So, I've been way too quite lately. Good news, I was published. One of my short stories was accepted by the Le Moyne college literary publication, The Salamander. The story "Hands" can be found in the 2015 edition of The Salamander, free on Le Moyne's campus.
I promise there is more publication fun to look forward to this summer. And I have a number of projects that I have been working on these past few days. So stay tuned!
Ciao!
Thursday, May 28, 2015
Sunday, November 9, 2014
College Life
So, what could be more exciting then college, right? I mean: independence, responsibility, being treated like an adult, being in charge of yourself, making new friends, finding love, drinking... What could possibly be wrong about college life?
Well the things that are wrong with college life are as follows: independence, responsibility, being treated like an adult, being in charge of yourself, making new friends, finding love, drinking. Yeah. Clichéd as it sounds, the very problem with college life is all the things that make it great. Honestly, since starting college in August, I have yet to drink alcohol. I have been to a cast party at a Senior's house (where alcohol was served "BYOB if you want to drink" and everybody was cool with you not drinking if you didn't want to), and I have seen my roommate wasted. I have no personal experience with how alcohol makes you feel. However, when my roommate (a little,120-pound, 5-foot-nothing, girl, who had never drunk anything in her life) came back one night after a party where she had a Four Loco, I swore to stay alcohol free.
But aside from alcohol and all the bad things that I can do (which everyone already knows, and if you don't then go google it and get a lecture from someone else). I'm doing really well. For those of you that do not know me personally here's a little about my college life: I live on campus, I'm a Creative Writing and Theater Arts double major, I'm in my school's Honors College, and I'm considering going into Pre-Law (not a major, but it does involve taking some legal studies classes).
I've been doing pretty well adjusting to college life. Though, sadly, my writing had gone by the wayside. But I am back now. Hopefully I can stay up to date with this blog again. One of my classes is requiring me to write a "creative piece dealing with the theme of the double". So that's what I'm doing.
I'm also working on some auditions in theater and looking at a couple more places that I might submit stories to. One of the novellas I've been working on for a while is going pretty well. And I've decided that as of today I will start NaNoWriMo (national novel writing month). Sure I'm a few days late, but that's what makes it a challenge. I will keep y'all updated through Facebook and twitter.
I think that's all for now...
Ciao!
Thursday, August 7, 2014
Rejection And Bouncing Back
So I finally heard back from the publisher and ( as you might have guessed by the title) I was rejected. Or, to quote the email, my story "has not been accepted for publication at this time". So, I was a little upset, OK a lot upset. But I realized that pouting wasn't going to get me published. So what did I do?
I gave myself two minutes to sulk and wallow in self pity, then I got right back to writing. I realized that it wasn't that my story was bad, it just wasn't right or ready for publication. To be completely honest, I knew it wasn't my best work when I submitted it.
Now I'm working on a couple other pieces, ones that I hope will be better than this last one. I'm also trying to work off an outline for a story that I plan to make a novella out of.
And let me just say: outlines suck. OK not really. Outlines are actually some of the best things ever! But once you finish one it's like 'Yay! I'm done I can move on with other stories.... Except, this one isn't actually done. Ugh!'
I'm getting ready to move in to college, and I am coming back from a family vacation in Disney world! I did write a couple stories (fan fiction) that I will put online shortly.
Ciao!
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
More of What I Read
So, I just finished another frabulous book. Literally. Like, ten minutes ago. So, while the story is fresh in my mind, here is my review for Kevin Lucia's "Devourer of Souls" (WARNING! there will be SPOILERS!)
Let me start off with the "nitty gritty" kind of things. Firstly, there was at least one grammar/spelling mistake (the word "wait" where "with" made sense, and "wait" did not). But I'm not one to judge a book based on the spelling/grammar, because I am notorious for making those mistakes myself. On the plus side, the framing devise used is incredible! The 'structure' of the book is like this: two men talking in a cafe, introducing the reader to the atmosphere and the scene; then a novella, told first person by way of a 'if-you're-reading-this-I'm-dead' journal; then back to the present with the guys in the cafe; then on to the second novella and another first-person recounting of events; followed by a Coda, with our two guys from the cafe. Now the second novella is where the POV was kinda 'meh' for me.
Overall the POV shifts were fine, and totally clear, but there were some parts in the second novella "the man in yellow" that were kind of confusing. The POV is actually that of one Father Ward (one of the guys in the cafe) retelling to his friend something that was said to Father Ward. So it's kind of like a first-person recounting of a first person event. Like me telling you what it was like for my grandpa growing up in Philly. For the most part that did not distract from the story, but there were some places where it just wasn't needed.
Now, on to the fun stuff.
The story was great. And the perfect balance of suspense and mystery. There were enough twists to keep you on your toes, but not so many that you had 'whiplash' trying to keep up. Even the most unexpected turns were eased to the reader for an overall 'smooth ride'.
"Sophan" was an interesting little trip. I say it like that because I seriously felt like it was the kind of thing we would read in a Mr. Lucia class (which should be a high compliment to the author). There was so much that was symbolic. I actually went back and re-read the parts about what the diffrent dragons meant, and which boy drew which tile. It was fun, as was drawing parallels between all the characters. There were just enough questions (what did ever happen to Mr. Trung? Is/was he the Chiao?) which, to me, is more enjoyable than when an author spells out the ending.
To be totally honest, I liked "the man in yellow" better than "sophan" probably because of the ending. At the end of "sophan" we are left with a sort of speculative (and a little cliched) ending of "this is how I think it will end". Which leaves the reader to question, does it end that way? Also, the character development of the main character is just not 'real' enough for me. Oh, you had this bat-sh*t crazy thing happen to you as an adolescent, so you wave it aside, like nothing ever freaking happened. Then, years later, you just accept the fact that the ghost of your childhood 'frenemy' is jumping around all frantic? And this guy accepts, without a shadow of doubt or any questioning, that he is meant to go die, just like his 'frenemy' when they were younger? Not to mention that the whole relationship between Nate and Jake fits in with the 'perfect literary foil' of two characters with many similarities in their past and how one turns out good, the other, not so good (in my experience it has been one character is good, the other is insane).
Now, "the man in yellow", where to begin? I liked it. Although, when I started reading it, I was just like "oh great, we have a pastor's son who's all rebellious and 'God sucks' who has a disease... and I can just see where this epic 'battle-of-faith' is going from here". I was, very happily, proven wrong. my favorite part probably being when the main character, Stu, is all "so the fate of my whole town rests on me resisting the call right? I need to be this dramatic hero and save everyone by sacrificing myself?" and the big bad monster (the man in yellow) is just like "no. actually, it doesn't matter what you do now, because I have what I need and I'm taking your town to Hell, with or without you."
As a reader, my jaw hit the floor. That was totally unexpected, from my perspective. The sudience was being built up for this (cliched) epic conflict. The hero rising from the ashes (I'll bring that point back later) and all that happy crap. So when the protagonist has to find another way to stop the big bad man in yellow, so close to the end of the book too. Just wow.
But then, Lucia isn't done throwing twists at you yet. Oh no, no, no. You see, there is still one last twist at the end. Stu, who did triumphantly win by burning down the church. Is now living a normal life when he tells Father Ward of his plights. But then, Stu has a sudden realization. Maybe due to his finally recounting his tale to someone else, or maybe he just knew. But Stu actually becomes one to the monsters that he had tried so desperately to conquer.... and then he scuttles off to the woods, never to be seen again.
So, the book was overall amazing! I can honestly say that I will never be able to read 'Curious George" to my cousin again (The man in the yellow hat, the man in the yellow suit, I just can't handle it). And I think the greatest compliments that I can give are these:
1) I read the ehole book in three sittings
2) my Mom found the cover so creepy that I "wasn't allowed to read it in the family common area, unless the cover is covered"
and
3) It is going on my bookshelf, right next to my Harry Potter's, which are my favorite books in the whole universe (and I've read some pretty good books)
To conclude: Five Stars for Mr. Lucia, and I can't wait to see if any more comes out of Clifton Heights!
Let me start off with the "nitty gritty" kind of things. Firstly, there was at least one grammar/spelling mistake (the word "wait" where "with" made sense, and "wait" did not). But I'm not one to judge a book based on the spelling/grammar, because I am notorious for making those mistakes myself. On the plus side, the framing devise used is incredible! The 'structure' of the book is like this: two men talking in a cafe, introducing the reader to the atmosphere and the scene; then a novella, told first person by way of a 'if-you're-reading-this-I'm-dead' journal; then back to the present with the guys in the cafe; then on to the second novella and another first-person recounting of events; followed by a Coda, with our two guys from the cafe. Now the second novella is where the POV was kinda 'meh' for me.
Overall the POV shifts were fine, and totally clear, but there were some parts in the second novella "the man in yellow" that were kind of confusing. The POV is actually that of one Father Ward (one of the guys in the cafe) retelling to his friend something that was said to Father Ward. So it's kind of like a first-person recounting of a first person event. Like me telling you what it was like for my grandpa growing up in Philly. For the most part that did not distract from the story, but there were some places where it just wasn't needed.
Now, on to the fun stuff.
The story was great. And the perfect balance of suspense and mystery. There were enough twists to keep you on your toes, but not so many that you had 'whiplash' trying to keep up. Even the most unexpected turns were eased to the reader for an overall 'smooth ride'.
"Sophan" was an interesting little trip. I say it like that because I seriously felt like it was the kind of thing we would read in a Mr. Lucia class (which should be a high compliment to the author). There was so much that was symbolic. I actually went back and re-read the parts about what the diffrent dragons meant, and which boy drew which tile. It was fun, as was drawing parallels between all the characters. There were just enough questions (what did ever happen to Mr. Trung? Is/was he the Chiao?) which, to me, is more enjoyable than when an author spells out the ending.
To be totally honest, I liked "the man in yellow" better than "sophan" probably because of the ending. At the end of "sophan" we are left with a sort of speculative (and a little cliched) ending of "this is how I think it will end". Which leaves the reader to question, does it end that way? Also, the character development of the main character is just not 'real' enough for me. Oh, you had this bat-sh*t crazy thing happen to you as an adolescent, so you wave it aside, like nothing ever freaking happened. Then, years later, you just accept the fact that the ghost of your childhood 'frenemy' is jumping around all frantic? And this guy accepts, without a shadow of doubt or any questioning, that he is meant to go die, just like his 'frenemy' when they were younger? Not to mention that the whole relationship between Nate and Jake fits in with the 'perfect literary foil' of two characters with many similarities in their past and how one turns out good, the other, not so good (in my experience it has been one character is good, the other is insane).
Now, "the man in yellow", where to begin? I liked it. Although, when I started reading it, I was just like "oh great, we have a pastor's son who's all rebellious and 'God sucks' who has a disease... and I can just see where this epic 'battle-of-faith' is going from here". I was, very happily, proven wrong. my favorite part probably being when the main character, Stu, is all "so the fate of my whole town rests on me resisting the call right? I need to be this dramatic hero and save everyone by sacrificing myself?" and the big bad monster (the man in yellow) is just like "no. actually, it doesn't matter what you do now, because I have what I need and I'm taking your town to Hell, with or without you."
As a reader, my jaw hit the floor. That was totally unexpected, from my perspective. The sudience was being built up for this (cliched) epic conflict. The hero rising from the ashes (I'll bring that point back later) and all that happy crap. So when the protagonist has to find another way to stop the big bad man in yellow, so close to the end of the book too. Just wow.
But then, Lucia isn't done throwing twists at you yet. Oh no, no, no. You see, there is still one last twist at the end. Stu, who did triumphantly win by burning down the church. Is now living a normal life when he tells Father Ward of his plights. But then, Stu has a sudden realization. Maybe due to his finally recounting his tale to someone else, or maybe he just knew. But Stu actually becomes one to the monsters that he had tried so desperately to conquer.... and then he scuttles off to the woods, never to be seen again.
So, the book was overall amazing! I can honestly say that I will never be able to read 'Curious George" to my cousin again (The man in the yellow hat, the man in the yellow suit, I just can't handle it). And I think the greatest compliments that I can give are these:
1) I read the ehole book in three sittings
2) my Mom found the cover so creepy that I "wasn't allowed to read it in the family common area, unless the cover is covered"
and
3) It is going on my bookshelf, right next to my Harry Potter's, which are my favorite books in the whole universe (and I've read some pretty good books)
To conclude: Five Stars for Mr. Lucia, and I can't wait to see if any more comes out of Clifton Heights!
