I seem to be terrible at keeping these things going, but I want to change. I want to write, I want to write fiction and I want to write to you. I want to write about my crazy, insane family, I want to write about all the things I dream of and the things I never dreamed I could do.
That's why I'm going to keep this blog going.
If you've been following from the beginning, I did complete nanowrimo, in fact. I hit at just about 51,000 words in the month of November. Since then - well, I've stopped working on it. I know, I know. That's not something writers are supposed to admit to. I got distracted. I didn't lose interest in my characters (because I don't think I could ever do that), but I hit writers block and I didn't push past it.
I want to. I love those characters, from fairy-tale Adelaide to wronged-brother Jason. I love them all, good and bad and shades of gray. They are humans in their own right, because when you write characters, who is to say that characters don't become real people, in a sort of way? I believe that they do.
I believe that we make people, and that we make emotions, whenever we write.
So, I do. I do want to continue.
And I will.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Monday, November 29, 2010
NaNoWriMo - Day 30
I'm so close to the finish. I can taste it, my friends. I can feel it, right there on the horizon - but six thousand words is a lot for a single human to write in one day. Isn't it?
Then again - maybe all I need is one word. Maybe all I need is a single word, and another single word, and another single word - compiled into the six thousand individual words that will make me an official winner for the NaNoWriMo '10.
But like I said - winning, it's relative. If I don't win, I'll be dissapointed.
But I won't be discouraged. I won't fail.
I refuse to let not winning be called a failure.
And I refuse to fail.
Onwards, march. And I'll see you at the finish line.
Then again - maybe all I need is one word. Maybe all I need is a single word, and another single word, and another single word - compiled into the six thousand individual words that will make me an official winner for the NaNoWriMo '10.
But like I said - winning, it's relative. If I don't win, I'll be dissapointed.
But I won't be discouraged. I won't fail.
I refuse to let not winning be called a failure.
And I refuse to fail.
Onwards, march. And I'll see you at the finish line.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
My Own Inferno
My english 303 professor asked for us each to write our own version of Dante's Inferno. Anybody in literature or life could be put into our very own hell. There must be at least three circles, and at least one person in each circle.
This is what I came up with. I hope you'll enjoy. At the urging of a few others, I've decided to post it here.
I woke with the roar of fire and water in my ears and blackness in front of my eyes. Neither was I sure I had woken until I reached upwards to touch my eyelids and accidentally poked myself in the eye. Wincing, I began to feel my surroundings as a blind woman might, taking stock of the sensations. Behind me, the rush of water became true as I felt a wave brush my foot.
I was lying on sand - this much had become apparent.
I moved and turned so that I was lying on my back, and wet sand clung to my skin like particles of a world I felt I'd left behind. Had I gone blind? I didn't remember moving to a beach, but I did remember falling asleep - the water lapped at my feet but before me, I felt as though there were a fire. Warmth spread across my skin, the kind of heat that only comes from a flame not too far off.
Hoping for some sort of light, I lifted my head in the direction of the heat.
The instant light was blinding, and I didn't quite know how I had missed it earlier. I scrambled to my knees, sand moving cold beneath my hands. The light was so bright it burned my eyes, but when I'd blinked and adjusted I thought I could see a human face beneath the fire. My heart thrummed in my chest and I backed up, surprised, faltering step on the source of water behind me. Like a horse in a penned cage, I took a step forward and a step back until the human face inside the fire opened its mouth to speak.
The light obscured her face, and I wondered if it were painful for her in there - amongst the burning flames - but for a reason I could not understand, the flames did not seem to hurt the woman's skin. Her features were unharmed but obscured by these flames, ones I found both frightening and somewhat calming. A beacon in the darkness, if not a blinding one.
When she spoke, I heard her words as though flame did not surround her. The sound was not distorted as her features were.
"Chelsea," She said, and I recognized her voice. "I've waited for you." The words calmed the flames as though it were the water behind me, until the receded into her and her features were finally revealed to me - I could see them because the light did not fade. The light emanated from her like a glow, and I wondered if she were an angel. If that were true, were we dead? No, she could not be an angel, she did not have wings. As I stared at her, the familiarity of her seemed to recede like a dream I was trying too hard to remember.
She looked familiar, as though I’d once met her in a dream – or was this the dream? I wasn’t quite sure of what anything was anymore. Maybe this was a dream, within a dream – I vaguely remembered falling asleep in front of the television. Mother had always said not to watch anything right before bed, but then again, I wasn’t sure that this was a dream at all.
