The Little Big Picture

My Prayer

2011-09-29T16:49:00.000-05:00

Today, I feel really grateful. Grateful for all the amazing people I know and for the ways in which they inspire and challenge me. I've always felt life is pointless without other people. Everything I am is that way because of the people I know and have known and will be shaped by the people I will meet. It's wondrous to me.

I don't pray much, and I'm not big on the idea of one deity, so I really don't pray to a god. The idea of this one being controlling it all doesn't make sense to me. But I do believe in this sort of huge conglomeration of something greater; that everyone and everything has something of that greatness in them. I have huge faith in everything that is. So sometimes I offer up a thought to the universe and hope that somehow it will be heard.

A few months ago I was lying in bed, worrying about the people I loved and this prayer came to me. Every night since, I've thought it every night right before I fall asleep. It's the purest expression of me I have ever thought, and so I've never shared it. I've never been one who's huge on prayers and appeals--well, I'm told I was when I was very young, that I used to offer up prayers like I was talking to a friend, but I stopped being that little girl along the way--but when this thought came to me I knew it was big. It was everything I ever wanted in life. It was me.

Look after those I loved whom I can't watch over anymore. Help me stay strong for the loved ones in my life. Keep the people I will love someday safe until I reach them.

I really do love everyone, even those I don't like, cliche as it sounds. Personally, I hate being told someone is praying for me, even though it's meant well; something about it feels wrong to me. I'm not praying for you. But I think about all of you, hope for all of you, and am grateful for all of you. You all inspire me to be better in every sense. I'm very humbled.

And so I say with all my heart, thank you for being you.

Baby Birds

2011-07-02T23:06:00.000-05:00

This morning I started work on a scene which is very early in a new book and a couple of characters are talking about a girl named Mary, who one of them previously left to fend for herself.

"So, talk to me, Harper," said Henry.
"About what?"
"About why you didn't help Mary when you first met her."
"I did help her. I scared off the scruffs."
"After that. Why didn't you help her after that?"
"I don't bring strays home," said Harper.
"She's not a stray. She's too nice to be a stray."
"All the girls from Unity are nice, Henry. They can't help it just like you can't help being tall," Harper snapped. "Besides, I had hoped she'd take my advice and go home."
"You could have helped her get home," Henry pointed out.
Harper sighed. "Did you ever find a baby bird as a kid?"
"Sure," Henry said with a small smile.
"You know how your parents tell you not to touch it because if you do the bird parents will smell you on the baby bird and reject it? That's half of it."
"And the other half?"
"Natural selection. Survival of the fittest."
"I don't think I agree with that."
"Which part?"
"Both parts. Firstly, the smell thing is a myth, and Mom always helped me raise orphaned birds."
"That figures," said Harper. "And survival of the fittest?"
"Well, the girl is still here isn't she? You underestimated her."
"We'd leave her for the lions if we were gazelles," Harper grumbled.
"But we aren't gazelles, we're human. Gazelles can't pick each other up when they fall."
Harper shrugged. "It doesn't really matter, I guess. We're helping her now and that's that."

So, I've spent the last couple days thinking about Harper's motivations and worldview and what past experiences have affected her and this has all been very much in my mind. Then this afternoon Mom popped her head in the door long enough to call us girls outside. Sara stayed in the AC, but I went out to see what was wrong. A nest had fallen out of the tree in the front yard. I could hear the squawks as I approached it, and Mom called to me to ask how many there were. I knelt down and looked in the hole of nest, counting as a the baby birds scrabbled over each other. One. Two. Three. Four? No, three. No, definitely four. Four baby birds. We were quiet a moment, and I'm not sure which one of us asked, "So what should we do?" but one of us did and we both agreed that there really was nothing to do, but there was a deep urge underneath our conversation to do something. We knew, I knew, there was nothing to be done. The birds were too young to have a shot of making it. But that felt like an excuse to myself, even though I knew it was the truth.

I grew up watching Steve Irwin, Jeff Corwin, and the like. They'd come across nature taking its course, and they'd have to let it be, but it still wasn't easy for them. I got that more so from Jeff Corwin, I guess. At least, that's how I remember it. There was an episode of Crocodile Hunter where Steve and his wife, Terri, went out into the brush and rescued little creatures, like geckos and snakes, from the wildfires, taking them from smoldering trees to some area that was clear of the fires. There were emergencies, times when things went wrong in nature. When it wasn't nature taking its course, but us throwing nature off its course. Then it was all right to rescue.

But nests fall from trees, and baby birds get abandoned. Right?

Why Sherlock Holmes Is Not Shawn Spencer

2011-06-04T17:18:00.000-05:00

Last night, I was on Tumblr, browsing through some Sherlock related posts (I admit, I was looking for GIFs) when I came across one by a young girl who seemed to think she'd made some great discovery. "Watson is totally Gus," she proclaimed, adding that "Sherlock is like Psych." She went on to draw the parallels while I beat my head against an imaginary desk. (Let's be honest, we all have laptops now. Who uses desks?) Now, because I'm not an internet troll, I didn't say anything to this girl... buuut I did complain in a post of my own, and now I'm writing this. Whatever. I think there's something to explore here.

I read through all of the Sherlock Holmes stories a few years ago. Four novels, fifty-six short stories devoured in the matter of a couple months, if that long. I was consumed with the tales. After finishing them, I couldn't watch crime shows for a few months because they were all just copies of Sherlock Holmes. I think the reason Holmes and Watson became so popular in their day, and remain so to this day, is because Sir Arthur Conan Doyle tapped into a part of the human spirit that hadn't fully been explored in literature until that point in time. Yes, he revolutionized the ideas of deduction and detective work in fiction and made them into an art form but he was not the first to do work in that area. I posit that it was the relationship between Homes and Watson which he cultivated that has truly given this work longevity, and indeed, made it timeless, because it captured something of a truth about humanity as all great classics do.

Of course, when one taps into a truth of the nature of humanity, everyone after you wants to get on board too. They can't resist it, really. This is why I was so astounded last night by this girl's post. Everyone copies Sherlock Holmes and Watson. It isn't even just crime shows, it's everywhere. On House, M.D., House and Wilson are famously modeled after Holmes and Watson. I see it so often that I presumed everyone knew whence it came, but apparently not. I spent most of my insomnia last night pondering how it is that new, young fans are coming to the fandom and not realizing this.

Sherlock Holmes is one of the most portrayed characters of all time. Beginning in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's lifetime with a stage production depicting the consulting detective's adventures, to the latest portrayal (Sherlock on BBC One... I think?) Holmes has been portrayed by hundreds of actors. Therefor, his companion, Dr. John Watson, has been portrayed just as often. It is through all these productions that so many misconceptions are formed about Holmes, Watson, and their relationship. Each couple brings some unique perspective to the dynamic, though in my opinion it is impossible for any of them to capture exactly what Doyle created when he wrote about Holmes and Watson. My conclusion last night was that because these new fans are only seeing one or two of these more famous portrayals and getting all their knowledge from those two things, that they have missed the magic of the relationship in the Doyle stories and therefor have missed the point. (Also, some people just really stink at thinking through the fact that Sherlock Holmes came long before Psych. I mean, I'm aware I am pretty much just overthinking this, but still.)

Keeping this all in mind, let's examine some of the more famous portrayals of the duo to pinpoint where some misconceptions could be made. (Keep in mind, these are ones I've seen, though most of them only once, and all opinions are my own and could be completely wrong. Or wrongish. Still, I would stand beside most all of them. If there are any major portrayals you think I've missed, let me know. I've seen some besides these, but they're kind of "off the beaten path" of Holmesians ~~and not very good~~.)

Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce (1939 film series)

These movies were interesting to me because they were set in modern day (of the time) in much the same manner as Sherlock (2010) was done. I really like Rathbone as Holmes because he captured that charm Holmes had at times, but I always somewhat lamented Bruce's dumbed down Watson. It made sense though. Tall, skinny man with lots of brains and and older, plump man who's a little slow on the uptake. It was a common comedic duo of the time, and there was a good amount of humor injected into the movies. While these two had great chemistry as actors, this version of the Holmes and Watson relationship was oversimplified for the sake of popular characterizations of the day. I think these movies contributed a lot to the misconception that Watson was a bumbling hanger-on who followed Holmes like a puppy dog. While I don't think this is a version most young, new fans have watched, it is the one which simply seeped into the cultural understanding of Holmes and Watson. I would say especially in America. I think Brett is more in the cultural eye in the UK, but Rathbone and Bruce were very much American visions of Holmes and Watson.

Jeremy Brett and David Burke, later replaced by Edward Hardwicke (1984 television series)

Brett played a more middle-aged Holmes, and his portrayal explored the darker side of Holmes more than Rathbone's. Age wise, Burke and Hardwicke seemed both more equal with Brett, though Hardwicke leaned a little more to the older side. Admittedly, I like Burke best. The series came much closer to accurately portraying Homes' and Watson's relationship than the Rathbone movies. I did get from this series a strong "Period Drama" vibe, but it worked. Overall, it was a series which did a pretty decent job exploring aspects of the stories that hadn't been handled on screen much. It didn't capture everything that I think Holmes and Watson are, but I can't really think of anything to criticize it for either. Again though, I don't think this is one that the newest fans have seen. They should though. I mean Brett is a family friend of Cumberbatch, so that counts for something, ja?

Robert Downey, Jr. and Jude Law (2009 film)

Oh, me. I have the most issues with this film. But I'm going to keep my fangirl hat off for a second and try to think critically about it. *deep breath* All right, this film made a great effort to set the record straight on Watson. They cast a young, vibrant man as Watson (I don't care if Jude Law is balding and has a moustache in this movie. He still makes me drool a little.) and Law, to his credit, really did his research reading the stories and trying to capture the vitality of Watson. In that way, he was one of the better Watsons. However, as a whole, I think this movie did too much to glorify Watson. I get that the movie was supposed to show how it really happened, and from that you can examine how Watson editorialized and that makes you love him even more because he's really, really good friend when the editorializing is all said and done, but I think it overstepped its bounds. In trying to treat Watson with all this reverence, they pretty much pooped all over Holmes. There was some stuff they did with Holmes that was pretty neat, but on the whole, I was really not into it. The worst sin of the movie for me though, was that the writers tried to turn the duo into some kind of strange triumvirate by including Irene Adler in a larger role.

I don't really care about writers being loose with plot in adaptations, but writers being loose with characters and established chemistries and things like that really, really bothers me. That was the biggest sin of the movie, for me. I could have got behind the rest a bit more, but the Irene Adler stuff was just so wrong. Finally, this movie also had a sort of Victorian fetishism, which I'll circle back to momentarily.

Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman (2010 television series)

In the interest of full disclosure, this is by far my favorite version of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson I've ever seen. I equally have to work to keep my fangirl hat off with this one as with the last, though for opposite reasons. So, Sherlock is set in our modern day. 2010 at the time. The creators, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss looked around at what Sherlock Holmes had become as a fandom and saw an increasing shift in the fetishism of the Victorian Era in new productions. They saw a story which is so timeless because of its characters being lost to the realm of period pieces. Period dramas are great and all, but you risk losing the life these stories possess. Holmes was very much a modern man in his time, so Moffat and Gatiss decided to make him a modern man in ours. They played around with plots (though staying mostly true) and time and extra characters, but what they kept intact was the relationship between Holmes and Watson. (Sherlock and John in this updated version.) In addition to the great writing, the acting is impeccable. The chemistry between Cumberbatch and Freeman is instant and almost physically felt. I think the only reason this show can throw off new fans about Holmes and Watson is because they see these characters in a modern setting and fail to make the connection or cannot fathom that they are just as vibrant and complex within the confines of Victorian society. (~~Also, all the slashers have a much easier time in a modern setting, but hey, whatever.~~) Yes, Sherlock is a touch more biting and neurotic, and Watson is a bit more PTSD-y, but you get the impression that it's more from them being unromanticised versions of themselves (I mean idealized, not romanticized as in shipped. God, people.) than because of any disregard for the spirit of the original body of work.

Alright, all that said, I think I'm going to continue on tomorrow with a bit of examination about different characters who are descendants of Holmes and Watson's legacy. Heck, I might even get into an actual triumvirate. (Props to whomever guesses this obvious trio before reading the second part.)

Later,
~Emily~

P.S. Pretty fantastic way to come back from a blog-cation, methinks.

Dreaming On The Getaway Mile

2011-05-27T23:18:00.000-05:00

I am going on blog-cation. See you in a certain, but unspecified, number of days.

~Em~

WAY TOO EXCITED FOR A TASK SO MUNDANE AS GIVING POSTS TITLES

2011-05-26T22:36:00.000-05:00

Today was the day. *cue Hallelujah Chorus*

The bleach hurt, the orange hair was SCARY AS HELL, the blue dye had a warming sensation and I nearly fell asleep under the dryer, and OMG MY HAIR IS BLUE. (Turquoise, teal, whatever.)

Mom came down as the gal (shout out to Chop Tops!) was styling it and said "Well, you weren't born that way." MY MOM MAKES LADY GAGA JOKES. She's the best. We jammed to Gaga the whole way there. Judas is so amazzzzzzzinggggg.

Let's see, before the hair appointment, Sara and I hung out at Westport Coffee for an hour. I outlined eight chapters of my new story and Sara drew the most amazing picture of one of her friends. I mostly stared at her the whole hour. I'm truly shocked I outlined as much as I did.

Then hair happened. There was a little half-Asian baby there, who was freaking adorable. He stared at my hair and dribbled down his chin as his mouth fell open in amazement. BEST BABY EVER.

Every time I walk past a mirror I stop and go back and spend several minutes running my hands through it.

Excited Emily is excited!

Okay. I have to go. I keep dying of excitement.

Byyyyyyyeeeeee!

~Em~

P.S. I can't leave without showing you this. I... I can't even process all the awesomeness of this music video. (It's kinda pg-13, but WHATEVA)

Everybody's Looking Forward To The Weekend

2011-05-25T22:43:00.000-05:00

I had one thing planned for tonight's post, and then that got postponed, so now I don't know what to talk about. Yay! How about a general update, aye?

This week has been dragging by and it's entirely my fault. I am so excited about next week that my excitement is prolonging this week. BUT IT'S NEARLY OVER AND THEN IT WILL BE FRIDAY AND I'LL SING "IT'S FRIDAY" WITH SARA, AND THEN SATURDAY WILL COME AFTERWARDS AND I WILL HAVE THE BEST WEEK EVAR. So, mildly hyper about all that.

I've been making good progress with my new story. (Shut up, Sara.) It's really intriguing and challenging to me, which is great. I'm not saying yet what it's about ~~other than it's a lovechild of John Green and Jane Austen kinda sorta not really.~~ No talky here.

Alright, suddenly I'm exhausted. *giant yawn* Sorry.

Later,
~Em~

Summertime Blues

2011-05-24T03:00:00.000-05:00

Studies have shown that studying too hard leads to Post Traumatic Semester Disorder*. (PTSD) Sufferers of PTSD are typically 18-22 years in age, the symptoms appearing seasonally around May each year. Symptom include: overeating, oversleeping, racing thoughts, night terrors about overdue assignments which do not exist, nervous energy, an inability to focus, and crippling boredom. Luckily, there are therapies to help these troubled students. The following is a list of activities to occupy the PTSD afflicted student over the summer break.

GO OUTSIDE

You’ve been inside all year. Through the last few warm days of September, through the bitter winter, and on into the rains of April, but it’s May now. There’s still rain, and pollen for unlucky sufferers of hay fever, but there’s also sunshine. You’re pasty and dangerously low on vitamin D. Go sit in the sun for a few minutes ever day, at least. (WEAR SUNSCREEN. We don’t condone skin cancer around here.) Bask in the golden rays and commit the feeling to memory; you’re going to need it when you’re sitting through lab in a cold, grey room in the middle of October.

GET ACTIVE

Many intellectuals view their bodies as a mere vessel for their minds. A mode of transportation between classes for their overtaxed brains. Well, guess what? It isn’t mere transportation, it’s a theme park. Working your body is going to 1. make you feel better and 2. make your thoughts cool it for a little bit. You’re going to be too busy running around and jumping or whatever to worry about that citation error you made in the essay you turned in back during Jan term.

GET INSPIRED

Now, this is going to mean different things for different people. For me, this involves listening to music, reading, watching good tv or movies, and looking at art. Look for things that you like, but that have nothing to do with your school studies, at least not directly. Another really great source of inspiration, that I think is sometimes neglected, is interviews. Everyone has celebrities of some sort that they look up to, so read their biography, watch interviews, whatever. If a person has a philosophy or opinion which interests you, immerse yourself in that view and let it fill you up.

GET CREATIVE

Alright, you built up all that inspiration, time to work on some output. You do all sorts of busy work for school, it’s time to do something cool just for you with no grades, just pure pleasure. You have to get inspired first though. PTSD sufferers are looking for an outlet, but they’re burnt out on ideas. They have no direction. Teachers have told you what to make all semester long, now you have to figure out what you want to make. If you still don’t know what to make after all your inspiration questing, write a journal or a blog. You don’t have to say anything profound, or good, or whatever. You have permission to suck. No one is grading you. Just get it out and then honor what you’ve done.

DO SOMETHING YOU DIDN’T DO ALL SEMESTER

I don’t know what this is going to be for you. Maybe you never saw a certain group of friends, or maybe you never went to a museum because you were too busy with school. Whatever it was, go do it now or as soon as possible.

MAKE A LIST

Some people find lists relaxing. If you are one of these people, list away. List everything. What you love, what you hate, what you would do if there were only positive consequences, what you would do if you were evil, what you’ve been keeping secret, what you want to scream for everyone to hear, what you want to be someday, who you used to be. ALL OF IT. Or if that’s daunting, just start with your favorite foods. Personally, I’m a fan of pizza and brownies.

TAKE NOTICE

Admit it, you kept your head down most of the school year. You were too busy with your nose in a book to notice the person sitting across the coffee shop from you. Well, look up now. You don’t quite remember how to be normal, so watch the people around you. Even if you don’t figure out how to act like them, the people watching should prove amusing. Also, it’s good to see people before during and after college to remind you there was a before, other people are with you in the during, and all sorts of idiots got out the other side alive.

