Friday, April 10, 2009
Cop Out
This is for the 5th of April until the 10th. My blog for today will be up eventually. I'm out running errands. Fail.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Maureen, Murder, and Misconceptions
Saturday, April 4th, 2009
THE BADGER DIARIES [I never did finish them...]
Yesterday, as I literally worked 11am to 11pm, was an epically long day. It included lots of making chocolate, packing it, hating it, eating it, staring at it, begging it to release my from my servitude, etc. You might as well know now: my parents own and operate a chocolate shop. As in, we print images on chocolate. I actually gave Maureen Johnson (and John Green, Hank Green, and Katherine Green) chocolate with her face on it. There were dozens of little packs with Nerdfighter chocolate that I gave to the Nerdfighters when I went. Like, I kid you not. A lot of them. We gave business cards too, just in case someone ever wondered where they came from. I assure you, we were not trying to murder massive amounts of Nerdfighters--there was no poison. Just a lot of freaking out as in ‘WTF DO WE PUT ON THESE TINY SQUARES? WHO WILL EAT THEM? WHY AM I DONATING COPIOUS AMOUNTS OF CHOCOLATE TO PEOPLE I DON’T KNOW? WHY AM I COMMITTING MY TIME TO THIS?’ So on and so forth.
We managed to get all the chocolate there without killing anyone, or melting it, got most of my books signed and then when I got home, I suffered through a migraine. Like..the migraine was the worst ever. I also was given a Nerdfighter shirt via my mother. You see, my mother loves me. A lot. So she had a shirt airbrushed for November. I was so excited to see John and Hank Green. Like..you have no idea. I about peed myself because my aunt worked at the museum. I was thrilled. ‘OMG. MY AUNT WORKS AT THE MUSEUM. OMG. JOHN AND HANK GREEN. OMG. MAUREEN JOHNSON. OMG. KATHERINE. OMG. OMG. OMG. OMG.’ My aunt stared at me as I hyperventilated the entire way into the room and then out. We stood in an epic line for books, we met Pittsburgh Nerdfighters--though I do not keep contact with any of them.
It was an amazing day. Anyway, I work as an indentured slave to my family during holidays because the fundraisers are ridiculous. We usually have to make it all THAT DAY so I have to stay down there FOREVER to get things done. And that means my writing time is limited and my internet time is limited and I can’t play my music loudly and I can’t roll around on my bed and watch my fish. Etc. There are very few perks to working for my parents. These include: getting paid in food, as I prefer to eat rather than starve, taking chocolate for random occasions, getting anything I need for my fish. So maybe a little more than ‘a few’ perks. It also helps that they love me. And they like to laugh at my stupidity.
So I’m sitting there packing sugar-free chocolate into bags and I was reading the Badger diaries because I had NOTHING ELSE TO READ. And they were hilarious. Like, who really gets to go to a castle? Certainly not me. But Maureen’s take on the whole situation had me in stitches. I kept running out to report to my mother. ‘AND THEN MAUREEN DID THIS.’ Occasionally, I will refer to her as ‘MJ’. Almost as though she’s my friend. Perhaps in the future, when I’ve accomplished the task of writing novels, Maureen Johnson and I will know each other. While it’s a lofty goal, it’s not that unreasonable. If I said J.K. Rowling, I’d be dreaming. Is it terrible that I don’t want to meet J.K.? I mean, I can’t even think of questions off the top of my head to ask her. I’m sure there are LOADS of people that absolutely idolize her, but I simply acknowledge her as an amazing author. Because she is. But there are so many other people I’d rather meet. And not just the ‘Hey, how’re you? Thanks for buying my book. Here’s my signature.’ I mean the literal ‘Let’s sit down and get coffee even though you don’t drink coffee and chat about books.’
They have to have some kind of advice to writing a book. People write books all the time. I spend ALL OF MY TIME WRITING ONLINE. I do not Vlog, I do not Blog, I do not play games on the computer. I role-play. I write with friends, I come up with plot, we play things out. I have more characters in play now than I probably should and the games I mod have all been epic. But that’s not enough, obviously. Can you imagine a job where you get PAID to do what you love? Whether it’s enough to buy a hot dog or a house, it’s money. It’s ACKNOWLEDGEMENT for the time that you’ve spent creating something, harboring it in your head, loving it, encouraging it. I want that kind of encouragement, I won’t lie.
I want someone to look at my stuff and go ‘Dang. That’s some good stuff, that.’ I don’t want to have to beg my friends to read short stories or ask ‘Am I good enough?’ anymore.
And that’s not unreasonable. Out of the many participants in BEDA, I’ll imagine that the MAJORITY of us want to be writers. But how many of you put the pen to the paper? And how many of you want to make that your entire life? There are a lot of things I’ve done in my twenty years and while most of them don’t make the Top 18 from Jordan’s blog, they’re things I’m proud to say I’ve at least tried or been a part of. I’m proud I graduated high school, for one. I almost didn’t. You know why? Because of a P.E. requirement. I literally had to go to school and make up P.E. classes. I kid you not. P.E. classes. Who do you know that would not be able to graduate because of P.E.? Not many people.
But all of my life, someone else has been better than me. I’ve never won awards for being ‘OMG THE BEST’. And I probably never will. But it’s not unreasonable to want to have something that says I’ve accomplished something that I didn’t think I could before. I don’t want to write for the fame. I want to write because every little bit and piece of me inside DEMANDS that I do so.
And Maureen Johnson, John Green, Meg Cabot--the young adult writers that have guided me through adolescence will continue to guide me as a ‘young adult’ writer, too. As my idols, they’re the goals. I want to be good enough to say ‘Hey, I know John Green--he’s a pretty great guy’. Or ‘Wow, MJ is pretty crazy, but she’s one of the best writers I know.’
And not have someone sniff at me because I’m terribly unimportant.
MURDER MYSTERIES [And why they’re so much fun to write]
When I was in high school, as a freshman, we had a crazy thing called ‘Drama Club’. It was shiny and pretty and we were freshmen--this meant we had EVERY RIGHT to be a part of it. A few of us joined, committing our time to every thursday for the rest of a year. Unfortunately, we were but lowly freshmen. We obviously were a nuisance to the upperclassmen who thought they were OH SO MUCH BETTER than the rest of us. We performed a little toward the end of the year, something about crazy nursery rhymes or fairy tales, I can’t remember, and I had like...a very small part. I was almost completely turned off from acting altogether. But it was something I liked because it let you CONNECT with the character rather than just writing the character. It’s something I figured I’d be good at--or at least enjoy.