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Long Time, No See
So. I've officially graduated high school and I am now preparing to head off to college. The last month and a half have been a whirlwind of "get this paper in!" "Fill out these important forms ASAP!" "Do this or you can't graduate!" "Do this or you can't go to college!" and a bunch of fun stuff like that. So between Prom, Graduation, Finishing High School, and Enrolling in classes for college, I managed to submit a story for professional publication.
Now, that doesn't necessarily mean that I will get published. But I did manage to send the story in, and now I'm just waiting to hear back on that. In the mean time I've been working on some fun little writing exercises, and trying to finish at least one novel/novella. But I've reached a plateau in all the stories. The kind of plateau that is essential to the story, but it hard to write.
To Clarify: every book, movie, play, etc. has a point where it's just a lull between actions. Or simply exposition. As a writer, it's hard to write that part. Especially for me. Every time I want to explain something, I hear my teacher's voice in my head saying Show, Don't Tell, SHOW DO NOT TELL. Which is really hard to do sometimes. Plus, I want to avoid what I call the "Twilight Montage" that is, in New Moon when there are, what, four? five? six? pages that consist of nothing but the name of the month? ("October" "November" "December"...you get the idea)
I also, as a writer, want to avoid the "info dump" as much as possible. That is, I don't want to just give you all the information at once, I have to draw it out through dialogue or a scene. Sometimes there is just no way around it. A writer has a deadline and just needs to get the information to the reader. But for now, I am not working on a deadline. I mean, yes I make deadlines for myself. But I don't have the promise of a payday being held over me.
I guess this has just kind of turned into another rambling session of mine, hasn't it? Oh well. I do have some news, if anybody has made it this far. I am going to write some fan fiction and post it here. Don't worry, nothing smutty. And I'm working very specific here: crossover fanfic. Please, hold your insults and gagging, it gets better. I will be writing about Disney Princesses (and Princes, of course) at Hogwarts. (How original, right?) Just kidding on the original thing, but totally serious about writing these. I found (whilst paroozing tumblr) some really fun illustrations that people have done of their favorite Disney Princesses at Hogwarts. And I figure, Hey! I like Hogwarts, I like Disney! And I need to write something, and this is a good mind numbing exercise I can do while I try to figure out how to fill plot holes I've accidentally created in my other works.
So keep an eye out for that, oh! And be expecting to see more of me. Because it is finally Summer and I have nothing better to do when it is raining and too hot to sleep.
Ciao!
Now, that doesn't necessarily mean that I will get published. But I did manage to send the story in, and now I'm just waiting to hear back on that. In the mean time I've been working on some fun little writing exercises, and trying to finish at least one novel/novella. But I've reached a plateau in all the stories. The kind of plateau that is essential to the story, but it hard to write.
To Clarify: every book, movie, play, etc. has a point where it's just a lull between actions. Or simply exposition. As a writer, it's hard to write that part. Especially for me. Every time I want to explain something, I hear my teacher's voice in my head saying Show, Don't Tell, SHOW DO NOT TELL. Which is really hard to do sometimes. Plus, I want to avoid what I call the "Twilight Montage" that is, in New Moon when there are, what, four? five? six? pages that consist of nothing but the name of the month? ("October" "November" "December"...you get the idea)
I also, as a writer, want to avoid the "info dump" as much as possible. That is, I don't want to just give you all the information at once, I have to draw it out through dialogue or a scene. Sometimes there is just no way around it. A writer has a deadline and just needs to get the information to the reader. But for now, I am not working on a deadline. I mean, yes I make deadlines for myself. But I don't have the promise of a payday being held over me.
I guess this has just kind of turned into another rambling session of mine, hasn't it? Oh well. I do have some news, if anybody has made it this far. I am going to write some fan fiction and post it here. Don't worry, nothing smutty. And I'm working very specific here: crossover fanfic. Please, hold your insults and gagging, it gets better. I will be writing about Disney Princesses (and Princes, of course) at Hogwarts. (How original, right?) Just kidding on the original thing, but totally serious about writing these. I found (whilst paroozing tumblr) some really fun illustrations that people have done of their favorite Disney Princesses at Hogwarts. And I figure, Hey! I like Hogwarts, I like Disney! And I need to write something, and this is a good mind numbing exercise I can do while I try to figure out how to fill plot holes I've accidentally created in my other works.
So keep an eye out for that, oh! And be expecting to see more of me. Because it is finally Summer and I have nothing better to do when it is raining and too hot to sleep.
Ciao!
Monday, May 5, 2014
High School: Who Cares?
So, I haven't taken you on a journey through my mind recently, so let's see what happens...
Let me bring you up to speed on my life, thus far. I have finally decided that I am going to Le Moyne College next year. I have also gone through a rough break-up, no worries I won't be all bitchy about it. But it got me thinking... high school is really trivial.
Think about it. In high school you feel like everything happening to you will be so important for the rest of your life. In the moment, everything is important. And you think that you are planning for your future. but really, how much of this is actually important?
Who cares if you got the best grades? Who cares if you won the most football games? Who cares if you were a geek? Who cares if you were a slut? Honestly, high school is such a short part of our lives, only four years, and yet we feel like it is the time that shapes us the most. I will admit that in my four years of high school I have changed quite a bit. But I wouldn't say that these were the most important days of my life.
Of course, thus far they are pretty important. In high school you do have to make some major choices. But these choices aren't like, life or death, they are- for the most part- just things to make life easier down the road. For example, if I decided to go to Le Moyne for Creative Writing (which I did) but in a year I decide to go to Cal Tech for Astrophysics, I can. It will be harder, but I can still do it.
Similarly, friendships forged in high school are hardly life-long, nor permanent. I had friends that graduated before me, and they probably wouldn't count me as a friend any more. For no other reason than, we just don't hang out. If they see me on the street, they acknowledge me, and I them. But it's not like we have to have really in-depth conversations or even a normal conversation. Life moves on.
I also know that when I leave here, in about two months; when I say good-bye to some people, that is going to be our final good-bye. Sure, I have friends that I hope I can stay in touch with, but honestly, we won't have much to talk about if we're not involved in the same activities. I wish I could say that I'll stay in touch with everyone, but that is just a lie. I wish I could say that my (now ex) boyfriend was "the one" and that I'll never be whole again. But that's simply not true.
High school relationships, friendships, enemy-ships, etc.... they all end. I can honestly say that in five months I won't care who I was in a relationship with; I won't care who sat next to me in fourth period theology; I won't care which parties I wasn't invited to; I won't care about most of my (current) friends' issues because; let's be honest, I will be far away, living my own life. Quite Simply, high school is just another four years. College is just another four years. Ultimately, I don't think I'll even remember most of these people in a year.
I suppose that should make me sad, but it doesn't. OK, that's a lie. I am torn up right now. My heart is dieing. I do get sad when I think that these people that I have shared so much with will be gone. But then I realize that, just because I have had friends move on, doesn't mean that I've been sad for the last four years. I managed to make new friends every year. And I know my little buddies will too.
Now, don't get me wrong. I love my friends. I hope I can stay in contact with them, but I'm not going to kill myself to stay in contact with them.
This post, I suppose, is me really letting go. Letting go of all the negative feelings I have towards certain people: the girl who used to be my best friend, the ex friends that won't let things go, the one who ripped my heart out, the jerks who made fun of me, the kids who pissed me off, the authorities that were corrupt.... In the end, all of it is so trivial.
I feel like I have had a sudden epiphany today. Because, while all those things did hurt me; made me scream and cry and hurt; none of them are so detrimental to my life that I can't move on. My Mom always says that everything happens for a reason, I suppose it does. I'm not saying that these things didn't shape me, because they did. But I am saying that I don't need to dwell on them.
And if you're in high school, middle school, college, working, whatever; and you're reading this, then just remember: so much of what you think is detrimental is really trivial. Now, some people do have legitimate things to worry about in high school and college (having a child, cancer, getting married, taking care of siblings, parents dieing, etc.) but I am not one of those people. My life is pretty ordinary. The most pressing thing now is passing all my classes and finding a date to prom.
So, my advise is to keep living life and "doing you" but don't let little things (like break-ups, or fizzled friendships, or failing classes, or loosing a game) control your life. That's all for now, I will try to post more often now that the school year is winding down, but I make no promises.
Ciao!
Let me bring you up to speed on my life, thus far. I have finally decided that I am going to Le Moyne College next year. I have also gone through a rough break-up, no worries I won't be all bitchy about it. But it got me thinking... high school is really trivial.
Think about it. In high school you feel like everything happening to you will be so important for the rest of your life. In the moment, everything is important. And you think that you are planning for your future. but really, how much of this is actually important?
Who cares if you got the best grades? Who cares if you won the most football games? Who cares if you were a geek? Who cares if you were a slut? Honestly, high school is such a short part of our lives, only four years, and yet we feel like it is the time that shapes us the most. I will admit that in my four years of high school I have changed quite a bit. But I wouldn't say that these were the most important days of my life.
Of course, thus far they are pretty important. In high school you do have to make some major choices. But these choices aren't like, life or death, they are- for the most part- just things to make life easier down the road. For example, if I decided to go to Le Moyne for Creative Writing (which I did) but in a year I decide to go to Cal Tech for Astrophysics, I can. It will be harder, but I can still do it.
Similarly, friendships forged in high school are hardly life-long, nor permanent. I had friends that graduated before me, and they probably wouldn't count me as a friend any more. For no other reason than, we just don't hang out. If they see me on the street, they acknowledge me, and I them. But it's not like we have to have really in-depth conversations or even a normal conversation. Life moves on.
I also know that when I leave here, in about two months; when I say good-bye to some people, that is going to be our final good-bye. Sure, I have friends that I hope I can stay in touch with, but honestly, we won't have much to talk about if we're not involved in the same activities. I wish I could say that I'll stay in touch with everyone, but that is just a lie. I wish I could say that my (now ex) boyfriend was "the one" and that I'll never be whole again. But that's simply not true.
High school relationships, friendships, enemy-ships, etc.... they all end. I can honestly say that in five months I won't care who I was in a relationship with; I won't care who sat next to me in fourth period theology; I won't care which parties I wasn't invited to; I won't care about most of my (current) friends' issues because; let's be honest, I will be far away, living my own life. Quite Simply, high school is just another four years. College is just another four years. Ultimately, I don't think I'll even remember most of these people in a year.
I suppose that should make me sad, but it doesn't. OK, that's a lie. I am torn up right now. My heart is dieing. I do get sad when I think that these people that I have shared so much with will be gone. But then I realize that, just because I have had friends move on, doesn't mean that I've been sad for the last four years. I managed to make new friends every year. And I know my little buddies will too.
Now, don't get me wrong. I love my friends. I hope I can stay in contact with them, but I'm not going to kill myself to stay in contact with them.
This post, I suppose, is me really letting go. Letting go of all the negative feelings I have towards certain people: the girl who used to be my best friend, the ex friends that won't let things go, the one who ripped my heart out, the jerks who made fun of me, the kids who pissed me off, the authorities that were corrupt.... In the end, all of it is so trivial.
I feel like I have had a sudden epiphany today. Because, while all those things did hurt me; made me scream and cry and hurt; none of them are so detrimental to my life that I can't move on. My Mom always says that everything happens for a reason, I suppose it does. I'm not saying that these things didn't shape me, because they did. But I am saying that I don't need to dwell on them.
And if you're in high school, middle school, college, working, whatever; and you're reading this, then just remember: so much of what you think is detrimental is really trivial. Now, some people do have legitimate things to worry about in high school and college (having a child, cancer, getting married, taking care of siblings, parents dieing, etc.) but I am not one of those people. My life is pretty ordinary. The most pressing thing now is passing all my classes and finding a date to prom.
So, my advise is to keep living life and "doing you" but don't let little things (like break-ups, or fizzled friendships, or failing classes, or loosing a game) control your life. That's all for now, I will try to post more often now that the school year is winding down, but I make no promises.
Ciao!
