I have been on quite the blogging hiatus because of this NaNo stuff and with Thanksgiving and football going on... That's okay though!
NaNoWriMo is coming to a tragic (but really not so tragic) ending. Even though the month is coming to an end doesn't mean that my project is. Well dratz! But that's okay. It is? Why yes because at least you started!
Besides 50,000 words is just the beginning. And just because you wrote 50,000 doesn't mean it's ready to be published. There is still a lot to change...so many revisions to make! But I'm closer than I was before. Anyone that starts is closer to the finish than they were before.
I will quote pinterest:
"The best way to predict the future is to create it."
"Goals are dreams with deadlines."
This weekend I watched my high school football team play in the State Championship! No one thought that they were going to make it that far when the season started. People would talk about the team as if the were bad. Obviously they aren't bad if they made it to the State Championship... But because everyone was so negative the boys really wanted to prove them wrong; that they were going to be something. And that's how they ended in a place where no one expected, but everyone was happy to be.
So, go get it. Whatever you want, you can work for it. If you want 50,000 words then work for it and you can get it. What I've learned this weekend, from writing so much, or watching our football team play at state is that a little bit (actually A LOT) of hard work and a lot of drive can get you just about anywhere you want to be.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Saturday, November 9, 2013
Questions make Classics
So I should really be NaNoing write now (ha ha see what I did there) but I'm stuck. That's typical; absolutely nothing new about being stuck. It's the norm. This time it's a different kind of stuck; it's the kind of stuck that leaves me wishing instead of doing. Feeling totally capable but incapable at the same time, and it is awful. So enough of my misery, that's why I decided to poke around here.
On Friday night I went to the play my school was putting on, and it was really awesome! It was Frankenstein and they did really great making it creepy and sad and best of all...they made me curious. Frankenstein is a classic and even though I haven't read the book (YET) I have heard really great things about it. I have heard about the questions it leaves about humanity and visions of a person.
In the directors note he said "Great literature makes us think". I have not only heard that from him but I have interpreted it from Veronica Roth's blog post. What better way to think than to be left with questions, about the book or yourself or, best of all, about humanity.
Classics are usually books that leave questions, sometimes more questions than answers. They aren't just books that a person enjoys to read but they secretly make you think about the, typically tragic, ending.
Through the few classics I've read so far I am left with a question at each ending. In The Great Gatsby I was left with questions about hope. For The Scarlet Letter it was about forgiveness and sins. In A Streetcar Named Desire the question I'm left with is when has someone done so much wrong that they don't deserve a second chance?
These classics leave questions that you may never be able to answer. They are typically notorious for pushing boundaries, in general, in their endings, or in their hidden questions. However these classics are what has shaped our society to what it is today and they have set standards for modern literature.
On Friday night I went to the play my school was putting on, and it was really awesome! It was Frankenstein and they did really great making it creepy and sad and best of all...they made me curious. Frankenstein is a classic and even though I haven't read the book (YET) I have heard really great things about it. I have heard about the questions it leaves about humanity and visions of a person.
In the directors note he said "Great literature makes us think". I have not only heard that from him but I have interpreted it from Veronica Roth's blog post. What better way to think than to be left with questions, about the book or yourself or, best of all, about humanity.
Classics are usually books that leave questions, sometimes more questions than answers. They aren't just books that a person enjoys to read but they secretly make you think about the, typically tragic, ending.
Through the few classics I've read so far I am left with a question at each ending. In The Great Gatsby I was left with questions about hope. For The Scarlet Letter it was about forgiveness and sins. In A Streetcar Named Desire the question I'm left with is when has someone done so much wrong that they don't deserve a second chance?
These classics leave questions that you may never be able to answer. They are typically notorious for pushing boundaries, in general, in their endings, or in their hidden questions. However these classics are what has shaped our society to what it is today and they have set standards for modern literature.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Happy Halloween!!!
Greetings ghostly ghouls, goblins, and other monsters... Happy Halloween! I hope it wasn't to cold for you trick or treaters football game spectators (that's what I did.). I say it was much too cold for a costume so I wore a mask.
Some people were much more creative and had face paint on, or actual costumes. Besides the costumes let's talk about what's really important. The candy! Did you get any? Even if you didn't go trick or treating did you at least go out and buy yourself a bag of your favorite?
And we can't forget the scariness of Halloween. Did anyone spook you? Were you driving home in the dark and thinking of a scary movie so you slightly freaked out because you live out in the country?Well I did that.
Now that today is the last day of my thirteen days of Halloween, I would like to point out that tomorrow is November 1st. No duh, right? Well this brings a slight panic to mind when I keep seeing NaNoWriMo everywhere on the intraweb. So my scarryish question for you is: Are you going to participate in NaNoWriMo?
For those who don't know what NaNoWriMo is I will explain. It stands for National Novel Writing Month. It lasts through November when people scramble through their thoughts to combine all of their craziest ideas to make a 50,000 word document in one month. Easier said than done.