So, Freshman year ended. Cue Sophomore year when we found out THERE IS NO DRAMA CLUB. Trust me. We fought for it. We begged for someone to take on the project. All we needed was a supervisor. THAT WAS IT. We weren’t trying to get into trouble or better leads in the school musical, which was a huge popularity contest, but simply to go over games that helped with acting and to be a PART of something. It didn’t work. We went clubless. Sophomore year was depressing. In fact, the only thing I remember is getting a lot of detention. And almost failing spanish. But this isn’t uncommon. I’ve taken Spanish a LOT and I retain very, very little.
Junior year gave us a breakthrough! We found a supervisor! Our teacher was a new teacher that wanted to be part of something too. We finally conspired to write a murder mystery. This mystery was to be performed as dinner theater. I giggle at the very thought. We seriously wrote the thing THE NIGHT OF THE EVENT. We BARELY could remember cues. We had a sad plot and two drunkards. One was a child [she wasn’t really drunk, obviously, and she was a freshman who later became one of my very best friends] who hiccuped hilariously throughout the entire thing. And the other was myself, a crazy detective by the name of ‘Sydney Fletcher’. I can’t help myself when I add the ‘DETECTIVE EXTRAORDINAIRE’ at the end. I literally had to introduce myself every single time JUST LIKE THAT. And it was amazing and a great experience, but the next year we decided to buy one. I still have the script somewhere.
The point is that murder mysteries rock and they’re fun to write. Especially when people face plant into large plates of spaghetti. And oh--did I mention? I was club President for two years. :D THE SHEER POWER. BOW TO--
THE BADGER DIARIES [I never did finish them...]
Yesterday, as I literally worked 11am to 11pm, was an epically long day. It included lots of making chocolate, packing it, hating it, eating it, staring at it, begging it to release my from my servitude, etc. You might as well know now: my parents own and operate a chocolate shop. As in, we print images on chocolate. I actually gave Maureen Johnson (and John Green, Hank Green, and Katherine Green) chocolate with her face on it. There were dozens of little packs with Nerdfighter chocolate that I gave to the Nerdfighters when I went. Like, I kid you not. A lot of them. We gave business cards too, just in case someone ever wondered where they came from. I assure you, we were not trying to murder massive amounts of Nerdfighters--there was no poison. Just a lot of freaking out as in ‘WTF DO WE PUT ON THESE TINY SQUARES? WHO WILL EAT THEM? WHY AM I DONATING COPIOUS AMOUNTS OF CHOCOLATE TO PEOPLE I DON’T KNOW? WHY AM I COMMITTING MY TIME TO THIS?’ So on and so forth.
We managed to get all the chocolate there without killing anyone, or melting it, got most of my books signed and then when I got home, I suffered through a migraine. Like..the migraine was the worst ever. I also was given a Nerdfighter shirt via my mother. You see, my mother loves me. A lot. So she had a shirt airbrushed for November. I was so excited to see John and Hank Green. Like..you have no idea. I about peed myself because my aunt worked at the museum. I was thrilled. ‘OMG. MY AUNT WORKS AT THE MUSEUM. OMG. JOHN AND HANK GREEN. OMG. MAUREEN JOHNSON. OMG. KATHERINE. OMG. OMG. OMG. OMG.’ My aunt stared at me as I hyperventilated the entire way into the room and then out. We stood in an epic line for books, we met Pittsburgh Nerdfighters--though I do not keep contact with any of them.
It was an amazing day. Anyway, I work as an indentured slave to my family during holidays because the fundraisers are ridiculous. We usually have to make it all THAT DAY so I have to stay down there FOREVER to get things done. And that means my writing time is limited and my internet time is limited and I can’t play my music loudly and I can’t roll around on my bed and watch my fish. Etc. There are very few perks to working for my parents. These include: getting paid in food, as I prefer to eat rather than starve, taking chocolate for random occasions, getting anything I need for my fish. So maybe a little more than ‘a few’ perks. It also helps that they love me. And they like to laugh at my stupidity.
So I’m sitting there packing sugar-free chocolate into bags and I was reading the Badger diaries because I had NOTHING ELSE TO READ. And they were hilarious. Like, who really gets to go to a castle? Certainly not me. But Maureen’s take on the whole situation had me in stitches. I kept running out to report to my mother. ‘AND THEN MAUREEN DID THIS.’ Occasionally, I will refer to her as ‘MJ’. Almost as though she’s my friend. Perhaps in the future, when I’ve accomplished the task of writing novels, Maureen Johnson and I will know each other. While it’s a lofty goal, it’s not that unreasonable. If I said J.K. Rowling, I’d be dreaming. Is it terrible that I don’t want to meet J.K.? I mean, I can’t even think of questions off the top of my head to ask her. I’m sure there are LOADS of people that absolutely idolize her, but I simply acknowledge her as an amazing author. Because she is. But there are so many other people I’d rather meet. And not just the ‘Hey, how’re you? Thanks for buying my book. Here’s my signature.’ I mean the literal ‘Let’s sit down and get coffee even though you don’t drink coffee and chat about books.’
They have to have some kind of advice to writing a book. People write books all the time. I spend ALL OF MY TIME WRITING ONLINE. I do not Vlog, I do not Blog, I do not play games on the computer. I role-play. I write with friends, I come up with plot, we play things out. I have more characters in play now than I probably should and the games I mod have all been epic. But that’s not enough, obviously. Can you imagine a job where you get PAID to do what you love? Whether it’s enough to buy a hot dog or a house, it’s money. It’s ACKNOWLEDGEMENT for the time that you’ve spent creating something, harboring it in your head, loving it, encouraging it. I want that kind of encouragement, I won’t lie.
I want someone to look at my stuff and go ‘Dang. That’s some good stuff, that.’ I don’t want to have to beg my friends to read short stories or ask ‘Am I good enough?’ anymore.
And that’s not unreasonable. Out of the many participants in BEDA, I’ll imagine that the MAJORITY of us want to be writers. But how many of you put the pen to the paper? And how many of you want to make that your entire life? There are a lot of things I’ve done in my twenty years and while most of them don’t make the Top 18 from Jordan’s blog, they’re things I’m proud to say I’ve at least tried or been a part of. I’m proud I graduated high school, for one. I almost didn’t. You know why? Because of a P.E. requirement. I literally had to go to school and make up P.E. classes. I kid you not. P.E. classes. Who do you know that would not be able to graduate because of P.E.? Not many people.
But all of my life, someone else has been better than me. I’ve never won awards for being ‘OMG THE BEST’. And I probably never will. But it’s not unreasonable to want to have something that says I’ve accomplished something that I didn’t think I could before. I don’t want to write for the fame. I want to write because every little bit and piece of me inside DEMANDS that I do so.