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Social Media
Hey Y'all!
I am making a Twitter and Facebook for you to follow me on if you want some more "up to date" news about me. A lot of times I have stuff that I want to say about writing and similar things, but not enough for me to make a full post out of. Not to mention That I am very busy at the moment and it's just easier to write a quick 140 character thought than a whole post where I have to proof-read and think it through. So, follow me on Twitter: @ebrown_writes
And Facebook: facebook.com/ebrownwrites
And I will let you know any other things that come up!
Ciao!
Monday, March 10, 2014
My predictions for the future
So guys, I was talking to a friend the other day and I had this idea. What will it be like at my 20th high school reunion? This is the result.
****
"Are you ready?" I call up the stairs.
"Relax." my husband says, walking down as he buttons his Kelly green shirt. His white tie hangs around his shoulders. His black slacks are pressed and clean, and his socks slip on the hardwood floor.
"I know, but I think I have a right to be a little nervous, Bryan."
"You'll be fine." he says, then pecks me on the lips.
The phone rings.
"I got it." He checks the caller ID then chuckles, "Courtney."
"Answer, tell her I'm leaving now, and I'll call back on my cell in 10?20? Minutes."
There's a dull thumping coming from upstairs, I start up. My tan tights slip until I reach the carpeted stairs.
"Alex?" I ask, going to the blue door. As I open the door a hockey stick clatters to the ground in front of me. My daughter's bright red hair spills over the edge of her bed. She's bouncing a basketball against her wall.
"Alexis Rose Bethovan!"
She stops when she sees me scowling. She knows what she is supposed to be doing, and she also knows that she is never supposed to bounce the ball in the house. Let alone against her wall while we're trying to get out the door.
"Young lady," I prepare to give a rant, but I'm distracted by her clothes on the floor.
Alex is still in her outer space PJ's and her black tee with the fish on it is crumpled in the center of her sea life rug, and her royal blue leggings are hanging off a handle of her wardrobe. She stops thumping the ball and grabs the clothes.
"Make sure you have a play bag packed." I say, closing the door behind me.
I walk down the hall to the green door with pink flowers on it.
"Kateri, are you ready, sweetheart?"
I open the door to see Alex's twin sitting at her vanity, putting a fifth pastel barrette in her light brown hair.
"Almost Mommy!"
She finishes with a sixth barrette, then runs over for inspection. She wears a pastel striped polo dress with white tights. My six year old has a better sense of style then I ever did, with the exception of the hair she looks totally perfect.
"Good job, Kat. Make sure you have a play bag packed."
"Can I bring Madame Roxy?"
"Of course."
"Thanks Mommy!"
She grabs her stuffed fox and starts packing the rest of her quiet toys in a pastel green tote bag.I close the door and head down to the basement. I open the door to my home office and I grab my cell off the charger. I stop for a second and look around. All my diplomas hang on the wall. Including my High School one. Dated 20 years ago, today. Oh how times have changed. I moved away, granted only a couple hours, but still away. I'm married with six-year-old twins, that are going to start First Grade in September. I have lived in Europe for eight years. I home schooled my girls. I took off my job as an attorney for New York State. And now I'm going back to the place where I spent four years of my life.
I head back upstairs and find the girls arguing over the usual family road-trip issue: where are we going?
"We're goin' to see Auntie Aya!" Kat pounds her foot on the ground.
"Na-uh!" Alex shakes her head so hard that her half-brushed hair whips both sides of her face.
"Yes we are!"
"No we're not!"
"Mommy! Tell Alex I'm right, we're goin' to Auntie Aya's house and you have a meeting!"
"Mommy will agree with me. We're going to go to a fun place with Tally and Sofie and Devon and Jimmy and Kyle and Pat and Angie!"
"You forgot Danielle." Kat sneers.
"Stop it, girls. Neither of you are correct. We are going to a reunion. Daddy and I will drop you off and Grandma and Grandpa Brown's and then we'll be going to a grown up event."
"But I thought we were going to Auntie Aya's." Kat looks at me with sad, downcast eyes.
"That's next week, darling. And we're going with Tally and her family next month. So you were both close."
As if on cue, Tally and her eleven year old son Devon walk in. Tally lives next door now, and her kids are practically my kids. And she feels the same way about my girls. We always do things together. And today is no exception.
"Our lot is almost ready." she says.
"Same here."
"Are we all taking the bus, or are we taking separate vans?"
I take a quick look at the girls, and at Devon, who is probably the only one of Tally's kids that is actually ready.
"We can take the bus." I say, grabbing my black high heels off the shoe rack in the hall.
"I'll tell Jimmy to load 'em up!"
"Grab Brian, too. I think I sent him to pack up the van."
"Sure."
"Girls, let me see your bags." Kat comes up first, her stuffed fox dressed in a pink tie dye sun dress and white bejeweled sandals is tucked under her arm. Kat also packed her tablet, a white sweater, and a smaller bag for Madame Roxy.
"good job. And Alex?" I turn to find Alex holding her stuffed penguin: Skippy Puff. The plush is dressed in a black tank that reads 'Rock!!!' and a red lace skirt, no shoes for the little bird's feet. Alex has a blue backpack that hold her tablet and three packs of gum in various flavors, plus her lucky sea shell on a black leather string.
"Does Skippy want to wear the shell today?"
"Yes, but I'm not going to put it on until we get to Grandma's house."
"OK, sweety."
"Everyone ready?" Bryna calls in.
"Looks like it." I say, getting the girls' shoes: white sandals for Kat and black flats for Alex.
The four of us file out to find Tally's husband in the driver's seat of the re purposed Shaffer bus we use for family vacations together. Tally holds her sleeping newborn daughter, Angie.
"Am I on baby duty, or rodeo?" Bryan asks, as I buckle the girls into their seats. Kat on the interior of one side, Alex on the exterior across the aisle, Madame Roxy (the stuffed Fox) is buckled next to Kat and Skippy Puff shares a seat with Alex.
"Rodeo." Tally sighs, sitting in the front seat as Angie starts to wake up.
Three minutes later, Tally's kids start coming out. All of them have jet black hair, just like Tally And Jimmy, but they all have different types of hair and eyes. Devon, the oldest, has straight hair and droopy brown eyes. He sits behind his father, directly across from Tally. Then come Kyle and Danielle, eight and ten respectively. Both have curly black hair. But Kyle has striking green eyes and Danielle has sparkling blue. Sofie bounces on, her hair is both curly and straight and wavy. Just a hot mess.
That's what we always say. Sofie, little six-year-old Sofie, is just one jumble of features. the most obvious are her eyes: one is hazel, the other is such a pale blue that it almost looks white. She also has a birthmark on her arm that looks, vaguely, like a dragon. She wears a yellow tank with a matching tutu, yellow-and-purple stripped socks, and yellow lady bug rain boots. She carries a yellow dragon, Lady Bye-Bye Gone the Zippy, to be exact.
"Sofie, sit next to me!" Alex tries to jump up, but is held down by her seat belt. Sofie and Bye-Bye share the window seat next to Alex. They start discussing what school will be like in September. They fantasize about large hallways and classrooms full of kids their own age.
finally Brian comes back out, pushing Pat in his wheelchair. The casts on his arm and leg glow neon green in the overcast light, the remnants of the skiing accident.
"Everyone ready?" Brian asks, getting four-year-old Pat situated in one of the beds in the back of the bus.
Devon nods. Sofie and Alex have a contest of who-can-shout-ready-louder. Danielle mumbles and answer, and texts rapidly. Pat squeaks "ready!" and pulls out his tablet to play a video game. Kyle says ready and pulls out his summer math assignment on a table next to Pat's bed. Angie cries, and Tally gets ready to nurse her.
"Ready when you are." Jimmy calls from the front seat, giving us the thumbs up. Brian sits next to Devon, and we pull out of the driveway.
I settle into a seat in the back, and pull out my phone. I call back my assistant, Courtney.
About three hours later we pull up to my parents' house in Yaturkville, New York.
"Grandma! Grandpa!" Alex and Kat jump off the bus and sprint into my parents' outstretched arms.
"We'll see you tomorrow after dinner!" Tally calls as she drives away.
"Kat, Alex, Mommy and I will be back after bed time."
The girls don't even care. They run into the house, my parents' right behind them. My Mom pokes her head and arm back out to throw me the keys to the jeep. Brian and I hop in and drive the remaining twenty minutes to my Alma mater: Magnus Catholic Central High School.
We arrive in time to check in with my former Senior Class Secretary. She used to be a cheerleader and a really popular girl. Now she's thin, but obviously diets, a lot. She organized this whole event. The Class Treasurer guides Brian and I to our table in the cafeteria. Brian and I are the first to fill the eight empty seats at the table. But three minutes later i recognize a face.
"Fiona?"
"Yeah..." she reads my name tag, "Ashley, we were in home room together Senior year, right?"
"Exactly. And, Oh my God! You married Liam?"
"Hey, Ashley!" He raises his arm. He wears a navy blue Air Force blazer, with a silver insignia on the sleeve, and medals pinned to his chest.
"Wow. how have you guys been?"
"Great. We have a son now, Skye. He's two." Fiona says, sitting at the table. "and it looks like we've missed a lot from you." she nods at Brian.
"This is my husband, Brian. We have twin six-year-old girls, Kateri and Alexis."
We pull out pictures of our kids, and more people come to the table. Next, the remaining four people get to our table together. Katelyn, who married our Valedictorian Michael. And Rachel, who married a journalist from Rome.
"Katelyn!" Fiona jumps up and hugs her friend, while Michael shakes Liam's hand.
"Rach Face! You're preggers!" I can't help myself. I've seen Rachel a few times since high school. We stayed in touch throughout college, but when I had the girls I lost touch with most of my old friends. Rach and I would still touch base occasionally, but she was always travelling.
"Ash!" Her baby bump presses in my abdomen as we hug.
"Well don't crush him." I say pulling away and checking out the bump, "Boy or girl?"
"We want it to be a surprise." Katelyn and Fiona each hug Rachel, then we all sit down. Our husbands awkwardly exchange hand shakes and start their own conversations.
The women exchange picture of our kids. Fiona shows pictures of Skye in the plane with Liam, and talks about how they're hoping Skye will have a little brother or sister soon. Katelyn talks about her kids, three of them. And Rachel shares about her older daughter, Cosette, a Haitian orphan she adopted two years ago. Then our old class President gets up at the podium at the front of the room. His thick Nigerian accent seems stronger now than it was when we were in high school.
I look around the room and realize that most people haven't changed too much. All of the kids that were in New Visions are successful doctors, just like they wanted. There are a smattering of old faces that stand out. Jenna, her black skin looking dull stretched over obvious plastic surgery, is wearing a dress that looks more like a lime green tube top stretched over her butt. Christa is at the door. I recognize her only from the few times I've been on twitter recently. She has tattoos up and down her arms, but she looks nice in a sequence off the shoulder top and a black skirt.
"You can't come in." the squeaky voice of our former vice principal says, grabbing Christy's arm.
"Why not?" She is less defiant now, more of a genuine question.
"You were banned from school activities!"
"That was twenty years ago!"
I stop paying attention after Christa's brother stumbles in and screams drunken slurs at half the audience. Christa picks up whats left of her dignity and storms out, dragging her brother out like a man predicting the Apocalypse on a city corner.
I decide to check the old stage. It probably hasn't changed too much, but I have to see it. Some of my fondest memories are on that stage. Opening night of every performance, getting my diploma, Brian and I sneaking away for a secret kiss during Post Prom Party. Not to mention all of the singing. All the chorus trips i took for competition. All those memories are on this stage. I walk into the gym and up the five stairs to the stage. It feels only right to walk through the center of the curtains. I grab a bit of the purple crushed velvet with each hand, and pull back.
It doesn't completely surprise me, but I am a little shocked to see all the old "theater kids" gathered on the stage. Nadine, who went to the same college I did, and now works for the EPA. Rachel, who is sitting criss-cross on the floor staring at the place where we all signed our names. Jake stands by the loading door. He smokes a cigarette, something I never would have thought he'd do; but he also has a hand on a man's waist. I vaguely recognize him. His name was Kyle Gibson. He never went to our school, but I met him when I ran into Jake at a meeting in New York.