I couldn’t remember who she was, and so I opened my mouth to ask – glad to find that if this was a dream, I had control over my words in it.
“Who are you?” I questioned, and a smile lit her lips.
“In life, you knew me as another. I am not her, here, but she is me. You knew part of me in life.” She held up her hand and snapped her fingers. A single flame sparked there, dancing, light in the relative darkness, before it disappeared and she tilted her head to the side, waiting.
“Agni.” I said in recognition. In life, she’d been Alyssa. In life, she’d been my best friend – guiding me from day to day, often shaping things that I did. Agni was the god of fire – was it possible that she, my lifelong friend, was here the god of fire?
“I am she.” The woman responded, and pulled a pen from her pocket. She clicked it several times – the sound rebounded through the clear air in a way that wouldn’t be possible in a mortal realm. “Here, I am known as Agni, but we are the same.”
She wasn’t wearing anything that much different from what she wore in life. The classic black fedora sat atop her head, and I almost expected her to flip it. Her pants were black jeans, her shirt was white collared, and a slim black tie hung from her neck. She wore a trench coat of a tan color, but the only difference from her here in this unfamiliar realm and life was that here, she seemed to glow in a sort of fiery way – as though the fire was part of her, underneath her skin.
“Welcome to Hell.” She said, and I raised a brow. “No, you’re not dead.” She clicked the pen another time, producing it’s point, and lifted it into air. Her artistic ability was present here at … Hell … as it had been when I’d known her in life. She quickly sketched a map of somewhere – the place I figured that we must be.
“Then what am I?” I asked, barely daring to breath. Had I finally gone insane, lost myself within the words that I always wrote? What was this madness that surrounded me now, encased me and strangled me with the lingering scent of death?
“You’re dreaming,” She said, and smiled. “It’s not a normal dream, don’t make that mistake. You can’t wake from this, not willingly. This is a journey you must take, and it will change you. This dream will become part of you, whether you are a willing participant or not. Don’t worry, though,” Agni said, another smile touching her lips. “You won’t be alone. I’ll share in this dream, I’ll be your guide.”
“I don’t understand.” I said, and she pointed to the map she’d drawn on air, the map I’d almost forgotten. As she traced the first circle, it lit in fire, as though it had been spawned from her fingers.
“We’ll make it out of here, and you’ll awaken a changed person.” She said, her finger still on the outer circle of her map. “We’ll go through several different realms, and I’ll lead the way. You can thank me later, we’ll be skipping several. There’s not enough time for the full tour. You’ll be receiving the abridged version.”
I managed to cough a laugh, scared as I was. “Like the SparkNotes of Hell?”
She smiled, and friendly flames danced in her eyes. “They’re not all relevant to those you’ve known in your life. We’ll be going only where we need to.”
It calmed me, if only slightly. She looked towards a vague shape of a hill, and clicked her pen again. The map disappeared, and I blinked in surprise. The flames from the map had lit the area, even the smallest amount, and the resulting darkness was startling.
“Afraid of the inherent absence of light?” She questioned, and clicked her fingers again. Her hair lit into flames, but it was not burning – it was like a torch, lighting our way. She lifted a brow, as though she were asking if I was amused with her newest trick. No different in life than death, really. Of course, this wasn’t death, not at all. I was glad to know that now.
“Where are we going first?” I asked, and she smiled again, clearly pleased with whatever she was about to say.
“To Hell.”
She clicked her pen, and we disappeared.
This is obviously only the first part - the rest will be posted over the next couple of days. I really do hope you enjoy.
This is what I came up with. I hope you'll enjoy. At the urging of a few others, I've decided to post it here.
I woke with the roar of fire and water in my ears and blackness in front of my eyes. Neither was I sure I had woken until I reached upwards to touch my eyelids and accidentally poked myself in the eye. Wincing, I began to feel my surroundings as a blind woman might, taking stock of the sensations. Behind me, the rush of water became true as I felt a wave brush my foot.
I was lying on sand - this much had become apparent.
I moved and turned so that I was lying on my back, and wet sand clung to my skin like particles of a world I felt I'd left behind. Had I gone blind? I didn't remember moving to a beach, but I did remember falling asleep - the water lapped at my feet but before me, I felt as though there were a fire. Warmth spread across my skin, the kind of heat that only comes from a flame not too far off.
