A very existential mini-blog

I never blog. I miss blogging. I should blog more.

Why I've disappeared off of the internet

So the two followers (hi! I love you) of my blog as well as the one person who I know has an RSS feed of the posts (hey Tony) have probably noticed that I have disappeared for about the last month. There is a really long answer to why this is but if I were to write a detailed explanation about that, well, it would no longer be a blog post, it would be a memoir.

The short (and slightly disingenuous) answer is that I have been really busy with school.

I have been out of school since Thursday due to parent-teacher conferences and it was a lovely four days of relaxation and solitude. Unfortunately, I have to return to school and all of its probably tomorrow and I'm not looking forward to it. With any luck, tomorrow will be the day that my sanity completely breaks and I get sent home. (Which, you know, would technically be a negative thing, but, for me, insanity is more calming that school.)

In sincerity, this blog post does not serve a purpose, but I felt a little bad for vanishing for so long and wanted to post something. I solemnly swear to post a proper pre-NaNo post by the by the end of the week.

Until then my lovelies,
Sam

---
I am loathe to admit that I have not done any serious planning for my NaNoNovel this year. All that I am going to go off of is my working title. Which is (clichéd drumroll please) . . . . . . . .


LETTERS FROM A TEENAGE INSOMNIAC

It's going to be realistic fiction I think, which is not my usual genre, so we'll see how it goes.
Only 8 days and a little under 4 hours until the craziness begins!!!!!

EXPLOSION

My head is about to explode. And not the good explode. The type of exploding that only comes from stupid people and an insane schedule.

In addition to that, I had my script for TV Production and my stories due for Newspaper. I have had something for Band every single day this week.

But, as much as I would love to spend the next 500 words rambling about how horrible, and horribly busy, my life is. I thought it would be better spent with you looking at this lovely long stretch of blank space.
















































Now. Wasn't that fun?

Seriously, if I had the patience or mental capacity to write an intelligent blog post I would. Instead I'm going to sit here on my parents reclining (and surprisingly comfortable) couch, read, check Twitter, start planning for NaNoWriMo (which requires a completely separate blog post to explain), and hope that my Real Head does not explode.

To sign off I will leave you with a small part of my NaNoNovel from 2010.

   “Trust me Groundling boy we really don’t have the time for me to tell you my life story at the moment. I don’t how close the damn Air agents are and I would really like to not who they are. So that means I have to keep moving. And since you’re the one who volunteered to help me you have to move too.”

    “I didn’t really volunteer…”

    “Semantics. Just go…”

     He glanced back in the direction of the clearing then back at me. “Stay here. I’m going to get some you some money. Don’t run away, otherwise I won’t be able to help you.”

    “Blah, blah, blah. I understand. Just move. Run.”

Explain to me this homecoming thing...

I was sitting in TV today, being unproductive, and eavesdropping on my classmates mundane conversations. And I thought something. (I know, surprising)

Why is everyone so freaked about homecoming?


I mean, I understand the hype (even if I don't participate in it) and the lead up and stuff. But I fail to grasp why it matters if a guy who is in a long-term relationship with a girl still be expected to ask the  girl to homecoming. I mean, honestly? If two people have been in a relationship for 10 months, why can't it be assumed that the two will go to homecoming together?


Maybe, along with everything else stereotypically high school, this expectation just flies over my head. But it really does bug me that a girl in my TV class was so pissed that homecoming is in three weeks and her boyfriend, thus far, has assumed they are going together.


Until later my cookies,
Me


--
And now a random bit that I randomly chose from my Unfinished (and probably never to be) folder

            The moment Caroline stepped from the classroom she was surrounded by four girls.

            “So, new girl, what’s up with you anyway?” One of them asked. She looked vaguely familiar.

            “Leah?”

            “Yeah. I’m Leah.” So she was in Caroline’s homeroom. She’s the one Mrs. Welsh had her sit behind. “And this is Amber, Lacy, and Adrienne.”

            Caroline laughed. “What’s so funny new girl?”

            “You’re initials spell Lala.”

            “What so funny about that?”

            “Nothing. I’m just good at seeing patterns.” She stood there wishing they would move so she could get to Calculus. When they didn’t she figured she would have to say something.  Oh joy. “So…I take it you’re the welcoming committee?”

            They all smirked. “Yeah, I guess you could say that,” Leah said.

