it is. it really is. And i did it, i really did.I DID IT. If you're reading this, mr. sutherland, i finally conquered my writers block!!!! isnt it EXCITING?!
It was quite a challenge for me, i won't pretend that it wasn't. I got sick in the last week, and i had a swim meet that took up an entire weekend and left no time for writing. Not to mention i had swim practice virtually every day after school, except when i could avoid it. Its really hard to write two thousand words when i'm exausted, wet, and still have homework to do. i am quite proud of myself for being able to manage my time enough to finish. so GO ME! :D
It's still unfinished, and unedited and badly in need of a good makeover, but it's there. The story is there, in tangible, readable form. My story. It's a new concept for me, to see my ideas on paper and not just in my head.
Now, to give credit where credit is due:
Thanks to both my parents, for letting my use the computer and doing the dishes for me when i was behind. You guys are the best!
Thanks to all the people on the NaNoWriMo staff, though it is highly unlikely that they are reading this, specifically Lindsey Grant for being so gosh darn amazing.
Also all the authors who sent out pep talk emails, specifically Chris Baty,whose pep talk about the strugglers party made me feel a whole lot better about rocking it. And lemony snicket, because he kicks ass. Love you, man.
And last, and definitely whatever is the opposite of least, my best friend Elizabeth, because it was her idea to do NaNo in the firstplace, and because without her support and endess patience of me being a heartless, selfish bitch, i never would have finished. I may be obnoxiously jealous of you, but you are an amazing writer and i couldn't have done it without you!
~~~~~GRACIEBEE~~~~~:D~~~~~
Monday, December 6, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
Three more days of freedom!
It's like, october couldnt go fast enough two weeks ago, when i was all "isn't halloween this weekend?" OH WAIT, IT'S NOT. and now im FREAKING OUT cause oh hey, in three days i have to start writing. stuff. lots of it. and i mean, if i quit halfway through November, its not as though god unleashes his almighty god-fury down from the heavens. or anything.
.....
However. If i do quit halfway through November, my own god-fury, self loathing and capacity to hate myself forever will unleash itself. Cause i really really want to do this.
Because i think thats what NaNoWriMo is about. I dont get some big fancy award or trophy if i finish. But i do get the self satisfaction of having finally dragged myself away from my spiralling viscious circle of not writing anything at all and still pretending to feel justified in calling myself a writer. After this, 50,000 words of unedited, badly phrased novel will stand as proof that i am, in fact, a writer.
Hooray for self-accomplishment!
~Graciebee
.....
However. If i do quit halfway through November, my own god-fury, self loathing and capacity to hate myself forever will unleash itself. Cause i really really want to do this.
Because i think thats what NaNoWriMo is about. I dont get some big fancy award or trophy if i finish. But i do get the self satisfaction of having finally dragged myself away from my spiralling viscious circle of not writing anything at all and still pretending to feel justified in calling myself a writer. After this, 50,000 words of unedited, badly phrased novel will stand as proof that i am, in fact, a writer.
Hooray for self-accomplishment!
~Graciebee
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
National Novel Writing Month!
Also known as NaNoWriMo. I'm terribly excited. i'll finally write a significant amount of something! even though no one is reading this. except maybe mr. sutherland. or kathryn. but probably not. the good news is that nanowrimo is an online writing thing in november, and i have to write over 50,00 words.
which meeeeeeeeeeaaaaaannnnnnnnssssssss that this thing will actually have something on it! hoozah and lots of merriment await me. in december, of course, after the thirty days of writing torture and little sleep.
Cheers!
~Graciebee
which meeeeeeeeeeaaaaaannnnnnnnssssssss that this thing will actually have something on it! hoozah and lots of merriment await me. in december, of course, after the thirty days of writing torture and little sleep.
Cheers!
~Graciebee
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
I am so win at picking berries.
Something new i discovered about myself today: i am a fearless berry picker.
Normally, I'm terrified of bees. and spiders. and any other kind of small, twitchy, scuttery bug, really. Not just the oh-dear-me-this-is-a-little-uncomfortable kind of scared, no. i mean the screeching-and-running-away kind. But not today. A bee? what bee? dunno what your talking about, hun. And spiders? get OUT of my way, bitches.
i swallowed one. they go well with boysenberries.
Also, my hands are covered in thorn scratches. what can i say? anything to get that big, fat, juicy berry, yeah? bwahaha. i also totally don't care that the entire right thigh of my skinny jeans are stained pink from licking my fingers and wiping. Sorry, Mom.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Day Two: Welcome to Venice!
OHMYGOSH. this is incredible. Its really hard for me to actually believe that i'm here. I wake up every morning and its like, oh my god. i am IN VENICE, ITALY. whoooooooooooo! its really as beautiful as everyone makes it out to be. the only problem is that theres a lot of construction going on, so the left side of St. Mark's Basilica and the Bridge of Sighs are all covered up with this weird billboard ad stuff... -SIGH- but for some reason, despite the billboard ads and the fact that there are more tourists than actual Venitians, i feel like i got plopped down in a fairy tale.
And yes, i got lost. several times in fact. My mother, god knows why, decided to let me lead the way even though my sense of direction is severely crippled by my sense of adventure. The first really bad time was in daylight, on our way back from St. Mark's Square. we ended up finally running into the Grand Canal, near the Rialto Bridge, so we could find our way back from there. But the last time was late, on the way back from dinner. I got us back part of the way, but got inevitably lost anyways. It was fun, though. This time, we ended up moving away from the touristy shops and restaurants, and into dark shadowy backroads. it took us probly twenty minutes until i magically got us to the Campo nearest our house. I was proud of myself, but i didnt really do much except decide which random direction to go in. the thing with venice is, its exciting to get lost, and if you wander around long enough, eventually you get to where you're going.
And yes, i got lost. several times in fact. My mother, god knows why, decided to let me lead the way even though my sense of direction is severely crippled by my sense of adventure. The first really bad time was in daylight, on our way back from St. Mark's Square. we ended up finally running into the Grand Canal, near the Rialto Bridge, so we could find our way back from there. But the last time was late, on the way back from dinner. I got us back part of the way, but got inevitably lost anyways. It was fun, though. This time, we ended up moving away from the touristy shops and restaurants, and into dark shadowy backroads. it took us probly twenty minutes until i magically got us to the Campo nearest our house. I was proud of myself, but i didnt really do much except decide which random direction to go in. the thing with venice is, its exciting to get lost, and if you wander around long enough, eventually you get to where you're going.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Europe Day One: the longest day in my history of long days
I’m gonna get cancer on this trip. No, really. EVERYBODY smokes here. We were sitting on a bench waiting for our train, and this lady sits behind me and is literally blowing smoke right on me. Like, excuse me, right? But its not weird here. Its totally normal, so I feel like some loser American with a stick up my butt for coughing like a maniac. For having such a reputation for being so clean and tidy, Switzerland sure has a lot of secondhand smoke. But whatever.