I'm going to try, but we will see how far I can go. Just an FYI: You don't fail if you don't finish it in November it's really and truly the thought that counts. I am challenging you to put your words on paper and try to participate in NaNoWriMo.
And we can't forget the scariness of Halloween. Did anyone spook you? Were you driving home in the dark and thinking of a scary movie so you slightly freaked out because you live out in the country?Well I did that.
Now that today is the last day of my thirteen days of Halloween, I would like to point out that tomorrow is November 1st. No duh, right? Well this brings a slight panic to mind when I keep seeing NaNoWriMo everywhere on the intraweb. So my scarryish question for you is: Are you going to participate in NaNoWriMo?
For those who don't know what NaNoWriMo is I will explain. It stands for National Novel Writing Month. It lasts through November when people scramble through their thoughts to combine all of their craziest ideas to make a 50,000 word document in one month. Easier said than done.
I'm going to try, but we will see how far I can go. Just an FYI: You don't fail if you don't finish it in November it's really and truly the thought that counts. I am challenging you to put your words on paper and try to participate in NaNoWriMo.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Creepy HALLOWEEN story...one day left!
Plunging has been used so many times but maybe that's because that's really the best way to describe it. The knife plunging into the soft fleshy part of his abdomen. The blood pooling around the blade and filling the gap that I forced in him, after I pull the blade out terrified by what I've done.
The tip of the knife points to the sky and the blood drips down the blade finding my fingers tightly fastened around the handle. The warmth of the blood startles me and I let the knife fall. I flinch at the sound of the knife clattering on the ground.
His eyes, alert, alive, stare at me devouring ever ounce of me. Guilt consumes me the same way his eyes do. I wonder, for a moment, if this is how he felt as he attacked me over and over again.
His hands once clamping around his wound, twitch; they don't twitch with the cold shivers of death. They twitch with action. My numbed body can hardly digest his movements until I feel his hands clamped around my neck. I dropped the knife, that's probably what he was waiting for, he was ready to attack again.
My nails claw at his hand, struggling to force him off of me. If he is going to choke the life out of me then he is going to have to stare into my eyes as I die. But the gleam of cruelty in his eye suggests that he doesn't care. If guilt of killing me isn't going to stop him then I have to.
Darkness thickens along the edges of my vision and I can feel my muscles weakening as they gasp for air, energy, anything that will sustain them. My hand plummets at his wound forcing him to let go of me. He struggles to breathe but I don't fall to guilt. I pick up the knife, greeting the stickiness of the blood that stains the handle.
Over and over I plunge the blade into him. Smiling at each scream that bursts out of his mouth. Welcoming the most painful shudders that he contorts. Until everything stops. His eyes frozen in their horrific emptiness, the emptiness that I caused him.
How can I make the decision that stole the thought from a person's eyes, the breath from their lungs. I should be terrified, I am terrified but not because he's dead because I don't feel bad. I don't feel anything. I feel more alive now than I ever was. But who...what does that make me? I know who I am now. I am a monster.
The tip of the knife points to the sky and the blood drips down the blade finding my fingers tightly fastened around the handle. The warmth of the blood startles me and I let the knife fall. I flinch at the sound of the knife clattering on the ground.
His eyes, alert, alive, stare at me devouring ever ounce of me. Guilt consumes me the same way his eyes do. I wonder, for a moment, if this is how he felt as he attacked me over and over again.
His hands once clamping around his wound, twitch; they don't twitch with the cold shivers of death. They twitch with action. My numbed body can hardly digest his movements until I feel his hands clamped around my neck. I dropped the knife, that's probably what he was waiting for, he was ready to attack again.
My nails claw at his hand, struggling to force him off of me. If he is going to choke the life out of me then he is going to have to stare into my eyes as I die. But the gleam of cruelty in his eye suggests that he doesn't care. If guilt of killing me isn't going to stop him then I have to.
Darkness thickens along the edges of my vision and I can feel my muscles weakening as they gasp for air, energy, anything that will sustain them. My hand plummets at his wound forcing him to let go of me. He struggles to breathe but I don't fall to guilt. I pick up the knife, greeting the stickiness of the blood that stains the handle.
Over and over I plunge the blade into him. Smiling at each scream that bursts out of his mouth. Welcoming the most painful shudders that he contorts. Until everything stops. His eyes frozen in their horrific emptiness, the emptiness that I caused him.
How can I make the decision that stole the thought from a person's eyes, the breath from their lungs. I should be terrified, I am terrified but not because he's dead because I don't feel bad. I don't feel anything. I feel more alive now than I ever was. But who...what does that make me? I know who I am now. I am a monster.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Almost to Halloween!
Our football teams district game, this year, lands on Halloween. That means dressing up in our Halloween costumes to a football game! I'm excited! There is one dilemma however. I want to be warm and all of the costumes I could wear would not keep me warm.
So I have come to the decision that maybe I'll just do some crazy makeup idea to make me dressed up for this game. So I was thinking, kitten makeup. It would be easy right? All I have to do is get some eyeliner and draw whiskers and bam I'm dressed up.