            “Well, thanks. I feel welcomed. You’re blocking my way and I have to get to class,” she moved to walk past them and down the hall but the Lalas stood their ground.

            “You’ll be fine. It’s your first day so no one will care if you’re late,” the one named Adrienne said.

            “That may be true, but I’d rather not test my luck.” Caroline stood there mentally debating whether or not to stay and talk or just push past them. Before she had a chance to decide Amber started talking.

            “There are three things you should know about Burke. Three rules so to speak. One – ”

            Lacy cut in, “We’re in charge of almost everyone. Two – ”

            Amber again, “We will not hesitate to take you down if necessary. So, stay on our good side. And most importantly–”

            Leah, who was obviously Queen Bee took over. “Stay away from Carter Pilot.”

            “Let me guess…he’s yours.”

            She laughs dryly, bitter. “No. At least not yet. He’s crazy independent and single. He’s the hottest guy in school.”

            Caroline clicks her teeth together, knowing that she will be late now. “Lovely.” The girls stare at her like she certifiable. “He’s not my type. I’m not a clone, like you four are.”

            Leah’s eyes narrow. Lacy, Amber, and Adrienne all frown at me. “I really do have to get to Honors Calc so if you’ll excuse me.” Caroline pushes her way between them. Before walking away she turns around. “By the way, it was nice to formally meet you all. See you around.”

            “Watch out new girl, you’re already on a short string.”

            “One, I don’t care. Two, my name is Caroline. Car-o-line. Got it?” When they didn’t respond she continued. “Bye Lulu, Anna and Drea…or whatever your names are.”

            Not wanting any more of their trouble she turned and walked to Calculus.

            I hate this school. I miss South Carolina. I need an iced mocha with extra caffeine. This day was only getting worse.

            As she was walking with her head down she was halfway down the hall before she realized someone was next to her.

            “Hello.” She was back to being polite again. The Lalas may be bitches but that didn’t mean she had to be snotty to the entire school.

            “Hey. So I saw what you did back there, with the Kittens back there.”

            “The who?”

            “Leah, Lacy, Adrienne, and Amber. They are known around here as the Kittens.”

            “As in the Sex Kittens?”

            “That’s not the reason they chose the name, but it’s still pretty accurate.”

            Caroline nodded. This boy seemed nice enough but after that little ordeal with the Lalas she wasn’t really in the mood to deal right now. They had reached the staircase that Mrs. Welsh told her to take.

            “Well, my class is up stairs so I guess I’ll talk to you later.”

            “No need to leave. My class is upstairs as well.” That’s just fantastique for Caroline. She forced a smile and nodded.

            They walked in a semi-uncomfortable silence up the stairs. Why did my parents have to move me to Nowhere Land? With Nowhere Land People who can’t carry on a conversation? She thought. Maybe she could scare him away with her intelligence.

            “What’s you favorite flavor of quark?” she asked, not expecting him to know what a quark is. Hoping he would assume it was some kind of food and answer accordingly. Instead he surprised her.

            “Charm, because they remind me so much of myself. Charming and intelligent.” He turned and glanced at Caroline. She was surprised that Nowhere Land Boy knew what a quark was. He obviously knew enough about them to know the different flavors. Her mouth practically hit the floor.

            He laughed. “Yeah, didn’t think Hick Boy from Nebraska would know much about Chemistry did you?”

            “No.”

            He put on a face of mock-pain. “Ouch. Brutally honest, new girl.”

            “My name is Caroline.” She had been here less than an hour and no one could seem to grasp that she actually had a name like the rest of the world.

            “So I heard.”

            Caroline had a snarky comment ready but the bell rang, signaling the beginning of class. “Damn,” she said, mostly to herself.

            “Wow, looks like new girl has a mouth. And doesn’t like to be late for class.” It was rhetorical so Caroline didn’t answer. “But don’t worry, like the Kittens said, your teacher won’t care.”

            “Yes, but I do.”

            “Oh, well. Where is your class anyway?”

            Caroline, who hadn’t been paying attention to where they were walking looked around. The first thing she realized was that they had finally reached the fourth floor after a treacherous journey up the staircase from Hell. She saw more of the awful lockers that the school provided lining both sides of the hall. They were an awful green color. It looked like grass had thrown up and then the painted the lockers with that. Eww.