And Maureen Johnson, John Green, Meg Cabot--the young adult writers that have guided me through adolescence will continue to guide me as a ‘young adult’ writer, too. As my idols, they’re the goals. I want to be good enough to say ‘Hey, I know John Green--he’s a pretty great guy’. Or ‘Wow, MJ is pretty crazy, but she’s one of the best writers I know.’
And not have someone sniff at me because I’m terribly unimportant.
MURDER MYSTERIES [And why they’re so much fun to write]
When I was in high school, as a freshman, we had a crazy thing called ‘Drama Club’. It was shiny and pretty and we were freshmen--this meant we had EVERY RIGHT to be a part of it. A few of us joined, committing our time to every thursday for the rest of a year. Unfortunately, we were but lowly freshmen. We obviously were a nuisance to the upperclassmen who thought they were OH SO MUCH BETTER than the rest of us. We performed a little toward the end of the year, something about crazy nursery rhymes or fairy tales, I can’t remember, and I had like...a very small part. I was almost completely turned off from acting altogether. But it was something I liked because it let you CONNECT with the character rather than just writing the character. It’s something I figured I’d be good at--or at least enjoy.
So, Freshman year ended. Cue Sophomore year when we found out THERE IS NO DRAMA CLUB. Trust me. We fought for it. We begged for someone to take on the project. All we needed was a supervisor. THAT WAS IT. We weren’t trying to get into trouble or better leads in the school musical, which was a huge popularity contest, but simply to go over games that helped with acting and to be a PART of something. It didn’t work. We went clubless. Sophomore year was depressing. In fact, the only thing I remember is getting a lot of detention. And almost failing spanish. But this isn’t uncommon. I’ve taken Spanish a LOT and I retain very, very little.
Junior year gave us a breakthrough! We found a supervisor! Our teacher was a new teacher that wanted to be part of something too. We finally conspired to write a murder mystery. This mystery was to be performed as dinner theater. I giggle at the very thought. We seriously wrote the thing THE NIGHT OF THE EVENT. We BARELY could remember cues. We had a sad plot and two drunkards. One was a child [she wasn’t really drunk, obviously, and she was a freshman who later became one of my very best friends] who hiccuped hilariously throughout the entire thing. And the other was myself, a crazy detective by the name of ‘Sydney Fletcher’. I can’t help myself when I add the ‘DETECTIVE EXTRAORDINAIRE’ at the end. I literally had to introduce myself every single time JUST LIKE THAT. And it was amazing and a great experience, but the next year we decided to buy one. I still have the script somewhere.
The point is that murder mysteries rock and they’re fun to write. Especially when people face plant into large plates of spaghetti. And oh--did I mention? I was club President for two years. :D THE SHEER POWER. BOW TO--
Friday, April 3, 2009
Barack, Beliefs, and Beginnings
Friday, April 3rd, 2009
OBAMA, BARACK [Gave the Queen an iPod]
Okay. So, a lot of people have been flipping their eyelids at President Obama with a usual grunt of ‘Ugh!’ when it comes to the things he’s been up to. They elected him, first thing he says is ‘Hey! I can’t change until you RE-elect me.’ And then his wife hugs the Queen, big faux-pas and they give her an iPod? Like..wtf? You think she doesn’t have fifteen billion of them already? I’d give her a puppy. Or a unicorn. Maybe a pirate slave to do her bidding.
Anyway, I was thinking about it. This is mostly due to that wretched [just kidding, I loved getting to read so many articles from my favorite authors!!] YA for Obama site. You see, my family was very ‘VOTE FOR MCCAIN OR BAD THINGS WILL HAPPEN’ and people were all ‘BUT PALIN SHOOTS MOOSE FROM A HELICOPTER’ and I was all ‘...WHO FREAKING CARES? SHE HAS TO LIVE, YOUKNOW.’
And I finally came to the conclusion. That even in a year, Mr. President can’t do that much. He’s still learning the lay of the land. Think about it like a new computer. Your old one was nice, but the new one? SO FREAKING SHINY. AND WONDERFUL. But you have to learn where everything is. And how to use it. And if you change anything, even though you’d really like to, you don’t want to mess anything up just yet.
Or even think about it like Wife Swap. They swap houses for two weeks, those wives, and they have to follow the rules completely until they finally get their turn to change things around. So maybe Mr. President has to hang tight for awhile until he’s ALLOWED to change things up. Or even, think about it like a fish tank. If you upgrade to a better tank, but you don’t let the water de chlorinate for 24 hours before adding the fish, BAD STUFF CAN HAPPEN. So I’m thinking that he HAS to hang out for awhile until:
He knows where things are.
He knows how things work.
We get used to him being there.
Maureen Johnson, Tamora Pierce, John Green, Libby Bray, Meg Cabot--all those authors said that Obama totally rocks. And I’m really apt to believe them. It’s kind of like when I asked my mother to name one good and bad thing about McCain and Obama. The first thing she brings up is the Christian way and how McCain didn’t want to ban Christianity and all this mushygushy stuff that made no sense. I didn’t learn anything from listening to her. Then again, I was in the car and we were driving and I probably wouldn’t have listened anyway. I’m a democrat, this is true, but when everyone is saying ‘Vote McCain!’ because they think Obama is either going to get shot, murdered, or turn into a dictator, I’m going to go ahead and vote McCain.
My cousin works for the Secret Service. He’s probably not even my cousin. He’s my mother’s cousin. We’re family--whatever. He hates to work for Obama. And it’s because since he’s ‘black’, there are a LOT of people that want him gone. And I’m not saying that I’m one of them. Because I’m not. I’m saying that it’s those conservatives that you hear/see/know about on the radio/television/because someone told you they exist. It’s a pretty big deal and my cousin, who I can’t name for a reason, has to deal with a lot of factors. For example, if Mr. President wants to go for a walk, he has to go with him. Because Obama is practically a moving target.
Some maniac in Stanton Heights was kicked out of the military and staged a shooting this weekend. As in, he held his family hostage in the house, called in a case of domestic violence, LAID BY THE DOOR WITH A MACHINE GUN, and then waited until the police came. He picked them off one by one, shooting two in the head and one who knelt to see if he could help them, because ‘ [he] didn’t want them to take away [his] guns.’ You know WHO was going to take away his guns? President Obama. Do you know why? Neither do I. He literally shot, I believe, the total of thirteen people. There was one guy, get this, who had just finished a night shift. He heard the call and went straight there EVEN THOUGH HE WAS ABOUT TO GO OFF DUTY. And he, a veteran of fourteen years, was shot. Shot because he was totally trying to help the two already downed officers. So basically, he got shot in vain because the other two guys were probably already dead.