The worst part about today is that it drags on forever. I would say ‘dragged’, but technically its still going. We got up at five o’clock in the bright and cheery morning, and hopped in a cab to the san fran airport. The first flight to D.C. was five hours long, and wasn’t actually that bad. I was across the plane from my brother and stepdad, and my mom got to fly business class, the lucky lady. I sat next to a weird old guy who spent basically the whole flight staring at absolutely nothing. But we didn’t really bother each other much, so it was fine. I read a book and drew a weird picture of a girl with skinny arms and a huuuuuuuuuuuge head with eyes too far apart. Kathryn, if you’re reading this, you would laugh at me.
During our layover at the DC airport, my mom got us into the red carpet loungy thing, because she’s awesome. They had cheese cubes and cherry tomatoes and cookies. I was a happy girl. The second flight was longer, seven hours or so. That’s really not so bad, I’ve logged ten or twelve hours on planes before. This time they fed us crappy airplane food and these sugary pastry things. Again, Kat, you would either laugh at me or be proud of me; I took one bite of the thing and threw it away. Soooooooo I watched The Thief Lord to get myself into Venice mode, took some melatonin and tried to take a nap. But unfortunately, despite having five hours of sleep the night before and two sleeping pills under my belt, I still absolutely under no circumstances can ever sleep in a moving vehicle of any kind. I got maybe an hour and a half or so, but in short bursts, so that didn’t do any real damage. And the worst part is that flying to Zurich, Switzerland means that you miss a whole day, basically. Like, you get up at five, get on a plane, get on another one, and its dark outside- oh, did you want to sleep? Sorry, your brain thinks its lunchtime. Tough. Then you get to where you’re going, and brain time is midnight. miiiiidddddddddniiiiiiigggghttttt. but no, its nine oclock in the morning of the next day, silly! No time for sleeping. So I’m writing this at 11:45, swissy time. But there, in my lovely hometown of Alameda, it’s 2:45 in the morning of the 14th of June. I’ve been up since five in the morning of the thirteenth. And I’m not going to get to go to sleep for at least eight more hours. Lovely, isn’t it? All I’m running on right now is adrenaline and Jolly Ranchers. That’s why I’m typing this now, because I know when we finally get to Venice and a nice soft bed, all I’m gonna want to do is sleep. It’s a good thing I love traveling so much, or I’d go absolutely bonkers.
The one remarkable thing about the flight to Zurich for me, was the landing. It’s a small thing, really, but it made me laugh. I didn’t get a very good look from an aisle seat, but the small glimpse of land I got while landing looked a lot like Switzerland. I mean, rustic, yodeling Switzerland. Just how people seem to think Egypt is still ancient Egypt, we think Switzerland is old fashioned or something. Which is completely untrue. I mean, they have like, technology and stuff. But the funny thing is, even from an airplane, wayyyyyy high above the ground, I saw rolling hills and little cottages houses. My god. And right now, our train is stopped by this street that has fancy, shiny professional looking buildings in the back, and in front is a little pink house with four square windows that could be a gingerbread house. I mentioned this, albeit giggling, to my mother, and she said that theres no real need for them to change their buildings, just add new ones as the need arises, so all the old houses are still there. Its pretty neat.
So right now I’m on a train to Milan, but still gotta go through the Alps. Its really pretty, and I’d like post pictures but unfortunately my camera is stuffed at the bottom of my suitcase, and I don’t really wanna unleash the wrath of my compact packing skills on the sweet people in this train. On the other hand, my mom bought me a stuffed dinosaur. She’s now my official writing muse and traveling companion. Her name was Stacy, but I thought it was stupid so I renamed her Charlotte. I know, I use that name way too much. Shut up, Elizabeth. Stop rolling your eyes at me.
So, I’ll leave with this: my brother and I were looking for seats on a train to get from the airport to the actual train station, and there was this girl sitting alone at a four way seat thing. I asked her if the seats were taking. She gibbled something in German, and then I realized: I know enough French to probably get by, I know a couple spots of Italian, your basic pleases and thank you’s . But I know absolutely NO German. Not a smidge. What am I doing here?
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Friday, May 28, 2010
Unwind Book Review
Unwind, a science fiction novel by Neil Shusterman reveals a horrific alternate reality where parents can 'unwind' their children (between ages 13 and 18); surgically remove their body parts and donate them, without actually killing the teenager. It takes place in the United States, but the state is not specified. Unwinding was made legal after something called the Heartland War. Two sides were arguing about whether parents could kill their children if they were unable to care for them, or didn't want them. The war ended with a compromise, called unwinding. The child's body parts are taken apart and given to different people. They dissect all the different parts of the brain, everything. Its pretty creepy, they actually describe it at one point. This guy, Roland, gets unwound, and they numb him so he loses feeling in his feet, then his legs, then his abdomen, etc. and just take his body apart. Theres a nurse who just keeps talking to him, until she says "okay, we cant talk anymore" and then his jaw goes numb. its really freaky.
My favorite character, for some odd reason, was Lev's brother Marcus. he's got such a small part, but i think he deserves a special mention. Lev is a tithe, basically a person who was raised specifically to be unwound. Tithing is a really old term, way back in the medieval times and such. it means giving one tenth of your income to the church. You could give money, but alot of people would give livestock, crops, etc. In unwind, a tithe isn't unnecessarily one tenth of anything, and they aren't really going to the church. except Lev is. Hes the tenth child in his family, which his parents tell him makes him even more 'special'. So, back to Marcus, he says something like this during his toast to Lev; " I guess its good you had ten kids, mom, otherwise we woulda had to cut Lev in half!" ahahahaha. i did actually laugh at that part, even though really its just sad. but the really freaky thing about tithes is that they like being what they are. Their parents are these freaky religious wackos who raise their kids to believe that they were chosen by god to donate their body parts. ewwwwwww. they throw a big party for them when they turn thirteen, which is where Marcus gives his speech. Like Marcus so eloquently points out, its a BIG DAMN PARTY, cause they have to roll in all the birthday parties, funerals, etc. that the kid's gonna miss. Its like attending you're own funeral, but everyone congratulates you on dying. Its freaky also because I'm pretty religious, in my own way( not freaky religious like Lev's parents, or anything), but its a horrible idea for me to imagine my parents donating my body parts to their church. My other favorite character was Cy-Fy. He got a temporal lobe from some kleptomaniac kid, and even though he's a law abiding citizen and all that, he has random urges to steal stuff. He doesn't really know what he's doing, all he gets is these urges that aren't his, and he cant help but act on them.