            Little gray plaques next to the barely-there windows marked the classroom numbers. There really was no rhyme or reason to the number. They were all 300 numbers but in no way chronological. The first number she saw was 327 and she needed to get to 342. But where is that? She could ask but that could be seen as weakness.

            “Hello?”

            “Hm?”

            “What class are you supposed to be in?”

            “Oh,” Caroline said. “Um…” she glanced at the room numbers one more time. Thankfully, they had ended up right where she needed to be. “Here!”

            “Honors Calc,” he said. “I’m impressed.”

            They had stopped walking now. Caroline waited for him to leave so I could go into class. When he didn’t move on she looked up at him. “So, um, thanks.  I guess I’ll see you around then?”

            “You’ll see me sooner than that, you’re stuck with me during class.”

            “What?”

            He smirked down at her. “You thought that you were gonna get rid of me that easily?”

            Maybe, she thought. Hopefully.

            As nice as Mysterious Boy was, and charming, Caroline wasn’t naturally open to conversing with Nowhere Land inhabitants.

I was in this workshop today. . .

I was required to be at school for a journalism workshop yesterday and today. (On a Saturday and Sunday. For 12 hours and then another 7. I know. Take up all your angst with Howe.) I did not like being required to spend my gas money for the next three months to SIT AT SCHOOL but I actually enjoyed myself believe it or not.

Our keynote speaker and breakout instructor was Bobby Hawthorne (whose blog can be found here) who not only was a Texas native complete with accent, but hilarious too. I learned a lot of writing in general, not just for journalism.

The most important of which: be smart. don't be pretentious.

He showed us some passages from essay submissions that he had judges. They were the most pretentious passages of writing that I've ever seen. There was one that took three paragraphs to say GREED SUCKS. Literally.

All of what he said made me really think about how I write. I pride myself on my writing, that's no secret. I want to be acknowledged for it too. I'm not a bigot (most of the time) but I want praise. I don't want to end up on some PowerPoint for being bad writing. And, after this workshop, that's something I fear.

I think my writing is not as obviously bad as most of the stuff that we were shown but I go to a different place, a different mindset, when I write so my writing could suck and I wouldn't know. Which brought me to the conclusion that even though I have major fears of rejection I need to have a lot more people read and critique my writing.

In fact, I wrote a column during the workshop kind of about that which I plan on posting after I get revision notes from Bobby.

Until then dear readers,

S-A-M-I

_

I'm starting a new habit. At the end of every blog that I write I am going to include either a short story or an excerpt of one of my short stories.

Today's excerpt comes from a story I wrote a few years ago and have hence rewritten at least twice. I plan on beginning a third rewrite (because I'm still unhappy with it) after this year's NaNoWriMo.

So, without further of my rambling. A short bit from Demon Awakening.

She was getting weaker. The demons truly were feeding from the pain. They wanted her weak. Pain can cloud thoughts. Thinking was crucial at a time like this. Especially for Lilli. Agreeing blindly could lead to death, or worse. She tried to forget the pain, work through it.

“You are strong halfling. But you won’t be for long.” The servants of evil descended upon Lilli. Cutting her open with claws and teeth. Bleeding here humanity away.

She screams.  So. Much. Pain.

What are these things? The ones who attack her in dreams. Tell her lies and cause her pain. The evil beings who are trying to take her away from all she loves and all she knows.

“Off!” The one who seems to be in charge of the others calls. The monsters come off her, but leave her torn and bleeding. “Child,” he says to her. “Whether you wish to accept who you are is beyond my control. But whether you like it or not you belong to us. Part human you may be but you are equally as much demedhe, demon. Your humanity cannot live on.”

She summoned the energy to speak. “I don’t need humanity. I just need to be human.”

“Impertinent child!” She cringes at his tone. “There is no such thing.”

Then let me die, she thinks. I would rather be dead then one of evil.

“We will have you. Death is not an option. You will be changed, the method however shall be your choice. Either painfully,” He tightened his mental grip of her pain, which made it much worse, “or by choice.”

“I ask you again. Will you give in to us? Become demedhe and live painlessly forever?”

Saturday Mornings

DISCLAIMER: Below is a rant which includes me swearing for effect. I do that a lot when ranting.  Do not read past this point is you have problems with swearing or excessive complaining.