It just astounds me what people can do now. If we DO want to put limits on guns, I’m all for it. I get why we need them, I do, but at the same time? I think they’re really unnecessary. It would be different if we needed to kill our food. But with supermarkets available and the perfect capability of living comfortably, I see no reason for guns. If you look at any other country, you’d see that the USA’s crime rate is absolutely the highest. SO many people ‘rage’ against the government. And in Canada, they have so little crime that they can literally leave their doors unlocked. So if Obama wants to do away with guns, I’m all for it.
If not for protection for our generation, then for the potential protection of our future children. Or even their children. At some point in time, the USA has to be a safe place to live.
OBAMA, BARACK [Gave the Queen an iPod]
Okay. So, a lot of people have been flipping their eyelids at President Obama with a usual grunt of ‘Ugh!’ when it comes to the things he’s been up to. They elected him, first thing he says is ‘Hey! I can’t change until you RE-elect me.’ And then his wife hugs the Queen, big faux-pas and they give her an iPod? Like..wtf? You think she doesn’t have fifteen billion of them already? I’d give her a puppy. Or a unicorn. Maybe a pirate slave to do her bidding.
Anyway, I was thinking about it. This is mostly due to that wretched [just kidding, I loved getting to read so many articles from my favorite authors!!] YA for Obama site. You see, my family was very ‘VOTE FOR MCCAIN OR BAD THINGS WILL HAPPEN’ and people were all ‘BUT PALIN SHOOTS MOOSE FROM A HELICOPTER’ and I was all ‘...WHO FREAKING CARES? SHE HAS TO LIVE, YOUKNOW.’
And I finally came to the conclusion. That even in a year, Mr. President can’t do that much. He’s still learning the lay of the land. Think about it like a new computer. Your old one was nice, but the new one? SO FREAKING SHINY. AND WONDERFUL. But you have to learn where everything is. And how to use it. And if you change anything, even though you’d really like to, you don’t want to mess anything up just yet.
Or even think about it like Wife Swap. They swap houses for two weeks, those wives, and they have to follow the rules completely until they finally get their turn to change things around. So maybe Mr. President has to hang tight for awhile until he’s ALLOWED to change things up. Or even, think about it like a fish tank. If you upgrade to a better tank, but you don’t let the water de chlorinate for 24 hours before adding the fish, BAD STUFF CAN HAPPEN. So I’m thinking that he HAS to hang out for awhile until:
He knows where things are.
He knows how things work.
We get used to him being there.
Maureen Johnson, Tamora Pierce, John Green, Libby Bray, Meg Cabot--all those authors said that Obama totally rocks. And I’m really apt to believe them. It’s kind of like when I asked my mother to name one good and bad thing about McCain and Obama. The first thing she brings up is the Christian way and how McCain didn’t want to ban Christianity and all this mushygushy stuff that made no sense. I didn’t learn anything from listening to her. Then again, I was in the car and we were driving and I probably wouldn’t have listened anyway. I’m a democrat, this is true, but when everyone is saying ‘Vote McCain!’ because they think Obama is either going to get shot, murdered, or turn into a dictator, I’m going to go ahead and vote McCain.
My cousin works for the Secret Service. He’s probably not even my cousin. He’s my mother’s cousin. We’re family--whatever. He hates to work for Obama. And it’s because since he’s ‘black’, there are a LOT of people that want him gone. And I’m not saying that I’m one of them. Because I’m not. I’m saying that it’s those conservatives that you hear/see/know about on the radio/television/because someone told you they exist. It’s a pretty big deal and my cousin, who I can’t name for a reason, has to deal with a lot of factors. For example, if Mr. President wants to go for a walk, he has to go with him. Because Obama is practically a moving target.
Some maniac in Stanton Heights was kicked out of the military and staged a shooting this weekend. As in, he held his family hostage in the house, called in a case of domestic violence, LAID BY THE DOOR WITH A MACHINE GUN, and then waited until the police came. He picked them off one by one, shooting two in the head and one who knelt to see if he could help them, because ‘ [he] didn’t want them to take away [his] guns.’ You know WHO was going to take away his guns? President Obama. Do you know why? Neither do I. He literally shot, I believe, the total of thirteen people. There was one guy, get this, who had just finished a night shift. He heard the call and went straight there EVEN THOUGH HE WAS ABOUT TO GO OFF DUTY. And he, a veteran of fourteen years, was shot. Shot because he was totally trying to help the two already downed officers. So basically, he got shot in vain because the other two guys were probably already dead.
It just astounds me what people can do now. If we DO want to put limits on guns, I’m all for it. I get why we need them, I do, but at the same time? I think they’re really unnecessary. It would be different if we needed to kill our food. But with supermarkets available and the perfect capability of living comfortably, I see no reason for guns. If you look at any other country, you’d see that the USA’s crime rate is absolutely the highest. SO many people ‘rage’ against the government. And in Canada, they have so little crime that they can literally leave their doors unlocked. So if Obama wants to do away with guns, I’m all for it.
If not for protection for our generation, then for the potential protection of our future children. Or even their children. At some point in time, the USA has to be a safe place to live.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Chats, Cheese, and Choppy-Hoppy Froggies
Thursday, April 2nd, 2009
Classes [Starts with C]
I apparently have a letter theme that I think is witty. But because it's out of order, I've decided that it's not witty at all but more rather impractical. Then again, I think I enjoy being impractical which simply means that none of this makes sense at all. Words on the page, though. Words in the blog!
Today, because it's Thursday, is long. As in, I have no morning classes, but one night class. Said night class is long, but good. There are usually interesting arguments about genital mutilation or politics or peeing on people. I mean, seriously, what's better than debating about peeing on people? As I sat there, trying to avoid twittering everything I heard, mostly because I simply cannot txt that quickly, I heard a lot of different things. One of those things was the teacher. The other was a woman named Dominique.
Now, as a twenty year old college student, I've been in four semesters of community college. This means that we're more apt to have older classmates because those classes are geared toward those who can only get to class once a week and after normal working hours. I work for my parents making chocolate, so my schedule is sporadic. Though I usually spend more time there than at home.
Back to classes--we take Ethics together. So we'll sit and take these courses hoping to pass to move on to the next ones. Now that I've been accepted to Slippery Rock, things have become much more important--like grades. And as a student that hates second semesters, I've totally been failing to do any of my papers. So I have a ridiculous amount of things due. Past due, actually. BACK TO ETHICS. We'll be having a nice debate or someone will be answering a question and all of a sudden, Dominique will go 'Well, actually' and then assert her opinion or share something she's learned recently. The problem is that she interrupts people and she pretends she's the teacher. Randomly, she emailed me once just to talk. She practically groped my dad when we all met at a book reading for Phillip Meyer. I was mortified.