I think the main purpose of the book is to entertain, but also to make the reader think. i know my parents wouldn't every do anything to me as horrible as unwinding, but still: "everyone knew an unwind order was irreversible, so screaming and fighting wouldn't change a thing. Besides, he found a certain power in knowing his parent's secret. Now the blows he could deal them were so much more effective. Like the day he brought flowers home for his mother and she cried for hours. Like the B-plus he brought home on a science test. Best grade he ever got in science. He handed it to his father, who looked at it, the color draining from his face. "See, Dad, my grades are getting better. I could even bring my science grade up to an A by the end of the semester. An hour later his father was sitting in a chair, still clutching the test in his hand, and staring blankly at the wall." and then this one: "He's going to tell me now, Connor thinks. He's going to tell me they're unwinding me, and then break down in tears, going on and on about how sorry he is about it all. If he does, Connor just might accept the apology. He might even forgive him, and then tell him he doesn't plan to be here when the Juvey-cops come to take him away. But in the end all his father says is "Did you lock the door when you came in?" pg. 7. Its really hard for me to imagine being unwound, simply because my parents were tired of me, but at the same time, easy. I piss my parents off just as much as anybody, and i think maybe, if Unwinding was possible, in just a second of complete weakness, they would think about it. But only for a second. Its amazing, the thought of a parent essentially wiping their kid off the face of the earth because they were too hard to take care of.
The one thing i didn't really like about the book was how the author didn't really describe things clearly. Even exactly what unwinding is is never clearly described. And the clappers? oh god. They were a great plot point, but it was infuriating how you didn't find out what they really were until the end. So first, Connor and Risa pretend to be clappers, and its just a little confusing. all they do is clap and people are like "AHHHHHHHHH RUN FOR YOUR LIVESSSSS." Then, Connor tries to prove to the old lady that he's not actually a clapper by punching a wall and says "See? if my body was explosive we'd be gone..." Or something along those lines. well, okay. that makes a little more sense. Then theres a little discussion somewhere about clappers and why they do whatever they do. (which we don't really know.) people suggest that "they're part of some kind of weird religion, or that they just do it for fun." confusing, yeah. Then finally, Lev and his freaky 'friends' uncover the truth about clappers. They inject explosive crap into their bloodstream. Then, when they clap, or hit walls or do anything forceful, they explode. And blow up whatever is around them. In Lev's case, he wanted to sabotage the harvest camp thing where they take children apart. its a worthy cause, in my opinion. But apart from that, we still don't really know why clappers do what they do. And thus, the elusive clappers still remain...a mystery. The End.
My favorite character, for some odd reason, was Lev's brother Marcus. he's got such a small part, but i think he deserves a special mention. Lev is a tithe, basically a person who was raised specifically to be unwound. Tithing is a really old term, way back in the medieval times and such. it means giving one tenth of your income to the church. You could give money, but alot of people would give livestock, crops, etc. In unwind, a tithe isn't unnecessarily one tenth of anything, and they aren't really going to the church. except Lev is. Hes the tenth child in his family, which his parents tell him makes him even more 'special'. So, back to Marcus, he says something like this during his toast to Lev; " I guess its good you had ten kids, mom, otherwise we woulda had to cut Lev in half!" ahahahaha. i did actually laugh at that part, even though really its just sad. but the really freaky thing about tithes is that they like being what they are. Their parents are these freaky religious wackos who raise their kids to believe that they were chosen by god to donate their body parts. ewwwwwww. they throw a big party for them when they turn thirteen, which is where Marcus gives his speech. Like Marcus so eloquently points out, its a BIG DAMN PARTY, cause they have to roll in all the birthday parties, funerals, etc. that the kid's gonna miss. Its like attending you're own funeral, but everyone congratulates you on dying. Its freaky also because I'm pretty religious, in my own way( not freaky religious like Lev's parents, or anything), but its a horrible idea for me to imagine my parents donating my body parts to their church. My other favorite character was Cy-Fy. He got a temporal lobe from some kleptomaniac kid, and even though he's a law abiding citizen and all that, he has random urges to steal stuff. He doesn't really know what he's doing, all he gets is these urges that aren't his, and he cant help but act on them.
I think the main purpose of the book is to entertain, but also to make the reader think. i know my parents wouldn't every do anything to me as horrible as unwinding, but still: "everyone knew an unwind order was irreversible, so screaming and fighting wouldn't change a thing. Besides, he found a certain power in knowing his parent's secret. Now the blows he could deal them were so much more effective. Like the day he brought flowers home for his mother and she cried for hours. Like the B-plus he brought home on a science test. Best grade he ever got in science. He handed it to his father, who looked at it, the color draining from his face. "See, Dad, my grades are getting better. I could even bring my science grade up to an A by the end of the semester. An hour later his father was sitting in a chair, still clutching the test in his hand, and staring blankly at the wall." and then this one: "He's going to tell me now, Connor thinks. He's going to tell me they're unwinding me, and then break down in tears, going on and on about how sorry he is about it all. If he does, Connor just might accept the apology. He might even forgive him, and then tell him he doesn't plan to be here when the Juvey-cops come to take him away. But in the end all his father says is "Did you lock the door when you came in?" pg. 7. Its really hard for me to imagine being unwound, simply because my parents were tired of me, but at the same time, easy. I piss my parents off just as much as anybody, and i think maybe, if Unwinding was possible, in just a second of complete weakness, they would think about it. But only for a second. Its amazing, the thought of a parent essentially wiping their kid off the face of the earth because they were too hard to take care of.