BREATHE

Hey, the semester is over now. It really, really is, I swear.

Later,
~Em~

P.S. Also, STOP CARING SO MUCH because life isn’t a class that you have to get an A on. Well, not unless you’re taking LIFE Economics. The point is, all those voices of doubt you have relied on all semester to keep you working for better results are only going to hinder you in the real world. In academia, you have to worry about what the teacher wants, but outside of school no one cares as much as you think, and if they do, then they need to back off, because it’s your life, not theirs. Make up a new voice in your head if you have to to drown out the voices of doubt if you can’t shut them up.

Example: I would never use second person in college, but this is the real world, and I’ll use second person to write to you if I want to, because you aren’t really going to care if I use second person, but if it does bother you, too bad. I WILL TALK TO YOU IN SECOND PERSON IF I WANT TO. See? Defiance is fun, and it’s what Summer is made for. Get to it!

*To my knowledge, studies have not shown this, but it’s true. The only reason studies haven’t shown this is because it’s so true that everyone knows you don’t have to run studies to prove it.

Joplin

2011-05-23T21:21:00.000-05:00

I used to live in Southwest Missouri. About an hour and a half from Joplin. I had friends who lived there. I lost touch with them, and today I don't know if they're okay, but I pray they are.

We're watching the news right now and Anderson Cooper's in Joplin covering it. I can't quite process the destruction, and the death toll is definitely not registering. I was really involved in the Stockton tornado recovery several years ago, and the Joplin pictures are so reminiscent, but only three or four people died in that storm. I can't understand how so many died in this storm. Right now it's at 116 and rising.

Please, if you can, donate, help, whatever you can do. Maureen Johnson has been running a Shelter for Joplin fundraiser today. The Red Cross is always a huge help in situations like this, so I encourage you to donate to them if you can. They were life savers during the Stockton clean up. I've even heard there's a call for O type blood.

Joplin is in my thoughts tonight and my biggest gratitude to the first responders working in there.

Later,
~Em~

What I Learned From The Rapture

2011-05-21T23:17:00.000-05:00

Over the years, I've put a few hours in thinking about how I'd spend my last day on Earth if I knew when it would happen. Most recently I said I would "Write... something, see my friends and family, tell someone a secret, go to the lake." I imagined a frenzied rush to get out all my last bit of thought, a huge cookout with everyone I know and love there, and in the end, just the people that matter most around me... but mostly just a lot of frenzied writing.

It was much to my surprise when I looked up at ten o'clock today, the supposed end of the world (well, the rapture at least), and I wasn't doing any of that. Well, I did have donuts on the back porch with my family, which was great. But no frenzied writing, no secrets, no great gathering of friends.

Still, my friends were in my thoughts. I've been rearranging two violin parts into a single viola part for a good portion of the day. As I worked, I was reminded of a few lines from the Walt Whitman poem I Saw In Louisiana a Live-Oak Growing.

"It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends,

(For I believe lately I think of little else than of them,)

Yet it remains to me a curious token, it makes me think of manly love;"

After a morning of donuts and music theory we took secret codename: Ellie to her soccer game, where I read a book, had hilarious exchanges with Regan, and got a sunburn. Again I thought to myself, "what a way to spend the rapture."

This afternoon, Sara and I recorded our first cover of a song. We played "Landlocked Blues" by Bright Eyes. It turned out really well, and making it I did feel like that was a pretty awesome way to spend my last day on Earth. Harmonizing with my sister underneath a tree on a pretty day.

This is the only thing I've written all day, and I admit, if this had been my last day on Earth, I would be a little annoyed with myself right now, but it wasn't. I knew that it wasn't the end, but I still paid attention to what was happening as if it was, and that was a curious experience. It made me realize that I don't need a big elaborate plans and massive events to appreciate life, I can appreciate while having a normal day.

Later,

~Em~

You Want A Long Post? YOU CAN'T HANDLE A LONG POST!

2011-05-20T22:45:00.000-05:00

We're watching Toy Story 3 with the kids tonight. OH MY GOSH, Tortilla Mr. Potato Head is SCURRY! :SSS

Might I say, Buzz and Woody are one of the greatest couples in all of cinema.

OH MY GOSH, Mr. Potato Head just turned into a cucumber. WTFFFF???

Yep, this movie was worth the wait.

Later,
Emily

Think Happy Thoughts

2011-05-19T23:39:00.000-05:00

Sara and I have somewhat dark senses of humor at times. Especially about recent events in our lives. The other day Sara and I were talking about songs we want to perform when we make a band. (I'm gonna rock the awkward, nerdy bassist thing *stares at Mikey Way and John Deacon*) I showed her a song I have super stuck in my head right now, Headfirst for Halos by My Chemical Romance. It's got an amazing bass line, the greatest driving beat, CLAPPING*, and picturesque lyrics. And it's completely about suicide. Our conversation went something like this.

Me: You have got to hear this song! *plays song*

Sara: I like it.
Me: It's about suicide which would worry people, but it's so awesome.
Sara: *sings a Queen song* Don't try suicide...
Me: *answers with the next line* Nobody's worth it.
Sara: Don't try suicide...
Me: Nobody cares.
Sara: Don't try suicide...
Me: You're just gonna hate it!
Both: Nobody giiives a daaaamn!
Sara: *giggles*
Me: *giggles* OH MY GOSH. You know what we should do?
Sara: What?
Me: Only record suicidal songs at first and completely freak everyone out.
Both: *falls about in fits of giggles*
Sara: Duuuude, yes.

We're your favorite sisters ever and you know it. Also, not suicidal. When we watched the last episode of Glee and it got to the funeral scene we were holding each other and bawling and swearing to kill each other if the other ever died. It was a very sweet moment.

Seriously though, Headfirst for Halos is my favorite song right now. Top five at the moment:

Headfirst for Halos -MCR
You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison -MCR
Honey, This Mirror Isn't Big Enough for the Two of Us -MCR
Antichrist Television Blues -Arcade Fire
White Blank Page -Mumford and Sons

Those are also about the only bands I've listened to all week. It's been a very specific week creatively. Specific creative output leads to specific musical expression.

I think the lyrics for Headfirst are kind of beautiful, but maybe I'm blinded by my love of the Peter Pan imagery.

Well let's go back to the middle of the day that starts it all
I can't begin to let you know just what I'm feeling
And now the red ones make me fly
And the blue ones help me fall
And I think I'll blow my brains against the ceiling
And as the fragments of my skull begin to fall
Fall on your tongue like pixie dust just think happy thoughts

Alright, I'm going before the post gets any more scattered.

Later,
~Em~

*I am completely immune against clapping in songs. Even songs I hate, if there's clapping, I always clap and bounce around with it. Always.

An Abundance of Awesome

2011-05-18T21:54:00.000-05:00

It's no secret that I'm in brain love with John Green. He's one of my favorite authors, but if I was judging on the basis of everything an author ever says and not just what he or she publishes in books, then John is by far my number one. As is he's like 3rd favorite, and the first five are pretty much a tie, so yeah. *shrug*

Today's video from John about math and literature and education and figuring out what it means to exist reminded me of something I was thinking about the other day. But before I get to that, here is John's video.

My number one belief in writing is that plot should be character driven. Thus, to figure out plot I have to develop my characters. I was trying to do this the other day, and I kept getting bogged down by all the emotionalness of all these characters. (It's like a freaking love quadrangle.) I decided to simplify it. I listed off Character A, B, C, and so on, stuck an equals sign on it and then wrote who each person was. Then I set about trying to write an equation to explain what each character wanted to happen, how what other characters wanted counteracted or complimented their own desires, and then document the results. Simple A+B=C was not cutting it and I had no clue how to make it all work.

I sat back in utter frustration. "I just don't know the correct expressions or formulas or whatever," I told myself, but I couldn't really blame math. I wasn't illiterate in math, I was illiterate in experience. Which was even more vexing.

John Green's second book, An Abundance of Katherines, is about a child prodigy named Colin who has been dumped by eighteen Katherines. After Katherine XVIII (Gosh, now I say that I'm like "WAIT WAS IT NINETEEN?? Must reread. Sorry.) dumps him, Colin sets out to predict the track of a relationship with a mathematical expression. He comes close, but eventually he realizes relationships and love can't be predicted. (Basically. Seriously, you should read it. It's like the red-headed stepchild of John's books, but that makes me just love it more.)

So I gave up trying to predict and map what was going to happen to these characters. All I can do is get to know them, keep my ears and mind open to who they want to be, and hope I can type fast enough once they get going. So far so good. I started their story today, and I'm about eight hundred words in.

Later!
~Em~

My 1" Picture Frame

2011-05-17T23:08:00.000-05:00

After my hair cut today, I sat in the lobby waiting for Mom while she had her hair cut. A few different people cycled through the lobby while I was there, but I didn't pay them much attention until two women sat on either side of me, both reading. Okay, fine, I sneaked some glances as the guy who sat two seats away from me for a while. He had a pony tail and the greatest complexion and fascinating fingernails; I was trying to figure out how to describe him. Honest. Anyways, back to the women.

On my right was a woman in her late thirties. She was wearing stylish activewear and had Prada sunglasses pushed up on her head, her blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun. Very efficient. She was reading on a Kindle. I was tempted to ask what she was reading because she was scrolling through the pages more quickly than one normally scrolls, but slowly enough to not be skimming, and I was dying to know what kind of book inspires that level of speed reading, but I decided against it. She wasn't one of the women who complimented my black pumps, so I didn't feel up to breaking through the relaxed air of intimidation rolling off of her.

On my left was a woman in her sixties. She could have been anyone's grandma. Maybe it's my years of working at the quilt shop with its customer base of old ladies, but they really do all start to look alike, with a few subsets of Grandma-Types. This grandma fell into the "Big Friendly Grandma" category. She had a turquoise paperback, the pages yellowed with age. Because she was to my left, I couldn't see the front cover to see what she was reading, but judging by the size of the paperback and by the woman, I imagined it was one of many sappy romance books from the eighties that she and her friends pass around. Maybe it wasn't, but I'd bet a dollar it was.

And in my own hands a book as well. Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott, a book about writing. As I sat there, reading about observing the people around you to learn to write more convincingly I had to chuckle to myself. I was very absorbed in my book, I'm just well versed in paying attention while eavesdropping and people watching. I sat there, thinking about how to write, and I couldn't even bring myself to ask the people to either side of me, readers, what they were reading. Somewhere in another beauty parlour lobby in this cosmos sat another writer, learning to write and observing the people around her, and now here were these two women sitting next to me, reading that writer's book. I wondered if that writer would have asked those women.

It was a heady feeling for me. I pulled out my notebook and wrote it down. Thanks, Anne.

Pool Invaders

2011-05-16T23:40:00.001-05:00

I'm toying with a story idea and I think it's pretty decent idea wise, but it kind of scares me, so I'm being a wuss about it. Very mature, yes. I mean, I know I'm going to write it, I just don't want to let myself know I'm writing it. Again with the maturity.

Anyways, this isn't that.

Sydney reached over to kill the little bug hovering above her book. It was a small, delicate winged insect, so a miniscule bit of pressure was enough to kill it without smashing it beyond recognition. It stuck to the tip of her thumb which she brought up to her face, stopping a few inches from her nose, for closer inspection.
“Hey, Linds, look at this. I think it’s a baby mosquito.”
“A what?” asked Lindsey, though she did not move from her supine position in the lounge chair.
“A baby mosquito,” Sydney repeated. “Look at it.”
Lindsey rolled her eyes behind the large sunglasses she wore, but leaned over to look. Sydney felt smug as her friend frowned and took off the shades and pulled her hand closer.
“Told you,” said Sydney.
“But baby mosquitoes are larvae. You know? The squiggly creepers you get in wading pools when you don’t change the water for a week.”
“Well, then it’s a teenaged mosquito.”
“That’s weird. I mean, is it even big enough to suck blood yet? The babies are gross pool invaders, the daddies are deadbeats and the mommies are vampires, but what are the teenagers?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was it biting you?”
Sydney wiped the insect off on the lounge chair cushion, feeling a little guilty and morbid. “No.”
Lindsey looked at the smear of guts, wings, and fragile exoskeleton with a tinge of sadness and sympathy.
“God, Linds, stop before you call it a ‘poor thing’ and make me hold it a funeral service,” said Sydney, squirming. “Besides, it was going to grow up to be a disease-spreading bloodsucker.”
Sydney scrutinized her friend for a moment, making Sydney squirm more. “Or a deadbeat,” she said slowly.
“Right.”
Lindsey nodded, cast the smear one last glance, and then replaced her shades while turning her body to soak up the sun rays. “There’s not enough left to bury anyways.”

Write What You Know

2011-05-15T20:45:00.000-05:00

In an English class I was once in the students were instructed to write a list of what they knew about and what they wanted to know more about. Any common items between the two were good candidates for essay topics. This led to that teacher reading a lot of persuasive essays about some controversial football injury. ~~It kind of served her right.~~

The mantra "write what you know" is common, and my experience in that class was not my first grapple with it.

When I was twelve, I started my first novel. It was about a princess who acted as a messenger for the king, secretly relaying a warning of impending war to their allies. It was flawed, but I worked hard at it. Well, early in the process, I read a book about writing which spoke forcefully on the virtues of writing only what you know. I was crushed. I thought I'd broken a heretofore unmentioned eleventh commandment. I wasn't a princess, I didn't ride horses daily, I hate sleeping outdoors, and I couldn't fight. How dare I write about those things!

Of course, I came to my senses and realized the author of that bit of advice probably didn't mean it quite so literally, but if he did then I certainly had every right to ignore him. I grew up reading fantasy and if they were wrong, I had no desire to be right.

I saw the point brought up again recently over whether writers should include minority characters if they themselves are not a member of that minority. Those who said no mainly objected on the grounds of not wanting to offend through ignorance. Those who said yes felt that creating dialogue about minority issues is what's important, and while they acknowledged that mistakes could be made even mistakes create dialogue.

Personally, I came down on the side of saying you should write about minorities even if you are not a member of that minority. Everyone is in a minority about something. Color of skin, religion, politics, favorite tv show, something sets everyone apart and makes them feel on the outside of the crowd. I posit that including minority characters isn't about what makes him or her different and how that makes other people treat them, but about how being different makes that character feel and act.

For example, I have never been discriminated against at a job because of my race, but I have because of my age. I started working a job that I was knowledgeable about when I was fifteen years old, but the clientele were almost all old enough to be my grandmother. There were customers who would come in looking for help which I could provide them, but because of my age they would dismiss my advice. It made me feel ashamed and angry and so very frustrated. I knew I couldn't change their minds about me without changing their perception of me first, so that's what I did. I stopped dressing in t-shirts with funny graphics and started wearing career blouses. I stopped wearing light wash jeans and shorts and started wearing dark wash jeans and skirts. I started wearing makeup all the time and fixing my hair in something other than ponytails and braids. I worked even harder to learn more about my job than anyone and I went in every morning with a chip on my shoulder. After that, I developed a whole group of customers who would come in and ask for me if they needed help. I was thrilled, but inside I was resentful that I had to work harder than everyone else to earn a bit of respect.

That's what minorities and discrimination are about, and everyone has something that has made them feel that way. If they don't, just wait. It will happen.

There are two very different and equally appropriate ways to interpret "Write What You Know," but they are meant for two separate situations. The first is the one the English teacher with the lists was demonstrating. It's for non-fiction, essays and the like, where you must write only what you can empirically know. The other is meant for fiction and what it means isn't well described in that four word mantra. A better way to put it is "Write Feelings You Know."

The fiction interpretation took me the longest to figure out, but it's simple enough. It's all about the characters. If there was ever any one thing a fiction writer needed to know it's that the only things in a story that matter are characters. If you don't know your characters, you don't know anything.

Say you have a character that's a bomber. Well, researching how to build a bomb might get you put on the no-fly list, and luck for the fiction writer, you don't need to no much more about bomb building than you can learn by watching an action flick. What's important about your character being a bomber is not what chemicals he uses but why he builds the bombs and how he chooses who to use them against. The motivation of an action, not the execution, is what is essential to a story.

Every experience I have had informs my writing, because it informs my characters. Like it or not, writers use themselves and the people they've known to create the experiences they write down on paper. A character isn't a carbon copy of one person. Not all writers run around writing down snippets of overheard conversation to use later. (Though some do.) However, what a writer observes and experiences influences how they make a character react, and how characters react is what develops plot.

Later,

Emily

Pizza and Rompers

2011-05-14T20:42:00.000-05:00

I had the funniest realization today while getting absolutely amped on old MCR songs: I'm going through the emo 13-year-old stage I never had. Except in technicolor. I recommend putting off this stage, because it's way more awesome for me now than it seemed to be for thirteen year olds I knew at the time. They were all miserable and stuff, I'm kind of thrillingly scared. Does that make sense? It seems like I have a better idea of what to do with my angst than a thirteen year old has, something constructive to put that energy towards. Or at least I have developed enough English skills to know to stay away from poetry. I stink at poetry. Example:

I am told there will be pizza tonight

So I shall not die before then

For pizza is worth fighting for

Even when the adversary is Death

What can I say? I like pizza, not rhymes.

Mom and I went to Quilter's Station today and bought all sorts of fabric for various projects. I found some green fabric for a dress I've been wanting to make, and two pieces of fabric for a romper. The short fabric is navy and white stripe with the tiniest thread of red on both sides of the navy, the top fabric is RED. :D It's going to be sailory and awesome and I just have to design it first.

You should have seen the gal's face when I told her that I was planning to make a romper. She was thoroughly scandalized. As an ex-quiltshopworker, I found this extra hilarious. "Oh," she said, "We don't get much of that around here!" Old quilt ladies. *fond eyeroll*

After shopping, Mom and I grabbed lunch. We had a fun time laughing at various people around us. As we were leaving, a waitress we'd not seen yet sat down and the table across from us to count out her tips before getting off work. She was beautiful, African-American, and her hair was AMAZING. It was straight and long, and she had blunt bangs which were dyed red. So, on our way out I stopped to tell her how amazing I think her hair is. She thanked me as she looked up and then said "Oh, well you're gorgeous!" and I said, "Well, you're beautiful!" and she said, "You have a great smile, so warm!" and then I couldn't stop smiling so I told her to have a fantastic day and she wished me the same and I went on my merry way. Moral of the story: always compliment people when you notice them. I didn't want to go out today because I looked awful and am still a little sick, but that happened! *has regained faith in humanity*

All right, I must go now. The kids and I are watching Dr. Who and Gabe is quite sure I cannot blog and watch television at the same time. What a B-O-Y.