I take in the surrounding, then music starts playing in the band room. We open the doors and see Vince on the piano.
"Manche!" he exclaims when he sees me. The he shouts greetings to the rest as we all file in. After a few moments of murmuring to each other, Vince plays again. It's a song we all knew. I feel like we knew it a little too well. But all eight of us start singing. Vince remembers the music after so many years. his white spidery hands dance on the keys and none of us can stop singing.
Once the song ends and we all catch our breaths, we laugh. We laugh and cry and talk. Pretty soon our spouses find us. I find out that Jake really was gay the whole time we were in high school together, including the time I had to play his wife. I learn more about my friends now than i ever did. But at the end, we all leave. We exchange numbers, knowing full well that we will never use them.
But that's what a reunion is for. You can relive those sweetest of memories and then forget them all over again. You can move on with life, knowing that you moved past high school. A reunion is a time for you to realize that, yeah everyone didn't end up exactly where they wanted to be. maybe some people did better than others, and maybe you found out that you didn't amount to a total loser. A reunion is that time you spend every few decades reminding yourself that 'hey, least I'm not as bad as so-and-so.'
So have fun in high school, but remember that it is no more than a chapter in your life. A crazy chapter, but not the most important. And certainly not the climax, or even a major plot point, in the large book that is your life.
Ciao!
****
"Are you ready?" I call up the stairs.
"Relax." my husband says, walking down as he buttons his Kelly green shirt. His white tie hangs around his shoulders. His black slacks are pressed and clean, and his socks slip on the hardwood floor.
"I know, but I think I have a right to be a little nervous, Bryan."
"You'll be fine." he says, then pecks me on the lips.
The phone rings.
"I got it." He checks the caller ID then chuckles, "Courtney."
"Answer, tell her I'm leaving now, and I'll call back on my cell in 10?20? Minutes."
There's a dull thumping coming from upstairs, I start up. My tan tights slip until I reach the carpeted stairs.
"Alex?" I ask, going to the blue door. As I open the door a hockey stick clatters to the ground in front of me. My daughter's bright red hair spills over the edge of her bed. She's bouncing a basketball against her wall.
"Alexis Rose Bethovan!"
She stops when she sees me scowling. She knows what she is supposed to be doing, and she also knows that she is never supposed to bounce the ball in the house. Let alone against her wall while we're trying to get out the door.
"Young lady," I prepare to give a rant, but I'm distracted by her clothes on the floor.
Alex is still in her outer space PJ's and her black tee with the fish on it is crumpled in the center of her sea life rug, and her royal blue leggings are hanging off a handle of her wardrobe. She stops thumping the ball and grabs the clothes.
"Make sure you have a play bag packed." I say, closing the door behind me.
I walk down the hall to the green door with pink flowers on it.
"Kateri, are you ready, sweetheart?"
I open the door to see Alex's twin sitting at her vanity, putting a fifth pastel barrette in her light brown hair.
"Almost Mommy!"
She finishes with a sixth barrette, then runs over for inspection. She wears a pastel striped polo dress with white tights. My six year old has a better sense of style then I ever did, with the exception of the hair she looks totally perfect.
"Good job, Kat. Make sure you have a play bag packed."
"Can I bring Madame Roxy?"
"Of course."
"Thanks Mommy!"
She grabs her stuffed fox and starts packing the rest of her quiet toys in a pastel green tote bag.I close the door and head down to the basement. I open the door to my home office and I grab my cell off the charger. I stop for a second and look around. All my diplomas hang on the wall. Including my High School one. Dated 20 years ago, today. Oh how times have changed. I moved away, granted only a couple hours, but still away. I'm married with six-year-old twins, that are going to start First Grade in September. I have lived in Europe for eight years. I home schooled my girls. I took off my job as an attorney for New York State. And now I'm going back to the place where I spent four years of my life.
I head back upstairs and find the girls arguing over the usual family road-trip issue: where are we going?
"We're goin' to see Auntie Aya!" Kat pounds her foot on the ground.
"Na-uh!" Alex shakes her head so hard that her half-brushed hair whips both sides of her face.
"Yes we are!"
"No we're not!"
"Mommy! Tell Alex I'm right, we're goin' to Auntie Aya's house and you have a meeting!"
"Mommy will agree with me. We're going to go to a fun place with Tally and Sofie and Devon and Jimmy and Kyle and Pat and Angie!"
"You forgot Danielle." Kat sneers.
"Stop it, girls. Neither of you are correct. We are going to a reunion. Daddy and I will drop you off and Grandma and Grandpa Brown's and then we'll be going to a grown up event."
"But I thought we were going to Auntie Aya's." Kat looks at me with sad, downcast eyes.
"That's next week, darling. And we're going with Tally and her family next month. So you were both close."
As if on cue, Tally and her eleven year old son Devon walk in. Tally lives next door now, and her kids are practically my kids. And she feels the same way about my girls. We always do things together. And today is no exception.
"Our lot is almost ready." she says.
"Same here."
"Are we all taking the bus, or are we taking separate vans?"
I take a quick look at the girls, and at Devon, who is probably the only one of Tally's kids that is actually ready.
"We can take the bus." I say, grabbing my black high heels off the shoe rack in the hall.
"I'll tell Jimmy to load 'em up!"
"Grab Brian, too. I think I sent him to pack up the van."
"Sure."
"Girls, let me see your bags." Kat comes up first, her stuffed fox dressed in a pink tie dye sun dress and white bejeweled sandals is tucked under her arm. Kat also packed her tablet, a white sweater, and a smaller bag for Madame Roxy.
"good job. And Alex?" I turn to find Alex holding her stuffed penguin: Skippy Puff. The plush is dressed in a black tank that reads 'Rock!!!' and a red lace skirt, no shoes for the little bird's feet. Alex has a blue backpack that hold her tablet and three packs of gum in various flavors, plus her lucky sea shell on a black leather string.
"Does Skippy want to wear the shell today?"
"Yes, but I'm not going to put it on until we get to Grandma's house."
"OK, sweety."
"Everyone ready?" Bryna calls in.
"Looks like it." I say, getting the girls' shoes: white sandals for Kat and black flats for Alex.
The four of us file out to find Tally's husband in the driver's seat of the re purposed Shaffer bus we use for family vacations together. Tally holds her sleeping newborn daughter, Angie.
"Am I on baby duty, or rodeo?" Bryan asks, as I buckle the girls into their seats. Kat on the interior of one side, Alex on the exterior across the aisle, Madame Roxy (the stuffed Fox) is buckled next to Kat and Skippy Puff shares a seat with Alex.
"Rodeo." Tally sighs, sitting in the front seat as Angie starts to wake up.
Three minutes later, Tally's kids start coming out. All of them have jet black hair, just like Tally And Jimmy, but they all have different types of hair and eyes. Devon, the oldest, has straight hair and droopy brown eyes. He sits behind his father, directly across from Tally. Then come Kyle and Danielle, eight and ten respectively. Both have curly black hair. But Kyle has striking green eyes and Danielle has sparkling blue. Sofie bounces on, her hair is both curly and straight and wavy. Just a hot mess.
That's what we always say. Sofie, little six-year-old Sofie, is just one jumble of features. the most obvious are her eyes: one is hazel, the other is such a pale blue that it almost looks white. She also has a birthmark on her arm that looks, vaguely, like a dragon. She wears a yellow tank with a matching tutu, yellow-and-purple stripped socks, and yellow lady bug rain boots. She carries a yellow dragon, Lady Bye-Bye Gone the Zippy, to be exact.
"Sofie, sit next to me!" Alex tries to jump up, but is held down by her seat belt. Sofie and Bye-Bye share the window seat next to Alex. They start discussing what school will be like in September. They fantasize about large hallways and classrooms full of kids their own age.
finally Brian comes back out, pushing Pat in his wheelchair. The casts on his arm and leg glow neon green in the overcast light, the remnants of the skiing accident.
"Everyone ready?" Brian asks, getting four-year-old Pat situated in one of the beds in the back of the bus.
Devon nods. Sofie and Alex have a contest of who-can-shout-ready-louder. Danielle mumbles and answer, and texts rapidly. Pat squeaks "ready!" and pulls out his tablet to play a video game. Kyle says ready and pulls out his summer math assignment on a table next to Pat's bed. Angie cries, and Tally gets ready to nurse her.
"Ready when you are." Jimmy calls from the front seat, giving us the thumbs up. Brian sits next to Devon, and we pull out of the driveway.
I settle into a seat in the back, and pull out my phone. I call back my assistant, Courtney.
About three hours later we pull up to my parents' house in Yaturkville, New York.
"Grandma! Grandpa!" Alex and Kat jump off the bus and sprint into my parents' outstretched arms.
"We'll see you tomorrow after dinner!" Tally calls as she drives away.
"Kat, Alex, Mommy and I will be back after bed time."
The girls don't even care. They run into the house, my parents' right behind them. My Mom pokes her head and arm back out to throw me the keys to the jeep. Brian and I hop in and drive the remaining twenty minutes to my Alma mater: Magnus Catholic Central High School.
We arrive in time to check in with my former Senior Class Secretary. She used to be a cheerleader and a really popular girl. Now she's thin, but obviously diets, a lot. She organized this whole event. The Class Treasurer guides Brian and I to our table in the cafeteria. Brian and I are the first to fill the eight empty seats at the table. But three minutes later i recognize a face.
"Fiona?"
"Yeah..." she reads my name tag, "Ashley, we were in home room together Senior year, right?"
"Exactly. And, Oh my God! You married Liam?"
"Hey, Ashley!" He raises his arm. He wears a navy blue Air Force blazer, with a silver insignia on the sleeve, and medals pinned to his chest.
"Wow. how have you guys been?"
"Great. We have a son now, Skye. He's two." Fiona says, sitting at the table. "and it looks like we've missed a lot from you." she nods at Brian.
"This is my husband, Brian. We have twin six-year-old girls, Kateri and Alexis."
We pull out pictures of our kids, and more people come to the table. Next, the remaining four people get to our table together. Katelyn, who married our Valedictorian Michael. And Rachel, who married a journalist from Rome.
"Katelyn!" Fiona jumps up and hugs her friend, while Michael shakes Liam's hand.
"Rach Face! You're preggers!" I can't help myself. I've seen Rachel a few times since high school. We stayed in touch throughout college, but when I had the girls I lost touch with most of my old friends. Rach and I would still touch base occasionally, but she was always travelling.
"Ash!" Her baby bump presses in my abdomen as we hug.
"Well don't crush him." I say pulling away and checking out the bump, "Boy or girl?"
"We want it to be a surprise." Katelyn and Fiona each hug Rachel, then we all sit down. Our husbands awkwardly exchange hand shakes and start their own conversations.
The women exchange picture of our kids. Fiona shows pictures of Skye in the plane with Liam, and talks about how they're hoping Skye will have a little brother or sister soon. Katelyn talks about her kids, three of them. And Rachel shares about her older daughter, Cosette, a Haitian orphan she adopted two years ago. Then our old class President gets up at the podium at the front of the room. His thick Nigerian accent seems stronger now than it was when we were in high school.
I look around the room and realize that most people haven't changed too much. All of the kids that were in New Visions are successful doctors, just like they wanted. There are a smattering of old faces that stand out. Jenna, her black skin looking dull stretched over obvious plastic surgery, is wearing a dress that looks more like a lime green tube top stretched over her butt. Christa is at the door. I recognize her only from the few times I've been on twitter recently. She has tattoos up and down her arms, but she looks nice in a sequence off the shoulder top and a black skirt.
"You can't come in." the squeaky voice of our former vice principal says, grabbing Christy's arm.
"Why not?" She is less defiant now, more of a genuine question.
"You were banned from school activities!"
"That was twenty years ago!"
I stop paying attention after Christa's brother stumbles in and screams drunken slurs at half the audience. Christa picks up whats left of her dignity and storms out, dragging her brother out like a man predicting the Apocalypse on a city corner.
I decide to check the old stage. It probably hasn't changed too much, but I have to see it. Some of my fondest memories are on that stage. Opening night of every performance, getting my diploma, Brian and I sneaking away for a secret kiss during Post Prom Party. Not to mention all of the singing. All the chorus trips i took for competition. All those memories are on this stage. I walk into the gym and up the five stairs to the stage. It feels only right to walk through the center of the curtains. I grab a bit of the purple crushed velvet with each hand, and pull back.