But I understand. I think she tries to be a good student so she does the extra research to get in on these conversations, right? But the problem is that she goes about it the wrong way. I could say something and she'd immediately jump on what I'd said and switch it around. So then something that HAD been right is then talking into circles, cornered, and then annoyed to the point that we go BACK to the main topic of Aristotle, which is even more annoying.
Another things about CLASSES is the fact that all the Professors pile everything on at the same time. Which means, since I don't multitask well and I really like to write, I get one paper done and add the rest to the pile o' doom. Let me elaborate.
The Pile o' Doom is a sheet of paper which has inaccurately compiled all the papers that I have due for my classes. These classes must be passed. I worry only about one--the others have accepting and reasonable professors, so it's really, honestly, about getting my online work completed. We have 'discussion boards' where we have to read one part about Women as Writers and then analyze it. Like, it could NOT be any easier. But when I get online, I'm on AIM and Adium. And when I'm on those, I'm available for chatting. And when I'm available for chatting, I'm available for RPing, which means I'm writing until I pass out.
LATENESS [And why it's a reoccurring theme]
I am epically prone to being late. Not just 'Oh, you're three minutes late', but more so, rather chronically never punctual. But the kind of late that makes people swear--like grandparents that never swear or my dad, who sadly puts up with listening to my iPod in the car every morning/evening. It's a sad existence. But no, really, I'm always late. Here is why.
My day usually starts out with my waking up, distraught, at the fact that I fell asleep while writing with my bfflz, Kristy. I continue to thrash around in bed, angry, because I missed writing opportunities. I go back to sleep. I wake up some short time before I have to go to school, usually in enough time for my grandmother [I live with her, not because I don't like my parents or they're separated, because they're not, but because I'm going to live in a college dorm an hour and a half away from them next year and I'd hate to have to live through withdrawl] to knock on the door and ask if I'm awake. I usually reply with: "Of course I'm awake! I've been awake for hours!"
This, ironically, is sometimes true.
But most of the time, it's a groggy me pretending to have been awake for several hours. And in most cases, I have not been. I then turn on my Mac [!!!] and proceed to check all the goings-on while I've been asleep. As you see, nothing fun happens while I'm lucid. Everyone role-plays behind my back while I'm sleeping. Like little mice. Except not really.
And then I'll fool around until my dad is sitting in the driveway, honking his horn and oh! I haven't even put on PANTS yet! So he ends up sitting in the driveway while I hurriedly put on clothing. And then I get the lecture every day because I literally am always five minutes late. Always. Which then prompts the frustrating chronicles of 'Blahblahblah you're always late blahblahblah what would you do without a ride as awesome as me blahblahblah are you even listening?' So on and so forth. It's enough to make me gag. You know why?
Because it's the story of my life. I am a late person. Perhaps I like to be late. I'd probably be late to my own funeral. No lie. But it's not just that I'm late. If I had nothing else to do--or if I'm doing something for me, it's totally different. As in, I'm completely dressed, ready to go, standing in the garage waiting for someone to pick me up.
MOURNING [In the Night and tales of my toilet]
So far? A total of four fish and one frog have been flushed down my toilet. Total of creatures dead on flush: 4. Total of creatures alive on flush: 1. You may call me inhumane, but I was totally prepared to step on him because of how horrible he was to Freddie.
Frederick, or Freddie for short, is my betta fish. He is orangeish. He gives me fish kisses against the glass. He is also a very personable fish. Occasionally, he'll come to the top of the tank and belly dance with little fishy fins going at a hundred miles per hour. Freddie is a wonderful fish and he's adorable. I got him for Christmas because I asked for a fish. You see, I had a small tank that I'd bought [HAHAHA FOR TEN DOLLARS] at the store I used to work. It was like..a two and a half gallon tank and I thought: "Whoa! Perfect size!"
And then I got Freddie. And he looked so sad in his little tank alone [and I accidentally broke the light that went over the tank] which prompted me to go to Elmer's, the day after Christmas, to purchase friends for him. And then I purchased a larger tank for him the day after that. And then more friends.
I worried about him and all his betta disease potentials. I fussed. I took him out of the tank every five minutes to make sure HE WASN'T DEAD. But he never was. He was trying to tell me that by taking him out, I was endangering his life.
I just didn't get it. Now, I get it. I went to a concert and when I came back, ONE OF MY FISH WAS DEAD. Heartbroken, I flushed her and cursed the other fish. But I blamed Freddie. Because he hated her. He really, really did. She had to swim at the top of the tank because he hated her. He flared--like a dragon--and chased her around.
So I didn't buy more fish. I just watched them. And then I noticed Freddie with a lack of a tail one evening. And very angrily, I accused the little orange platy, who was the only one who could do something like that, and promised her that her days were numbered.
And then I flushed her. I almost felt bad, but I was so upset for Freddie! Wouldn't you be terribly upset if your fish was cannibalizing another fish? SO NOT COOL.
I had two fish in the tank, by then, because I got another betta for the small tank since I'd bought a five gallon and then I put two of the small fish in with the small tank'd betta and blahblahblah--I did the tank at midnight and the water was too warm and they died.
I got new fish, all tetras, and the world was righted again. Now I have a ten gallon [which I received for my birthday] and I have both fish IN THE TANK with a separator. No more skewed feeding times! No more cleaning one tank every few days! It's brilliance!!
So, also, for my birthday, I received a frog. "A frog?" you may say. "Why in the world would you get a FROG for your birthday?!?!?!oneoneone1" But I'll tell you why. They're freaking adorable. And I mean adorable as in, they're so cute and they swim around and OMGSOFREAKINGCUTE.
You know what's not cute? When they lay on their backs all day. And do not swim. And then die. Oh, and they poop. A lot. I literally have to clean the tank again because the frog pooped all over the place. Not a fan.
I went to class, came home, say the frog, poked him with the air stone/bubbler and dude, that frog did not move an inch. So I scooped him out and put him in the bucket [where all fish must go to be observed] and realized that sadly, he had not made it. I was sad for Finnigan, but I didn't cry. Mostly because he'd escaped the day before and I'd had to cover up every open space with plastic so he wouldn't try to escape. We think that he tried to phone home, but the little escape was too much for him.
So close, yet so far away. He died of heartbreak.
Actually, I don't know why he died. But it would NOT MAKE A GOOD CHILDREN'S STORY. 'The day my frog escaped and then died' by Stevie Bonine.
Brilliant, let me tell you. Brilliant. I think I'll pass on that one.
I then proceeded to watch ER, so sad to see it go--not that I'm an avid fan or anything--, and waited until 11pm to make any kind of food. It was at this point that I realized anything foodwise was going to be noodles. So I made noodles and thawed out steak. I prepared this like..ridiculous food and then UGH. I ate some. And it was terrible. Note to self: DO NOT CONCOCT FOOD. LEAVE FOOD ALONE.