Later,

~Em~

While I Was Out

2011-05-13T18:29:00.000-05:00

So, yesterday I had no Internet and it was sad. And for most of today I did not have Internet, and that was sadder. (Correct grammar are for n00bs.) However, I have a wormhole of blogginess between my phone and my blogger for just such occasions. But then it turned out that Blogger was down anyways or something and that text didn't show up until today. Which was saddest.

Having run out of Words You Are Not Supposed To Start Sentences With, I bid thee adieu.

~Em~

P.S. Still dying of a cold. Still kill me.

2011-05-13T16:32:00.001-05:00

I find myself without internet access, blogging via text, so this will be short.

Dying of a cold and allergies. Uuuughhh. Kill me.

Love you all.

Later,
~Em~

The Reluctant Fan

2011-05-11T22:27:00.000-05:00

A long time ago I turned to my mom and said, "Hey, wouldn't it be cool if they made a tv show about what happened if a group of people were stranded on an island and made a new society as they struggled to establish themselves?" she agreed. Imagine our surprise when next time season premieres rolled around, there was a new show about a the survivors of a plane crash who have to rebuild on a mysterious island. It wasn't my idea exactly, but it was a cool premise anyways. This was how I came to watch Lost.

I watched and loved the first season. I watched the second season, but was getting a little fed up by the end. By season three I lost interest, regained a little interest later on in the series, watched a few episodes, and lost interest again. I wanted to know what it all meant, but I was tired of getting jerked around for seasons on end with no answers. I didn't see how it was supposed to get all wrapped up by the end, and from the reaction of fans during the end of Lost, I gathered that they didn't know either. Then I watched a recap of the entire series to see what it was all about.

And that's great and all but AUGH. Six seasons. This was my first experience with J.J. Abrams.

When Fringe, a new show created by J.J. Abrams, premiered, my family watched, but I refused. Once bitten, twice shy.

Then they announced that J.J. was directing the new Star Trek. Much complaining ensued on my part. I was WORRIED with a capital W-O-R-R-I-E-D. If you go back and look at the J.J. Abrams tags on my blog, you can see plenty of worrying. When the film came out, it was actually brilliant, and awesome... and kind of the best Star Trek film of all. The writing was brilliant and it was beautiful and I was in total awe. I was so impressed that I said this:

"I must say I spoke wrong of JJ. I take back anything I've ever said negative about him. I repent, sing his praises and will watch Fringe. (Yeah, I'm never getting back on the Lost boat. No matter how awesome Star Trek was.)"

And that's what I did. I started watching Fringe and I loved it. It was supposed to be a more accessible series for a more casual fan. That's what they said.

I knew Fringe was getting plottier and plottier, but I didn't worry because I love the show. AND THEN OH MY GOD THE SEASON FINALE. I just can't even.

The kind of storytelling that J.J. Abrams likes to use is the kind that turns fans like me into absolute crazy weirdos that no one wants to be friends with. I'm borderline that person all the time anyways, so I try to be careful. At least maintain some semblance of normal personhood. But not now. Nope, I had to go and fall in love with Fringe and now what? It was all a lie? What about the baby? I DON'T UNDERSTAND AND I DON'T KNOW IF I CAN WAIT FOR NEXT SEASON WITHOUT LOSING MY FAITH IN HUMANITY. What happened could not have really just happened, right?

Ugh. See? This is what that man does to me. Effing Abrams. *buries head under pillow*

~Em~

Obstinate

2011-05-10T19:13:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I get very obstinate for no good reason. If something isn't going my way, I get uppity about everything else. This almost always manifests itself in small, mostly harmless ways, but these fits still always surprise me.

Case and point, I have a cold right now. It isn't the worst cold ever, I don't feel like I'm going to die, but I feel a bit crappy and it just kind of sucks. This triggered Obstinate Emily.

Neutral Emily: *peels orange* Hmmm... bit squishy. Getting too late in the season. *looks* What are...? *MORPHS INTO OBSTINATE EMILY*
Obstinate Emily: Are those seeds? Frak. Oranges with seeds. Don't these oranges know we can genetically engineer them to not have seeds?!? You know what? They're pretty small for seeds. I'm gonna eat them. *goes to eat orange slice whole*
Rational Emily: *stops with orange hovering in front of mouth* What? Oh gah. Come on, me. *rolls eyes and removes seed before eating the slice*

A similar thing once happened making cookies from a package that said to not eat the cookies raw. I was so incensed by this knowitall package telling me what to do that I downed a raw cookie. It didn't taste good, but I didn't die.

Hey, I never said this blog wouldn't reveal deeper neuroses than the presumption that people want to read about my day when that account is longer than 140 characters. Also, I cannot speak to what is wrong with you for wishing to read them, other than the fact that you're probably a creeper. It's okay, I'm a creeper too. Love to the creepers. *creeper hug*

Later,
~Em~

Star Trek: Canoe

2011-05-09T16:16:00.000-05:00

I popped up this morning, threw on my bathing suit, brewed a cup of coffee, and spent the morning sunbathing. I needed to share how awesome it was with someone, so I texted my friend Regan (the saint) and then spent the rest of the morning distracting her from her bio studying. I told her about my plans to have her and Kara over for a slumber party that would involve canoeing, crossing rivers on foot, swinging in HUGE swings, cracking dawn to go swimming, pancake feasts, cliff jumping, and though I neglected to say it, coffee. Regan found this VERY MOTIVATING.

Our conversation went about a hundred different directions at once, but it was decided we would be canoe pirates, so that involved coming up with pirate names. Which led to a yearning for pirate outfits. Since I had nothing better to do, I went looking all over Modcloth and the like for something for each of us. Sadly, it proved a bit challenging. BUT THEN SOMETHING AMAZING HAPPENED.

Emily: ARRRR!! We need canoe names too.
Regan: ARRR!! I'm not quite sure how to go about that...:P
Emily: Can mine be the Enterprise or would that be genre mixing, Pirate Hippy?
Regan: No, its beautiful. We could name all our canoes after ships from Star Trek :P I call Kelvin! I hope I don't lose it...that would be bad.
Emily: That would be. Well, as long as mine isn't the Enterprise-C I'll be happy. I don't think I'd enjoy The Nexus messing up our day.
Emily: Well, we'll keep an eye out for Romulans. ;)
Regan: Thank, I feel so much better now.

The way to my heart is through the final frontier, to be sure. We then started to speculate about who was whom in Trek.

Regan: I've always wanted to be Scotty! I love Simon Pegg :P

Emily: I dub thee Scotty!

Regan: Does this make Kara Spock or McCoy?

Emily: Spock, though I totally wish I was. I'm grouchy and I swear, I'm clearly Bones. Which makes Sara Kirk. We need a 4th [for canoeing] and she clearly fits Kirk.

Regan: Sara is definitely Kirk. I'll have to dig deep into my Scottish heritage. I've always thought Bones was the coolest :D

Emily: Awww, now I love being Bones. "I'm a writer, not a doctor!"

I was then inspired to find barely Trek inspired outfits for us instead. WHICH I DID.

Dance, little Russian, dance!

My only basic guideline was to make each outfit similar to the style of each of us, but also making it Trekkie by taking into account uniform color and a few character quirks, and to a degree summer weather as well. However, these are definitely not canoeing outfits.

SARA - KIRK

(Yes, Sara. ChrisPine!Kirk, not Shatman!Kirk. Chill.)

Award-Winning Tee from Modcloth.com

Breezy Paper Bag Shorts from Anthropologie.com

Always Buckle Up Wedges from Modcloth.com

Preening Peacock Necklace from Modcloth.com

Cardiography Ring from Modcloth.com

KARA - SPOCK

Just As You Are Top from Modcloth.com

Levi's 512 Cuffed Creased Bermuda

Low Tide Wedge from Modcloth.com

Antoine Watchea from Modcloth.com

REGAN - SCOTT

a.n.a. Plaid Camp Shirt

Underground Soul Belted Tint Bermuda

Roaring Success Belt from Modcloth.com

Stud-y As She Goes Boots from Modcloth.com

Tools of the Trade Necklace from Modcloth.com

EMILY - McCOY

Dancing on the Dunes Dress from Modcloth.com

Cyclist's Best Friend Shorts from Modcloth.com

Sifting Sugar Heel from Modcloth.com

Fully Fine and Serpentine from Modcloth.com

So there you have it. Everything I've done today. Well, besides sunbathing. Today's mood: PRODUCTIVE.

Later!

~Em~

Remembrances for Mother's Day

2011-05-08T22:39:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure where to begin. It's Mother's Day, so clearly I want to talk about her, but I have so much to say that I'm left a bit speechless. Which is rare for me.

My mom had a hard childhood, especially early on. After her mom left when she was three, she bottle fed her baby brother. My mom grew up fast, even by Grow-Up-Fast standards.

I'm the oldest of her two children, and I was nothing like she was at three years old. She couldn't figure out what I was all about until it was told to her that I was playing and it was normal. Well, it clicked, and Mom got to relive her toddlerhood through me. On laundry day we'd start off folding the towels and laying out the pants, but pretty soon I'd be in the basket atop the pants, and Mom would be hiding under the towels, popping out every now and then to send me into another fit of giggles. Or something like that. I don't remember any of this, but Mom's told me the stories for as long as I can remember.

I used to crawl in bed with her in the mornings to cuddle. She always said I was a heat brick. Nestled against her, I'd reach up to play with her earlobes. The feel of her piercings between my index and thumb fascinated me, so I'd roll it around and ask her if it hurt and she always said no. Of course, I didn't believe her then, but now that I have my own, I know she was right. Sometimes, I play with my own piercing when I don't have earrings on, rolling the funny bit of skin between my fingers. Sometimes, I still crawl in bed with her in the morning to snuggle.

Mom homeschooled me after a wasted year of kindergarten at a private school. I remember having a very Scout Finch moment in kindergarten the first day of class. I wrote my name out at the top of my page in cursive, and my teacher through a fit and told me I was not allowed to write in cursive. Mom had taught it to me, rather painstakingly and with much kicking and screaming on my part, in preschool, and I was so mad and ashamed. Mad that the teacher would not let me use the skill I had worked so hard to master, and ashamed that I was somehow wrong for knowing cursive. Mom was just mad, but like Atticus Finch, she told me to not use it at school, but that it was still fine at home.

I wish I hadn't given Mom such a hard time with my school. I was a voracious learner, but only about what I wanted to learn. English mostly. I don't know where she got the patience to drum algebra into me when all I wanted to do was to read for five hours at a time, but goshdarn she did it. The woman is bionic, I tell you.

I don't remember how old I was when it happened (eight maybe?) but Mom had a stroke when I was a kid. It was awful, especially in the immediate aftermath. She was so sick, and I was too young to be told everything that was going on, so I was scared mostly. Mom was dizzy all the time after the stroke, she couldn't handle crowds, and her short term memory was awful. We were so blessed for Mom to have the most organized best friend in the world at the time. She kept Mom's schedule straight, so if Mom went some where, we could always call her friend and find out where Mom had gone.

I remember one day, Mom was so dizzy, and really sick, that she had to be put on a wheeled desk chair and pushed to bed because she couldn't walk. I was so scared and no one would tell me what was happening. I remember crying.

I became Mom's Little Helper to the extreme. I was her extra brain. I sat in the front seat with her exclusively when we were running errands, because she'd forget from place to place where we were going, so I'd always have to say, "we're going to the grocery store" before we got to the turn and she'd pause before saying, "I know that," while turning on her blinker a bit sheepishly. Mom was still really dizzy, so I had to sit very still while I was in the front seat to not make her dizzier. I remember trying so hard to imitate a statue while I was up there.

Mom got better as time went on, like most stroke patients do, especially ones as young as Mom. She still wasn't what she once was, but she was more in other ways too. She went to Mayo Clinic and was gone for a week during one of my birthdays. My tenth maybe? I just remember hating it. She was gone for my next birthday too, taking care of my great-grandmother, if I remember correctly, but I wasn't mad at her that time like I was when she was gone to Mayo. By then I knew she didn't have to be with me for me to feel her love.

There's so much more, so much about my mom that has shaped my life. Her unwavering support and encouragement, the example she led, or tried to, and the friendship she gave me. However, I'm once again overcome by the magnitude of my love for her, so I'll simply end with this. I love you, Mom. Thank you.

Saint Regan

2011-05-07T23:37:00.000-05:00

There was once a young violist with Joan Jett hair named Regan. God bestowed Joan Jett hair upon Regan to show the world that she was marked for greatness. Armed with a beastly viola, she set out into the world.

Regan performed many places. Churches, nursing homes, concert halls, class rooms, parks, and she was even considering street corners when she was asked to play the most feared venue of all musicians: a highschool graduation.

It was a test from God, one she knew she might very well not survive. Regan played with all the love and devotion she possessed, pouring her soul into every last note of Pomp and Circumstance for every single repeat. When the last student was safely seated on the raised platform, Regan slumped back in her chair, viola hanging limply from her hand, exhausted from the exertion.

But the performance was not the test of faith Regan had to endure to prove her worth as a violist. No, she had to sit through hours and hours of speeches, for this was no ordinary graduation, it was a homeschool graduation.

Regan fought and fought against the mind-numbing prattle, but a demon possessing the air conditioning turned and blasted the orchestra with icy breath. As they tried to play out the processional, the gusts picked at the sheets of musics, lifting them and casting them far away.

As the final student reached his family, Regan fell to the floor. Her fingers were frostbit, her ears were bleeding, and she could go on no longer. Regan was killed by boredom.

But her sacrifice and valiant performance were never forgotten, and moved by her spirit, young musicians the ages over have survived playing for graduations. She was named a saint, the patron saint of musicians who must play for graduations.

See, Regan? I MADE YOU A SAINT.
Random facts:
1. This drawing is awful and took me ten minutes to make..
2. This piece of writing is also awful but it only took me five minutes.
3. Lucky that I'm a fast writer than drawer because I started this post at 11 p.m.
4. This looks nothing like Regan even though I was looking at a picture when I drew this.

Later,
~Em~

All My Friends Are Insects

2011-05-06T19:29:00.000-05:00

I've had a pretty productive writing day today. It wasn't what I thought I'd be writing on, but it's Collector related, so it's more on-task than I have been lately. I know they're my characters, so of course I love them, but I really freaking love my characters. Which is actually pretty egotistical of me, but I'm a writer. Large egos are a requirement, right? Ugh. Jones is so adorable, Chloe is so heartbreaking, Daniel is so selfless, and OMG LIZ CAN'T EVEN TOUCH THAT. Like I said, it's completely egotistical, but I love them all so much right now.

I don't know though, it kind of makes sense to me. My true motivator to write when I was just a wee Emily was to write the stories I wanted to read. I wanted to write because I loved to read. I knew somewhere out there was the perfect book to satiate my book lust, but I couldn't find it, so I decided to make it myself. My inner child is the one that falls in love with my characters and the story and all that stuff while Writer Emily says things like, "Aughhhh, this is going to need so much work in drafts." And only with both do I ever get anything of mild worth done.

Because I was writing Collector, and a very emotionally charged scene (or two) at that, I was thinking about Christopher Isherwood a lot today. I am forever dissecting his "Other" and his "Saint" to apply to my own stories. I talked about the saint in a previous post. I always feel this close to getting how to apply what he says to my own characters, but every time I sit down to do it my mind goes blank and I have no clue. So, I keep thinking about it, and then my brain starts to hurt from all the thinking. My thoughts get dizzy from spinning and twisting.

WHEN THIS HAPPENS there is only one thing to do: listen to my secret favorite Weezer song.

Yes, that song was originally performed on Yo Gabba Gabba before appearing on the album Hurley. Yes, it really is my secret favorite Weezer song, except for that it is no longer a secret. I know all the words. THIS IS MY JAM. Related: Pat is one BAMF praying mantis.

I completely forget whatever I'm thinking about whenever I hear that song. It's good to have something this silly after the tension of what I've been writing today.

Lastly, THERE WAS AN ICE CREAM TRUCK GOING THROUGH THE NEIGHBORHOOD, SO I WENT AND GRABBED FIVE BUCKS BECAUSE I'VE NEVER BOUGHT ICE CREAM OFF A TRUCK AND I HAVE ALWAYS WANTED TO DO THAT, BUT THEN THE TRUCK WENT THE OTHER WAY AND I DIDN'T GET ANY ICE CREAM FROM THE ICE CREAM TRUCK.

The emotional scarring can only be relayed through this display of GIFs. I don't think I can handle another encounter with an ice cream truck if this is the kind of hurt if can bring me. *curls up in the fetal position*

Later,
~Em~

OT[blank]

2011-05-05T23:29:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite things about my generation is how fast they come up with new words and phrases. The internet had made language more fluid than ever. I'm looking up something on Urban Dictionary about as often as I look something up in the Oxford English Dictionary. So, today I am going to explain one of my new favorite internetisms.

OTP: an initialism standing for One True Pair. An OTP is a pairing of fictional characters which are absolutely meant to be together. Generally, there is a consensus amongst fans about which characters are the OTP of a fandom, but it is not a requirement. Nor is it a requirement for the pairing to be canon. Here are some example fandoms for you. (With commentary. Sue me.)

Pride and Prejudice: Elizabeth and Darcy (duh)
Bones: Hodgins and Angela (I'M SO MAD AT THE WRITERS ABOUT BOOTH/BRENNAN!)
Star Trek: Kirk and Spock (Hey, I'm just telling you what everyone else thinks. They're the grandfathers of slash.)
Star Trek: The Next Generation: Riker and Troi (yawwwwn)
Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: Jadzia Dax and Worf (THIS WAS SO PERFECT! Stupid stupid stupid!)
Star Trek: Voyager: Tom and B'Elanna (Or The Doctor/Seven of Nine? IDK which is more popular in the fandom, but I love both.)
Star Trek: Enterprise: Trip and T'Pol (Oh god, I loved them so hard.)
(YES, I watch a lot of Star Trek. Again, sue me.)
The Office: Jim and Pam (D'awwww)
Fringe: Olivia and Peter (wantwantwantwant)
In Plain Sight: Mary and Marshall (But I'm going to stop shipping this if Mary doesn't start appreciating how awesome Marshall is!)
Avatar: The Last Airbender: Aang and Katara (I was a firm believer, but I always had a thing for Zutara.)
Burn Notice: Michael and Fiona (*squeezes*)
Torchwood: Jack and Ianto (I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry.)