The one thing i didn't really like about the book was how the author didn't really describe things clearly. Even exactly what unwinding is is never clearly described. And the clappers? oh god. They were a great plot point, but it was infuriating how you didn't find out what they really were until the end. So first, Connor and Risa pretend to be clappers, and its just a little confusing. all they do is clap and people are like "AHHHHHHHHH RUN FOR YOUR LIVESSSSS." Then, Connor tries to prove to the old lady that he's not actually a clapper by punching a wall and says "See? if my body was explosive we'd be gone..." Or something along those lines. well, okay. that makes a little more sense. Then theres a little discussion somewhere about clappers and why they do whatever they do. (which we don't really know.) people suggest that "they're part of some kind of weird religion, or that they just do it for fun." confusing, yeah. Then finally, Lev and his freaky 'friends' uncover the truth about clappers. They inject explosive crap into their bloodstream. Then, when they clap, or hit walls or do anything forceful, they explode. And blow up whatever is around them. In Lev's case, he wanted to sabotage the harvest camp thing where they take children apart. its a worthy cause, in my opinion. But apart from that, we still don't really know why clappers do what they do. And thus, the elusive clappers still remain...a mystery. The End.
Friday, May 14, 2010
dream journal 5/7 ( yeah, it was a while agoooo)
yeah, i wrote this dream out in the morning, so please excuse any bad grammar, and the excessive number of 'i was like' and 'she was all''s. my brain is not anywhere near functional in the early wee hours of the day. ok. so. Me and Kathryn are in a bookstore, in the manga section. except it's lame, so we're kinda frustrated. I'm trying to find volume eight of D.Gray-Man, and she's just checking out this hella weird skull propaganda display. Did i mention there was more merchandise than actual manga? veerrrrrry weird. So I'm like "hey, do you think theres more somewhere else?" and shes all "maybe?" So i go up to this official-looking guy, and there was this whole entire line just to talk to him, which struck my dream-self as hilariously funny. i dunno why. but anyways, he gets to us, and i ask him about the manga, and he says "yes. theres another section with more for your age group." so we staaaaaaaaaaaaaare at him until he says " ok, go find the closest hotspot and go up the stairs." Kathryn's like 'wut?' and im like WTF because 'hotspots' is a word that both my therapist and my history teacher use, so it had me thoroughly confuzzled. Then Kathryn says 'hotspots, Grace. Y'know, a place where they make food." oh, ok. WHATEVER......so we wander around for a bit, and at that point, the bookstore becomes a huge, fancy old-fashioned house. Theres a ton of rooms, full of random ass furniture. There was this one room with nothing but a black vase on the floor, surrounded by people in folding chairs, just staring at it. uh huh. And as we turned around to leave, someone yelled "Grace!" and i yelled "HEY!" back. ~le shrug~ so FINALLY we pass this place where people are...making food.we look around and OH HAY is that a staircase? oh my, how convenient that is.
so what else do we do? we go up the stairs, of course. Once we get to the top, me and Kat aren't me and Kat anymore. We're just these two boys looking for something, i have no idea what. 'Kat' found a boarded up door, and she was trying to open it. In all my boyishness, i told her not to because i had a manly sense of foreboding about what was behind the window. ( which was not, incidentally, what we were looking for. i knew this because i had a penis. at least, i think i did. i never actually checked.) but -he- persisted. so, like a true male, i turned tail and fled. suddenly -poof!- now I'm a tall dark man who randomly works in the big fancy house and cleans stuff, and let me tell you, i was HOT. my handsome man dream person was also in love with girl-me. As in, a tall blond girl who looks like me, only more attractive, cause its my dream. duh. So i go around opening random doors, looking for the evasive mysterious something. The house, BTW, was shaped like a big rectangle, with two stories of rooms on the edges and a big pretty courtyard in the middle. I'm on the bottom floor in the courtyard, and i look up and randomly switch tenses and see the two boys whose bodies Kat and i had previously occupied. I see them, and they see me, and we all start running frantically. I am unsure, at this point, whether we were racing to find the whatever, or if we were working together. So, i go through a really cool mural tunnel to the outside of the house. i run past these filthy windows that are all open, and the people inside are talking about me. They're complaining about how i never clean their rooms, and then i realize that these people are Jews. like its the holocaust or something, and they all live in the basement. And i don't clean their rooms because I'm a freakin Nazi. not really. Cause the "Jews' actually live better then i do, besides their abysmally filthy living quarters that i don't clean because I'm a RACIST. (only in the mornings. really.) they're all laughing and playing in the beautiful green grass and crap around the house while I'm stuck washing the same shit over and over and looking for something that refuses to be found. So i get up and fly away. the end.
so what else do we do? we go up the stairs, of course. Once we get to the top, me and Kat aren't me and Kat anymore. We're just these two boys looking for something, i have no idea what. 'Kat' found a boarded up door, and she was trying to open it. In all my boyishness, i told her not to because i had a manly sense of foreboding about what was behind the window. ( which was not, incidentally, what we were looking for. i knew this because i had a penis. at least, i think i did. i never actually checked.) but -he- persisted. so, like a true male, i turned tail and fled. suddenly -poof!- now I'm a tall dark man who randomly works in the big fancy house and cleans stuff, and let me tell you, i was HOT. my handsome man dream person was also in love with girl-me. As in, a tall blond girl who looks like me, only more attractive, cause its my dream. duh. So i go around opening random doors, looking for the evasive mysterious something. The house, BTW, was shaped like a big rectangle, with two stories of rooms on the edges and a big pretty courtyard in the middle. I'm on the bottom floor in the courtyard, and i look up and randomly switch tenses and see the two boys whose bodies Kat and i had previously occupied. I see them, and they see me, and we all start running frantically. I am unsure, at this point, whether we were racing to find the whatever, or if we were working together. So, i go through a really cool mural tunnel to the outside of the house. i run past these filthy windows that are all open, and the people inside are talking about me. They're complaining about how i never clean their rooms, and then i realize that these people are Jews. like its the holocaust or something, and they all live in the basement. And i don't clean their rooms because I'm a freakin Nazi. not really. Cause the "Jews' actually live better then i do, besides their abysmally filthy living quarters that i don't clean because I'm a RACIST. (only in the mornings. really.) they're all laughing and playing in the beautiful green grass and crap around the house while I'm stuck washing the same shit over and over and looking for something that refuses to be found. So i get up and fly away. the end.
Friday, April 16, 2010
we're all going to diiiiieeeeeee!!!!
It’s true. Not now, necessarily. Not even in the near and foreseeable future. But eventually, each and every single living, breathing one of us will kick the bucket, whether it is from cancer, a bullet, a car crash, or just old age. This is, I assume, common knowledge.