I am not a morning person. If you have ever met me, you can tell that. I am never pleasant in the mornings unless they occur after the hour of noon. Even if you give me a gallon of mocha with my wake-up call, I will probably still throw things at you for waking me up in the first place. Even after drinking my daily coffee, it still takes a little over an hour for me to stop feeling like a bitch.

I have never been a morning person. Even at the tender age of eight I was able to stay up until three and sleep until noon or later. I will never stop being a morning person. [By God, if I ever have kids they will naturally be night owls. If not, they can entertain themselves until I feel like dragging myself out of bed on a Saturday morning.]

Unfortunately, I live in a house of people filled with morning birds. My mother goes to the gym everyday at 4.30, my father is at work by 5.30, and my little brother, age 13, is anywhere between 6 and 7.30, no matter the day. None of them drink coffee. Yet, they are annoyingly conscious at ungodly hours.

The only other night person is my 20-year-old brother. Lucky for him, he lives in the basement and is able to beg out of any early morning procedure by claiming he was up late for work or studying.

Tomorrow is Saturday. This is what I should be able to do on Saturdays:

:opens eyes, stretches, looks at clock: Oh, look, it’s 12.30. Lovely. I want a coffee.

This is what tomorrow will look like:

8.15 --: Father knocks on door: Get up! I need your help.

            Me: No. Go away.

8.30 -- :Father opens door: Get up, let’s go. I warned you.

            Me: It’s still not nine.

8.45 -- :Father pulls blanket off me: Up and at ‘em! We have work to do.

            Me: :throws sharpened pencil/hardcover book/pillow at him:

9.00 -- :Father storms in screaming: Let’s go. NOW! I warned you last night. I am not going to argue this with you.

            Me: And I told you that there was no way in hell I was getting up this early. I’m tired. Go away.

After that it becomes a flurry of varied, indiscernible argument between me and my father. He usually threatens to do something, and I tell him that I don’t care.

He is determined to win. I am determined to sleep more.

Each week ends up a little differently.

Here’s to hoping that I get to sleep to a time closer to acceptable than 9 am.

Fingers crossed,

Sami

On a side note: I haven’t slept in at all this summer because I have either had to go to school or my Father has found something for me to do. Father knows this, I have told him, yet he still insists that I sleep enough and I need to get up.

Another note: Every single week he does this. He wakes me up when I am tired and I am unpleasant. He yells at me for being bitchy. (He does not use that word but that’s basically what he means.) I inform him that if I was allowed to sleep to a reasonable time I would be slightly more pleasant. I get yelled out for talking back. Rinse and repeat seven days later.

My family and I have a rather combative relationship at the moment. 

The Anticipation of the End

You know that feeling you get right before finishing a really good book? You next the next page is the last page and though you really want the author to write another sequel and continue with the characters stories you know that the end, the true end, is coming soon.

I love that feeling.

I just finished The Last Little Blue Envelope by Maureen Johnson. It is an incredible book, and worthy sequel to 13 Little Blue Envelopes which is what I remember as officially selling me on YA Fiction. (If you haven't read either of these books, you definitely should. They are witty and entertaining.)

On the second to last page of  LLBE I got that feeling of anticipation. As Ginny was sitting on that train, thinking about what she would do next, outlining her future, I knew that this story was really ending. I didn't want it to. I wanted another about what would happen to Ginny in college, who she would meet, and what would happen with the guy she chose. (What? You thought I was going to tell you who it was? You wish.)

But I knew that I wouldn't get anymore. Ginny's story of adventure with the little blue envelopes was over, and the rest was left for us, the reader to imagine.

Which kind of sucks, to be honest.

I have always thought that was the hardest part about being such an avid reader: Getting to the end of the fantastic books.

There have been times when I did not want a book to end so much, that I set it down and never read the last page or chapter. But I don't do that anymore, because that is almost harder in a way. Waiting so long for an ending, almost getting there, and then stopping. It's just so...painful. Not letting yourself reach the ending is just being cruel to yourself. (Let's not develop masochistic tendencies boys and girls.)

The best books always have the best endings, even if you want them not to end. Read the last page, end the story. I promise it will be worth it.

The last sentence of The Last Little Blue Envelope is"It's always easier to say good-bye when you know it's just a prelude to hello." That sentence definitely applies here as well. Say good-bye to those good endings, and say hello to new ones.