It doesn't completely surprise me, but I am a little shocked to see all the old "theater kids" gathered on the stage. Nadine, who went to the same college I did, and now works for the EPA. Rachel, who is sitting criss-cross on the floor staring at the place where we all signed our names. Jake stands by the loading door. He smokes a cigarette, something I never would have thought he'd do; but he also has a hand on a man's waist. I vaguely recognize him. His name was Kyle Gibson. He never went to our school, but I met him when I ran into Jake at a meeting in New York.
I take in the surrounding, then music starts playing in the band room. We open the doors and see Vince on the piano.
"Manche!" he exclaims when he sees me. The he shouts greetings to the rest as we all file in. After a few moments of murmuring to each other, Vince plays again. It's a song we all knew. I feel like we knew it a little too well. But all eight of us start singing. Vince remembers the music after so many years. his white spidery hands dance on the keys and none of us can stop singing.
Once the song ends and we all catch our breaths, we laugh. We laugh and cry and talk. Pretty soon our spouses find us. I find out that Jake really was gay the whole time we were in high school together, including the time I had to play his wife. I learn more about my friends now than i ever did. But at the end, we all leave. We exchange numbers, knowing full well that we will never use them.
But that's what a reunion is for. You can relive those sweetest of memories and then forget them all over again. You can move on with life, knowing that you moved past high school. A reunion is a time for you to realize that, yeah everyone didn't end up exactly where they wanted to be. maybe some people did better than others, and maybe you found out that you didn't amount to a total loser. A reunion is that time you spend every few decades reminding yourself that 'hey, least I'm not as bad as so-and-so.'
So have fun in high school, but remember that it is no more than a chapter in your life. A crazy chapter, but not the most important. And certainly not the climax, or even a major plot point, in the large book that is your life.
Ciao!
Saturday, February 1, 2014
A Writing Exercise
So guys, I'm pretty damn proud of this. I wrote this story as a writing sample for a college thing. It has a 250 word limit and I was able to do it! So let me know what you think.
Your body is shaking. You look to
the others backstage; they all have a determined kind of fear in their eyes.
And the ones that don’t, well they’re going to look like deer caught in
headlights as soon as they walk on that stage. The music strikes again. The chorus
files out.
You crouch
down, your feet and ankles throb in your black character shoes. Your husband’s
face is buried in his hands, and he’s hitting himself lightly on the head with
his cane. You try to look him in the eye, but his are closed and he turned away
when you bent over. You put your hand in-between the cane and his head.
He stops
and stares at you. You see that he is beyond embarrassed. You two share a conversation
that is half in whispers and the other half is mouthing the words.
“I screwed
up.” He says, “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” he starts with the cane again. You grab
it again, this time you put your hand over his.
“No one
will notice.”
“But the
line...”
“No one
knows but us.”
You hug
him; he accepts. Standing, you smile. He smiles back and you walk on stage arm
in arm. The audience roars with applause, and you get a standing ovation.
When the
curtain closes, neither of you have to say it, but you both do.
“What an
amazing opening night!”
Friday, January 24, 2014
A Little More About Me.
So guys I know I haven't posted in a while, but my eighteenth birthday was a few days ago and I was celebrating. Plus I have midterms in a couple weeks, so I have been studying my brains out. Anyways, last night I saw an old friend of mine and it got me thinking about friendship and how certain people just define you, so let's take another walk through my crooked psyche and find what we can find. Shall we?
So there's this girl, let's call her... Tally. Now Tally and I have been friends for three years, but it feels more like 30. She's one year older than me. So she plays college basketball this year for a D1 school. She is the most wonderful person ever. I love her. She is my best friend. But her school is far away, well not that far away. She's about 4-6 hours away (depending on traffic). But that is just too far away. I miss her so much. So this week I saw her.
I went to her basketball game, but here's the thing....she's been red-shirtted for the season. that basically means that she can't play this year, but that she still goes to every game and practice. My Dad and I were driving to the game and my Dad asks:
"So what position does she play?"
(first off: I couldn't tell you even if she was playing, I'm a writer, not a sports enthusiast).
So I say:
"Oh! She doesn't actually play. She's been red-shirtted."
"You mean we're paying 8 bucks a piece to watch her sit on a bench for two hours?"
"No... we're paying 8 bucks a piece to watch her sit in a chair for two hours."
P.S. There are no physical benches at the local college, the teams sit in chairs on the floor. My father didn't find this as funny as I did. And the game was only about an hour.
We went to the game and out of the roughly 60 fans in the events center about 20 of us were there for Tally...who was on the opposing team.... not even playing. So the end of the game came and Tally was able to break away from her team for a few minutes. I got to give her a hug and that was all I needed.
Let me explain something to you: I have very few friends. Tally is more than a friend, she is my sister (not biologically, but in that sense of we are so close that we might as well be). The friends that I have are, for the most part, nice. But I'm sure everyone out there on the internet knows what I'm talking about when I say Tally is my best friend. I could have a thousand friends, a million. And none of them would mean as much to me as Tally does.
I think that's important. to have at least one person that you really can trust. I will say that I have had one boyfriend my entire life. I mention this because I can honestly say that I did not love him. And any moment that i thought I might love him, it was puppy love. Nothing more than a feeling of meaning something to someone, that was my relationship. That is my relationship with pretty much everybody. But with Tally, i really love her. Not in the romantic way, more in the "if you get murdered I will seriously miss your funeral because I will be in jail for killing the bastard" kind of way. That is true friendship.
So there's this girl, let's call her... Tally. Now Tally and I have been friends for three years, but it feels more like 30. She's one year older than me. So she plays college basketball this year for a D1 school. She is the most wonderful person ever. I love her. She is my best friend. But her school is far away, well not that far away. She's about 4-6 hours away (depending on traffic). But that is just too far away. I miss her so much. So this week I saw her.
I went to her basketball game, but here's the thing....she's been red-shirtted for the season. that basically means that she can't play this year, but that she still goes to every game and practice. My Dad and I were driving to the game and my Dad asks:
"So what position does she play?"
(first off: I couldn't tell you even if she was playing, I'm a writer, not a sports enthusiast).
So I say:
"Oh! She doesn't actually play. She's been red-shirtted."
"You mean we're paying 8 bucks a piece to watch her sit on a bench for two hours?"
"No... we're paying 8 bucks a piece to watch her sit in a chair for two hours."
P.S. There are no physical benches at the local college, the teams sit in chairs on the floor. My father didn't find this as funny as I did. And the game was only about an hour.
We went to the game and out of the roughly 60 fans in the events center about 20 of us were there for Tally...who was on the opposing team.... not even playing. So the end of the game came and Tally was able to break away from her team for a few minutes. I got to give her a hug and that was all I needed.
Let me explain something to you: I have very few friends. Tally is more than a friend, she is my sister (not biologically, but in that sense of we are so close that we might as well be). The friends that I have are, for the most part, nice. But I'm sure everyone out there on the internet knows what I'm talking about when I say Tally is my best friend. I could have a thousand friends, a million. And none of them would mean as much to me as Tally does.
I think that's important. to have at least one person that you really can trust. I will say that I have had one boyfriend my entire life. I mention this because I can honestly say that I did not love him. And any moment that i thought I might love him, it was puppy love. Nothing more than a feeling of meaning something to someone, that was my relationship. That is my relationship with pretty much everybody. But with Tally, i really love her. Not in the romantic way, more in the "if you get murdered I will seriously miss your funeral because I will be in jail for killing the bastard" kind of way. That is true friendship.
Thursday, December 26, 2013
A Christmas Surprise
Clara wakes to the chime of the grandfather clock in the
hall. Seven times the bell tolls, its four note song rings through the old
home. Clara can faintly hear the horses whinny in the coach house. She sits up
and looks out the window. A layer of frost coats the glass, but the white light
of the sun reflecting off the snow still fills Clara’s room with a soft glow.
She swings her legs around and slips her feet into her soft pink slippers.
Clara’s long white-blonde hair cascades towards the floor,
she looks to her closet and sees her red Christmas dress waiting for her.
Everything is set out. Her hair ribbons are draped over the back of a chair.
Her wash table has a fresh basin of water on it. Any moment now…
A mousey voice calls through the door, as small firm fingers
rap on the hard wood.
“Miss
Clara! Time to get up, poppet. It is Christmas Eve, my darling, and you have a
big day ahead of you.”
“I’m up,
Madame!” Clara’s soft voice calls back, she grabs a robe just as a voluminous woman,
dressed in servants’ clothes and with a wreath of holly on her graying head,
backs in holding a tray with Clara’s medicine on it.
“Oh, Miss
Clara!” she sets the tray down on the side table by the door. “You haven’t even
brushed your hair yet! Silly child, your family will be waiting at the table.
Cook has made an excellent breakfast for Christmas Eve!”
“I’m
coming.” Clara wraps her robe around her thin frame, barely old enough to wear
a corset, yet she already has such grace and carriage. Madame looks fondly on
the young girl as Clara skips down the hall.
Clara runs excitedly into the dining hall. The large table
is laid out with oatmeal and thick cream, fruit and bacon, and so many more
delicious foods. Clara scurries to her seat, a set of silver dishes sit, clean
and waiting for her to fill them. Then the door on the opposite end of the room
opens.
“Momma!
Pappa!”
“Merry
Christmas, darling!” her father scoops her up in his strong arms. The three of
them hug each other tight for a moment, and when the Duke lets go of his
daughter they all go to the table, ready to eat.
“We have a
surprise for you, Clara.” The Duchess says, wiping a little orange juice from
the corner of her lip.
“What is
it?” Clara’s blue eyes grow wide, and she sits up straighter in her chair,
hoping that if she acted really good her parents would give her the surprise.
“You’ll
see.” Her father tempts, looking at the clock. “Actually you can find out if
you just wait one more minute.” He holds up one finger and eyes the clock,
7:29.
Clara twists in her chair to look at the door; she kneels on
the seat and clutches the back of the chair with white knuckles. Her dainty
fingers strain to hold on as the grandfather clock sings on the half hour. The
large wooden door opens slowly, Clara sees the white gloves first, then the
uniform, then…
“Marius!”
Clara runs to her brother. Now eight years her senior, he toward over his
delicate sister. His hair id dusted with snow and her hugs her tightly. Not
wanting to let go.
“Marius.”
Their mother glides over to them, and kneels on the floor to embrace her
children. The Duke walks over and shakes his son’s hand, when the latter
stands.
Clara clings to her brother’s legs; his polished boots are
wet with snow.
“Go get
dressed, Clara. The coach is almost ready.” His eyes smile, and burn with a
warmth the Clara has missed these last months. She runs back to her room, where
Madame has the basin of water and a sponge ready.
“Clean up,
child. And we’ll be on our way.”
***
Clara twirls around and watches her reflection in the glided
mirror. The other girls watch in awe as the red skirt of Clara’s dress spins
and sways to a stop. Marie, whose father is the General’s son, scowls at
Clara—jealous of the attention the former is receiving.
“It’s my
grandpappa’s house.” Marie whines, but the children disband as the music picks
up to a livelier waltz. Clara rushes to her brother, he dances with her, and
both laugh the whole time.
Then the song ends, and the pair go for refreshments. Clara
tails behind her brother, her shoes and new corset slowing her down. She fidgets
with the bodice of her dress, and Marius gently scolds her.
“Be a
lady.” He chides.
She smiles, he returns the smile, but as he turns away his
smile fades, and Clara can swear that she sees a tear in her brother’s eyes.
“Marius?”
she gets cut off by a woman in an elaborate dress swooping over to talk to
them.
“My, my!
Look At you! Marius, correct? The Duchess’ boy. And Clara, sweet thing, how are
you two?”
Marius stiffens slightly when the woman mentions Clara, but
he recovers and responds cordially.
“I just got
back. I ship out tomorrow night. But what of you, Lady Drosselmeyer?”
“Oh, dear
me, don’t call me that! That makes me sound so old. Call me Lady Adelaide”
“Lady Adelaide, how have you been?” Clara lets the adults talk for a while. She
lets her eyes wander around the room until Lady Adelaide addresses her
directly.