There's also a version of OTP which is OT3: One True Threesome. Some examples are Ron/Harry/Hermione for Harry Potter (yeah, I'm not touching HP OTPs, those fans get MEAN about that. Still. Sirius/Lupin.), Doctor/Rory/Amy for Dr Who, Shepherd/Weir/McKay for Stargate: Atlantis (Oy vey), er... kind of a two way split in ST fandom... reboot is Kirk/Spock/Uhura, original series is Kirk/Spock/McCoy. I feel kind of bad that McCoy got pushed out in reboot fandom. I love the reboot, but some of these reboot fans are so uninformed.

Anyways. Thank you all for enduring and indulging my guilty pleasures for an evening. Who's your OTP in the fandom of your choosing?

My readers right now

Later,
~Em~

Seven Months Later

2011-05-04T22:06:00.000-05:00

So, today I was over at the other house hanging out while Mom and Sara went shopping for softball gear. We'd spent the night over and had a lovely time and I had been up for a few hours writing and whatnot, but I hadn't had lunch yet. About half the time I get sleepy when I'm actually hungry, so about three o'clock I was about to fall out of my chair from massive yawns. I went to Mom's super-duper king-sized bed and laid down. I watched a couple episodes of The Big Bang Theory on the laptop, but resting wasn't cutting it. I read a little and after about ten Kindle pages (a chapter or so maybe?) I was barely keeping my eyes open. I figured the girls would be home soon, so I succumbed to sleep. It's bright in Mom's room in the afternoon, so I threw the blankets over my head and I was OUT.

I don't remember what exactly what started to wake me up, just noise I guess, but as I struggled to throw the covers off myself, there was a blood-curdling scream. I get them off in a flash and sit up to find Mom clutching her heart, backed into the corner, staring at me.

"You're under the covers!" she exclaimed.

"Yeah, sorry," I mumble. "I took a nap."

She started laughing and we both apologized as I very sleepily tried to free myself of the thick comforter, me for scaring her, and Mom for screaming me to full wakefulness.

Ah me, just funny.

In other news, if you've ever taken a peak at the sidebar off to the right, you may have noticed that there's a module showing my most popular posts of all time. The most popular of all is sort of a fluke. Well, not quite, I made a Glee reference and goshdarn if I still don't get about twenty to thirty hits off it each month. It's pretty sad to me, because it's a really lame post, but beggars cannot be choosers. I actually want to talk about the second most popular post. Two Hours to Change the World was about my frustrations with the policy of the college I was attending concerning chapel attendance and community service. Well, you can go read it if you'd like the back story. Well, though I no longer attend that college, I heard from a friend today that they are changing the policy to offer alternatives to chapel which include volunteering and bible studies. I'm happy for them!

Lastly, there was a depression and self-hurt awareness day thing today to draw butterflies on your wrist. Which I did. Awwwwww. Remember, you're not alone, and the world is always worse off without you.

Later,

~Em~

Love Today

2011-05-03T12:10:00.000-05:00

Yesterday's post was complete amateur hour. Sorry about that. I'm not sure I properly expressed the amount of baking that went on. I baked freaking banana bread for eight freaking hours. I didn't finish until 1:30 in the morning. There are three bags of muffins and four loaves of bread. I BAKED, YO. I have enough to share with you, Internet, but sadly, I have no means of zapping it to you, so I'll just have to let my people eat it. Sorry.

Remember the little dabble project I mentioned a couple posts ago? It's hit a road block. I have no clue why I'm writing it. That is, I don't know what I'm trying to say with it. Honestly, I just had a scene pop into my head about a tomboy who always wore dresses and her reluctant, bookish guy friend. So while I figure that out, I'm going to entice you with one of the little drabbles from it.

THE GRADE
“Are you going to introduce this nice boy, Jessica?”
“Mom, meet Massimo Valentine,” said Jessie as she flung open the freezer to fish out a couple popsicles.
“Nice to meet you,” said Massimo, shaking Mrs. Smith’s hand.
“What brings you two here?”
“He’s acing Algebra, so I’ve recruited his help,” said Jessie, dragging Massimo by the sleeve to the back porch as her Mom called her blessings after them. “Was that so hard, Valentine?”
“You’re acing Algebra, too,” he protested.
“Making you a hero come report card time.”
Massimo ate his popsicle while Jessie smiled smugly at him.

In barely-related news, I'm out on the backporch writing this post and it took the internet five minutes to open my Google Docs to copy and paste that on here. Some days I miss portable wi-fi. Wouldn't it be cool if the sun were internet? Ooooo, what if it were?? *just had a story idea* Yeah, right. Finish what I've got started. I know.

Plot Tribbles

You know something else I miss? The New York Times. I got kind of use to reading it in *gasp* paper form. The paper curls if you don't snap it right and the size is downright unruly, but I got kind of fond of wrangling it every day or so. Plus, their website isn't going to be free much longer or some such. Pretty sad. I'm trying to read an article about Senator Scott Brown (R-Massachusetts) doing National Guard training in Afghanistan this summer, but it's taking for freaking ever to load out here on the back porch. I admit, the man fascinates me as a phenomenon.

Well, back to writing stories and waiting for the sun to come out from behind this big cloud. *shivers*

Later,
~Em~

P.S. Wanna dance? Let's dance. *dances*

Bread, BREAD!

2011-05-02T23:34:00.000-05:00

I've been baking banana bread since about five pm. There were about nine bananas that were well past their prime, so I decided to bake them up. Of course, there is only one bread dish, so it's taken a while to bake it all. I had enough banana for a quadruple batch, so that's what I made. There's still one whole batch to go in the oven. Sheeeeesh. But it's the best banana bread in world, it has pineapple and yumminess.

I made some tea and pretended to like it, in honor of Kara, and it was Earl Grey in honor of Captain Picard. I'm really not wild about it. SHOW ME THE COFFEE!

I ran around and played with the kids and did other stuff. That's basically all I did today. A good day all around.

Later,
~Em~

SURPRISE!

2011-05-01T03:36:00.000-05:00

I'm going to keep doing this every day for an indefinite amount of time. ~~Haha, thought you could rid of me, suckers.~~ Isn't that wonderful?

Confession: I wrote all of last week's posts in one night. I edited each one as I put it up, added the videos and links and post scripts, but the bodies of each post were written in a single night. Three thousand plus words. I did it mostly because the inspiration was there, but also partially to free up the rest of my week for other writing. I had a lot of free time last week, so I scheduled some much needed time for creative investment.

I have found that after a prolonged period of creative output (such as BEDA) I need to take a break and fill my brain with a million things, random things, pretty things, ugly things, familiar things, strange things, in order to rejuvenate my creative juices. Ideas come to me from throwing a bunch of stuff together in my mind until something binds itself to something else to make something new. So, I started filling that noggin of mine.

I basically had every track from Danger Days stuck in my head all week, because I was sifting through several videos a day to choose for each song, so I was hearing them constantly. Then an MCR fan I follow on Tumblr was all "OMG, UNHOLYVERSE!!" So I went and read it all in one night which was a stupid amount of reading, but totally worth it. Cannot stop thinking about it. The writing was better than a lot of books I have read. The authors ability to draw emotional responses from me absolutely fascinated me. In the middle of a character bleeding to death, the author could make a joke and I'd laugh my fool head off. I was also enamored with all the expletives. Someday I'll give my sailor mouth free range and it will be scandalizing and awesome. Anyways. All that to say my mind was very full of MCR all week.

I read some poetry. A while back I decided I wished to memorize a poem, so I went looking, and I found such a poem as I might want to know by heart. It was kind of subconscious, but I chose "I Saw in Louisiana a Live-Oak Growing" by Walt Whitman, and only this week remembered that John Green talked about Walt Whitman's poems a buuuuunch in Paper Towns, one of my favorite books. Well, it's a wonderful poem and I read it over and over to start memorizing it. I want to read a lot more Walt Whitman some time soon. Also, I read "Alone" by Edgar Allen Poe, which I have posted here before, several more times again because I kept thinking about it.

I was going to watch a lot of classic movies, but that plan fell through, so I turned to my preferred medium of television and watched almost all of the first season of Star Trek: The Original Series. My mother has voiced some concern that I am to Spock what most Austenites are to Mr. Darcy.

Pssssssh! Please. I have self... con... *stares*

Ugh. Fine. Whatever, Mom. I'm hot for brains and pointed ears. *exasperated sigh*

Nah, all kidding aside, I made a valiant effort to watch critically as a writer and not as an uber trekkie. I mean, I got a little annoyed about every other helmsman having mental health/emotional stability issues and I may have vented about it on Twitter, and I may have said something on Tumblr about how it annoys me that Spock keeps saying "Vulcanians" but other than that, yeah. In it for the writing. There weren't really any surprises for me about which episodes and which writers I love. Gene Roddenberry himself, of course, D. C. Fontana, a few others. Just some good storytelling.

I tried a few different writing things. If I was feeling something kind of emotional while doing something mundane, I'd stop and write about that mundane experience (in the third person because I'm that kind of weirdo) and try to infuse it with the undercurrent of feelings I was having. I journaled a bit.

I didn't write any Collector, which I was kind of hoping to get to, but I thought about it A LOT, and that's prewriting, so it's like I wrote on it. Kind of.

I did come up with two new things. One is a series of drabble (drabble is a short story with a length of exactly 100 words) and the other is something. I don't know what it will end up being. It's a story idea, sort of. I have a character and a culture, and some cool sociology ideas, but no idea about plot exactly. Nor any inkling of what medium to use. So I'm keeping that one up in my brain a while longer. BUT BUT BUT the drabble is coming along nicely, so I might post those soon.

Alright, I should go to bed.

Later,
~Em~

The Kids From Yesterday/Vampire Money

2011-04-30T12:16:00.001-05:00

There's a theme this week and an order. Find part one here, part two here, part three here, part four here, part five here, and part six here. This is the final post.

WHEN WE WERE YOUNG WE USED TO SAY
THAT YOU ONLY HEAR THE MUSIC WHEN YOU HEART BEGINS TO BREAK
NOW WE ARE THE KIDS FROM YESTERDAY
Gerard, the lead singer of My Chemical Romance, says that The Kids from Yesterday is about realizing he’d grown up, but that he’d done it on his terms. I’m nineteen now, and I would not dare to call myself grown up, but I also would not dare to call myself a child any longer. Baby Emily, toddler Emily, pre-pubescent Emily, adolescent Emily, they’re all gone. There’s only me now and what growing up I have left to do will be done on my terms. These terms.

I will surround myself only with the people who recognize me for who I am and not only accept me unconditionally, but encourage me.

I will allow full expression of myself, be that through painful honesty in my thoughts and words, or through a bright and risk-taking wardrobe. (And a growing addiction to shoes.)

I will break down all the imaginary rules I made for myself over the years to make me feel in control to compensate for those things I could never control.

I will never work a day in my life because I will do only what I love, and a labor of love is never work.

WHEN YOU WANNA BE A MOVIE STAR (C’MON)
PLAY THE GAME AND TAKE THE BAND REAL FAR (C’MON)
PLAY IT RIGHT AND DRIVE A VOLVO CAR (C’MON)
PICK A FIGHT AT AN AIRPORT BAR
Danger Days is a “high concept” album (but not a concept album, whatever that’s supposed to mean) which is basically about what would happen if there was a nuclear fallout in the year 2019 and the guys from My Chem formed a gang and lived in the desert, driving their Trans AM around and fighting the system. “Vampire Money” has nothing to do with that. It is about My Chemical Romance being asked again and again to make something for the Twilight movies, and when Gerard talks about this he says he has absolutely no regrets that this song is out of place on a record about the end of the world in 2019, and I don’t regret having it in my post and I’ll tell you why.

I am a writer and I don’t need a college to tell me that. Read this and tell me I’m not a writer. Even in my darkest hour I am comforted when I think of Twilight. If Stephanie Meyer can make it on that… well. In the words of Alex Day, “Stephanie Meyer, this is not how you book.” Also in the words of Alex Day, “She graduated…with a degree in English Literature!” I’m just saying, in this line of work, a piece of paper isn’t worth a damn if you haven’t written on it.

See? This tangent has almost nothing to do with the rest of this week, and yet I don’t regret it.

A huge thanks to My Chemical Romance, my second favorite band only to Queen, and I basically worship them. Like, literally, almost like a religion. So. I probably also owe a thank you to the youtube user kellychem because I basically used one of her videos every other post this week.

Thanks to everyone for being supportive throughout this week, this month of April, and throughout the last several months. I am incredibly blessed to be surrounded by so many wonderful people.

Later,
Emily Killjoy

P.S. Okay, Frank Iero, the rhythm guitarist of MCR gets the final word. This was his blog post on the day they released Danger Days, and it's what motivated me to write this series of posts this week.

“We are a generation told not to try too hard. The world is going to shit, so why break a sweat? We are reminded daily not to trust our gut or follow our hearts, your dreams are unattainable and unrealistic… fear is the eternal enemy. If they can keep you scared, they can keep you controlled. We too came face to face with this saboteur, and found the strength to break through and carry on. We are here as a reminder that the world is not better off without you… these are dangerous days we live in and you, the artists, are our last defense.”

Summertime/DESTROYA

2011-04-29T21:12:00.001-05:00

There's a theme this week and an order. Find part one here, part two here, part three here, part four here, and part five here.

HOME IS SOMETHING I CAN’T KNOW TILL NOW
TILL YOU PICK ME OFF THE GROUND
WITH BRICK IN HAND, YOUR LIP GLOSS SMILE
YOUR SCRAPED UP KNEES
When my best friend had her spring break, I came back to Bolivar, my former home in a former life, to stay with her. It had been months since we’d really been together for any amount of time, and we were both a bit scarred from the battles we’d been fighting separately in the time apart.

THEY DON’T LIKE WHO YOU ARE
YOU WON’T LIKE WHERE WE’LL GO
BROTHER PROTECT ME NOW
The weekend before spring break Sara and I went to Nebraska with Dad and his parents for my other great-grandfather’s birthday celebration. We were hesitant to go because nothing was resolved between us and Dad, but we love our Grandpa K, so we agreed.

AND IF YOU STAY I WOULD EVEN WAIT ALL NIGHT
OR UNTIL MY HEART EXPLODES
HOW LONG UNTIL WE
FIND OUR WAY IN THE DARK AND OUT OF HARM?
YOU CAN RUN AWAY WITH ME
ANY TIME YOU WANT
It didn’t go well. It started with a board game. Dad got mad and wouldn’t let some small detail of gameplay go. I argued the point with him and somewhere along the line it all took on this ugly undercurrent of our real arguments. Sara asked him to stop, to let it go, but he didn’t. She started crying. I could have hit myself. She ran out of the room and I followed her. To my greatest dismay, she was hyperventilating. I recognized her panic attack right away, because I’d had a few since the night of Poppy’s visitation, when I was afflicted with my first. Mine manifested in claustrophobia, and so did Sara’s that night.

YOU DON’T BELIEVE IN GOD
I DON’T BELIEVE IN LUCK
THEY DON’T BELIEVE IN US
BUT I BELIEVE WE’RE THE ENEMY
I took Sara outside to get some air even though it was night, it was freezing, the wind was howling, and there were staunch protests. We sat out there, leaned against a tree and talked. Hugging someone who is having a claustrophobic panic attack is the wrong course of action, so I kept my hands to myself until the worst of it had passed, but when she was ready, Sara got a big bear hug. We were called back inside, and when we got there, our bags were set out for us to go downstairs to go to bed. So we did. The next morning, everyone acted like nothing had happened.

TERRIFIED OF WHAT I’D BE
AS A KID FROM WHAT I’VE SEEN
EVERY SINGLE DAY WHEN PEOPLE TRY
TO PUT THE PIECES BACK TOGETHER
JUST TO SMASH THEM DOWN
I told this all to my friend when I arrived at her house the day after I was supposed to because I was too scared to ride in a car with my grandparents and my dad, and then just my dad for two and a half hours after dropping Sara off in KC. I couldn’t trust myself to not say things about what had happened out of anger, and I do try to be such a good little Thumper, so I stopped over the night in KC to gather strength. I needed to see my Mixed Family to remind myself that I was okay now. I was glad I did, because it allowed me to go to Bolivar and to have a good week.

TURN MY HEADPHONES UP REAL LOUD
I DON’T THINK I NEED THEM NOW
‘CAUSE YOU STOP THE NOISE
It wasn’t just a good week though, it was a great week. It was the happiest I’d been in six months. We embraced the journey and sought out adventure at every turn. When I think about everything our friendship had going against it… well, I marvel that I’m so blessed to have such a friend.

Only one more post for BEDA and for my Danger Days thing. Wow. I'm all verklempt.

Later,

~Em~

P.S. Have you heard about Glenn Beck's new dislike of Glee and My Chemical Romance? I don't even get why he doesn't like the message of SING, but whatever. Knowing that Glenn Beck hates MCR and Glee makes me love them that much more.

Save Yourself, I'll Hold Them Back/ S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W

2011-04-28T14:35:00.001-05:00

There's a theme this week and an order. Find part one here, part two here, part three here, and part four here.

LEAVE A DREAM WHERE THE FALLOUT LIES
WATCH IT GROW WHEN THE TEAR-STAINS DRY
I made my peace with the dream I thought I’d wanted, and I committed to the dream I’d always had. However, in the words of Dr. Frank N. Furter, “don’t dream it, be it.” Time to figure out how to be the new me.