So then why do we act as though we are going to live forever? Why do we live our lives as though we are waiting for them to start? They have started. They started the day we were born. Maybe there wasn’t much we could do as drooly, messy, undeveloped blobs, but it doesn’t take us long to develop our sense of individuality. And yet we waste it on TV, and procrastination.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not being a hypocrite. I am just as bad at living my life to the fullest as the average person, probably worse. I'm lazy, sloppy and unmotivated. I spend most of my time avoiding homework, eating, and sleeping. But I hate it. It’s like I’m stuck in a deep hole, and I cant climb out. I’ll be sitting on the couch on a mid-afternoon Saturday, and think to myself "Get up, Grace. Go out and DO something!!" but I’m too tired, too lazy. Why should I?
Because the world isn’t going to wait for me. I get older every day. Every second is a second closer to death, but I still haven’t done anything. What am I waiting for? I dunno. Love, maybe. But that’s silly. I don’t think love is something you can find, or look for. It finds you.
So if you're like me, and most people are, so don’t deny it, then think about it. get off the couch and put down the video game. (not that there’s anything wrong with video games, y'know. It’s just an example.) go outside and soak up some sunshine. Go for a walk, it’s my favorite thing to do. I walk around and just think. You should try it, and it doesn’t matter what you think about. It can be school, sports, or that cute guy (or girl!) in our math class. Or you can think about deeper stuff. I myself have come up with several MINDFREAKINGBLOWING ideas while taking a leisurely walk around the block. And then, try looking around you. See the sky, the birds, and the trees. Feel yourself breathe air, and feel your feet hit the ground one after the other. See people pass you, on the sidewalk, or in cars and bikes. Realize that each and every one of them has an entire life that you don’t know about. They eat, sleep, and live just like you do. You don’t know them, and you probably don’t care to. But they exist, and until that moment, you were completely unaware of that. Isn’t that weird?
Maybe that doesn’t work for other people. But it works for me. Once I get in that state of mind, that my tiny life is so insignificant in this huge web of life that is the world, I am struck with a sudden initiative to make it more significant. It’s not that easy, though. I still lie around and waste space, as often as I can. But I’m getting better. I used to hate even thinking about college, and about my future. Not so much anymore, because I’ve changed my priorities. College is still up there, for sure. But I’m not going because my parents want me to, or because it will get me a good job, and therefore a good life. I'm going because I want to. Because it’s a chance to do exactly what I want for all the right reasons. Because I want to make a difference.
So if you're waiting for love, don’t bother, and don’t worry. It’ll find you. And if you’re just waiting for your life to start, then stop waiting and get started! What are you waiting for?
So then why do we act as though we are going to live forever? Why do we live our lives as though we are waiting for them to start? They have started. They started the day we were born. Maybe there wasn’t much we could do as drooly, messy, undeveloped blobs, but it doesn’t take us long to develop our sense of individuality. And yet we waste it on TV, and procrastination.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not being a hypocrite. I am just as bad at living my life to the fullest as the average person, probably worse. I'm lazy, sloppy and unmotivated. I spend most of my time avoiding homework, eating, and sleeping. But I hate it. It’s like I’m stuck in a deep hole, and I cant climb out. I’ll be sitting on the couch on a mid-afternoon Saturday, and think to myself "Get up, Grace. Go out and DO something!!" but I’m too tired, too lazy. Why should I?
Because the world isn’t going to wait for me. I get older every day. Every second is a second closer to death, but I still haven’t done anything. What am I waiting for? I dunno. Love, maybe. But that’s silly. I don’t think love is something you can find, or look for. It finds you.
So if you're like me, and most people are, so don’t deny it, then think about it. get off the couch and put down the video game. (not that there’s anything wrong with video games, y'know. It’s just an example.) go outside and soak up some sunshine. Go for a walk, it’s my favorite thing to do. I walk around and just think. You should try it, and it doesn’t matter what you think about. It can be school, sports, or that cute guy (or girl!) in our math class. Or you can think about deeper stuff. I myself have come up with several MINDFREAKINGBLOWING ideas while taking a leisurely walk around the block. And then, try looking around you. See the sky, the birds, and the trees. Feel yourself breathe air, and feel your feet hit the ground one after the other. See people pass you, on the sidewalk, or in cars and bikes. Realize that each and every one of them has an entire life that you don’t know about. They eat, sleep, and live just like you do. You don’t know them, and you probably don’t care to. But they exist, and until that moment, you were completely unaware of that. Isn’t that weird?
Maybe that doesn’t work for other people. But it works for me. Once I get in that state of mind, that my tiny life is so insignificant in this huge web of life that is the world, I am struck with a sudden initiative to make it more significant. It’s not that easy, though. I still lie around and waste space, as often as I can. But I’m getting better. I used to hate even thinking about college, and about my future. Not so much anymore, because I’ve changed my priorities. College is still up there, for sure. But I’m not going because my parents want me to, or because it will get me a good job, and therefore a good life. I'm going because I want to. Because it’s a chance to do exactly what I want for all the right reasons. Because I want to make a difference.
So if you're waiting for love, don’t bother, and don’t worry. It’ll find you. And if you’re just waiting for your life to start, then stop waiting and get started! What are you waiting for?
Friday, March 26, 2010
John Dies at the End
John Dies at the End, by David Wong (which is a pseudonym for Jason Pargin, by the way) is the horror-slash-crazy comedy story of two guys, John and Dave, that take a drug called 'soy sauce' which gives them a window into another dimension. After going to a party and being followed home by a dog named Molly, Dave gets a frantic call from his best friend John. He goes to John's house and finds out that he has taken the soy sauce. Dave then injects himself with it accidentally, and suddenly they can see all kinds of monsters and ghosts and disgusting, perverted things that make me wrinkle my nose, roll my eyes, and laugh out loud all at the same time. after a couple adventures and investigations John-style, they figure out that an evil demon-like thing, Korrok, is trying to take over the world. and then-ahhhhhhh, no spoilers.