There was one thing that I have been dying to try even though I'm pretty sure it will not turn out how I want it to because I am a picky picky person. And that is this:
The cat idea might be my best bet unless I go all out and do this:
We will see how this goes...
So I have come to the decision that maybe I'll just do some crazy makeup idea to make me dressed up for this game. So I was thinking, kitten makeup. It would be easy right? All I have to do is get some eyeliner and draw whiskers and bam I'm dressed up.
There was one thing that I have been dying to try even though I'm pretty sure it will not turn out how I want it to because I am a picky picky person. And that is this:
The cat idea might be my best bet unless I go all out and do this:
We will see how this goes...
Monday, October 28, 2013
Day...whatever...
The moment I found him everything changed. My innocents ended, in just one second, just one glance. Every time I blink I can see his emptiness, his eyes glazed over with the horrifying blankness. The blood, that stained the once beautiful rich soil of where grass was turned up, may never leave my memories.
I came here to mourn my cousin, my friend and instead I now mourn my innocents. I mourn for the life of a person I don't know. A life that never entwined with mine until death parted him from this world.
He shouldn't matter to me. He should be just a person in a cemetery, like all the rest, like my cousin, but somehow seeing his emptiness, his blood draped across the mound of dirt that hides another person from the rest of the world; somehow it changes everything. Me. It changes me.
Who was he before I found him? Before his blood spilt onto the dirt? Before his eyes glazed over, mimicking glass?
I shake my head and bite my lip. I don't care. I don't care. I tell myself but it doesn't keep the tears from building in my eyes and hazing my contact with the world. This is ridiculous of me. I squeeze my hands into fist so hard that my fingernails bite my palm. I don't even know this man. It doesn't matter. I ball my fists up so tight that I can feel my fingernails cutting into my skin.
I feel a hand on my shoulder before I register the investigators voice. He repeats himself. "A counselor is on the way."
I hold my breath and nod. The investigator looks me over, his lips set in a line and then his eyes catch notice of my hand. He lingers near me like he's trying to comfort me without words. But I don't need to be comforted. I let my hands clench harder into my palm.
The investigator notices and grabs my hand. He holds my fist between his hands, trying to loosen it without force. Eventually the tension does loosen and my fists come apart. My fingernails are red with blood, my blood. This lifeless body has damaged me. It's because of him that I feel like curling into a ball. Because of him I have inflicted pain on myself, even if I don't feel it.
I came here to mourn my cousin, my friend and instead I now mourn my innocents. I mourn for the life of a person I don't know. A life that never entwined with mine until death parted him from this world.
He shouldn't matter to me. He should be just a person in a cemetery, like all the rest, like my cousin, but somehow seeing his emptiness, his blood draped across the mound of dirt that hides another person from the rest of the world; somehow it changes everything. Me. It changes me.
Who was he before I found him? Before his blood spilt onto the dirt? Before his eyes glazed over, mimicking glass?
I shake my head and bite my lip. I don't care. I don't care. I tell myself but it doesn't keep the tears from building in my eyes and hazing my contact with the world. This is ridiculous of me. I squeeze my hands into fist so hard that my fingernails bite my palm. I don't even know this man. It doesn't matter. I ball my fists up so tight that I can feel my fingernails cutting into my skin.
I feel a hand on my shoulder before I register the investigators voice. He repeats himself. "A counselor is on the way."
I hold my breath and nod. The investigator looks me over, his lips set in a line and then his eyes catch notice of my hand. He lingers near me like he's trying to comfort me without words. But I don't need to be comforted. I let my hands clench harder into my palm.
The investigator notices and grabs my hand. He holds my fist between his hands, trying to loosen it without force. Eventually the tension does loosen and my fists come apart. My fingernails are red with blood, my blood. This lifeless body has damaged me. It's because of him that I feel like curling into a ball. Because of him I have inflicted pain on myself, even if I don't feel it.
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Day 5...I think
(This may not be a spooky, creepy, or eerie post for Halloween but I think that it is valid.)
It's almost Halloween and that means candy! What candy should you buy? Well I feel like the answer is obvious chocolate. Don't believe me? Then maybe you should check for yourself...
If you know what the best Halloween candy to buy is then your are probably wonder what the worst could possibly be. Well you can check that too.
In my opinion, however, chocolate is not the best. My favorite was always the really hard to find sugar sticks that came two to a tiny box. I don't know what they were called but I would always pick them out of the candy bowl, except for one so no one would get suspicious and I would keep them all for myself. ;)
It's almost Halloween and that means candy! What candy should you buy? Well I feel like the answer is obvious chocolate. Don't believe me? Then maybe you should check for yourself...
If you know what the best Halloween candy to buy is then your are probably wonder what the worst could possibly be. Well you can check that too.
In my opinion, however, chocolate is not the best. My favorite was always the really hard to find sugar sticks that came two to a tiny box. I don't know what they were called but I would always pick them out of the candy bowl, except for one so no one would get suspicious and I would keep them all for myself. ;)
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