I HOPE YOU’RE READY FOR A FIRE FIGHT
‘CAUSE THE DEVIL’S GOT YOUR NUMBER
It had gotten me this far, and it was the only way I saw out of the darkness, so I rededicated myself to writing. Like I said, you have to work harder than anyone else to even have a shot at what you want, so I that’s what I did. Fiction, non-fiction, letters, blog posts, sometimes even the length of a tweet, a mere 140 characters, was an artistic endeavor filled with frustrations. The medium doesn’t really matter as long as I keep doing it.

HOLD YOUR BREATH WHEN A BLACKBIRD FLIES
COUNT TO SEVENTEEN AND CLOSE YOUR EYES
I’LL KEEP YOU SAFE TONIGHT
It happened here. I decided to write up a short story for BEDA, posting a part of it every day until it was finished. First draft. Do or die. It was a new way to push myself. It seemed impossible, and in the middle of it I broke down. I started listening to the voices of doubt which lurk in my mind and my heart couldn’t handle the stress. My brain took over and freaked the eff out, calling into question every decision I’d made since the start of the end. It is hard to meet a deadline when questioning the very state of one’s own soul.

I’LL TELL YOU ALL HOW THE STORY ENDS
WHERE THE GOOD GUYS DIE AND THE BAD GUYS WIN (WHO CARES?)
After a good talk with my mom, cutting off my hair, and a hell of a lot of tears, I made my brain shut up. I let my heart take over again. I had known what to do all along to tell the story the way I wanted, but I was scared by it, so I tricked myself into thinking I didn’t. Art imitates life, I tell you.

FOR ALL OF US WHO’VE SEEN THE LIGHT
SALUTE THE DEAD AND LEAD THE FIGHT (HAIL! HAIL!)
WHO GIVES A DAMN IF WE LOSE THE WAR?
LET THE WALLS COME DOWN, LET THE ENGINES ROAR
But art is the weapon, so I fought and sure enough I finished that story. I finished it the way I wanted, and I am damned proud of it and all its imperfections. I’d proven to myself far more than my ability to meet a deadline.

~Emily~

P.S. It won't be everybody's cup of tea, but I just pulled an honest-to-God allnighter reading this thing called The Unholyverse. I mean, I've stayed up because I had to know how something ends before, but never like this. I really hope this person is published somewhere with real stuff, because she (?) is a genius. The way she used dialogue and point of view, and imagery and thematics, and the effing character development *eyes bug out*. Anyways, it's The Unholyverse and it's an AU bandfic and I CANNOT STOP THINKING ABOUT IT. I'd feel way guiltier if it wasn't better than a lot of actual books I've read. So. If you're interested.

Party Poison

2011-04-27T20:15:00.000-05:00

There's a theme this week and an order. Find part one here, part two here, and part three here.

EVERYBODY PAY ATTENTION TO ME
I’VE GOT THE ANSWER
I’VE GOT THE ANSWER
Would you destroy something perfect in order to make it beautiful? Yeah, I would destroy something perfect to make it beautiful. My world was destroyed, but it was more beautiful when I stopped trying to make it fit back together the way it was and let it be what it was meant to be. I was shown the way, against my will, and it wasn’t done with that intent, but I knew it could be done. All I had to figure out was what had gone wrong and how to make it right. Yeah, that’s all.

IF WE WERE ALL LIKE YOU IN THE END
WELL, WE’D BE KILLING OURSELVES BY SLEEPING IN
SO HIT THE LIGHTS, I’LL DO IT AGAIN
SO KEEP YOUR CARS AND YOUR DOGS AND YOUR FAMOUS FRIENDS
I want to be a writer. I’ve known I wanted to be a writer since I was eight and found out that books were written by people. I’ve been working hard ever since to be a good writer. I don’t want what everyone else wants. I don’t need the house, and the car, and the amusing acquaintances. I want only the truest of friends, an overactive imagination, and an opportunity to be heard. If a single person reads something I wrote and see themselves in it, then my dream to be a writer is fulfilled.

AIN’T A DJ GONNA SAVE MY SOUL
I SOLD IT LONG AGO FOR ROCK ‘N’ ROLL
DROP THE NEEDLE WHEN THE TAPE DECK BLOWS
I GOTTA SHOUT THIS OUT SO EVERYBODY KNOWS
I didn’t think I’d lost sight of my dream, but somehow along the way I was pulled off course. Like someone put up a sign saying “Become a writer—This way!” and I went down that path thinking “Hey, that’s what I’m looking for,” and then I got to the end and it was a person saying there is no wrong way to be a writer while a list of the wrong ways to be a writer was passed out to a throng of confused kids who weren’t sure they even wanted to be there in the first place. The problem is that writing, the heart of it… what’s actually beautiful about writing, isn’t something you learn from studying grammar and learning to create works citation pages. Deep down, I knew all along how to become a writer, but it’s a leap of faith, so I hedged and ended up in the wrong place.

Later,

~Em~

P.S. I didn't use it for the embedded video because there was a good deal of cussing before the song started, and I didn't want to offend my fairer readers, but OMG THIS IS SO AMAZING LIVE!! This is one of my favorite songs of all time. Hooooly moly.

Planetary (GO!)/The Only Hope For Me Is You

2011-04-26T15:38:00.001-05:00

There's a theme this week and an order. Find part one here and part two here.

YOU’RE UNBELIEVABLE
AH—SO UNBELIEVABLE
AH—YOU RUIN EVERYTHING
OH, YOU BETTER GO HOME
A few months later and people started asking, "When are you going to go back to college?" I wanted to say never, but I wasn’t strong enough. “Next Fall,” I’d say. I know they mean well, they want me to be happy, but a diploma isn’t my pill for happiness. It never was going to be, and it never will be.

AND IF WE CAN FIND WHERE WE BELONG
WE’LL HAVE TO MAKE IT OUT ON OUR OWN
FACE ALL THE PAIN AND TAKE IT ON
BECAUSE THE ONLY HOPE FOR ME IS YOU
ALONE
When my first semester of college ended, we girls moved to Kansas City to live with my uncle and his family. We became the Mixed Family, as Poppy called it. (He had dementia at the time; he said the darnedest things.) It was amazing what a little space did for our spirits. Still, we all had an upward battle to fight, and each of us has to fight it in our own way, but we had each other, and we had the Mixed Family, stronger than ever. Things were really great. I could put all the shit away for a little while and breathe. When I was ready to lose it, I knew I’d have a safe place to do it. Still.

I SAY IT’S OKAY
I KNOW YOU CAN TELL
AND THOUGH I SMILE
I STILL
THINK OF THE GUNS THEY SELL
Bad times came, and my heart was broken anew every time the old pain invaded the new life I was trying to make. The words other people said filled my ears and drowned out what my heart was trying to say. I felt unloved, unwanted… unlovable, trash. I couldn’t believe in myself, let alone love myself.

I’M UNBELIEVABLE
YEAH—I’M UNDEFEATABLE
YEAH—LET’S RUIN EVERYTHING
BLAST IT TO THE BACK ROW!
There came a point where I stood up for myself and finally got to hear some things I needed to hear. It shut up some of the voices long enough that I could hear myself again and I was screaming, “BE YOU!” To become what I want to be, I’d have to destroy who I was. In the trailer for the music video of SING, it asks if you would destroy something perfect in order to make it beautiful. That was the question I had to ask myself. Would I destroy my perfectionist persona to allow my beauty to flourish?

Later,
~Em~

Bulletproof Heart/SING

2011-04-25T21:13:00.001-05:00

There's a theme this week and an order. Find part one here.

SING ABOUT EVERYONE THAT YOU LEFT BEHIND
SING IT FOR THE WORLD, SING IT FOR THE WORLD
Things way outside my control destroyed my carefully constructed world. My great-grandfather, Poppy, the best man I have ever known, died. His death was peaceful, and we had an amazing summer as a family caring for him in his final days, but it was so hard to lose him. I felt this fear that the family we’d built up over that summer, my family and my Mom’s brother and his family, wouldn’t survive without Poppy. I was right and wrong. A couple weeks after the funeral my dad told my mom he was in love with another woman.

THE PAPERS SAY, JOHNNY WON’T YOU COME BACK HOME?
‘CAUSE EVERYBODY KNOWS YOU DON’T WANNA GIVE YOURSELF UP
TELL THE TRUTH AND GOD WILL SAVE YOU
Sara, Mom, and I moved back to Stockton, where we’d lived with Poppy while he was dying. I tried to talk to my dad, to understand him and to make him understand me, but it didn’t work. Our relationship fell apart. Everything I thought I could count on was changing. All the assumptions I’d made about life were null and void.

YOU’VE GOT TO SEE WHAT TOMORROW BRINGS
I opened my eyes for the first time in eighteen years and I saw everything. I saw I wasn't going where I wanted to go. The future I thought I wanted wasn't mine: a good education to get a good job, so that I could do what I actually wanted to do—write—in my free time. I didn’t want that, but it was exactly what I was working towards.

GIRL, YOU’VE GOT TO BE WHAT TOMORROW NEEDS
I decided to take the next semester off. I told people and they nodded sympathetically because I'd lost a lot, more than they knew really, and it was only natural that I'd want to get my feet back under me before going back to school. I was still too scared to acknowledge what I knew to be true, but I was unconsciously pointing myself the way I was meant to go.

HOW CAN THEY SAY, JENNY COULD YOU COME BACK HOME?
‘CAUSE EVERYBODY KNOWS YOU DON’T
EVER WANNA COME BACK, LET ME BE THE ONE TO SAVE YOU
Slowly, I started to examine why I was going down this new path, and I heard a new voice of influence. It was quiet, but the longer a listened, the louder it got. It was me.

Later,
~Em~

P.S. Look up #SINGItForJapan while you're at it. It's the MCRmy at its finest.

Look Alive, Sunshine/Na Na Na (Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na)

2011-04-24T16:27:00.001-05:00

My biggest inspiration the last few months has been the band My Chemical Romance, and most specifically their newest album, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys. I listen to it all the time, I read every interview that comes out, I look up fan art from the MCRmy, and think a lot about what is being said through their music. Their songs have given words to my feelings and expression to my soul.

This week, I want to get it all out here. All my thoughts, all the lessons I'm learning, and what Danger Days means to me. I've had one hell of a trip these last few months, and I'm finally ready to accept it. So here goes.

THE FUTURE IS BULLETPROOF

I was so scared my senior year of high school about every little decision I was making. Every single one felt future-shaping and permanent, like if I made one miscalculation it would throw my life irreparably off course.

THE AFTERMATH IS SECONDARY
Deep down, I knew what to do to be me, but that was terrifying. No one else was doing it, so I ignored that feeling and did what was expected of me.

IT'S TIME TO DO IT NOW AND DO IT LOUD
I took the ACT, got accepted into college, and picked out a major resembling my passion. Some people were skeptical, others were surprised by my determination, and others agreed and supported me.

KILLJOYS, MAKE SOME NOISE!
I decided I wanted a Creative Writing major. I know that to get what you want you have to work hard, harder than anyone else, to even have a shot. So I settled into college life and went to work.

Later,
Emily

Everyone Was Wearing Fingerless Gloves

2011-04-23T23:06:00.001-05:00

Tomorrow is the start of the last week of BEDA 2011. I feel like it needs a theme, but I have no clue what that theme would be. Waaaait. Never mind, I just had an idea. You shall see.

Let's see, today... erm... *looks up dancing bear videos* No! I will write something. *grumbles*

Today I basically have planned a week of things to do with myself. The list is a real grab bag off odd things, and every other item on the list is WRITING. So yes. I plan on mostly working on Collector, but maybe some other things too. I have a time travel short story which I would love to get to some time soon.

I watched three episodes of Star Trek: TOS today. I plan on watching the whole series this week. I have fingerless gloves to crochet, and as a Millennial I must multi-task. I finished up my glove this evening, I'll post pictures soon. I have Sara's and Ellie's to make still. I resized the pattern for Ellie, but then I lost the hook size I was using, and the glove was coming out a bit small anyways, so I think I'll rip out what I have started and use a different size hook. (Fascinating blah blah blah is fascinating. *eyeroll*)

Till tomorrow,

~Em~

P.S.

Oh, Brother

2011-04-22T22:58:00.000-05:00

I have had a very fun day. It started early... very early, I woke up at 5:45, but we'll skip ahead to 7:03 when I walked up the steps to Kara's house and knocked on the door. Her older brother answered, and I'd clearly woke him up. He stood in the doorway, blinking blearily and I stood on the porch with a rainbow umbrella and shorts on a cold, rainy morning. I asked to come in and after a moment and a "Uh, yeah." he shuffled a few steps back to allow me entrance. I wasn't sure what to do then, so I fumbled with the doors, until Kara's little brother asked where I got the umbrella. Her older brother was standing between us, but he moved out of the way as I answered, and it turns out her little brother thought I was Kara. I laughed politely and shook my head, and then Kara's older brother said "Well, you can go upstairs and wake Kara up." I knew Kara was awake, I'd been texting her all morning already, but I had nothing better to do, so upstairs I went. Kara met me before I reached the third step, which was fortunate. I wasn't ready to brave more brothers upstairs.

We set out for Springfield, had a lovely morning at the Coffee Ethic, and then after much taunting texting, we arranged to steal Regan for lunch. Yay! We had a lovely time with her, and as when we took her home, we ended up behind her brother, Garrett. After so many hijinx concerning meeting Garrett, we said hello from the safety of the space of not one but two cars between us. Regan seemed a little disappointed, poor thing. I love that girl.

Kara and I then ran around and around and around Bolivar. (Including a lovely romp and the park with Madalyn to eat ice cream, which did not go well for Kara.) I swear, not a single idea quite went according to plan, but we had a lovely time wherever we went. Well, not Wal-Mart, but no one ever has a good time in Wal-Mart. I was regaled with some of secret codename: Jack's new jokes. Kara had already told me his latest, so I'm afraid I knew the answer to the question "How did they fit a hundred elephants into a clown car?" They were toys. Yep. Thanks, Jack.

I convinced Kara to come home with me and watch Lost in Austen while she does homework. Which she is. Which we are. SO FUNNY! :D It's been a while since we watched it, and I'm already swept up.

Tired....

Later,

~Em~

Stuff Happened

2011-04-21T23:22:00.000-05:00

Today was good and my prospects are good too. I get to sleep in a bed, I watched my FAVORITE MOVIE OF ALL TIME (RHPS), I finished the first half of my last fingerless glove, and my Queen radio station on Pandora is killin' tonight. Then I walked across the room to get scissors to snip the yarn on my fingerless gloves, and I ACCIDENTALLY PULLED OUT A ROW AND A HALF. *headdesk*

In other news, I am in love with Freddie Mercury. This is not news, but I'm listening to "Somebody to Love" from their Live at the Bowl performance and I'm about to die. It's the best version of the song of all time and forever. Amazing. Look it up. Now.

Earlier today I was watching Dr. Who with secret codename: Calvin, and then I had to leave mid-episode. I came back an hour later and there was craziness going on, so I asked Calvin what had happened and he replied, "Stuff." Yep, guessed that. Oh, that boy. In his defense, he was very enthralled at the time and didn't even spare me a glance.

I am getting up freaking ass early tomorrow morning, so I'd best go.

Later!
~Em~

ADOS... Attention Defic--Oooo, SHINY!

2011-04-20T23:24:00.001-05:00

I am excited about a few things and I'm all "OMG I love this!" so I think I'll share. Ain't that sweeeeet?

1. Wheezy Waiter's last video. Because he's right. *nods*

2. Cosmo Jarvis. I stumbled across his music, and I didn't think it was anything special at first look, but now I can't stop listening. He reminds me a little bit of Mumford and Sons.

3. OMGOMGOMGOMG!!! TULA PINK'S NEW LINE HAS FROGGIES!!! What? Yes. LOOK. It's called Prince Charming. Awwwwwwww. :D

Isn't he adorable?

4. Remember how I got my first pedicure a while back and I got green polish and loved it? Well, then I couldn't find the color. And now I have! 'Jade is the New Black' from the Hong Kong collection by OPI. I will have to get some soon, because it is awesome.

5. On a whim, I decided to watch whatever TCM was showing today, and to my great delight it was an Errol Flynn film. I admit, I'm a big fan. It was Footsteps in the Dark (1941), co-starring Brenda Marshall. Flynn plays a rich gent who leads a secret double life as a mystery author who follows the police around solving murders. It was like Sherlock Holmes and Richard Castle rolled into one with Errol Flynn's good looks. I mean, there's plenty of the cheesiness most all old movies have, but it's so nostalgic and adorable, that I cannot help but love it. Did I mention Errol Flynn is fiiiiiiine? Even with the pencil-thin moustache. And I'm not going to ruin the whodunnit, but I laughed and screamed once I realized who was the murder. I felt vindicated.

P.S. Have you ever watched a clip from What's My Line? *giggles*

6. I started reading 13 Little Blue Envelopes by Maureen Johnson a month or so back (and got distracted. Sue me.) in anticipation of her releasing the sequel, The Last Little Blue Envelope this month (sixish days!). Wouldn't you know the lady would go and make it free after I did that? Oh well, I love supporting Maureen. Sooooo... why not go download 13LBE and give it a read? It's a great book. I wish I had a crazy aunt to send me on a wild adventure like that. Just once. Just a little bit. Interesting personal fact: I was reading 13LBE when the coffee odyssey happened, and the whole time I kept thinking about the book and it was just wonderful.

7. I am subscribed to Kirkus Reviews' email publication, and in the last one was a review for a fantasy book based in Eastern culture called Eona by Allison Goodman. It is a sequel to Eon: Dragoneye Reborn and now I'm really curious about it. It isn't available for Kindle *pouts* so I'll have to keep it in mind for later.

8. Firstly, know what's going on with MCR's album Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys and then also know what the Power Puff Girls are, and then FEAST YOUR EYES.

Whoever did this is made of pure, unadulterated, awesome. Holy moly.
I love the MCRmy.

That's it. That's all I can think of tonight. Go away now. BYE.

~Em~

The Fall of My Expectations

2011-04-19T22:47:00.000-05:00

[Note: I'm not going to spoil anything, but I am going to rant. Read at your own risk.]

