iTunes. :)
Let me tell you, White Collar has both those things. For starters, Matt Bomer is freakin' gorgeous. Plus, he plays a badass con artist with a penchant for high rolling and women. All good things if it's put into the right story. I don't know who wrote White Collar, but they definitely put him into the right story. It's not your typical crime drama with strangely murdered people or twenty-six rape victims. It's high fashion crimes (forgery, tax fraud, etc.) solved by an FBI agent and a con artist he chased for most of his career. Add a subplot romance between the con artist and his missing girlfriend, and you've got one hell of a show.
The finale probably aired weeks ago, but I sort of forgot about the show until Nicole randomly texted me about looking at Matt Bomer and his gorgeousness. I knew the name sounded familiar and as I typed it into Google, I realized who he was. The pictures that popped up seconds later only confirmed my realization.
I finally watched the finale on Hulu (thank God for Hulu) just a few minutes ago, and the ending absolutely blew my mind. For the entire episode, you think this guy (who isn't really an FBI agent) has Neil's (Matt Bomer) girlfriend and that the entire set up for the episode is Neil finally getting down to the bottom of who kidnapped Kate (his girlfriend). He DOES find out who kidnapped Kate, but it's not who anyone expected it to be. Seriously blew. My. Mind. I couldn't believe it. The only reason I'm writing all this is because I'm still in shock and I had to tell someone.
So, there you go. A blurb on one of the few TV shows I actually watch. You should watch it if you don't already. It's really well done, very creative, hilarious, and all-around awesome. Besides, there's a really attractive man in it. You can't say no to that.
Unless you're a straight dude. But there are attractive women in the show as well.
Go watch it. Now. Hulu won't help you much, 'cause they only have the season finale up. I would suggest YouTube or iTunes. :)
Friday, January 8, 2010
On Being a Part-Time Mom and Aspiring Novelist
So, I finished my first week of work. It's exhausting. It's frustrating. It's a crash course in parenthood. It's totally worth it.
I'm so glad I wasn't that girl in high school. You know the one. The one who got into adult life too soon and ended up knocked up her junior or senior year of high school with a baby daddy that didn't want anything to do with raising a kid. I honestly can't imagine how girls handle that at 16/17/18. Even now, when I'm almost 20, I can't imagine having my own child. I don't think people really understand what it means to be a parent. It means constant attention, sleepless nights, letting some things go all to hell, spending more money than you have, getting stressed out, wanting to just give up and knowing you can't, dealing with the constant worry of injuries or death. It's a LOT to handle. I only have to deal with these two kids from 8-5 every weekday. I don't think I could go a full 24 hours with them. I certainly couldn't handle twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week with them.
In short, I'm just really glad I wasn't that girl and that I've never had a pregnancy scare. I'm glad I'm beating teen pregnancy in a couple weeks. I'm glad I get to experience what it's like to deal with a fussy eight month old and a two year old who needs constant attention at the same time. I'm learning what it's like to be a part-time mom. I'm learning that just picking up the eight month old and carrying him around to all the windows will calm him down. I'm learning that if the two year old doesn't respond when I say things nicely, I have to add a little steel and authority and then she'll listen. I'm learning that, in order to get a two-year-old to take a nap, I need to bargain with her.
But that's enough about nanny duty. Let's move on to writing. You know, that thing I used to do before December started?
I edited the first 20-something pages of my NaNoWriMo novel right after November ended. Then I set it aside for most of December and just picked it up again a couple days ago. I now have the first 30 pages covered in red and black ink and bright yellow post-it notes. I discovered that I absolutely HATED a scene. Isn't that weird? When I wrote it, I thought it was awesome. And now, two months later, I'm thinking, "Why does this even exist? I realize it's important to the plot, but it's choppy, corny, not spontaneous enough, and way too dialogue-y." The problem was, I couldn't just ax the scene. It IS important to the plot because it sets up the main romance of the novel and gives more background information on another main character. Also, it shows the MAIN main character interacting with male friends that she has no romantic interest in, which is EXTREMELY important (though the average reader might not pick up on it). So, instead of actually editing the two and a half pages of slop, I wrote myself a note saying:
'Some of this section I really like, and some of it I really don't. Keep the general chain of events, but add more chemistry, detail, characterization and movement/plot.'
Basically, I cheated. When I go through and type up the edited draft, I'll have to rewrite the entire section with just that memo to myself to help me.
It's not like I'm being lazy. (You can call me on this. I totally am being lazy.) I haven't been in much of a writing mood lately and that affects my editing skills as well. How am I supposed to write something better when I can't seem to write anything at all?
But I do need to hurry this editing business up. I can still get my novel bound and shipped to me for free until June, but I want it to be the second draft so I'm not embarrassed to show it around. Besides, Jenelle's still working on the cover art, so I've got time to do the editing stuff.
All that said, I think I'm going to try and edit 30 pages a month from now on. So...