Cheese ruined my noodles. Cheese ruined my life.
I then fell asleep, yes, to a long role-playing session with Kristy that didn't last long. At all. It was sad.
Classes [Starts with C]
I apparently have a letter theme that I think is witty. But because it's out of order, I've decided that it's not witty at all but more rather impractical. Then again, I think I enjoy being impractical which simply means that none of this makes sense at all. Words on the page, though. Words in the blog!
Today, because it's Thursday, is long. As in, I have no morning classes, but one night class. Said night class is long, but good. There are usually interesting arguments about genital mutilation or politics or peeing on people. I mean, seriously, what's better than debating about peeing on people? As I sat there, trying to avoid twittering everything I heard, mostly because I simply cannot txt that quickly, I heard a lot of different things. One of those things was the teacher. The other was a woman named Dominique.
Now, as a twenty year old college student, I've been in four semesters of community college. This means that we're more apt to have older classmates because those classes are geared toward those who can only get to class once a week and after normal working hours. I work for my parents making chocolate, so my schedule is sporadic. Though I usually spend more time there than at home.
Back to classes--we take Ethics together. So we'll sit and take these courses hoping to pass to move on to the next ones. Now that I've been accepted to Slippery Rock, things have become much more important--like grades. And as a student that hates second semesters, I've totally been failing to do any of my papers. So I have a ridiculous amount of things due. Past due, actually. BACK TO ETHICS. We'll be having a nice debate or someone will be answering a question and all of a sudden, Dominique will go 'Well, actually' and then assert her opinion or share something she's learned recently. The problem is that she interrupts people and she pretends she's the teacher. Randomly, she emailed me once just to talk. She practically groped my dad when we all met at a book reading for Phillip Meyer. I was mortified.
But I understand. I think she tries to be a good student so she does the extra research to get in on these conversations, right? But the problem is that she goes about it the wrong way. I could say something and she'd immediately jump on what I'd said and switch it around. So then something that HAD been right is then talking into circles, cornered, and then annoyed to the point that we go BACK to the main topic of Aristotle, which is even more annoying.
Another things about CLASSES is the fact that all the Professors pile everything on at the same time. Which means, since I don't multitask well and I really like to write, I get one paper done and add the rest to the pile o' doom. Let me elaborate.
The Pile o' Doom is a sheet of paper which has inaccurately compiled all the papers that I have due for my classes. These classes must be passed. I worry only about one--the others have accepting and reasonable professors, so it's really, honestly, about getting my online work completed. We have 'discussion boards' where we have to read one part about Women as Writers and then analyze it. Like, it could NOT be any easier. But when I get online, I'm on AIM and Adium. And when I'm on those, I'm available for chatting. And when I'm available for chatting, I'm available for RPing, which means I'm writing until I pass out.
LATENESS [And why it's a reoccurring theme]
I am epically prone to being late. Not just 'Oh, you're three minutes late', but more so, rather chronically never punctual. But the kind of late that makes people swear--like grandparents that never swear or my dad, who sadly puts up with listening to my iPod in the car every morning/evening. It's a sad existence. But no, really, I'm always late. Here is why.
My day usually starts out with my waking up, distraught, at the fact that I fell asleep while writing with my bfflz, Kristy. I continue to thrash around in bed, angry, because I missed writing opportunities. I go back to sleep. I wake up some short time before I have to go to school, usually in enough time for my grandmother [I live with her, not because I don't like my parents or they're separated, because they're not, but because I'm going to live in a college dorm an hour and a half away from them next year and I'd hate to have to live through withdrawl] to knock on the door and ask if I'm awake. I usually reply with: "Of course I'm awake! I've been awake for hours!"
This, ironically, is sometimes true.
But most of the time, it's a groggy me pretending to have been awake for several hours. And in most cases, I have not been. I then turn on my Mac [!!!] and proceed to check all the goings-on while I've been asleep. As you see, nothing fun happens while I'm lucid. Everyone role-plays behind my back while I'm sleeping. Like little mice. Except not really.
And then I'll fool around until my dad is sitting in the driveway, honking his horn and oh! I haven't even put on PANTS yet! So he ends up sitting in the driveway while I hurriedly put on clothing. And then I get the lecture every day because I literally am always five minutes late. Always. Which then prompts the frustrating chronicles of 'Blahblahblah you're always late blahblahblah what would you do without a ride as awesome as me blahblahblah are you even listening?' So on and so forth. It's enough to make me gag. You know why?
Because it's the story of my life. I am a late person. Perhaps I like to be late. I'd probably be late to my own funeral. No lie. But it's not just that I'm late. If I had nothing else to do--or if I'm doing something for me, it's totally different. As in, I'm completely dressed, ready to go, standing in the garage waiting for someone to pick me up.
MOURNING [In the Night and tales of my toilet]
So far? A total of four fish and one frog have been flushed down my toilet. Total of creatures dead on flush: 4. Total of creatures alive on flush: 1. You may call me inhumane, but I was totally prepared to step on him because of how horrible he was to Freddie.
Frederick, or Freddie for short, is my betta fish. He is orangeish. He gives me fish kisses against the glass. He is also a very personable fish. Occasionally, he'll come to the top of the tank and belly dance with little fishy fins going at a hundred miles per hour. Freddie is a wonderful fish and he's adorable. I got him for Christmas because I asked for a fish. You see, I had a small tank that I'd bought [HAHAHA FOR TEN DOLLARS] at the store I used to work. It was like..a two and a half gallon tank and I thought: "Whoa! Perfect size!"
And then I got Freddie. And he looked so sad in his little tank alone [and I accidentally broke the light that went over the tank] which prompted me to go to Elmer's, the day after Christmas, to purchase friends for him. And then I purchased a larger tank for him the day after that. And then more friends.
I worried about him and all his betta disease potentials. I fussed. I took him out of the tank every five minutes to make sure HE WASN'T DEAD. But he never was. He was trying to tell me that by taking him out, I was endangering his life.
I just didn't get it. Now, I get it. I went to a concert and when I came back, ONE OF MY FISH WAS DEAD. Heartbroken, I flushed her and cursed the other fish. But I blamed Freddie. Because he hated her. He really, really did. She had to swim at the top of the tank because he hated her. He flared--like a dragon--and chased her around.
So I didn't buy more fish. I just watched them. And then I noticed Freddie with a lack of a tail one evening. And very angrily, I accused the little orange platy, who was the only one who could do something like that, and promised her that her days were numbered.
And then I flushed her. I almost felt bad, but I was so upset for Freddie! Wouldn't you be terribly upset if your fish was cannibalizing another fish? SO NOT COOL.