Hoping for some sort of light, I lifted my head in the direction of the heat.
The instant light was blinding, and I didn't quite know how I had missed it earlier. I scrambled to my knees, sand moving cold beneath my hands. The light was so bright it burned my eyes, but when I'd blinked and adjusted I thought I could see a human face beneath the fire. My heart thrummed in my chest and I backed up, surprised, faltering step on the source of water behind me. Like a horse in a penned cage, I took a step forward and a step back until the human face inside the fire opened its mouth to speak.
The light obscured her face, and I wondered if it were painful for her in there - amongst the burning flames - but for a reason I could not understand, the flames did not seem to hurt the woman's skin. Her features were unharmed but obscured by these flames, ones I found both frightening and somewhat calming. A beacon in the darkness, if not a blinding one.
When she spoke, I heard her words as though flame did not surround her. The sound was not distorted as her features were.
"Chelsea," She said, and I recognized her voice. "I've waited for you." The words calmed the flames as though it were the water behind me, until the receded into her and her features were finally revealed to me - I could see them because the light did not fade. The light emanated from her like a glow, and I wondered if she were an angel. If that were true, were we dead? No, she could not be an angel, she did not have wings. As I stared at her, the familiarity of her seemed to recede like a dream I was trying too hard to remember.
She looked familiar, as though I’d once met her in a dream – or was this the dream? I wasn’t quite sure of what anything was anymore. Maybe this was a dream, within a dream – I vaguely remembered falling asleep in front of the television. Mother had always said not to watch anything right before bed, but then again, I wasn’t sure that this was a dream at all.
I couldn’t remember who she was, and so I opened my mouth to ask – glad to find that if this was a dream, I had control over my words in it.
“Who are you?” I questioned, and a smile lit her lips.
“In life, you knew me as another. I am not her, here, but she is me. You knew part of me in life.” She held up her hand and snapped her fingers. A single flame sparked there, dancing, light in the relative darkness, before it disappeared and she tilted her head to the side, waiting.
“Agni.” I said in recognition. In life, she’d been Alyssa. In life, she’d been my best friend – guiding me from day to day, often shaping things that I did. Agni was the god of fire – was it possible that she, my lifelong friend, was here the god of fire?
“I am she.” The woman responded, and pulled a pen from her pocket. She clicked it several times – the sound rebounded through the clear air in a way that wouldn’t be possible in a mortal realm. “Here, I am known as Agni, but we are the same.”
She wasn’t wearing anything that much different from what she wore in life. The classic black fedora sat atop her head, and I almost expected her to flip it. Her pants were black jeans, her shirt was white collared, and a slim black tie hung from her neck. She wore a trench coat of a tan color, but the only difference from her here in this unfamiliar realm and life was that here, she seemed to glow in a sort of fiery way – as though the fire was part of her, underneath her skin.
“Welcome to Hell.” She said, and I raised a brow. “No, you’re not dead.” She clicked the pen another time, producing it’s point, and lifted it into air. Her artistic ability was present here at … Hell … as it had been when I’d known her in life. She quickly sketched a map of somewhere – the place I figured that we must be.
“Then what am I?” I asked, barely daring to breath. Had I finally gone insane, lost myself within the words that I always wrote? What was this madness that surrounded me now, encased me and strangled me with the lingering scent of death?
“You’re dreaming,” She said, and smiled. “It’s not a normal dream, don’t make that mistake. You can’t wake from this, not willingly. This is a journey you must take, and it will change you. This dream will become part of you, whether you are a willing participant or not. Don’t worry, though,” Agni said, another smile touching her lips. “You won’t be alone. I’ll share in this dream, I’ll be your guide.”
“I don’t understand.” I said, and she pointed to the map she’d drawn on air, the map I’d almost forgotten. As she traced the first circle, it lit in fire, as though it had been spawned from her fingers.
“We’ll make it out of here, and you’ll awaken a changed person.” She said, her finger still on the outer circle of her map. “We’ll go through several different realms, and I’ll lead the way. You can thank me later, we’ll be skipping several. There’s not enough time for the full tour. You’ll be receiving the abridged version.”
I managed to cough a laugh, scared as I was. “Like the SparkNotes of Hell?”
She smiled, and friendly flames danced in her eyes. “They’re not all relevant to those you’ve known in your life. We’ll be going only where we need to.”
It calmed me, if only slightly. She looked towards a vague shape of a hill, and clicked her pen again. The map disappeared, and I blinked in surprise. The flames from the map had lit the area, even the smallest amount, and the resulting darkness was startling.