“And you
must be nearing maturity, correct Clara?”
“Yes Ma’am.
I am to start finishing school in the New Year!” Clara was very excited to
finally be old enough to go to a real finishing school, and not just have a tutor.
“You are
exaggerating a little, Clara; you are starting a bit early.” Marius tries to
get Lady Adelaide to focus on something else, a recent composer’s new work, but
the white haired hostess is more interested in Clara.
“Finishing
School?” She asks, “You must be nearly ten years old then!”
“I am ten.
I got my first corset for my birthday, Pappa got it for me!”
“You’re not
quite ten yet, Clara.” Marius again tries to play down Clara’s excitement,
“Clara, Mother wants to see you, over there.” He gently, but urgently, pushes
Clara towards the other side of the ballroom, but Clara stays put.
“I turned
ten just after the harvest. I had fresh pumpkin soup as a special treat from Madame!”
Lady Adelaide was very interested in Clara’s story, but Marius
was getting more and more urgent and panicky.
“Come now,
Clara, do not exaggerate. You don’t turn ten for another ten months. We really
should go now. I’m sure Lady Adelaide has better things to do than to listen to
your stories.”
“But it’s
not a story! Marius, let go!”
“Clara, we
need to go.” Marius pulls on her wrist, and speaks through clenched teeth.
“Nonsense.
Marius, you must have forgotten how old Clara was, you have been off traveling
for more than a year, correct?”
“Yes Ma’am,
but I remember that Clara was only…”
“You silly
boy, Clara is the same age as my granddaughter, Marie. You know Clara; we have
a very special finishing school here.”
Clara’s eyes light up and she pulls free from Marius’ grasp.
“You do?”
Clara takes a step towards Lady Adelaide, who grins wider as
she stretches out a hand to Clara.
“Yes. And
we will be selecting one young lady tonight for the honor of coming and being
taught by some of the greatest teachers the world can offer. In all areas of
study, including reading and arithmetic.”
“Arithmetic!
Really?” Clara is bouncing on her toes, eager to learn all that she can about
everything. This sounds like a dream
come true, so why does Marius seem so eager to get her away from Lady Adelaide?
“That is
wonderful,” he begins, again pulling on Clara, this time with more force, “but
we really must be off. And Clara is only nine. Next year, next year she can be
in the selection.”
“But Marius…”
“Not now,
Clara. We need to go speak with Mother. Please excuse us, lady Adelaide.”
“No. I
insist that you stay. Clara, dinner will be served shortly, why don’t you take
a seat next to me?”
“Please,
Clara really should sit with her family. And we…”
The music stops and the Crier announces dinner. Lady
Adelaide sweeps Clara away with one graceful move, pulling the child closer to
her red-clad bosom.
Marius stands where they left him; his face registers
nothing but defeat. Clara looks back, but cannot see her brother, only the
throngs of people, many of whom see her with Lady Adelaide, and look on her
with a mixture of horror and pity. She has no idea why they would look at her
that way, but she ignores them and sits next to Lady Adelaide at the table,
right across from Marie.
***
After the feast, Clara and Marius reunite. Marius and their
parents frantically run over to Clara after desert, all three have their
traveling cloaks on, and the Duchess carries Clara’s.
“We’re leaving.”
The duke instructs, steering Clara towards the door.
“But Pappa,
Lady Adelaide says that I have all the things she is looking for in a candidate
for her school. She has a finishing school here, Mother. Please, they will be
handing out the gifts soon, and the general will announce which girl has been
chosen for the honor of being in their school. Please, I want to stay!”
“No Clara.”
Her mother has never been cross with her before, but now her voice registers no
happiness, no warmth.
“But
mother, please!”
“No, Clara.
We are leaving now.”
“Pappa! No!
I want to stay!”
“For God’s
sake, Clara, keep your voice down! We are leaving straight away. You are not
going to that finishing school and that is final.”
“Marius, I want
to and Lady Adelaide has taken a particular liking to me. She wants me to stand
right at the front when she makes the announcement! Please!”
“Enough!” her father spins around,
they are in the side hall now. The stone walls are unyielding, and it makes
Clara feel trapped. “Clara, darling, just know that we are doing this for your
own good. You are not going to that finishing school. We are getting on a boat
right now, and you will never again see this manor. You are to speak to no one.
Do not say a single word. No matter what happens. Clara, I know you don’t
understand this right now but it is for the better, and it is because of you
that we are doing this.”
“No, Pappa.” She tries to break
through, but her father holds fast to her arm.
“Clara, this is not a negotiation.
You are coming.”
“There you are, Clara!” Marie and
Lady Adelaide come down the hall from the ballroom, the Duke shoves his
daughter behind him, and the duchess grabs Clara protectively. “We are about to
hand out presents. And I know you want to be in there.”
“Come, Clara. I want you to see
this!” Marie reaches for her friend, but her parents won’t let her go.
“We need to leave.”
“But Clara is ten years old, the
selection must be made, and I think Clara will enjoy it. And there are so many
presents for the children.”
“With all due respect, Lady Drosselmeyer,
we really must be going.”
“I insist you stay.” Lady
Adelaide’s eyes seem to flash red and the Duke and Duchess let go of Clara as
if she’s on fire.
“Why her?” the Duchess sobs.
“Quiet. Clara is receiving a great
honor. You know the rules. You should be happy for your daughter. She will
receive the best education in the world.”
“But the price.” Marius snarls. His
teeth once again clenched, and his nostrils flare in rage.
“There is no tuition for my
institution. Clara will be given all new clothes, and books, and supplies, all
free of charge. Of course she will be away from family for a time, but you did
the same, Marius. We all have to grow up sometime.”
“But…my baby.” Clara’s mother
croaks.
“I said quiet. You may have
weaseled your way out of it in your day, but now your daughter will have the
education and refinement you never did.”
“Someone else was chosen. I was
spared.”
“Because you and your mother left
before the party was over. Now it is high time
I received payment for that night. I have waited twenty long
years for this, and now I finally get what I should have that night. Come now,
Clara, your future awaits.” Lady Adelaide’s voice goes from harsh with the Duchess
to loving with Clara. The latter walks back to the ballroom in silence.
When they return to the ballroom, Clara is rushed to the top
of the stairs where Lady Adelaide and General Drosselmeyer give her the gift of
a nutcracker and announce that she will be attending the Drosselmeyer finishing
school starting tonight.
“Goodnight
to you all! And have a very merry Christmas.” The General announces and guests
begin to leave. Clara is whisked away up the stairs to a long wood paneled hall;
at the end is a single door.
Clara walks in and a tall man about the same age as Marius
greets her. The room is dark, but it is obvious that it is a dormitory. There
is a bed and a desk. A large closet and attached bathroom, with a tub. And
there is a cage with a large beige rat in it.
“I get all
of this?” Clara asks in awe.
“Yes, the
rat’s name is Whiskers, and she will be your companion. Most girls find it a
comfort to have a friend like these around. Now if you could just sit here,
Lady Adelaide has something she wishes me to talk to you about.”
Clara sits in the seat, as instructed. The tall man walks
behind her, Clara turns, but he stops her with a gentle hand on her head.
“No, Clara.
Look out the window. Just focus on the lights of the carriages as the float off
into the night.”
Clara again follows orders, she wants to ask questions, but
her mind keeps telling her to just sit still and listen to this man. He bends
over so that his face hovers next to hers, but she can’t see him in the
reflection in the window. She can’t feel his breath on her face. She can’t even
feel the warmth of his hand on her shoulder.
All she feels is the weight of his hand, then a stabbing
pain in the side of her neck. She hears a slurping sound as the man drinks her blood;
she falls to the floor, dizzy and confused. He hands her a golden goblet he
seems to have pulled out of thin air. She drinks, but there is something warm
and salty in the cup, it is thick and oozes down her throat. Soon she drops the
nutcracker that she had been clinging to since she entered the room.
The wood is burning her skin and her silver necklace also
burns. She grabs the jewelry and flings it across the room. She watches the
faint lights of the fleeting coaches fade into nothingness; and Clara wishes
that she had listened to her family when she had the chance.
“Welcome to
eternity.” The man says, stepping out the door, leaving her alone.
Coming soon....
Sorry that I have not posted that story yet. I am having some formatting errors, but I promise that I will have the story up later today. Let me just say that this is a heartwarming Christmas tale...NOT! It starts out seemingly innocent and happy, but quickly goes downhill. So, if you will find that offensive, I am giving you fair warning now. It will be the next thing I post. It is labeled: "A Christmas Surprise!"
Ciao!
Ciao!
Monday, December 16, 2013
Happy December!
Hello everyone! I would like to say MERRY CHRISTMAS! It is official now, because my school has the nativity scene out,we had our Yuletide Dance, and our Christmas concert, therefore, it is officially the Christmas Season.
So, now that we have that out of the way, let me ask you all a question: would you like to read some of my writing? Well you will, sometime in December I will be publishing, on this site, an original short story. Most likely I will write something Christmas-y so, if you find that offensive then do not bother to read it.
No spoilers, but let's just say it involves a lonely girl, a royal rodent, and a nutcracker. Plus a little sprinkling of magic, of course!
That's all for now!
Ciao!
So, now that we have that out of the way, let me ask you all a question: would you like to read some of my writing? Well you will, sometime in December I will be publishing, on this site, an original short story. Most likely I will write something Christmas-y so, if you find that offensive then do not bother to read it.
No spoilers, but let's just say it involves a lonely girl, a royal rodent, and a nutcracker. Plus a little sprinkling of magic, of course!
That's all for now!
Ciao!
Friday, November 22, 2013
More on Writing: Audience
This is my last piece of writing advise for now. So here it goes...
As a writer this is probably the hardest thing to think about, but one day your work will be read by other people. Now you should not write for your audience. But do keep your audience in mind when you are writing your story.
There is a diffrence between the ending that you, the writer, want and the ending that the reader wants. Sometimes, as the writer, you can choose to piss of your audience. However, most of the time you want to cater to the sudience. Not necesarily change the story to fit what the sudience wants, becasue you can never please everyone. However when faced with the option of pissing off your entire following (the ones that indirectly pay you to be good), and choosing to please them (so they buy more of your books). Then the second option is better.
So you need to keep your integrity as a writer, but also please your audience. It is an interesting balancing act. Just remember that if you are writing a Young Adult novel, make sure it is appropriate for high-schoolers. If you are writing a book for adults, don't use childish language and descriptions.
My biggest tip for writing effectively? Just make sure that, above all else, you remember that it will be YOUR name on the cover. So just keep thaqt in mind when you write and you should be golden.
CIAO!
As a writer this is probably the hardest thing to think about, but one day your work will be read by other people. Now you should not write for your audience. But do keep your audience in mind when you are writing your story.
There is a diffrence between the ending that you, the writer, want and the ending that the reader wants. Sometimes, as the writer, you can choose to piss of your audience. However, most of the time you want to cater to the sudience. Not necesarily change the story to fit what the sudience wants, becasue you can never please everyone. However when faced with the option of pissing off your entire following (the ones that indirectly pay you to be good), and choosing to please them (so they buy more of your books). Then the second option is better.
So you need to keep your integrity as a writer, but also please your audience. It is an interesting balancing act. Just remember that if you are writing a Young Adult novel, make sure it is appropriate for high-schoolers. If you are writing a book for adults, don't use childish language and descriptions.
My biggest tip for writing effectively? Just make sure that, above all else, you remember that it will be YOUR name on the cover. So just keep thaqt in mind when you write and you should be golden.
CIAO!
Friday, November 15, 2013
More On Writing: Genre
How to pick your genre.
So, I could not think of what to write about. But after asking a young "pupil" of mine what to write about she exclaimed "Write about how bad Nicholas Sparks is! And tell peole never to write like him!"
Well, I'm not one for bashing other genres, but I personally do not like Nicholas Sparks or the sappy romance genre. So this is how you should pick your genre.
After you determine length of story, novel or short story, then you have to go about finding what to write about. Now, you may have thought that we already covered this in determining the length, but sometimes it is a totally separate issue. For example: I am writing a novel that is about a vampire. Then I had to categorize it. I chose that instead of writing a really horror-stricken or gory or even action-filled book, I would write a paranormal romance.