I'm watching "The Fall of Sam Axe" right now, the prequel to Burn Notice, one of my favorite shows. On the one hand, I like the acting (mostly), and the filming, and of course the effects are good. On the other hand, I wanna slap some writers. I know I always want to slap writers, but THEY'RE THE ONES KEEPING ME FROM LOVING THIS. *giant squid of anger flailing*

Bruce Campbell is rocking as Sam Axe, of course, but the food aid character lady is driving me batty. She couldn't be more two dimensional if she tried. Stoooopid writing. The black doctor too, except for the part where he has a natural aptitude for building bombs (HANDY) and got shot (pointless). The little kid chick is a nice touch, but it's so MacGyvery. OH MAH GOSH.

God. We just found out where the Chuck Finley alias came from. I must be lactose intolerant. Because this is so cheesy I wanna hurl. Michael's (Jeffery Donovan) little cameo at the beginning of the show, and a reference to Fiona was bad enough. GARNAPFNAPDCOINAPFNSIOEIYSRFBAMLOB!!!

Oh, thank goodness, this is almost over. I'm so sad. Burn Notice is so awesome... what happened??? GARG. Oooooo... plot twist... hold on. *holds back some judgement for a second*

Gray mail? WTF.

I'm... I don't know. Sad? Angry? I don't know. Just. Don't watch it. For the love of God. Burn Notice is such a great show and this was crap. There was some good stuff, but not enough to make up for the bad.

Disgustedly yours,
~Em~

Alone

2011-04-18T22:31:00.000-05:00

From childhood's hour I have not been

As others were; I have not seen

As others saw; I could not bring

My passions from a common spring.

From the same source I have not taken

My sorrow; I could not awaken

My heart to joy at the same tone;

And all I loved, I loved alone.

Then -- in my childhood, in the dawn

Of a most stormy life -- was drawn

From every depth of good and ill

The mystery which binds me still:

From the torrent or the fountain,

From the red cliff or the mountain,

From the sun that round me rolled

In its autumn tint of gold,

From the lightning in the sky

As it passed me flying by,

From the thunder and the storm,

And the cloud that took the form

(when the rest of Heaven was blue)

Of a demon in my view.

Edgar Allan Poe

(1809-1849)

Why Thinking Baths Exist

2011-04-17T23:47:00.000-05:00

There are many nuggets of conventional wisdom writers hear over and over and over. "Show, don't tell." "Speak as plainly as possibly." "Adjectives are of the devil." I hear these time and again. They are things that are understood about writing and repeated like a mantra for everyone who so much as touches a pen. Of course, every one of these has proponents for the opposite schools of thought. And while it's validating to be told it's all right to look for a more descriptive word in the thesaurus, it's hardly earth-shattering. However, my mind was recently blown by a contradiction of this nature.

Many the time I have heard an actor or writer say that playing or writing bad guys are the most fun because they can say what everyone else is thinking. They are outside of social norms, therefor they are not constricted by them. It's true too, bad guys can tell the painful truths without bad consequences because they're out to hurt people anyways. However, while reading Isherwood On Writing my mind was blown. While Isherwood did not contradict this assertion, (indeed, he did not mention antagonists in that way at all) he posited that saints are the ones who are not restricted by social norms. He defined a saint as a person who has had an experience which led to enlightenment. He also defined enlightenment as a recognition of more than a single being in all people and things, a recognition of God. He goes on to say that most people are trams, but saints are buses, and it all just kind of blows my mind. I've reread and reread the chapter he discussed this all in. I keep studying it, trying to grasp everything he is saying, because I identify with it, and I see my own writing in it, but I still can't figure out how to apply it. I want my MC to be the saint, to be on the journey, but I'm figuring out how to get there right along with her. Makes for a lot of thinking baths.

I should reread A Single Man while I'm at it. Isherwood is just soooo amazing. I'm in brain love.

Later,

Emily

Plan B: The Dancing Bear

2011-04-16T23:49:00.000-05:00

Today was toooooo full! I was on the road a lot.

Ugh. Exhausted.

Hey look, A DANCING BEAR!!!

Later,
~Em~

I Survived!

2011-04-15T17:50:00.000-05:00

(Random trivia... this is Maureen Johnson's deadline song. She is wise.)

Oh, hey. You caught me celebrating. What? LIFE! Really? Finishing The Peacekeeper. A huge thank you to everyone who helped and encouraged me over the last five days. I appreciated it all so much. I’m very blessed to have supportive, understanding people around me.

I came up with the idea for The Peacekeepers quite a while back, a few years, I think, but never taken the time to do anything with it. Like several ideas I have, I let it sit in the back of my mind and mature while I worked on more pressing stories. While going through old story files on my computer, I found a tidbit I’d written on it one day when I was blocked with my other stories. That’s when I had a crazy idea. I decided to post what I’d written so far for BEDA, and post more of the story every day until it was finished. I knew a week would be plenty long for a short story, so I gave myself that little deadline, but planned on just following the story until it reached its end. Well, then I had to decide where to make breaks. I found a good spot in what I’d written so far, and it was about 700 words, so I made that my rule of thumb for length. Day two went pretty well, I went in with about fifty words leftover from the day before. Day three was a crisis. I’d had one thing in mind, and it completely didn’t work on the page. Total freak out. So I decided to take a day. Came back the fourth day and wrote the third part after a looooong thinking bath. Day five and I knew the story was reaching its denouement and I was already freaked. That’s when Mom said she hadn’t liked the third part. MUCH GNASHING OF TEETH.

Seriously, it was bad. I get a touch insecure when I am deep into writing a story, but I normally spread it out enough that I keep it under control. Not yesterday. I packed about two weeks worth of doubt and terror into 24 hours. I even kind of pulled a Britney. After nearly literally ripping my hair out of my head, Mom took me for lunch and a haircut. Got it all chopped off. It’s my shortest hair cut yet. (I’m totally in love with it too, so that’s good.) Mom also helped me talk through what the ending was going to be. I think I knew deep down, but I needed to talk to someone to get it out. Plus, after sending me into a spiral of crazy, Mom kind of owed me. ;)

By the time we were done with our running around, I was feeling pretty good about what I was going to write. I didn’t feel better necessarily, but I had a plan. Then I was freaked because I didn’t get around to writing until six. Stick to the plan, I told myself. Get done what I could and worry about the rest later if I needed.

11:55 I finished. All done finished. My word count was on par with all the other parts, I’d wrapped it up just like I wanted, and everything felt pretty right. Not perfect, but right. My fingers flew as I copied and pasted, messed up my blogger password THREE TIMES trying to log in, added links to the first three parts, and finally hit “Publish.” I glanced at the clock and breathed a sigh of relief. 11:58. Skin of my teeth territory, but on time. I didn’t think I could do it, but I’d done it. I sat there in shock for a moment and then I was pretty much caught up in a wave of euphoria. I’ve been riding that wave ever since.

I don’t think I’ll be signing up for that kind of writing again anytime soon, but I’m glad I did it, and I’m so proud of myself. It was such a challenge, because when I wrote myself into a corner, I couldn’t go back and change something to get myself out of the corner. It took all the omnipotence out of the writing process, which was SCARY! I started with an idea of where I was going to end up, but not quite sure what would happen in the middle, which made for trouble, but I worked through it and I JUST CAN’T BELIEVE I DID IT.

I really hope you enjoyed The Peacekeeper. And again, a million thanks to everyone for their patience with me. I’m going to work very hard to not be an emotional rollercoaster again anytime soon. I don’t have enough hair left now to cut off any more without getting a buzz cut. And nobody wants that.

If you missed The Peacekeeper and don’t know what the heck I’ve been prattling on about, you can read it straight through with parts one, two, three, and four. I’m dedicating it to Mom for being her awesome self and to Jeffrey, the kind fellow who cut off my hair. My smile got bigger and bigger the more he cut off, and I wasn’t in much of a mood to smile. OH! And the lady who was dancing her way across the JC Penneys parking lot yesterday. I’m right there dancing with you today, lady.

Later,
Emily

The Peacekeeper --Part Four

2011-04-14T23:58:00.000-05:00

Click for parts one and two and three if you missed them. And now, the conclusion.

“You’re dying?”

“Yes.”

David dug the heel of his hands into his eyes. “Do you know how much paperwork that will be for me?”

“I’m sorry my death isn’t more convenient for you, David.”

“It’s not that… it’s just… you look fine. A little tired, but fine.”

“I’m over seven hundred years old.”

“You look fine.”

Addie sighed.

“Look, I don’t know why I’ve humored you this long, but I’m done. I caught you, I’m taking you in.”

“You caught me? Granted, I’m not in much of a position to escape now. Fine. Take me in, David. But I must ask, why?”

“You’re an alien.”

“And?”

“And it’s my job to keep aliens away from the general public.”

“Why?”

“Not all aliens are as harmless as you, Addie.”

“I set you out of phase with time and I’m harmless? Come on.”

David rolled his eyes. “Mostly harmless.”

“It’s a good thing I’m dying, because you’re killing me here.”

“Would you shut up? You’re not dying. I’m going to slap some cuffs on you, I’ll turn you over to my handlers, and you’ll be out of my hair. Finally.”

“What made you take this job, David? Did you always want to hunt aliens?”

“Stop changing the subject. I’m taking you in,” said David.

“You’re the one who hasn’t moved.”

David glared at the woman lying on the couch. She met him with a steady gaze and he melted under her scrutiny.

“You don’t question motives,” said Addie. “The government says aliens must be captured, so you capture aliens. The politician says war is necessary, so you go to war. The media says everything is fine, so you believe them.

“My species coevolved with another sentient species, called the Tannen, a peaceful people. A time of famine hit and the politicians said the Tannen were a drain on planet resources. One day, they were all rounded up and taken away. We killed every one. Complete genocide. I was there, David. I knew it meant more food for me, and my hands weren’t getting dirty, so I didn’t ask what would happen to them, but I knew. We all knew. The guilt nearly drove us mad.

“I know you have lost much, David, but you must not stop questioning. When you stop questioning, you stop caring. It’s easier to not care, but life is wasted if you don’t care about it. Every person has a unique ability to question and reason. Every missed opportunity is lost forever. Don’t waste life, David.”

When her words stopped, David broke his stare, like a spell being broken. He gripped the arm of the chair, watching the fabric fold under the pressure. When he looked back up, Addie’s eyes were closed and her head rested against the side of the couch.

“Addie?” He stood up and went to her side, but she did not stir. He shook her, saying her name again, and then felt for a pulse, but he already knew. She was gone.

David jumped at the sound of a knock at the door. He glanced at his watch, surprised to realize he had been in the apartment for three hours. The lock clicked and a young man walked into the apartment.

“Agent Green?” he asked.

David stood up. “Who are you?”

“Zander Nyx,” the man said as he spotted the body. “I felt her passing, but I could not believe she would choose to be alone.”

“She wasn’t alone,” said David. “I was here.”

Zander nodded. “I am grateful to you, Agent Green. May I take my grandmother’s body now?”

David sighed. “I really shouldn’t let you.”

“I understand, but as the first Peacekeeper, her place is among my people.”

“The first Peacekeeper?”

“She led the way.”

“Yeah.” David glanced over his shoulder at her still features. It almost looked like she was sleeping. “All right. Take her. I guess I owe her that.”

“Thank you,” said Zander. He walked to the body and took her hand in his. With a flash, they were gone.

David sat down at the bar counter with a heavy sigh. He had survived the longest debriefing of his career only to walk into the longest chewing out of his life. He was ready for a drink. The bartender set a beer down and walked off, complaining about the entertainment channels all showing the president and some blonde chick talking. David swung around to look at the row of display screens behind him, all set to the same broadcast. Addie was shaking hands with the president, saying, “You’ve been given a second chance. Don’t waste it.”

The Peacekeeper --Part Three

2011-04-13T15:31:00.001-05:00

Click for parts one and two if you haven't read them yet. Enjoy.

The noise hit David like a wave. People, cars, big air conditioning units on top of buildings, everything which was normally in the background of David’s notice roared back to life all at once. He pitched forward, a tourist who had been frozen a half second before reached out and grabbed him as he stumbled.

“You all right?” the stranger asked.

“It’s so loud,” said David.

“What is?”

“Uh, nothing. Never mind.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Never better. Thanks.” David looked up at the marble statue of the sixteenth president. The tourist took a few steps away and David started to look around. If time was moving normally again, Addie had to be somewhere. He could not tell how long it was exactly since she left him in the park unstuck in time, but it had to be getting close to twenty minutes. A commotion at the foot of the Reflection Pool caught his attention, so he went to investigate.

Flashing his badge, David dispersed the small crowd of six or so gawkers. Addie was lying on the ground. He knelt down to feel for a pulse, but her eyes fluttered open as soon as he touched her.

“Addie?”

“Sorry,” she muttered, “I’ve been fighting it for three worlds, but it’s getting stronger.”

“What?”

With a little help, Addie sat up. She fussed with her wristwatch, until the clasp came undone.

“Throw it in the pool,” she instructed, handing it to David.

“I don’t think—”

“Do it, David. Please.”

He tossed the watch in.

“Your earpiece, too.”

“Addie.”

“It’s imperative.”

“This is against my better judgment,” he said as he removed the tiny phone.

“I know.”

“So what have you been fighting?”

“Help me up?” she asked, changing the subject. He helped her stand, but she weaved a little as she stood, so David put an arm around her waist to steady her. “Come on, let’s go. I don’t want to do this here.”

She led them away to a car. She got in the driver’s side, but it was already programmed with a destination, so he did not protest about her driving.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere private.”

“Damnit, Addie! I’ve done everything you asked. I don’t know why, but I have. Could you give me one straight answer in return? What was all that back there?” David asked.

“I promise to explain it all, but I need a minute. I feel very weak.”

The car took them to an apartment building. Following Addie’s instruction, David found a key in the glovebox with a tag for 307b. Addie faded fast; in the space of crossing the street to the building and taking the elevator to the third floor David went from taking her arm in his to help her keep balance to supporting all her weight. He leaned her against the wall as he inserted the key in the lock to 307b.

“Just to the couch,” she said as he threw her arm around his shoulder. He helped her down, and she was asleep before her head hit the cushion.

David did a quick run through of the apartment, but it was empty except for the furbished furniture: the couch, a chair, a coffee table, a desk, a bed, and a bedside table. The bed was bare; the drawers in the desk were empty; the coffee table devoid of coasters, magazines, or whatever else people normally put on coffee tables. He checked the small refrigerator, but it was empty too. Returning to the living room, David took the chair beside the couch.

“I’m not staying long,” said Addie as he sat down.

“Then why get an apartment at all?”

“I wanted some privacy,” she said, sitting up a little. “I don’t have much time left, David. We’d better get on with your questions.”

“Where did you go when you left me at the park?”

“To speak with the president, and the other world leaders.”

“And?”

“And I did.”

“What did you say?”

“What needed to be said. You’ll see soon enough for yourself and I don’t have time to go over it all now.”

David started to insist on a complete answer, but Addie looked exhausted. “Did they listen?”

“I hope so, David. I hope so.”

“You said you’d been fighting something for three planets. What did you mean?”

“I’ve been fighting the end. My end.”

Want Some Cheese With That Whine?

2011-04-12T23:38:00.001-05:00

I'm not going to lie, Internet, today kicked my ass, and then I fell on it. Twice.

Sara and I dragged some brush around the backyard (made fun by listening to Vampire Weekend the whole time), and then she did math while I got dolled up. We had a photo shoot and I rollerbladed around the park a little, which hurt my right knee. I'm an old person. Muscles and shtuff.

I "wrote" after we got home. Not much progress, thus why you're getting this instead of part 3 tonight. Sorry about that. More than not reaching the word count I wanted, the tone was just off today. Basically, the next part is the most important part of the story and I was not in the necessary frame of mind today. Blerg. Sorry. I really think it will be worth it, so bear with me pretty please. *angelic smile*

After dinner, Sara and I took secret codename: Ellie to the park to work on her rollerblading. It went really well, but as we were leaving, Ellie cut in front of my while we went down a hill, so we got tangled up and went doooown. I caught myself on my hands. That was stupid. Aaaaand then I fell again getting up, tangled up once again on Ellie. Again, I caught myself on my hands. My wrists are screaming... and elbows... and shoulders. I won't be practicing cello for a few days, that's for sure.

Still, all in all, I had an amazing day. Great times with Sara and Ellie. My body just can't handle all the awesome. Or falling. *takes more Advil*

So yeah. Back tomorrow with part three of The Peacekeeper. I really hope you've enjoyed parts one and two.

Later,
~Em~

The Peacekeeper --Part 2

2011-04-11T22:40:00.002-05:00

If you missed part one, clicky-clicky. That done, on with the show.

David chased after the strange alien as she strode out of the coffee shop. “I have some questions I have to ask you.”

“I didn’t realize you were asking unnecessary questions earlier.”

“I need answers to the questions, Addie.”

“I have some of those.” She started to step out into the street, but David pulled her back as he glanced both ways. “Please stop worrying long enough to expand your mind. There’s no traffic to hit us. Come on, let’s hear those questions.”

“Right,” he said. “What the hell are you?”

“A Peacekeeper.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means what it sounds like. My race forsook its name long ago to accept the title.”

“How did you get here?”

“The same way most visitors get to your world, by ship.”

“Where is your ship now?”

“Idling around Saturn’s rings, out of your reach.”

“You aren’t working alone.”

“Saving humanity is not a job for a single Peacekeeper.”

“Saving humanity? Thanks, but we’ll manage.”

“Will you?”

David started to reply, but the words caught in his throat. He stared at the concrete passing beneath his feet. The mushroom cloud, the overcrowded hospital wards, and his city on fire were all awful sights, but it was what he could not see, what he’d never see again, that he wished to forget. Addie stopped and stepped in front of him.

“David?”

He looked up, surprised to find himself standing in the middle of the park beside the fountain. A thousand water droplets hung in the air. Addie maneuvered them down onto the edge of the fountain.

“You had someone in California.” He nodded even though she had not asked a question. “Who?”

“Everyone. I was chasing down a Green-Blood in Minnesota when the attack happened. Friends, family, they were all vaporized. Almost everyone lived in the L.A. area. I had a cousin from Napa who ended up in the hospital with terminal radiation burns, but I didn’t hear about it until after he had died.”

“You don’t have nightmares about everyone who died. Who did you lose?”

“My son.”

“I’m sorry, David. So very sorry.”