My favorite character would have to be John, although its a tough choice between him and Dave, since they're both pretty darn awesome. John is vulgar, rude, drinks alcohol and plays video games in his spare time. He's in a band that sings the strangest songs ever (Camel Holocaust is as long as you need it to be, my friend.) He's also conceited. " Yeah, its not a big deal for me to lift heavy objects. I'm sort of used to it, if you know what i mean...of course I'm talking about my penis....if you want to look at my penis, you'd better have a whole afternoon, buddy! You best have five or six hours to take it all in, lest its majesty escape you!" He takes the soy sauce willingly, even after seeing someone shrink themselves to three feet tall after taking it. He's the kind of person who gets kicked out of a school for exploding a Bunsen burner and shattering a window in chemistry class. but he's SO FUNNY. When he and Dave go to Las Vegas and fight the wig monsters, he picks up a chair and makes all sorts of lame puns while beating them with it. " Have a seat, bitch!...You've been sentenced to get the chair, motherfucker!...You wants the committe, asshole, then you best meet with the chair!...There's some dessert! with a chair-y on top!" Theres an entire story that John tells Dave about his investigation, which is hugely exaggerated but more fun to read if you take it seriously. 'John claims that the men hauling him a way from the scene were escorted by other men carrying submachine guns, though, when pressed, he admitted that they may have been flashlights...He then wrestled away the man's gun and "dick-whipped" him with it. I am unclear as to whether or not this means he struck the man in the groin or merely slapped him in the same manner in which he would slap a person with his dick. I never ask John to clarify such things...I suspect that, in reality, either the men at the cleanup site didn't see John at all or they merely gave him a dirty look until he turned around and drove away. Again, i wasn't there and i do not wish to cast an unfavorable light on John's personal credibility." He's witty, sarcastic, spontaneous, and a total deadbeat. but we love him. and by the end of the book, we realize that he's also kind. Dave's girlfriend, Amy, lost a hand in a car accident and hates it because everyone describes her as 'the girl without a hand'. But Dave says to Amy "Let me tell you everything you need to know about John. The reason i was surprised by your hand was because John never once described you as 'the girl with the missing hand'."
My favorite character would have to be John, although its a tough choice between him and Dave, since they're both pretty darn awesome. John is vulgar, rude, drinks alcohol and plays video games in his spare time. He's in a band that sings the strangest songs ever (Camel Holocaust is as long as you need it to be, my friend.) He's also conceited. " Yeah, its not a big deal for me to lift heavy objects. I'm sort of used to it, if you know what i mean...of course I'm talking about my penis....if you want to look at my penis, you'd better have a whole afternoon, buddy! You best have five or six hours to take it all in, lest its majesty escape you!" He takes the soy sauce willingly, even after seeing someone shrink themselves to three feet tall after taking it. He's the kind of person who gets kicked out of a school for exploding a Bunsen burner and shattering a window in chemistry class. but he's SO FUNNY. When he and Dave go to Las Vegas and fight the wig monsters, he picks up a chair and makes all sorts of lame puns while beating them with it. " Have a seat, bitch!...You've been sentenced to get the chair, motherfucker!...You wants the committe, asshole, then you best meet with the chair!...There's some dessert! with a chair-y on top!" Theres an entire story that John tells Dave about his investigation, which is hugely exaggerated but more fun to read if you take it seriously. 'John claims that the men hauling him a way from the scene were escorted by other men carrying submachine guns, though, when pressed, he admitted that they may have been flashlights...He then wrestled away the man's gun and "dick-whipped" him with it. I am unclear as to whether or not this means he struck the man in the groin or merely slapped him in the same manner in which he would slap a person with his dick. I never ask John to clarify such things...I suspect that, in reality, either the men at the cleanup site didn't see John at all or they merely gave him a dirty look until he turned around and drove away. Again, i wasn't there and i do not wish to cast an unfavorable light on John's personal credibility." He's witty, sarcastic, spontaneous, and a total deadbeat. but we love him. and by the end of the book, we realize that he's also kind. Dave's girlfriend, Amy, lost a hand in a car accident and hates it because everyone describes her as 'the girl without a hand'. But Dave says to Amy "Let me tell you everything you need to know about John. The reason i was surprised by your hand was because John never once described you as 'the girl with the missing hand'."
The authors writing style is extremely funny, descriptive, perverted, and very random. Dave views everything with a dry sense of humor, and even when he's scared shitless he still manages to drop an F-bomb and a sarcastic comment on us like it's nothing. There are countless penis and fart jokes, which admittedly do get tiresome after a while, but also show who's writing the story really well. For example, if it was from a child's point of view, everything would be terrifying and traumatic. But since it's clearly from a college-maybe-older-age male point of view, its all penis jokes and the wrong reactions to an evil world takeover. I'm gonna go ahead and combine two questions for this one, because the authors writing style and his purpose are really connected in my mind. The purpose of the book is simply to enjoy. Its almost as if Wong has a top hat full of random ideas that seem like you'd have to be high to come up with, and then he pulls one out and writes about it. but for some reason it all fits together, even when it doesn't make sense. He's he editor of this really cool site, but its not exactly rocket science, you know? He's just a regular guy with a really active imagination. One of the other questions was whether or not the book is based on an of the authors personal experiences, and all i can say is i certainly hope not.
Unless, of course, the book is a way a mortal is trying to warn the rest of the world about Korrok. But I don't think He would allow that. If he can control people as easily as the book says he can, then this book can't be real. Unless he's feeding us false information. He can control what people write; the proof is right there in Amy's chat log. It only proves that we are a worthless race. We are weak, sniveling maggots who deserve to perish. Korrok will pass judgement on us, and we will die. He is wise. He knows all and defeats all and is all. His punishment is a rank cornucopia of rotting flesh. He shall devour us and our blood will pour down his throat KORROK THE SLAVE MASTER KORROK THE WISE KORROK THE KNOWING KORROK THE FAMISHED KORROK THE GIVER KORROK THE ALMIGHTY I SERVE NONE BUT KORROK I SERVE NONE BUT KORROK I SERVE NONE BUT KORROK oh my god i just blanked out and i have no idea where i am help me maybe i should
Friday, March 5, 2010
why adoption is cooler...
Well, as far as i can tell, childbirth is rather painful. I've never seen a real birth, but everyone's seen the TV "reality" shows. The ones with women screaming until their face turns blue and covered in blood? well, with adoption, you don't have to do that! its completely pain free! mostly. I mean, okay, you have to do a lot of paper work, so I'm sure the hand cramps arent minimal, but really, it beats shoving a wriggling, screaming, bloody undeveloped human out of your lower orifice anyday.
I hate to bring up the subject of teen pregnancy, overpopulation, or drug addict mothers, but lets face it: there are alot of people out there who are not well equipped to take care of a child. Anyone can have a baby, but not everyone can adopt. If you want to adopt a child, the government does a full out investigation of you, your family, and your life. if they find any indication that you wouldnt be a good parent, then you arent allowed to adopt. Its very ironic, i think, that any crack addicted criminal can have a beautiful, innocent baby and treat it like shit, but parents who want to take care of kids that nobody wanted have to be wholesome and pure. its kinda sad, but its better for the kids. Way better.