Now, that is not to say that any one genre is better than another. But you need to write in a genre that you feel comfortable in. I like writing romance, mostly paranormal romances, tho I have dabbled in other areas of romance. That is a genre that I feel like I can write effectively in.
So, basically choosing a genre is probably the easiest part of writing. It is just the subject that you feel the most comfortable writing about. Usually when people say "genre fiction" they are refferring to horror, fantacy, and sci-fi. But those are not the only genres that people can write, there are probably hundreds of genres and sub-genres that people write in.
Sorry that this wasn't more helpful, but genre is really not something you can teach. You can choose to dabble in many diffrent genres, or you could choose to stay in one genre. Whatever you choose, just remmeber to stay true to the story.
Ciao!
So, I could not think of what to write about. But after asking a young "pupil" of mine what to write about she exclaimed "Write about how bad Nicholas Sparks is! And tell peole never to write like him!"
Well, I'm not one for bashing other genres, but I personally do not like Nicholas Sparks or the sappy romance genre. So this is how you should pick your genre.
After you determine length of story, novel or short story, then you have to go about finding what to write about. Now, you may have thought that we already covered this in determining the length, but sometimes it is a totally separate issue. For example: I am writing a novel that is about a vampire. Then I had to categorize it. I chose that instead of writing a really horror-stricken or gory or even action-filled book, I would write a paranormal romance.
Now, that is not to say that any one genre is better than another. But you need to write in a genre that you feel comfortable in. I like writing romance, mostly paranormal romances, tho I have dabbled in other areas of romance. That is a genre that I feel like I can write effectively in.
So, basically choosing a genre is probably the easiest part of writing. It is just the subject that you feel the most comfortable writing about. Usually when people say "genre fiction" they are refferring to horror, fantacy, and sci-fi. But those are not the only genres that people can write, there are probably hundreds of genres and sub-genres that people write in.
Sorry that this wasn't more helpful, but genre is really not something you can teach. You can choose to dabble in many diffrent genres, or you could choose to stay in one genre. Whatever you choose, just remmeber to stay true to the story.
Ciao!
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
More On Writing: Length
Happy November, All!
So, last time I started telling you about the writing process, now I'm going to make that a little more refined. I will tell you how to write a short story versus a novel, and how to write certain genres.
Now, I don't always sit down and say "this story will definitely be a novel," Likewise, I rarely sit down and say "this is a short story." Sometimes I do, like when I'm writing for my school's literary journal. However, most of the time I sit down with the story and just let the characters take it from there.
One thing that I have learned about writing length is that, sometimes, you are restricted. So, in the case of short stories here is my advise: plan ahead. I started writing a story that was meant to be under 12,000 words. Currently said story is closer to 20,000, and still going strong. This has taught me an important lesson about what I can, and Cannot, include in short stories.
I have just finished the first draft of a "real" short story. It is a vignette, and it is 3,000 words. I will be submitting that to literary magazines soon, I just need to edit it a few times. What I have learned from my first attempt at writing short stories is that some things are just better left unsaid. For example: a short story is not the place for subplots. You get one plot, no more.
My first story, about a vampire, has about three or four subplots built in. It just did not make it as a short story. i had to change the ending, because it just didn't end the way it should have. I killed off characters before my audience could even know them. That was a big mistake. Fantasy does not make a good short story genre. Why? Because you have to spend so much time establishing the world and the dynamics, that your word count is used up before you even get to the embellishment.
Some genres, in my opinion, are just better as short stories. For example: romance, certain kinds of horror, "realistic" fiction, and historical fiction. All of these genres have a world pretty much built up around them. You don't need to spend great amounts of time explaining the normal world to your reader, because they already know it and live it. Plus, you know the setting. Now you just need to put some characters in there with a little conflict. Nothing major. You shouldn't do a dystopian as a short story (unless it is 'The Firefighter' by Ray Bradbury, then do it) because, like fantasy, you need to spend time introducing your audience to the "normal" world that you have created for them to inhabit.
Pretty much: learn as you go, but short stories are meant for little pieces of life that people can relate to. Make a little conflict (to drive the story) but nothing too epic. Learn how to sacrifice detail where it is not needed. But don't get discouraged if you can't write short stories. I have successfully written all of two in the last five years that I have been writing.
Novels and books are needed, so write those as well. But writing short stories can be more of a fun exercise. Because, let's face it, all writers need a little outlet. Something that we can write just for our eyes alone, and to keep our sanity.
On that happy note, I leave you.
Ciao!
So, last time I started telling you about the writing process, now I'm going to make that a little more refined. I will tell you how to write a short story versus a novel, and how to write certain genres.
Now, I don't always sit down and say "this story will definitely be a novel," Likewise, I rarely sit down and say "this is a short story." Sometimes I do, like when I'm writing for my school's literary journal. However, most of the time I sit down with the story and just let the characters take it from there.
One thing that I have learned about writing length is that, sometimes, you are restricted. So, in the case of short stories here is my advise: plan ahead. I started writing a story that was meant to be under 12,000 words. Currently said story is closer to 20,000, and still going strong. This has taught me an important lesson about what I can, and Cannot, include in short stories.
I have just finished the first draft of a "real" short story. It is a vignette, and it is 3,000 words. I will be submitting that to literary magazines soon, I just need to edit it a few times. What I have learned from my first attempt at writing short stories is that some things are just better left unsaid. For example: a short story is not the place for subplots. You get one plot, no more.
My first story, about a vampire, has about three or four subplots built in. It just did not make it as a short story. i had to change the ending, because it just didn't end the way it should have. I killed off characters before my audience could even know them. That was a big mistake. Fantasy does not make a good short story genre. Why? Because you have to spend so much time establishing the world and the dynamics, that your word count is used up before you even get to the embellishment.
Some genres, in my opinion, are just better as short stories. For example: romance, certain kinds of horror, "realistic" fiction, and historical fiction. All of these genres have a world pretty much built up around them. You don't need to spend great amounts of time explaining the normal world to your reader, because they already know it and live it. Plus, you know the setting. Now you just need to put some characters in there with a little conflict. Nothing major. You shouldn't do a dystopian as a short story (unless it is 'The Firefighter' by Ray Bradbury, then do it) because, like fantasy, you need to spend time introducing your audience to the "normal" world that you have created for them to inhabit.
Pretty much: learn as you go, but short stories are meant for little pieces of life that people can relate to. Make a little conflict (to drive the story) but nothing too epic. Learn how to sacrifice detail where it is not needed. But don't get discouraged if you can't write short stories. I have successfully written all of two in the last five years that I have been writing.
Novels and books are needed, so write those as well. But writing short stories can be more of a fun exercise. Because, let's face it, all writers need a little outlet. Something that we can write just for our eyes alone, and to keep our sanity.
On that happy note, I leave you.
Ciao!
Thursday, October 24, 2013
The Writing Process
Welcome, again, to the rambling black hole that is my mind. So today's topic is... How to write a story. Or at least, the way I approach writing.
So, different writers have different ways of approaching this. However, the way I see writing is like a pregnancy. This has led to a number of inside jokes, but that is just a part of being a writer. My metaphor (of writing being like a pregnancy) might seem a little strange. Obviously it is not one that everyone can understand. Now, don't go thinking that I have been pregnant and, therefore, know exactly what pregnancy is like. I have never been pregnant. However, as the oldest of four kids (and the oldest of almost 14 cousins) I have seen my fair share of pregnant women, and I know the basics of pregnancy, which relate to this metaphor.
So here's how it works: a story is like a fetus. You, as the writer, are the mother. You nurture and care for it. You try to support the story as it grows within you. Until one day it is born! Oh how glorious! But your work is not done yet. Not even close, now you have to raise it, continue to care for it until it can survive on its own. Then, you are done, and you can live out your life happily watching your story succeed on its own. It lives beyond you to carry on your name and your legacy. Happily Ever After, right?
But sometimes stories don't make it to the Happily Ever After. Sometimes stories fail when you let them go. Sometimes stories don't even make it that far, the ones I call 'miscarriages.' So, what do you do with them? You bury them. Plain and simple. You have to be the tough love on a failed (or failing) story. Once it is gone, don't try to bring it back, because it is just dead, so let it rest in peace.
Frequently, my ideas die in my head. I have to just let these 'miscarriages' die. I bury them, and then I don't worry about them any more. No one (should) feed and nurture a loved one that is just rotting in the ground.
Now, please do not think I am atheist, or sacrilegious. I do believe in the Christian God (I'm a baptized Catholic, but I have some opinions that go against Catholic Ideology) and Heaven is a very real thing to me. Life after death, Salvation, the whole thing. However, once you die, your physical body will rot on this Earth until judgment day.
Keeping that in mind, feeding the bones is going to do nothing to bring back the one lost. I have seen enough TV, and read enough stories, about what happens when you try to go against the natural order of things. Pretty much: dead things should stay dead, so you have time to take care of those still living.
So, once you understand that metaphor (the whole 'writing process equals pregnancy' thing), you can learn the how part of writing.
This, to me, is the fun part. But also the most difficult. Mainly, because it is the part that requires the most time. Like a mother's body just knows how to care for the fetus, a writer just knows how to write a story. My biggest pet peeve is when younger writers ask me to 'teach them how to write a story.' Because there is SO much more to writing than rules and a real "process" to follow. Let me put it to you this way;
Things that have a process are things like:
1. Baking a Cake
2. Calculus
3. Science
Things that can be done in any order and still reach (pretty much) the same goal:
1. Party Set-Up
2. Sports
3. Dance
Pretty much there are some things that have to be done a certain way, with a certain order. These things must be done EXACTLY the same every time, or else you have just a big mess. Other things can be done in a slightly different order each time. Setting up for a party has no strict code for how it has to be done. You can set up the bouncy house first, or you could set up the DJ table first. No matter which way you do it, you come to the same results.
I feel the writing process falls under the latter category. Because writing has no hard and fast rules. There is nothing that says that you must sit down and write a book in chronological order. There is no law against writing more than one story at a time. No one will know if you wrote the whole book on sticky notes that you had tacked up around your bedroom. You see? The writing process is just two steps:
1. Write the story
2. Edit the story
That's it. There is no big secret that you can follow to be a successful writer. I say that practice is great. Just
write things for the Hell of it. I also feel that reading is a key part of it. Having places to draw inspiration from, probably a plus. And being friends with other writers is, again, helpful. But none of these are rules at guarantee success.
So, basically, there is no one way to write. But this is the way I write. I will toil over many stories at a time, because that helps me. If I get stuck, I just force myself to keep writing. I have other people read thru my stories as I go along, and I take every piece of critique with a grain of salt.
There you go. I will post more about the writing process and how I "learned to write a good story." But this is enough for one day.
Ciao!
So, different writers have different ways of approaching this. However, the way I see writing is like a pregnancy. This has led to a number of inside jokes, but that is just a part of being a writer. My metaphor (of writing being like a pregnancy) might seem a little strange. Obviously it is not one that everyone can understand. Now, don't go thinking that I have been pregnant and, therefore, know exactly what pregnancy is like. I have never been pregnant. However, as the oldest of four kids (and the oldest of almost 14 cousins) I have seen my fair share of pregnant women, and I know the basics of pregnancy, which relate to this metaphor.
So here's how it works: a story is like a fetus. You, as the writer, are the mother. You nurture and care for it. You try to support the story as it grows within you. Until one day it is born! Oh how glorious! But your work is not done yet. Not even close, now you have to raise it, continue to care for it until it can survive on its own. Then, you are done, and you can live out your life happily watching your story succeed on its own. It lives beyond you to carry on your name and your legacy. Happily Ever After, right?
But sometimes stories don't make it to the Happily Ever After. Sometimes stories fail when you let them go. Sometimes stories don't even make it that far, the ones I call 'miscarriages.' So, what do you do with them? You bury them. Plain and simple. You have to be the tough love on a failed (or failing) story. Once it is gone, don't try to bring it back, because it is just dead, so let it rest in peace.
Frequently, my ideas die in my head. I have to just let these 'miscarriages' die. I bury them, and then I don't worry about them any more. No one (should) feed and nurture a loved one that is just rotting in the ground.