“Why now, Addie? If you can save mankind—which I seriously doubt—why now? Why not a year ago?”

“The Peacekeepers have long agonized over when to step in where Humans are concerned. Your species has a propensity for killing itself. We didn’t come a year ago because you were on track to saving yourselves, at least for a while. Even after it happened, we were hopeful that the hateful act of a few terrorists would bring you together as a people.”

“But we disappointed you. War broke out and now we’re on the brink of destruction.”

Addie took David’s hands and he felt drawn to look into her eyes. He tried to see beneath the surface, a surface that looks so human, to the alien underneath, but all he saw was concern and deep pain.

“It isn’t a matter of disappointment. All we want is to save you.”

“And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

“I need to get to the White House.”

“To?” David asked, lifting his eyebrows.

“Speak to the president.”

“Let me think about that... no.”

“David,” Addie began, but he cut her off.

“Look, this has been great, but there’s no way I’m letting an alien anywhere near my president.”

“But I can—”

“I have seen nothing to prove to me that you can save us, nor that that is your true intent. Altruism is a fairytale, Addie. I’m no fool.”

She glanced at a watch on her wrist, but the symbols on its face were not a type of numeral David recognized.

“I know you’re not a fool. Meet me at the Lincoln Memorial in twenty minutes,” she said, not looking up as she fiddled with a dial on the side of the watch. “Tick-tock, David.”

With a flash, Addie disappeared. David blinked as his vision returned to normal. He swore when he saw that the fountain was still frozen, everything was still. He tried to call in to his handlers, but the device wouldn’t connect to the network. Left with little choice, David started running. If he ran the entire way, he would make it to Lincoln Memorial barely in time.

The Peacekeeper --Part 1

2011-04-10T21:50:00.001-05:00

David Green took a quick survey of the cafe before spotting what he was after. She caught his eye, and he saw the flash of realization cross her features. He took a step forward, ready for her to bolt at any second, but she stayed seated as he made his way into the cafe.

“Agent Green,” she said when he was in front of her table. “I’ve been waiting for you. Won’t you sit down?”

“I like standing.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, “But it is a coffee shop. Most people come here to sit and drink coffee.”

He studied her. She had long, honey blonde hair, gold-brown eyes, high cheekbones, and rosy lips even though she was not wearing lipstick. She waved to the barista at the counter, signalling the need for another cup and a refill. With a frown, he sat down across from her.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Adrastea Nyx.”

“What’s your real name?”

“My friends call me Addie,” she smiled and took a sip of coffee.

“I’ve been tracking you for three days,” he said.

“I know.”

“Why haven’t you run?”

“I’ve stayed a step ahead of you. Why run when you can walk?”

The barista came over with a mug and pot of coffee. She filled both cups and went away again. David watched the woman take an appreciative swig of the dark brew.

“You have the best human disguise I’ve ever seen,” he remarked. “You look like the real deal.”

“What’s to say I’m not?”

“Bioscanner. Whatever you are isn’t human and isn’t from around here. In fact, we’ve never seen anything like you.”

“I’m flattered, but not surprised.”

“Why?”

“Because my kind only visit once.”

David felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Hot aliens making vaguely threatening statements could send shivers down any spine.

“Relax, Agent Green. I’m not here to wipe out your planet, you’re well on your way to doing it yourselves.”

“Addie, right?”

“Yes,” she said, “May I call you David?”

“Sure, whatever. What exactly is your kind, Addie? What do you mean your kind only visits once?”

“All excellent questions, but this isn’t the place for them.” She took a drink of her coffee. “Are you going to drink that? There won’t be time when we get back.”

“Back from where?” he asked as she stood up.

“Let’s go for a walk, David. There’s a pretty park near here,” she said, standing up.

“My handlers won’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Look around. They aren’t going to notice.” As she said it the room fell silent.

David looked around to find the world frozen in place. A stream of coffee was suspended between the espresso machine and a shot mug. He turned back to Addie. “How are you doing this?”

“When Earth scientists first had to confront how to tell time on Mars they had a fairly easy task because there are only forty-nine more minutes in a Martian day than are in an Earth day. Rather than adding forty-nine minutes to the twenty-four hour cycle, scientists redefined what a second was on Mars. So there are twenty-four hours in a day, sixty minutes in an hour, and sixty-seconds in a minute on Mars, but a second is fractionally longer than on Earth. It’s the difference between ‘one Mississippi’ and ‘one Mississippis.’”

He blinked at her.

“The point is that all time is relative.”

“Yes, but how did you freeze everything?”

“Enjoy the mystery, David. Now are you coming or not? Though all time is relative, I don’t have all day.”

Sparkle Like Bowie In the Morning Sun

2011-04-09T11:32:00.000-05:00

I have the most brilliant cousins ever. Secret codenames: Calvin and Ellie came to me this morning, their arms stacked with books and blankets, and invited me to their reading party. Of course, I'd made a reading date with Calvin for today, and it is gorgeous outside, so I said yes. I grabbed my copy of Bartlett's Poems for Occasions and my crochet project, a blanket, and was told that I needed at least one more book. So I grabbed my Kindle and the children were satisfied that I had enough to do.

They wanted a read-a-loud first, so I read the first chapter of Countdown by Deborah Wiles. Ellie read the second, and Calvin was supposed to read the third, but we'd all tired of it by then, so we set about doing our own thing. I was crocheting by that point, and Ellie watched me. Calvin read (and is still beside me reading) The Indigo King by James A. Owen. I've been so pleased that he likes the Imaginarium Geographica series. They're so good, but I was a little worried that it would be a bit much for a nine year old. He had no clue why the twist at the end of the first book was so amazing to me because he's never even heard of those guys *is not spoiling plot, is not* but he was impressed when I explained it to him. So there's some stuff he misses, but overall, he has been eating these books up. Which like I said before, absolutely thrills my soul. James A. Owen is brilliant and now I get to share it with my, for all intents and purposes, little brother.

Being a new big sister has been so weird. Mostly amazing, occasionally annoying, and always astounding. Ellie and I are over seven years apart, and Calvin and I are about nine years apart. Ellie is looking in a time-delay mirror. Really freaky. I feel the nine years with Calvin though. It's mostly because he's a boy and he's youngest, but it still amazes me considering he and Ellie aren't a full two years apart. Still, there are lots of times and lots of things where Calvin is great because he's at that perfect age for me to start introducing him to things. I love that part. For one, I've created a sci-fi television monster, which rocks. We're currently season hopping through Dr. Who. Ellie wants to see season one, and Calvin had skipped it for season two, so we watch season one episodes when she's there, season two when she's not.

I'm getting him into different music groups too. He's huge into Danger Days by My Chemical Romance right now. Which is great because I am too. But I think getting him to books is my absolute favorite. I need to find a copy of Citizen of the Galaxy by Robert Heinlein so I can reread it, see if Calvin would like it. I remember loving it when I was about his age, but it's been foreeeever.

Oh sadness, I had to put on super-duper-white-person-spray. (aka SPF 100) It is clear blue sky here and while I like a summer glow, my summer glow is still pretty pasty, so coming off winter, I sparkle in the sunshine like a thousand Edward Cullens. Now I'm all smelly. *sigh* Greasy skin now is better than skin cancer later, I suppose.

What are you all doing on this fine weekend? Is the weather not fine where you are? Sorry. It's great here.

Later,
~Em~

A Friend in Nerd is a Friend Inderd

2011-04-08T23:33:00.001-05:00

Yeaaaahh... that title isn't funny... I'm gonna leave it. Yeah. *walks away slowly, straining to look over shoulder to keep eye contact*

The kids are all tucked in and there's thunderstorm rolling in. I'm listening to Borodin String Quartet No. 2 and my feet are cozy. (My feet are cold 96.2 percent of the time.) Good times. I wish my wrists didn't hurt, but I took Advil, so hopefully that will kick in soon. Point it, I'm finally in a good place to write today's post. I have a rule: No posting things on the internet when feeling emo. It's a good rule, but a little challenging when one is participating in BEDA. Emo days happen, but the show must go on. Lucky for me, I'm not feeling emo any more. YAY!

(Have I mentioned how effing much I love Dvorak? I'm not sure which movement I'm listening to, but something from the 9th Symphony just came on. I love my Borodin station on Pandora. *hugs concept of Pandora*)

A while back I was writing some dialog and was starting to doubt myself. Whenever this happens, I always hear some critique I've received in the past and I fixate. I'd had someone say that my dialog was stiff, and ever since I'd been super self-conscious. One such day, I was in the middle of a line and was overwhelmed with the concern that my character sounded far too nerdy. I started to freak out, and then I remembered that all my characters are nerdy, so it's fine if they sound nerdy.

I have to be careful to not take little stuff like that to heart. Firstly, I was told that because my characters were using large words, and secondly, the critique came from a thirteen year old. Not to diss thirteen year olds, but she wasn't my intended audience any ways. Besides, that's how I talk. It's how the people around me talk. Then again, all my friends are nerds too.

Want proof? Here is just a random selection of nerdiness my friends have said recently.

"I was writing in my journal last night when I realized the grip of my one of my favorite pens strongly resembles the proglottids of a tapeworm... I have been in Zoology too long."

This one makes me laugh so much.

"I think my calling in life is to be a troubadour...a viola playing troubadour with Joan Jett hair."
It is, m'dear.

"oohhh... discovering a meson comprised of a strange quark and a charm antiquark and who's half life increases compared to lighter mass mesons? = the greatest discovery in physics in the last 50 years.. lol."
And you read big books by dead Russians to impress the ladies. I know, I know. *awards Nerdiest Friend Award*

"This is the end..."Endeavour is being prepared for its 25th and final trip to low Earth orbit..(the view seen here is) 400 feet above the floor of Kennedy Space Center's Vehicle Assembly Building...Intended for an April 19 near sunset launch on STS-134, Endeavour will head for the International Space Station and deliver the AMS cosmic ray experiment. This is (t)he final flight of Endeavour (and the end of Space Shuttle program)..." :`{("

Awww... he made a sad, crying Dr.K face. It is sad though. I wanted to go.

Oh well, I'll just keep voting from my friend's song to be played for the wake up on the shuttle mission. WHAT? YES! GO VOTE FOR "Dreams You Give." It is easily the most adorable thing ever. My mom gave one of the boys piano lessons for a while, and the Plunkett's are just one of the most amazing families ever. Mary near single-handedly made me appreciate food that wasn't pizza, hot dogs, or macaroni and cheese.

I am reminded of another quote, this one by John Green when talking about the lameness of "nerd" as an insult.
"Saying 'I notice you're a nerd' is like saying, 'Hey, I notice that you'd rather be intelligent than be stupid, that you'd rather be thoughtful than be vapid, that you believe that there are things that matter more than the arrest record of Lindsay Lohan. Why is that?' In fact, it seems to me that most contemporary insults are pretty lame. Even 'lame' is kind of lame. Saying 'You're lame' is like saying 'You walk with a limp.' Yeah, whatever, so does 50 Cent, and he's done all right for himself."

Friends, I notice you are nerds, and I love you all for it.

My friends.

Speaking of nerdy friends, my little cousin, secret codename: Calvin, has been begging me to have a reading day with him. I asked him what he meant and he answered, "Just a day where we sit around and read. *implied "duh!"*" Silly me. He only spent several hours reading tonight. I didn't realize he needed to schedule in more reading time. Or that it was a participatory sport. Still, it's adorable and I love it. I was trying to come up with some good book recommendations for him today. I have a few, because luckily for him I was a pretty good gender non-conformist reader around his age. I read books geared towards girls, definitely, but I also read books with swords and fighting and quests and space ships and intergalactic slaves and ray guns and good, wholesome boylit. I also mostly read Redwall at his age, but I have yet to convince him how much he's going to love them. Silly boy.

Alright, I'm about to pass out from exhaustion and wrist pain, so I'll leave you until tomorrow.

Later!

~Em~

Summertide Sabbatical

2011-04-07T17:08:00.001-05:00

Christine and Mom took me out for my first pedicure today. I can't believe I've gone nineteen years without it. Plus, I have a new favorite nail color. I'm wearing kelly green on my fingers and toes and I'm in love. Hoooooly moly, it's cute.

Those who read my posts about spring break will know what a fantastic time I had. It's no surprise that Kara and I have been dreaming up our summer plans ever since. Kara is EXCITED. I am too, but she made a point of telling me there were only five weeks and finals left before summer. Heehee! Lacking inspiration for today's post, Kara suggested I list out how we intend to fill our time.

Firstly, we're starting a summer reading program. I loved the reading programs the library did when I was a little kid (I even did the teen ones, though those were always less rewarding.) and we both have books we want to read. So far we have on the list Til We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis, The Chosen, by Chaim Potok, Blood Work: A Tale of Medicine and Murder in the Scientific Revolution, by Holly Tucker, and a book about brains and technology that Kara is doing for a course in the Fall which I thought sounded crazy awesome.

Secondly, I foresee at least one more trip to Clint's house. I have also been informed that there WILL be another coffee day. Yay! I could use a coffee right about now. Hmmmm. I'll come back to this and let you know.

I've heard rumblings that we are getting a boat this summer, so I'm thinking that would be awesome. Also, there are rental canoes at Caplinger Mills that are super fun (and affordable) so that's going to happen. Canoeing is awesome! I want to go hiking too. Not sure where, but I want to do that.

Kara definitely has to come up here so we can go to Donna's Dress Shop, and Rainy Day Books, and Prospero's. And coffee. Duh, coffee.

If you can count on one thing, it's that coffee will be ingested. I still think I need that cuppa. It's evening... I shouldn't. GARHGAMBSEONAPAIOQWENBG.

Anyways. That's just the start of our plans, but it's a good starting place.

Quickly before I go, I got the video for yesterday uploaded to YouTube, so I'm going back to put that in yesterday's post, but you can clicky-click and watch it if you'd like to watchy-watch.

See you tomorrow,
~Em~

Tiny Cooper Appreciation Day

2011-04-06T23:11:00.003-05:00

A true child of my generation, I am addicted to social media. Yes, there are lots of ways that it distances us and blah blah blah blah blah.... (This is turning into the adults from Charlie Brown in my head, in case you were wondering.) That's true, I don't deny it, but it also creates communities and the internet community I most identify with is Nerdfighteria. Basically, Nerdfighters are fans of popular vloggers and brothers John and Hank Green. Also, we fight FOR nerds. Anyways.

So John is an award-winning, New York Times Bestselling author who writes amazing books of amazingness. Several years ago a friend asked him to write a book with him, and John agreed. This person was David Levithan, author of Boy Meets Boy and a few other great books I love. Together they brought Will Grayson, Will Grayson into existence. The premise is a guy named Will Grayson is best friends with a guy named Tiny Cooper, and it's hard being Tiny's friend, and there's another guy named will grayson, and then the two Will Graysons meet and will grayson starts dating Tiny, and Tiny stops paying attention to Will Grayson and BLAH BLAH BLAH OMG READ THE BOOK. IT IS SO MUCH MORE AWESOME THAN I AM MAKING IT SOUND.

Towards the end there's a musical written by Tiny and as the musical ends, will grayson (who has broken up with Tiny) stands up and says "my name is will grayson. and i appreciate you, tiny cooper!" (will doesn't use capitalization *shrug*) And then a bunch of other Will Graysons that he found on the internet and asked to come to the show stand up and say they appreciate Tiny too, and then Will Grayson, Tiny's best friend, says he appreciates Tiny, and then the people in the show start saying it and then the audience says it, and even though they are only words on a page, I can feel myself rising and floating and falling, just like I was there.

Aaaannnnd circling this post back around to social media... that is why when I found an event on Facebook called Tiny Cooper Appreciation Day I squeed, and it's why I'm writing about this today. It's Tiny Cooper Appreciation Day, and my name isn't Will Grayson, but I appreciate Tiny Cooper. To show my appreciation, I am (hopefully, if it works) going to read one of my favorite scenes from the book.

Set up! Will and Tiny had a falling out, but Will has a epiphany and realizes just how much he loves Tiny Cooper. How Tiny his best friend in the whole world and he doesn't want to give that up for anything. John wrote this part (he wrote Will and David wrote will) and it's all very John Green-y and I just want to shake this book above my head and scream YES! THIS! THIS! YES! PEOPLE! SLUGS! AND I'D PICK YOU! Which makes no sense out of context, but in context... well. It at least makes sense, even if it is not the most articulate response.

I love the part about picking your friends. I've had friends where I couldn't pick or I don't remember picking, and I've had moments where I've had to decide if I was willing to pick them again and hope that they'd be willing to pick me back. Lucky for me, I did and they did. People who are my friends, I pick you. Every time.

Speaking of love... you know another thing I appreciate? Stories about nerdfighterlike.

Awwwwww! Love me that nerdy love.

I've never been in love, but I've thought about what I have to have in a mate. Presuming science can promise me only girl children, (sorry, boys, no room in the inn in mah bellay!) then my two essentials in a mate are a strong jawline, and no major allergies, seasonal or otherwise. I feel like my side of the family is a little weak in the jawline area, so a strong jawed mate might help that. And making a conservative estimate, I'd say three quarters of everyone in my family has seasonal allergies or bad allergies or freaky allergies. I do. (Seasonal. None of the bad or freaky, thank goodness.) I know there are no guarantees, but I'd feel better about my offspring's prospects with those two things. However, in the love of my life? Well.

Incredibly nerdy girl seeks incredibly nerdy boy with whom to drink coffee. Enjoys long conversations about science fiction, books, politics, music, and more science fiction. Prefers Kirk to Picard, but could be persuaded with the proper application of logic. No Jedis. LLAP.

Okay, I don't have anything against Star Wars fans, but still. Trekkie for life.

Back to WGWG, there was a great interview type thing with John and David on Symphony Space, and in it they gave a writing prompt. Two characters with the same name meet each other. (The basic premise of WGWG.) They gave like five minutes or so. I decided to do it as I was listening at home. I worked out a basic idea in the five minutes and went back to finish it after the podcast. The resulting story is a. one I'm pretty pleased with, and b. one I've shared here before. You want to see nerdy? Go read it. I've been told it's understandable if you haven't read or watched The Princess Bride, but those who have watched it seem to appreciate it all the more. It's not the greatest, but I like it and it was inspired by Will Grayson, Will Grayson and John and David and I'm just so grateful to them both for being such huge inspirations and role models in my life.