It can take several months to find a kid, even years, really, especially if you're looking to adopt in your own country. Which is why i think international adoption is much better. My little brother was adopted from Kazakhstan, so my parents used an adoption agency to find him. But there's this couple i know from church who are trying to adopt right here in America, and are having a lot of trouble, because its twice as hard. They basically have to advertise themselves and hope a Mom will find them. Just watch Juno. And, with international adoption, you get to travel to a faraway country. or a not-so-faraway country, your choice. but still, Travel. its fun. and, orphaned kids here in america are treated way better than kids in other countries. you're giving this child a chance to live in the most prosperous country in the world. (well, thats debatable.)
Kids in orphanages, at least in kazakhstan, dont live very long once they turn eighteen. Once their officially adults, they basically get kicked out onto the streets, with nowhere to go. If you adopt a child, they will most likely grow up, get a job, and have a family. But the kids that dont will most likely die on the streets. When we went to get my brother at his 'baby house' in Almaty, Kazakhstan, the room where i first met him had this huge crib in the middle that had three or four babies in it. One of the kids was this little asian boy, with huge eyes and a serious, and seriously adorable, face. He was standing up with his hands on the side of the crib, peeking up at me from over the top. My brother was lucky enough to get adopted. He now lives with a loving family, gets enough food to eat, and goes to school. But everytime i think about my brother, i also think about that little boy. Did he get lucky? does he get enough to eat? and will he ever get adopted? its a hard think to imagine, an innocent boy dying on the streets because one boy in his orphanage got chosen over him. But if more people adopted, it wouldnt have to be that way.
I hate to bring up the subject of teen pregnancy, overpopulation, or drug addict mothers, but lets face it: there are alot of people out there who are not well equipped to take care of a child. Anyone can have a baby, but not everyone can adopt. If you want to adopt a child, the government does a full out investigation of you, your family, and your life. if they find any indication that you wouldnt be a good parent, then you arent allowed to adopt. Its very ironic, i think, that any crack addicted criminal can have a beautiful, innocent baby and treat it like shit, but parents who want to take care of kids that nobody wanted have to be wholesome and pure. its kinda sad, but its better for the kids. Way better.
It can take several months to find a kid, even years, really, especially if you're looking to adopt in your own country. Which is why i think international adoption is much better. My little brother was adopted from Kazakhstan, so my parents used an adoption agency to find him. But there's this couple i know from church who are trying to adopt right here in America, and are having a lot of trouble, because its twice as hard. They basically have to advertise themselves and hope a Mom will find them. Just watch Juno. And, with international adoption, you get to travel to a faraway country. or a not-so-faraway country, your choice. but still, Travel. its fun. and, orphaned kids here in america are treated way better than kids in other countries. you're giving this child a chance to live in the most prosperous country in the world. (well, thats debatable.)
Kids in orphanages, at least in kazakhstan, dont live very long once they turn eighteen. Once their officially adults, they basically get kicked out onto the streets, with nowhere to go. If you adopt a child, they will most likely grow up, get a job, and have a family. But the kids that dont will most likely die on the streets. When we went to get my brother at his 'baby house' in Almaty, Kazakhstan, the room where i first met him had this huge crib in the middle that had three or four babies in it. One of the kids was this little asian boy, with huge eyes and a serious, and seriously adorable, face. He was standing up with his hands on the side of the crib, peeking up at me from over the top. My brother was lucky enough to get adopted. He now lives with a loving family, gets enough food to eat, and goes to school. But everytime i think about my brother, i also think about that little boy. Did he get lucky? does he get enough to eat? and will he ever get adopted? its a hard think to imagine, an innocent boy dying on the streets because one boy in his orphanage got chosen over him. But if more people adopted, it wouldnt have to be that way.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Laughing in the Rain
Even the strongest grip will slip
Even the surest feet will slip
Even the strongest heart will need to hide sometimes
Even the toughest soldier will fall
Even the quietest voice will call
Even the sturdiest ship will sink under sometimes
Just because I have an umbrella
Doesn't mean I don't get wet
Because the rain doesn't always fall the way
We expect it to
Just because I wear a smile
Doesn't mean I don't cry
Because life doesn't always go the way
We expect it to
But when it begins to rain
And the shadows start to drown
I can't help but laugh a little
Because life just loves to turn me upside down
Even the brightest eyes will fade
Even the bravest soul will be afraid sometimes
But that doesn't mean you can't laugh in the rain
Even the surest feet will slip
Even the strongest heart will need to hide sometimes
Even the toughest soldier will fall
Even the quietest voice will call
Even the sturdiest ship will sink under sometimes
Just because I have an umbrella
Doesn't mean I don't get wet
Because the rain doesn't always fall the way
We expect it to
Just because I wear a smile
Doesn't mean I don't cry
Because life doesn't always go the way
We expect it to
But when it begins to rain
And the shadows start to drown
I can't help but laugh a little
Because life just loves to turn me upside down
Even the brightest eyes will fade
Even the bravest soul will be afraid sometimes
But that doesn't mean you can't laugh in the rain
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
English Final
What have you learned from your struggles with writer's block? Why do you tend to get stuck? How do you tend to get unstuck? Notice any patterns? Writer's block is not a problem for me, it’s a lifestyle. I write and write, the ideas dripping out of my head like a leaky faucet. And then, all of a sudden, some jerk calls the plumber. I don't know why it happens. I had a few ideas at the beginning of the year, but since then I've moved away from single posts, and began posting parts of stories that I've written. I really like writing stories, but I could never make a living off of it because I never finish. I create a whole world, building it and thinking about it all the time. I plan everything out in my head. And at that point, I can’t write anymore. I get bored; not with the story, but with writing it. I become perfectly content to keep the ideas in my head. It all there, I just can't write about it. This is definitely a pattern, because it’s happened with all but one of my stories. Now all I have to do is find a way to break the pattern. Another thing that dams up my creative flow is typing. I can type as well as the average person, but I hate doing it. I find it nearly impossible to think of new ideas while sitting in front of a computer screen. There's just something about the glare of the computer screen, and the robotic motion of typing that really kills my vibe. Longhand is just easier for me. It flows, and even though I don't particularly like my handwriting, there’s something strangely satisfying about seeing it fill up a page of notebook paper. So, when I get stuck writing on the computer, the easiest way to get unstuck is to step back, go to my room, and write in one of my notebooks. Another way I get unstuck, while writing, is by moving on to a different story. I have five going right now, so if I ever run out of words for one, I shift to the next one. As long as a keep writing, and don't think about the story too much, my writer's block should become a considerably smaller problem.