I had two fish in the tank, by then, because I got another betta for the small tank since I'd bought a five gallon and then I put two of the small fish in with the small tank'd betta and blahblahblah--I did the tank at midnight and the water was too warm and they died.
I got new fish, all tetras, and the world was righted again. Now I have a ten gallon [which I received for my birthday] and I have both fish IN THE TANK with a separator. No more skewed feeding times! No more cleaning one tank every few days! It's brilliance!!
So, also, for my birthday, I received a frog. "A frog?" you may say. "Why in the world would you get a FROG for your birthday?!?!?!oneoneone1" But I'll tell you why. They're freaking adorable. And I mean adorable as in, they're so cute and they swim around and OMGSOFREAKINGCUTE.
You know what's not cute? When they lay on their backs all day. And do not swim. And then die. Oh, and they poop. A lot. I literally have to clean the tank again because the frog pooped all over the place. Not a fan.
I went to class, came home, say the frog, poked him with the air stone/bubbler and dude, that frog did not move an inch. So I scooped him out and put him in the bucket [where all fish must go to be observed] and realized that sadly, he had not made it. I was sad for Finnigan, but I didn't cry. Mostly because he'd escaped the day before and I'd had to cover up every open space with plastic so he wouldn't try to escape. We think that he tried to phone home, but the little escape was too much for him.
So close, yet so far away. He died of heartbreak.
Actually, I don't know why he died. But it would NOT MAKE A GOOD CHILDREN'S STORY. 'The day my frog escaped and then died' by Stevie Bonine.
Brilliant, let me tell you. Brilliant. I think I'll pass on that one.
I then proceeded to watch ER, so sad to see it go--not that I'm an avid fan or anything--, and waited until 11pm to make any kind of food. It was at this point that I realized anything foodwise was going to be noodles. So I made noodles and thawed out steak. I prepared this like..ridiculous food and then UGH. I ate some. And it was terrible. Note to self: DO NOT CONCOCT FOOD. LEAVE FOOD ALONE.
Cheese ruined my noodles. Cheese ruined my life.
I then fell asleep, yes, to a long role-playing session with Kristy that didn't last long. At all. It was sad.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Themes, Maureen Johnson, and Apple stickers.
Wednesday, April 1st, 2009
ELUSIVE, EVASIVE, EXCELLENT
I come to you live from my charging new Macbook. Eighteen hundred bucks and here I sit, tapping away at these shiny black keys that still hold all their letters. My 'old' laptop was starting to fade. Here's the funny thing about the 'old' laptop, and I say 'old' because I've had it a few years but not long enough to deem it ancient, it's crashed more times than I can bear.
In late 2007, I believe, my computer had to be sent into California for repairs. Unfortunately, we did the whole backup process involving DVDs and didn't correctly do them, or I suppose we simply didn't check them to make sure they were sufficient. Needless to say, I lost everything. I cried myself to sleep. Then in 2008, I had another issue looming near the NaNoWriMo start period. We backed up the computer to an external disk, sent the computer off to California again, only to get it back a week later with a silly note that said 'Too much damage, cannot fix'--in so many words. We took it to Circuit City, had the thing assessed and then sent to Texas for repairs. The only thing that was wrong with it was the fan damage and that had nothing to do with why they sent it back. They were talking about aesthetic damage, which was ridiculous. In January, possibly February, my laptop totally bit the dust. As in, the P.O.S. went into Kernel Panic and nothing we could do would fix it. It went to California for the fourth time, as the third time had nothing to do with the hard drive or lost data, returned with a new hard drive and I was content to use it again.
Needless to say, by the time my laptop was FIXED, I had missed NaNoWriMo completely and had failed to participate completely from my grandmother's Dell PC that's slower than a sloth. I kid you not, that PC would not run at a reasonable pace. I would often sit in front of it shaking my fists in rage. It grew frustrated at simply starting up. I could watch an entire commercial free section of a show and it would fail to load anything. It was so slow I grew to prefer handwriting things--and I abhor handwriting things. It defeats the purpose of a laptop--it really, really does.
So now, as I sit with my gorgeous, shiny, amazingly wonderful Macbook, I can't help but feel nostalgic about having to suffer through the Acer. Note to the wise: DO NOT GET AN ACER. If you can save up the money for a Mac, do it. Especially if you're interested in writing; the iWork program is phenomenal. It has so many options. I'll admit, I am not used to options. Options make me a very happy girl.
I just have one problem with the Mac. And that is that in the black case that the programs came in, and what not, there were two apple stickers. Just tell me, quickly, what exactly those stickers are for. Because their purpose is completely lost on me.
THEMED [Parks]
Ironically, it's April 1st and in two days, there are several movies planned to 'pop up' on the big screen. One of these movies is called Adventureland and it was filmed at Kennywood, which is very, very close to my home. As in, a matter of thirty minutes on a good day. So the fact that KStewart and Ryan Reynolds were even in Pittsburgh is pretty incredible. Needless to say, all of us want to see that movie pretty badly. It looks really good.
I'm actually hoping that I can get up the urge to create my own theme for the BEDA Ning. Mostly because I don't want mine to be the same as someone else's, but also because I'm really good at that sort of thing. And I understand CSS, at least for the most part. So there's potential that my page will be changing, and I hope that it does. I'm also currently hoping that my Mac will end charging some point before class as I'm worried that I've somehow angered the battery. My misadventures with technology are a testament to the fact that they all fall to their ultimate demise. This aluminum case is no match for me and my tech challengedness.
No, challengedness is not a word. But perhaps it'll suffice for now.
MAUREEN JOHNSON [And how she ruined my day]
Actually, I'll be honest. It wasn't MJ's fault. It was my own. I was procrastinating! I admit it! But actually, I'm headed to SRU with a major in Creative Writing, I feel it's important to know what the effectiveness of an Agent is, how things go down, what to avoid, etc. So I happened to accidentally click a link on Maureen's site and boom! There are more links, one specifically to a conversation that she had with Daphne Unfeasible (one of many that I follow on Twitter). So I clicked it and I listened intently for what felt like an hour as I'm also at work which means I'm up and down, up and down. It's very hard to keep one's train of thought while bouncing between a Mac and a chocolate machine. Damn you, chocolate!
This conversation explained the process of querying an agent and also what to expect, watch out for, and refuse to do. One of such things was making a note to not even think about Agents and Publishing until after said book is written. Does anyone know how hard this is? Because I know exactly what I want to write about, but I'd much rather find out that it's a shitty idea now than later--you know, after I've taken a year or two to even write it.