January: Up to page 60 should be edited
February: Up to page 90
March: Up to page 120
April: All 137 pages
May: Entire novel reviewed and revised
June: Send manuscript to CreateSpace
That's my rough time line. Knowing my work/sleep schedule, though, I'll probably be behind and will have to use May for finishing up the editing. Which will suck, but I'm gonna do it.
And now, I'm going to print pages 31-60, attach them to my clipboard, and immediately abandon them to play Sims. :)
I'm so glad I wasn't that girl in high school. You know the one. The one who got into adult life too soon and ended up knocked up her junior or senior year of high school with a baby daddy that didn't want anything to do with raising a kid. I honestly can't imagine how girls handle that at 16/17/18. Even now, when I'm almost 20, I can't imagine having my own child. I don't think people really understand what it means to be a parent. It means constant attention, sleepless nights, letting some things go all to hell, spending more money than you have, getting stressed out, wanting to just give up and knowing you can't, dealing with the constant worry of injuries or death. It's a LOT to handle. I only have to deal with these two kids from 8-5 every weekday. I don't think I could go a full 24 hours with them. I certainly couldn't handle twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week with them.
In short, I'm just really glad I wasn't that girl and that I've never had a pregnancy scare. I'm glad I'm beating teen pregnancy in a couple weeks. I'm glad I get to experience what it's like to deal with a fussy eight month old and a two year old who needs constant attention at the same time. I'm learning what it's like to be a part-time mom. I'm learning that just picking up the eight month old and carrying him around to all the windows will calm him down. I'm learning that if the two year old doesn't respond when I say things nicely, I have to add a little steel and authority and then she'll listen. I'm learning that, in order to get a two-year-old to take a nap, I need to bargain with her.
But that's enough about nanny duty. Let's move on to writing. You know, that thing I used to do before December started?
I edited the first 20-something pages of my NaNoWriMo novel right after November ended. Then I set it aside for most of December and just picked it up again a couple days ago. I now have the first 30 pages covered in red and black ink and bright yellow post-it notes. I discovered that I absolutely HATED a scene. Isn't that weird? When I wrote it, I thought it was awesome. And now, two months later, I'm thinking, "Why does this even exist? I realize it's important to the plot, but it's choppy, corny, not spontaneous enough, and way too dialogue-y." The problem was, I couldn't just ax the scene. It IS important to the plot because it sets up the main romance of the novel and gives more background information on another main character. Also, it shows the MAIN main character interacting with male friends that she has no romantic interest in, which is EXTREMELY important (though the average reader might not pick up on it). So, instead of actually editing the two and a half pages of slop, I wrote myself a note saying:
'Some of this section I really like, and some of it I really don't. Keep the general chain of events, but add more chemistry, detail, characterization and movement/plot.'
Basically, I cheated. When I go through and type up the edited draft, I'll have to rewrite the entire section with just that memo to myself to help me.
It's not like I'm being lazy. (You can call me on this. I totally am being lazy.) I haven't been in much of a writing mood lately and that affects my editing skills as well. How am I supposed to write something better when I can't seem to write anything at all?
But I do need to hurry this editing business up. I can still get my novel bound and shipped to me for free until June, but I want it to be the second draft so I'm not embarrassed to show it around. Besides, Jenelle's still working on the cover art, so I've got time to do the editing stuff.
All that said, I think I'm going to try and edit 30 pages a month from now on. So...
January: Up to page 60 should be edited
February: Up to page 90
March: Up to page 120
April: All 137 pages
May: Entire novel reviewed and revised
June: Send manuscript to CreateSpace
That's my rough time line. Knowing my work/sleep schedule, though, I'll probably be behind and will have to use May for finishing up the editing. Which will suck, but I'm gonna do it.
And now, I'm going to print pages 31-60, attach them to my clipboard, and immediately abandon them to play Sims. :)
Friday, January 1, 2010
New Year's Resolution? What's That?
I think I've only done resolutions for the last few years, but I can never actually remember them after a few months. I figured there was only one sure fire way to avoid forgetting mine this year: Make it practical and blog about it.
I've decided that this year, I'm going to be a better friend. I recently had my mostly-friendless childhood brought up and I realized just how much I cherish all my friends, whether we just talk on facebook or every day in person. So, I figured I should give back to them this year (and, hopefully, every year after this one) and be the best friend I can be. Come to me with your problems, your good news, your bad news, and even your pointless rants. I'll listen. :)
Happy New Year, everyone!
I've decided that this year, I'm going to be a better friend. I recently had my mostly-friendless childhood brought up and I realized just how much I cherish all my friends, whether we just talk on facebook or every day in person. So, I figured I should give back to them this year (and, hopefully, every year after this one) and be the best friend I can be. Come to me with your problems, your good news, your bad news, and even your pointless rants. I'll listen. :)
Happy New Year, everyone!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)