“Afraid of the inherent absence of light?” She questioned, and clicked her fingers again. Her hair lit into flames, but it was not burning – it was like a torch, lighting our way. She lifted a brow, as though she were asking if I was amused with her newest trick. No different in life than death, really. Of course, this wasn’t death, not at all. I was glad to know that now.
“Where are we going first?” I asked, and she smiled again, clearly pleased with whatever she was about to say.
“To Hell.”
She clicked her pen, and we disappeared.
This is obviously only the first part - the rest will be posted over the next couple of days. I really do hope you enjoy.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Its Relative
Thirty four thousand, three hundred, and sixty something words.
34,360.
November 24th.
That is the word count for NaNoWriMo 2010, as of now. I don't plan to keep it this way for long, my friends. I plan to surge past that fifty thousand mark - and why? Well, quite simply, it's because I refuse to fail.
But isn't everything relative? What is failure, really? Failure isn't not crossing the finish mark in NaNoWriMo or the New York Marathon. Failure, I believe, is not taking the first step. It's not writing the first word.
That's why I want to make this point today.
Do you have a single word in your word count?
You. Have. Not. Failed.
So join me, in being thankful for not failing this Thanksgiving, and onwards march! Whether or not that means continuing in NaNo or just trying not to fall asleep after all that Turkey, that's relative, too.
34,360.
November 24th.
That is the word count for NaNoWriMo 2010, as of now. I don't plan to keep it this way for long, my friends. I plan to surge past that fifty thousand mark - and why? Well, quite simply, it's because I refuse to fail.
But isn't everything relative? What is failure, really? Failure isn't not crossing the finish mark in NaNoWriMo or the New York Marathon. Failure, I believe, is not taking the first step. It's not writing the first word.
That's why I want to make this point today.
Do you have a single word in your word count?
You. Have. Not. Failed.
So join me, in being thankful for not failing this Thanksgiving, and onwards march! Whether or not that means continuing in NaNo or just trying not to fall asleep after all that Turkey, that's relative, too.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
The Girl With The Notebook
Reader, Friend,
You know nothing about me. You don't know my name or my height, my eye color, or my greatest fear. You don't know what my favorite TV show is or why, exactly, I'm writing this blog post right now, when I should be doing so many other things. There are reasons, of course. Maybe you'll find them out. You might find some of them out in reading this blog post, right here.
I hope, that it will be a long and enduring blog.
I am the girl with the notebook, the girl with the pen - the girl some call family, and others call friend.
I am a writer and a reader, the girl who never leaves home without a pen in her sight. Eighteen, nearly nineteen, college student and english writing major. I'm noting if not ordinary.
But, I've got a blog. And I'm keeping this short, as to why I have this blog.
For the past year and a half, my mother has been telling me to write one. She says I have to stick with it. I've had a problem doing just that in the past, which is why I've got to do just that. And if I'm doing NaNoWriMo - which I am - why shouldn't I be able to stick with this, as well?
The purpose of this blog is nothing much. I'm a writer, by nature. This is where I'll be talking about my writing - about NaNoWriMo - and probably about other random, mundane things that I figure worth sharing.
And over time, I hope we'll get to know one another.
- The Girl With The Notebook
You know nothing about me. You don't know my name or my height, my eye color, or my greatest fear. You don't know what my favorite TV show is or why, exactly, I'm writing this blog post right now, when I should be doing so many other things. There are reasons, of course. Maybe you'll find them out. You might find some of them out in reading this blog post, right here.
I hope, that it will be a long and enduring blog.
I am the girl with the notebook, the girl with the pen - the girl some call family, and others call friend.
I am a writer and a reader, the girl who never leaves home without a pen in her sight. Eighteen, nearly nineteen, college student and english writing major. I'm noting if not ordinary.
But, I've got a blog. And I'm keeping this short, as to why I have this blog.
For the past year and a half, my mother has been telling me to write one. She says I have to stick with it. I've had a problem doing just that in the past, which is why I've got to do just that. And if I'm doing NaNoWriMo - which I am - why shouldn't I be able to stick with this, as well?
The purpose of this blog is nothing much. I'm a writer, by nature. This is where I'll be talking about my writing - about NaNoWriMo - and probably about other random, mundane things that I figure worth sharing.
And over time, I hope we'll get to know one another.
- The Girl With The Notebook
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