I also wonder if my potential B.S. in Creative Writing is going to pay off or not. Am I even good enough to think about publishing? Should I, instead, be looking into being an agent instead? Should I be handling queries? These thoughts taunt me, you know, the ones that scream with relish "YOU MOST DEFINITELY ARE NOT A GOOD ENOUGH WRITER TO BE PICKED UP BY AN AGENT. YOU CAN'T EVEN GET PAST CHAPTER THREE."
To which I reply, "I know! I'm so pathetic and sad! I should just quit now while I'm leagues behind, cut my losses, and move on." But my heart just won't give up writing, which is why I'm still here, on my Mac, tapping away. There's something distinctly soothing about the tap-tap-tap of the keyboard. I'm so content to simply tap-tap-tap all day. Though it does often involve more that three taps. I tap a lot more in a minute that one would think.
But yes, I suppose that brings me to amy last topic, which isn't 'BEDA', but more rather Script Frenzy. In April, on Scripped.com there's a 'contest' much like NaNoWriMo which involves writing 100 pages of script in 30 days. This averages out to 3.333 pages a day. I think I can handle three and a third pages of script every day in April. I have my topic set, I just have to start writing.
I'm hoping that Pages on the Mac will help a lot more than MWord would have. Silly Microsoft and its ridiculous Conficker worm.
ELUSIVE, EVASIVE, EXCELLENT
I come to you live from my charging new Macbook. Eighteen hundred bucks and here I sit, tapping away at these shiny black keys that still hold all their letters. My 'old' laptop was starting to fade. Here's the funny thing about the 'old' laptop, and I say 'old' because I've had it a few years but not long enough to deem it ancient, it's crashed more times than I can bear.
In late 2007, I believe, my computer had to be sent into California for repairs. Unfortunately, we did the whole backup process involving DVDs and didn't correctly do them, or I suppose we simply didn't check them to make sure they were sufficient. Needless to say, I lost everything. I cried myself to sleep. Then in 2008, I had another issue looming near the NaNoWriMo start period. We backed up the computer to an external disk, sent the computer off to California again, only to get it back a week later with a silly note that said 'Too much damage, cannot fix'--in so many words. We took it to Circuit City, had the thing assessed and then sent to Texas for repairs. The only thing that was wrong with it was the fan damage and that had nothing to do with why they sent it back. They were talking about aesthetic damage, which was ridiculous. In January, possibly February, my laptop totally bit the dust. As in, the P.O.S. went into Kernel Panic and nothing we could do would fix it. It went to California for the fourth time, as the third time had nothing to do with the hard drive or lost data, returned with a new hard drive and I was content to use it again.
Needless to say, by the time my laptop was FIXED, I had missed NaNoWriMo completely and had failed to participate completely from my grandmother's Dell PC that's slower than a sloth. I kid you not, that PC would not run at a reasonable pace. I would often sit in front of it shaking my fists in rage. It grew frustrated at simply starting up. I could watch an entire commercial free section of a show and it would fail to load anything. It was so slow I grew to prefer handwriting things--and I abhor handwriting things. It defeats the purpose of a laptop--it really, really does.
So now, as I sit with my gorgeous, shiny, amazingly wonderful Macbook, I can't help but feel nostalgic about having to suffer through the Acer. Note to the wise: DO NOT GET AN ACER. If you can save up the money for a Mac, do it. Especially if you're interested in writing; the iWork program is phenomenal. It has so many options. I'll admit, I am not used to options. Options make me a very happy girl.
I just have one problem with the Mac. And that is that in the black case that the programs came in, and what not, there were two apple stickers. Just tell me, quickly, what exactly those stickers are for. Because their purpose is completely lost on me.
THEMED [Parks]
Ironically, it's April 1st and in two days, there are several movies planned to 'pop up' on the big screen. One of these movies is called Adventureland and it was filmed at Kennywood, which is very, very close to my home. As in, a matter of thirty minutes on a good day. So the fact that KStewart and Ryan Reynolds were even in Pittsburgh is pretty incredible. Needless to say, all of us want to see that movie pretty badly. It looks really good.
I'm actually hoping that I can get up the urge to create my own theme for the BEDA Ning. Mostly because I don't want mine to be the same as someone else's, but also because I'm really good at that sort of thing. And I understand CSS, at least for the most part. So there's potential that my page will be changing, and I hope that it does. I'm also currently hoping that my Mac will end charging some point before class as I'm worried that I've somehow angered the battery. My misadventures with technology are a testament to the fact that they all fall to their ultimate demise. This aluminum case is no match for me and my tech challengedness.
No, challengedness is not a word. But perhaps it'll suffice for now.
MAUREEN JOHNSON [And how she ruined my day]
Actually, I'll be honest. It wasn't MJ's fault. It was my own. I was procrastinating! I admit it! But actually, I'm headed to SRU with a major in Creative Writing, I feel it's important to know what the effectiveness of an Agent is, how things go down, what to avoid, etc. So I happened to accidentally click a link on Maureen's site and boom! There are more links, one specifically to a conversation that she had with Daphne Unfeasible (one of many that I follow on Twitter). So I clicked it and I listened intently for what felt like an hour as I'm also at work which means I'm up and down, up and down. It's very hard to keep one's train of thought while bouncing between a Mac and a chocolate machine. Damn you, chocolate!
This conversation explained the process of querying an agent and also what to expect, watch out for, and refuse to do. One of such things was making a note to not even think about Agents and Publishing until after said book is written. Does anyone know how hard this is? Because I know exactly what I want to write about, but I'd much rather find out that it's a shitty idea now than later--you know, after I've taken a year or two to even write it.
I also wonder if my potential B.S. in Creative Writing is going to pay off or not. Am I even good enough to think about publishing? Should I, instead, be looking into being an agent instead? Should I be handling queries? These thoughts taunt me, you know, the ones that scream with relish "YOU MOST DEFINITELY ARE NOT A GOOD ENOUGH WRITER TO BE PICKED UP BY AN AGENT. YOU CAN'T EVEN GET PAST CHAPTER THREE."
To which I reply, "I know! I'm so pathetic and sad! I should just quit now while I'm leagues behind, cut my losses, and move on." But my heart just won't give up writing, which is why I'm still here, on my Mac, tapping away. There's something distinctly soothing about the tap-tap-tap of the keyboard. I'm so content to simply tap-tap-tap all day. Though it does often involve more that three taps. I tap a lot more in a minute that one would think.
But yes, I suppose that brings me to amy last topic, which isn't 'BEDA', but more rather Script Frenzy. In April, on Scripped.com there's a 'contest' much like NaNoWriMo which involves writing 100 pages of script in 30 days. This averages out to 3.333 pages a day. I think I can handle three and a third pages of script every day in April. I have my topic set, I just have to start writing.
I'm hoping that Pages on the Mac will help a lot more than MWord would have. Silly Microsoft and its ridiculous Conficker worm.
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