Now, please do not think I am atheist, or sacrilegious. I do believe in the Christian God (I'm a baptized Catholic, but I have some opinions that go against Catholic Ideology) and Heaven is a very real thing to me. Life after death, Salvation, the whole thing. However, once you die, your physical body will rot on this Earth until judgment day.
Keeping that in mind, feeding the bones is going to do nothing to bring back the one lost. I have seen enough TV, and read enough stories, about what happens when you try to go against the natural order of things. Pretty much: dead things should stay dead, so you have time to take care of those still living.
So, once you understand that metaphor (the whole 'writing process equals pregnancy' thing), you can learn the how part of writing.
This, to me, is the fun part. But also the most difficult. Mainly, because it is the part that requires the most time. Like a mother's body just knows how to care for the fetus, a writer just knows how to write a story. My biggest pet peeve is when younger writers ask me to 'teach them how to write a story.' Because there is SO much more to writing than rules and a real "process" to follow. Let me put it to you this way;
Things that have a process are things like:
1. Baking a Cake
2. Calculus
3. Science
Things that can be done in any order and still reach (pretty much) the same goal:
1. Party Set-Up
2. Sports
3. Dance
Pretty much there are some things that have to be done a certain way, with a certain order. These things must be done EXACTLY the same every time, or else you have just a big mess. Other things can be done in a slightly different order each time. Setting up for a party has no strict code for how it has to be done. You can set up the bouncy house first, or you could set up the DJ table first. No matter which way you do it, you come to the same results.
I feel the writing process falls under the latter category. Because writing has no hard and fast rules. There is nothing that says that you must sit down and write a book in chronological order. There is no law against writing more than one story at a time. No one will know if you wrote the whole book on sticky notes that you had tacked up around your bedroom. You see? The writing process is just two steps:
1. Write the story
2. Edit the story
That's it. There is no big secret that you can follow to be a successful writer. I say that practice is great. Just
write things for the Hell of it. I also feel that reading is a key part of it. Having places to draw inspiration from, probably a plus. And being friends with other writers is, again, helpful. But none of these are rules at guarantee success.
So, basically, there is no one way to write. But this is the way I write. I will toil over many stories at a time, because that helps me. If I get stuck, I just force myself to keep writing. I have other people read thru my stories as I go along, and I take every piece of critique with a grain of salt.
There you go. I will post more about the writing process and how I "learned to write a good story." But this is enough for one day.
Ciao!
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
I'm still here!
Hey guys, sorry that it has taken me so long to get back to my blog, but my Aunt gave birth on Sunday. My mom and I drove 6 hours to Maryland to see the new little bundle of joy. His name is Alexander, and he is SO CUTE! Anyways...
So what have I been up to? Besides cooing over the new baby, I have been working on a bunch of college applications, and stories. That list includes a vampire paranormal romance, a 'Nicholas Sparks' type novel, and a distopian novel. Yes that is a wide range of genres.
In conclusion, Sorry about the long absense and a short post, but it has been busy.
Ciao!
So what have I been up to? Besides cooing over the new baby, I have been working on a bunch of college applications, and stories. That list includes a vampire paranormal romance, a 'Nicholas Sparks' type novel, and a distopian novel. Yes that is a wide range of genres.
In conclusion, Sorry about the long absense and a short post, but it has been busy.
Ciao!
Monday, October 7, 2013
Things I Read
So, if any of you have ever met a published writer one of the most common things they say is that you have to read a lot in order to write well. I believe this 100% on top of that I am just an avid reader, so that totally works for me. I have expanded my horizons to include many genres when I read. Because, while I may not enjoy a Nicholas Sparks novel, it exposes me to a whole new area of fiction; and shows me another place where I might be able to draw some inspiration from.
Recently, my English Teacher had a book published. I am so proud of him! I bought his book from him right away. I wasn't expecting much, but I started reading it this weekend and... OH MY GOD!
Yes, it was that good. As a matter of fact I told him this morning that I expected it to be mediocre and was pleasantly surprised when I realized that it was good. My exact words to him were: "I have come to the conclusion that there is no way you wrote this. Because it is SO AMAZING!" At this point he laughed so loud that we got the evil eye from the people trying to enjoy the daily mass in the school chapel. It was totally worth it.
I have to share this with the internet. In the hopes that someday someone will read my work and be curious enough to look back at this sorry excuse for a blog. And, by reading this blundering prattle, might feel compelled to read his book. Thereby extending his audience and making me feel better that I have expanded someone's reading horizons.
Fair warning: this is NOT a children's book. There is swearing. There is innuendo. It is Horror. And I have not finished it yet. However, as my English teacher has told me, I have to "go through the dark to reach the light." So right now I have only encountered sadness and mind-blowing horror (physiological, not slasher). He promises it gets happier. However I doubt it will end with happy fuzzy kittens and unicorns dancing on rainbows. I mean, JUST LOOK AT THE COVER!
Recently, my English Teacher had a book published. I am so proud of him! I bought his book from him right away. I wasn't expecting much, but I started reading it this weekend and... OH MY GOD!
Yes, it was that good. As a matter of fact I told him this morning that I expected it to be mediocre and was pleasantly surprised when I realized that it was good. My exact words to him were: "I have come to the conclusion that there is no way you wrote this. Because it is SO AMAZING!" At this point he laughed so loud that we got the evil eye from the people trying to enjoy the daily mass in the school chapel. It was totally worth it.
I have to share this with the internet. In the hopes that someday someone will read my work and be curious enough to look back at this sorry excuse for a blog. And, by reading this blundering prattle, might feel compelled to read his book. Thereby extending his audience and making me feel better that I have expanded someone's reading horizons.
Fair warning: this is NOT a children's book. There is swearing. There is innuendo. It is Horror. And I have not finished it yet. However, as my English teacher has told me, I have to "go through the dark to reach the light." So right now I have only encountered sadness and mind-blowing horror (physiological, not slasher). He promises it gets happier. However I doubt it will end with happy fuzzy kittens and unicorns dancing on rainbows. I mean, JUST LOOK AT THE COVER!
It just LOOKS SO EPIC and CREEPY! Yes I am fangirling a little over here. Yes I did squeal just a little when he handed it to me Friday morning. And yes, I am VERY proud to call him my English teacher and a role model.
I have met nearly a dozen authors in the last three years (all thanks to my English teacher, who arranges for authors to come in and talk to us about writing). I have really honed in on my writing, getting critique from professional authors and peers alike. I have seen the work that goes in to taking a story from the mind of the author to the shelves of Barnes and Nobles. And I have to say that all of this is thanks to my crazy English teacher. The man who introduced me to the wondrous worlds of The Twilight Zone and Ray Bradbury. Who showed me that TV can be analyzed like books (and hooking me on Buffy The Vampire Slayer). I have been critiqued so hard but learned how to take it all with a grain of salt.
Mr. Kevin Lucia, you are a role model for me. You are an inspiration. I have no words to describe how much I appreciate what you have done for me. The doors you've unlocked. The pathways you've uncovered. You have taken me from an unsure closet fantasy writer to a confident dark fantasy/dystopian writer. How can I say, without sounding cliche,that you have really done a number on my life? That I will never forget every piece of advise you've given me? Maybe, if I ever get published, you'll open one of my books and see that I have acknowledged you; but that still can't show enough how much I appreciate what you've done for me.
So, dear lovelies, remember this: English teachers CAN make a difference in your life. As a matter of fact, any teacher can change your life for the better. So take the advise. Run with it. Because teachers usually speak from experience.
This post may seem stupid, or too personal for the internet. But I feel that this needs to be shared...and once again: my blog, my rules.
In short: Mr. Lucia, If you happen to read this blog, GREAT JOB! Any fans I might gain: GO READ THIS BOOK! and everybody can expect more posts about things I read and authors I've met.
Ciao!
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Let's talk about Time Management
So... My sincerest apologies to anyone who actually reads this, but life happens. Stuff comes up that has to be taken care of, and I am human. I need some time for eating and sleeping. i know, total shocker to anyone that has ever heard a writer say "I live to write." That is so true. So let's talk about that.
How to manage your time so that you don't go completely bonkers.
Now, perhaps I am not the most experienced person on this topic, however, I do know how to manage my time. Sometimes, I just choose not to. Also, it takes time to build another habit into your day. I have spent so much time (in the last three or four years especially) writing and trying to make that a part of my day. everyday I sit down and write a little more and that has made me both a better writer and a better friend.
Wait, how does my writing affect my friendships? Great question! You see, I feel like the biggest part of my friendships is my ability to communicate and support my friends. However, if I have characters cooped up in my head, and I'm focusing so hard on keeping them there until I'm in 'the right mood" to write their story. I can hardly be a good friend. So, yes writing every day helps me be a better friend.
I have also learned that sometimes you just need to ask yourself what's actually important. Often I would love to sit down and write (I've been dieing to get back on here for a week!) but other things (namely school and work) get in the way. Let me take you through my last week: work on Saturday from 2PM until 945PM (I did have to babysit prior to that), Sunday I worked from 10AM until 1PM at which point I went to school for my chorus class until nearly 630PM, then I had to do the grocery shopping until 10PM. Monday through today I have had school and homework out the wazoo! So, forgive me for neglecting my blog for a few days.
but now let me just say that the way I handle my time is not the best. After all, I may be a straight A student (yes I am bragging a little there) but I am not a grade A friend. often I bail on my friends in favor of writing or doing homework. Most of the time I do ignore the school functions (like dances, sporting events, etc.) simply because I prefer to stay on top of my grades.
Now I am not saying that good grades are more important than friends. but also friends (and any type of social life for that matter) are not more important than good grades. So, what is the most important thing?
Not jsut being happy. Certainly not YOLO, or anything else even close to that way of living.
BALANCE.
Yup, that's it. Learn to weigh the good with the bad. Old with new. Social with Academic. Tr4ust me it's hard, but you learn, little by little, how to build a schedule that is not every second of every day planned out, but it is also not so loose that you are just going with what everyone else tells you to do.
Flow with the current, but at your own pace. Go to the party on Saturday night, but study on Sunday. Don't live each day like your last, but don't watch life pass you by either.
How to manage your time so that you don't go completely bonkers.
Now, perhaps I am not the most experienced person on this topic, however, I do know how to manage my time. Sometimes, I just choose not to. Also, it takes time to build another habit into your day. I have spent so much time (in the last three or four years especially) writing and trying to make that a part of my day. everyday I sit down and write a little more and that has made me both a better writer and a better friend.
Wait, how does my writing affect my friendships? Great question! You see, I feel like the biggest part of my friendships is my ability to communicate and support my friends. However, if I have characters cooped up in my head, and I'm focusing so hard on keeping them there until I'm in 'the right mood" to write their story. I can hardly be a good friend. So, yes writing every day helps me be a better friend.
I have also learned that sometimes you just need to ask yourself what's actually important. Often I would love to sit down and write (I've been dieing to get back on here for a week!) but other things (namely school and work) get in the way. Let me take you through my last week: work on Saturday from 2PM until 945PM (I did have to babysit prior to that), Sunday I worked from 10AM until 1PM at which point I went to school for my chorus class until nearly 630PM, then I had to do the grocery shopping until 10PM. Monday through today I have had school and homework out the wazoo! So, forgive me for neglecting my blog for a few days.
but now let me just say that the way I handle my time is not the best. After all, I may be a straight A student (yes I am bragging a little there) but I am not a grade A friend. often I bail on my friends in favor of writing or doing homework. Most of the time I do ignore the school functions (like dances, sporting events, etc.) simply because I prefer to stay on top of my grades.
Now I am not saying that good grades are more important than friends. but also friends (and any type of social life for that matter) are not more important than good grades. So, what is the most important thing?
Not jsut being happy. Certainly not YOLO, or anything else even close to that way of living.
BALANCE.
Yup, that's it. Learn to weigh the good with the bad. Old with new. Social with Academic. Tr4ust me it's hard, but you learn, little by little, how to build a schedule that is not every second of every day planned out, but it is also not so loose that you are just going with what everyone else tells you to do.
Flow with the current, but at your own pace. Go to the party on Saturday night, but study on Sunday. Don't live each day like your last, but don't watch life pass you by either.
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