How do the things you read influence what you write about or how you write it? I get so many of my story ideas from the books that I read. One story I'm writing, about a girl who travels between mirrors, was hugely influenced by The Water Mirror, written by Kai Meyer, because the main character travels between mirrors and captures lost souls. The souls are then dumped into the canals, and there is a myth between the Venetians that there is another Venice in the reflections on the canal water. This idea influenced another of my stories, which plays with the idea of a parallel world that can be reached through the canals of Venice, as well as other means, including the London Underground, which was in turn influenced by Un Lun Dun, written by China Meiville. My parallel world contains mythical creatures, of all types. Fairies, Elves, Tanuki, Dementors, you name it. The fictional ones, such as Dementors (Harry Potter, by J.K. Rowling), are obviously taken from other stories. But in the back of Changeling, another parallel world story written by Delia Sherman, there's a huge index of mythical creatures, explaining where they are from and what they do. I pretty much used this as reference, so the credit should go to that book, but of course the creatures, such as the Japanese Tanuki, are from all over the world. One of my stories, which is connected to my parallel world, but doesn't actually take place in it, uses Death as a main character. This idea came, in part, from The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak, because Death has feelings, and doesn't resemble the Grim Reaper at all. The things I read also have a direct influence on the characters I create. I try to make them completely original, but every story has to have certain types of characters. The smart one, the funny one, etc. there has to be a balance, and I learned this from reading books.
If you used any quickwrites as blog posts, how did they change from what you wrote by hand in class to what you published on your blog? In other words, how did you go from rough draft to final draft? Explain your revision/rewriting process. As I said before, I do most of my writing by longhand. I can't get any ideas while typing, so I don’t have much of a choice otherwise. I don't like typing either, but I will admit, albeit begrudgingly, that it has its benefits. Spell check, for example. Where in the world would this generation be without spell check? Most teenagers these days don’t even capitalize their I's ( As in 'i fail at typing'), myself included. As I write this, my computer is putting squiggly red lines under them. I am a bit ashamed, but it doesn’t matter, because of spell-check. Even a piece of really abysmal writing can lookgood as long as you dot the i's and cross the t's. And besides spell check, typing actually helps me revise my writing, almost because of my near-disability with it. I have to read the same sentence over and over before I can finish typing it, and then I tend to notice things that aren’t right; sentences that don’t make sense, or bland words that could use replacing. This goes for the stories that I write, as well as the quick writes. If I compare the writing in my notebooks to the typed versions in the computer, the differences are huge. There's a lot less of it, for one thing. Sometimes I cut out whole character descriptions, events, or even characters that I don’t think are important. For example, the first chapter of one of my stories, Holding Fire, is a 20 page long description of the main characters' childhoods, told from the perspective of their guardian. It provides a lot of information, and I enjoyed writing it but as I began typing, I realized that it would be very tedious and rambling from a reader’s point of view. I haven’t edited my typed draft yet, but I don’t plan on typing any more until I cut significant parts out. While I can't create new material on the computer, transferring writing from what I wrote by hand to typed material helps me cut unimportant things out and make my overall writing much better.
How do the things you read influence what you write about or how you write it? I get so many of my story ideas from the books that I read. One story I'm writing, about a girl who travels between mirrors, was hugely influenced by The Water Mirror, written by Kai Meyer, because the main character travels between mirrors and captures lost souls. The souls are then dumped into the canals, and there is a myth between the Venetians that there is another Venice in the reflections on the canal water. This idea influenced another of my stories, which plays with the idea of a parallel world that can be reached through the canals of Venice, as well as other means, including the London Underground, which was in turn influenced by Un Lun Dun, written by China Meiville. My parallel world contains mythical creatures, of all types. Fairies, Elves, Tanuki, Dementors, you name it. The fictional ones, such as Dementors (Harry Potter, by J.K. Rowling), are obviously taken from other stories. But in the back of Changeling, another parallel world story written by Delia Sherman, there's a huge index of mythical creatures, explaining where they are from and what they do. I pretty much used this as reference, so the credit should go to that book, but of course the creatures, such as the Japanese Tanuki, are from all over the world. One of my stories, which is connected to my parallel world, but doesn't actually take place in it, uses Death as a main character. This idea came, in part, from The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak, because Death has feelings, and doesn't resemble the Grim Reaper at all. The things I read also have a direct influence on the characters I create. I try to make them completely original, but every story has to have certain types of characters. The smart one, the funny one, etc. there has to be a balance, and I learned this from reading books.
If you used any quickwrites as blog posts, how did they change from what you wrote by hand in class to what you published on your blog? In other words, how did you go from rough draft to final draft? Explain your revision/rewriting process. As I said before, I do most of my writing by longhand. I can't get any ideas while typing, so I don’t have much of a choice otherwise. I don't like typing either, but I will admit, albeit begrudgingly, that it has its benefits. Spell check, for example. Where in the world would this generation be without spell check? Most teenagers these days don’t even capitalize their I's ( As in 'i fail at typing'), myself included. As I write this, my computer is putting squiggly red lines under them. I am a bit ashamed, but it doesn’t matter, because of spell-check. Even a piece of really abysmal writing can lookgood as long as you dot the i's and cross the t's. And besides spell check, typing actually helps me revise my writing, almost because of my near-disability with it. I have to read the same sentence over and over before I can finish typing it, and then I tend to notice things that aren’t right; sentences that don’t make sense, or bland words that could use replacing. This goes for the stories that I write, as well as the quick writes. If I compare the writing in my notebooks to the typed versions in the computer, the differences are huge. There's a lot less of it, for one thing. Sometimes I cut out whole character descriptions, events, or even characters that I don’t think are important. For example, the first chapter of one of my stories, Holding Fire, is a 20 page long description of the main characters' childhoods, told from the perspective of their guardian. It provides a lot of information, and I enjoyed writing it but as I began typing, I realized that it would be very tedious and rambling from a reader’s point of view. I haven’t edited my typed draft yet, but I don’t plan on typing any more until I cut significant parts out. While I can't create new material on the computer, transferring writing from what I wrote by hand to typed material helps me cut unimportant things out and make my overall writing much better.
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