Before I go, if you are interested in reading Will Grayson, Will Grayson by John Green and David Levithan, consider getting it in paper back. It just came out. (*could make joke, but is not going to make joke*) It is seriously an amazing book. I read it in one sitting when I got it. So much goodness.

See you tomorrow. I have no clue what I'm going to talk about, so that's good.

Later,
~Em~

Day Zero Project

2011-04-05T12:11:00.000-05:00

Recently, I reconnected with a friend I hadn't seen in years. She's an amazing person and it's been an absolute thrill getting to know her again. Plus, she came through for me in the clutch when I needed to find Lilli a home; I'd love her for that alone. Well, while reading through her blog, I found a post she'd made about the Day Zero Project. I thought it sounded like a brilliant idea. 1001 days to complete 101 predetermined tasks or goals. That's a reasonable amount of time for a reasonable amount of goals. So I signed up and I've been building my list. I'm a bit past halfway on making goals and setting tasks. If anyone has suggestions leave them for me in the comments.

Wanna see my list so far? You don't? Too bad. You have to read it, because I have a surprise after the list. AND NO SKIPPING or you don't get the surprise. Yeah, I'll know if you skip. How? Because I'm behind you, creeping. Haha! Made you look. But really. O_o

Buy a new bicycle. Status: Saving saving saving.
Go for a whole week without using Facebook. Status: I'm saving this one for some week when I'm writing really hard and using FB as a way to distract myself.
Be able to identify 10 constellations. Status: I know Cassiopeia, Orion, Big Dipper, Little Dipper... six more to go.
Sew an article of clothing. Status: Soon now... soon. *nods*
Write a letter to someone I admire. Status: I'm debating between fan mail or someone I actually know. Maybe I'll write to an author. As a rule, they're nice and I admire them.
Write a personal creed. Status: I'll get to this when I'm feeling more mamby-pamby.
Take a picture every day for a month. Status: I'm counting on having an interesting month before December 2013.
Have my fortune told. Status: There are some things I want to do so I have the experience. One of my writer quirks. Well, I think I'd want to do crazy things anyways because I'm intensely curious, but writing gives me a socially acceptable excuse.
Go hiking. Status: Oh, I'm sure this will happen some time.
Go swimming at night. Status: I'm thinking this summer. I also want to do it somewhere that isn't a beach.
Attend 5 concerts. Status: Hey, if anyone has a time machine, let me know. I want to see Queen.
Learn a different language. Status: Es ist ein unfertigen. Also, I'm debating adding ASL.
Read all Jane Austen novels. Status: I've read Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park. Emma, Persuasion, and Northanger Abbey yet to go.
Read a Stephen King novel. Status: I love King, I read The Green Mile, but I've skipped his novels because I'm a scaredy cat. Well, forget that! Which one should I read?
Learn to fold 25 different papercrafts. Status: I can fold a crane from memory, and I've folded several other shapes before, so this shouldn't be too hard.
Go rockclimbing. Status: Of all the sports, this looks most fun to me.
Write a short story. Status: I have a couple ideas floating around.
Write a song. Status: I have a chord progression I love and no clue what to do with it. I'm not a poet or a lyricist, but I'll try.
Spend a day at the beach. Status: Suuummmmmerrrrrr.
Bake cupcakes. Status: Mmmm... this is a good idea. But not today. I have donuts to eat today.
Learn a poem by heart. Status: I used to know Ode to Spot from Star Trek: TNG. I recited it at a talent show and everything. Anyways. Any poem suggestions?
Fly a kite. Status: I first need a kite, a windy day, and a clear field. So far, I have only one of these.
Join a book club. Status: Sometime soonish.
Vlog for a week. Status: I'm thinking up ideas. Patience.
Type a short story on my Royal KHM. Status: I need to buy a ribbon, determine why it's finicky about a couple little actions, and then write a story that never uses the letter "q."
Learn how to bind books. Status: OMG I WANT TO DO THIS SO BAD! I've bound a few books before, but I want to do it really well.
Open an Etsy shop. Status: Still in the planning stages. I know what I'd like to offer, so I've moved on to the pattern drafting stage, after that I need to build up inventory and establish shipping procedure, and then I'll be ready to launch. I'm hoping to have it running inside of six months.
Finish a first draft. Status: A third through? I don't know.
Play String Quartet No. 2 by Alexander Borodin. Status: Ish. I have some work to do before this can come to fruition, foremost being the need to find three other musicians.
Catch a fish. Status: John's always taking me fishing, and we never catch anything. I feel like Samantha Carter talking to Jack O'Neill on SG-1 "There are no fish in this pond, are there?" "Nope."
Go canoeing. Status: Also this summer. I'm hoping to do the 8 hour float trip on the Sac River starting at Caplinger Mills.
Upload a video to Youtube. Status: FINITO! BAM!
Save a box tortoise. Status: I'm betting this happens sometime when we're at Stockton, but if I see any turtles trying to cross the street here, I'll help them out.
Buy a pair of aviator sunglasses. Status: I almost did this yesterday, but I didn't like the selection.
Complete BEDA. Status: Working on it.
Don't Forget to be Awesome (DFTBA). Status: This is an ongoing goal.
Make a wall-sized collage of things my friends send me. Status: Also working on this one. Help me out by visiting Em's Wall and sending me something.
Sew a dress I designed. Status: I have a few drawn, still need to draft the patterns. And I'd rather work on few different dresses first so I get the hang of it.
See 10 classic movies I've never seen. Status: I'm a TCM junkie. Any movie suggestions?
Go ice skating. Status: Maybe I'll hit the rink sometime. Oooo... coffee and skating. Put it on the calendar!
Influence a person to make a Day Zero list. Status: Let me know. I mean, I think it's cool. *shrug*
Go skinny dipping. Status: Crazy Writer Urge. Move along, nothing to see here.
Go fishing. Status: Well, I know this will happen, so it might as well be on the list.
Learn five Queen songs. Status: I know "You're My Best Friend" on the ukulele, and I think "All Dead, All Dead" but I'd have to look it up to remember.
Own a pair of Converse, preferably green. Status: I lust so much after Sara's pair.
Learn to play the Prelude from Bach's Unaccompanied Cello Suite No. 1. Status: I can play it, but I want to play it well.
Learn five songs on bass. Status: I know "All My Loving" by The Beatles. I was also thinking I'd work up something classical. Rock and Roll is nice, but it doesn't keep my brain in shape.
Send a letter via snail mail. Status: I have plans. This will happen in the fall.
Send a postcard. Status: Hmmmm... maybe this summer. I don't know, we'll see where I end up.
Volunteer at the Humane Society. Status: I've done this in the past and it was so rewarding. I'll start looking into opportunities in Belton.
Read 50 new books. Status: "New" as in "I've not read this book before."
Visit a long lost friend. Status: Long lost friend to be determined.
Make a friendship quilt. Status: I have this designed, I have the fabric picked, now I need to cut, sew, quilt, and bind. I'm hoping to complete this inside of twelve months. (I have lots of projects going.)
Read all the Redwall books. Status: I only have two left after The Rogue Crew is released in May.
Own all the Redwall books. Status: Six left after The Rogue Crew is released, I think.
Learn archery. Status: I'll keep an eye out for opportunities.
Attend a midnight showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show. Status: I know there's a place in KC that does this. I need to look back into that.
Go white water rafting. Status: I did this when I was an early teen and it was AWESOME! I really want to go again some time.

Well, that's it for today.

What's that you say? What surprise? Good grief.

SURPRISE! YOU DON'T GET SARCASM! *toots a party blower*

Oh, okay. Fine. *cyber hug* There. Happy?

Funness planned for tomorrow. See you there.

~Em~

The Wall of Stuff

2011-04-04T22:50:00.001-05:00

I was going to post about one project today, while I finished laying the groundwork on a different project, but I ended up finishing that project before the one I meant to post about today. So that's what we're gonna talk about today.

Lots, one could argue most, teenagers have some sort of something on their wall to express themselves. On the walls in my room at Stockton, I have a completed table runner I designed and which sold very well back in the day, the top of a Jo Morton mini-quilt that I made out of Tula Pink fabrics thus sending my Little Women Club leader into a tizzy, a sketch I did of a pinwheel pattern in graduated shades of aquamarine and green, and a signed poster of Quattrocelli, a German cello quartet. (As the name would imply.) In my old room I had a large picture Sara drew of Aang from Avatar: The Last Airbender which reads AANG FOR PRESIDENT. Because being the Avatar isn't enough responsibility. *shrug* I also used to own a stick of glow-in-the-dark chalk which I wrote on my brown walls with. I had "It's still rock and roll to me" which is a line from a Billy Joel song, "And this is Katara, my flying sister!" which is a line Sokka says on Avatar, and "I get up every morning determined to both change the world and have one hell of a good time. Sometimes this makes planning my day difficult." by E. B. White.

Point is, most everyone has something like this, and in my experience, teens turn to expressing themselves through displaying a magpie-like collection of things they like. Perhaps most common amongst these displays is the Wall of Stuff.

These are but a few of the images I found after looking up "wall of stuff" on Google. ("All praise our bountiful overlord, Google. Praise be to the Googley Lord.") Of course, there's one wall of stuff which first made me want my own wall of stuff. Charlie McDonnell's wall.

Charlie had a wall of stuff.
And then he moved out and took it down.

See below:

But then he made a new wall. Yay!

Now, despite wanting to make a wall of stuff, I've never just done it. Sure, doing it would be a great way to get it done, but where's the fun in completing a straightforward task? Faced with a new blank wall in a new room, I decided it was finally time to build that wall. Mildly inspired by Facebook and Tumblr, and mostly inspired by the creativity of my amazing friends, I came up with an idea.

I want my wall of stuff to be comprised primarily, if not entirely, of things my friends send me. A wall filled with whatever my friends send my way is not only an expression of them, but of our mutual interests, and of me. I think people are the sum of the experiences of those who came before, their own experiences, and the experiences of those around them. How cool would it be to have a wall to reflect that? I'm thinking really cool.

To this end I have set up an email account to send stuff to and a blog to document the construction of the wall. (You can find out the email address by going to the other blog. Also, I have a post over there with a super list of my favorite things. There are surely holes in my coverage, but it was a LOT of favorites. Coming up with that many in one afternoon could wear Oprah out.) This should be the easiest thing in the world. Send me art, pictures, poems, witty one-liners, or whatever else you think up and your contribution will be complete. I'll add what you send me (I reserve some veto rights, but on the whole, if you send it, I'll put it up.) and post a picture. If you include a little note about why you sent me a certain thing in particular I can include that in the post too.

I hope everyone thinks this is as cool an idea as I do. I'm incredibly stoked about it.

I bid you all an anticipatory thank you, and I'll see you back here tomorrow with yet another project announcement.

~Emily~

Sara's Sweet Sixteen

2011-04-03T14:51:00.000-05:00

Don't you love alliteration? I love it. Luckily for me, my little sister turning sixteen is alliter-ific. Also luckily for me, it was a very fun two day whirlwind of celebrating.

On Thursday we got up and grabbed brunch at IHOP. I ordered the eggs and steak tips, which I thought were to die for. Mom and I split, but she didn't like the sweetness of the steak seasoning, so I ate them myself. I ate so much. Mmmmm... my stomach feels happy just thinking about it.

From IHOP we headed to Westport for some vintage shopping. I had a list prepared of all the vintage clothing stores in the area. I'm a good event coordinator. We went to Re-Runs, (I think it's on Pennsylvania Ave. Somewhere like that.) which has all vintage clothing. I tried on an orange shift dress, but I am too curvaceous for shift dresses and the color was not working for me. They guy working the counter was very nice looking though. Between his Marcus Cole hair and well-kept eyebrows, I was jealous.

We left the store and Sara and I became enamored with a couple pigeons. (Sorry, we're from a small town. We don't have pigeons. They always make me think of Bekka Cooper by Tamora Pierce.) We'd parked in front of Bon Bon Atelier, a craft shop, so we HAD to go in. I nearly died from all the cuteness. So much great stuff!! I ended up getting a little mug with an image of an anatomical heart, and a half yard of two pieces of fabric (a piece from Tula Pink's Parisville line, and a Kaffe Fasset shot cotton for lining) to make a cover for my Kindle. (More on the kindle cover at a later date.)

We stopped in at Westport Coffee House, drank a Snickers latte and a Turtle latte, and ate a piece of real strawberry cake. (If you're curious, they get 4 classy ladies.) It was all super yummy.

Picture taken by Sara

Picture taken on my phone. *poor quality photo sad face*

From there we hit 39th Street to go to Donna's Dress Shop. It's pretty much my new favorite store. They have vintage, but also new clothes inspired by vintage fashion.

The shop was adorable! The clothes were adorable!
The shopkeeper was adorable! The little birdie was adorable!

Sara didn't get this dress, but she had to try it on.

I fell in love with this dress. Didn't get it, but OMG.
The neckline... *longing sigh*

Not the best on me, but I loved the concept!

I got this skirt. Loooove it!

This is the dress Sara ended up getting. HOT!

After Donna's, we went to Prospero's. Mom and I had gone during our bookstore adventure, and we knew Sara just HAD TO SEE IT. So we took her.

Sara took pretty picture.

We got Sara home after that and she went out to dinner with our uncle. He took her to a restaurant with gigantic animatronic dinosaurs. While they did that, Mom, secret codenames: Ellie and Calvin, and I finished our present shopping. We got it all set up once we were home. Ellie and I practiced playing "Happy Birthday" together so we could play it as Sara walked in the door, which we did, but it went better in rehearsal.

Sara loved her presents. A record player, the naked baby Nirvana album, a Radiohead album, and the album Lungs by Florence and the Machines. Also two rolls of cool wrapping paper, and a box of Craft Mac 'n' Cheese. Classy.

After putting all the kids to bed, Mom, Sara and I hit the road for Stockton. Sara wanted to see all her friends, so we were going to go to orchestra the next day. We got in at 1:50 am. I went straight to bed.

We grabbed some Panera for breakfast, dropped Sara off at orchestra, and then Mom and I ran around Springfield. I forgot how bad traffic sucks on Friday in Springfield. HOLY MOLY. It took at least half an hour to get anywhere! Well, we went several places throughout the day, including: National Art Shop, Pluto's Closet, Arris' Pizza, ect. Then I went back to orchestra to listen to Beethoven and Brahms perform for contest (great job everybody, it sounded great!) and while I was there Mom shopped for clothes and bought THE MOST AMAZING CUPCAKES EVER. She and I ate three of the four she bought in one afternoon. Shhhhhh!

At six, Mom and I picked up Regan and we all went downtown for Art Walk. As we were looking for parking, Kara texted to say she'd got off work early. Regan and I started bouncing in our chairs because Kara wasn't going to be able to come. So we called her and begged her to come down, which she did. While waiting for Kara, we wandered around, hit several of the galleries, some shops, and listened to a street performer playing her Suzuki repertoire on violin. She played about three songs. I told Regan she HAS to street perform next time. Besides the fact that Regan is awesome, she knows more than three songs and they aren't all from Suzuki.

When Kara got there, Regan and I had to fetch her from her car, so we did that and ran around and had a glorious time. It's all kind of a hazy glow of dusk and awesome (Kara got there at 8) but I do remember that we went to Vintage Vice. Kara put on some nerd glasses that were TO DIE FOR. I wanted her to get them, but she could have also killed with that cuteness, so maybe it was for the best. Kara only uses her power for good. I bought a purse with a neat opening mechanism and a vintage dress pattern. I don't know how I missed their rack of vintage patterns when I was in there last time!

After Vintage Vice we went in a store that was basically a free-trade international gift shop. Regan got a neat ring, and I nearly bought a tiny box of Worry Dolls for Kara. But I want her mom to let me go back to their house, so I decided I better not. I also teased about getting free-trade milk chocolate for Kara's dad, because he said I could come back any time if I brought chocolate. So.

At nine we left downtown and met up with Mom and Sara at Fazoli's. (Sara had been doing her own thing with her friends.) We all had a great meal. Kara and I took Regan back to her house as Mom and Sara followed in our car. FUNNY STORY! We girls got in the car and Regan said something along the lines of she didn't realize how cool Sara is, and she seems like a really rocking person. I agreed, because Sara is the coolest person I know. Now, when I told Sara the compliment Regan had paid her after we headed home for Stockton, Mom chuckled and said Sara said the same thing about Regan after they got in the car at Fazoli's. What can I say? Awesome admires awesome.

The next morning Sara had finally succumbed to the Bubonic Plague that Mom has been spreading for the past week. So she stayed in bed to sleep while Mom and I ran to Bolivar. I had breakfast (coffee and a muffin) with Kara and we talked and talked and talked. And then an older couple showed up at Java, set out a lace tablecloth, a vase of plastic flowers, and other homey paraphernalia at their table behind us. The day was getting gorgeous, so Kara and I decided it was high time to exit stage left. We got up to leave and the gal with the tablecloth said, "Oh no, my guests are leaving!" Which was pretty darned creepy, so I smiled politely and didn't say a thing as I hastened to get out of there.

We went to the park and walked a little, talked a little, but mostly sat and watched nature. There was a robin that was pretty curious about whether I was hiding worms, which I wasn't. And there was a little crawdad that I thought about catching, but decided against it. And there was a burned leaf that still had all is veins, which I showed to Kara after marveling at its beauty.

Then Mom came back to get me and we went to Stockton, packed up, and headed back to KC. Sara had drank about a third of a bottle of Nyquil while we were gone, which was too much, so she was positively loopy for the entire trip. She had some sort of epiphany at the El Dorado McDonalds, so she spent half an hour trying to write that down, which went poorly, and when I explained to Mom what she was doing, Sara started saying "Epiphany Tiffany!" And then she wrote a song and made me write it down so she wouldn't forget it. It goes as follows:

Slept with Tiffany,

Had an epiphany.

I'M GAY!

You yell the last line. Sara also specified that the song was meant to be sung by a man and was somewhat confused when I suggested that it could be true for a man or woman. Like I said, positively loopy. Thankfully, she fell asleep after telling me three more crazy things to write down. (Which I didn't. They weren't very clever or funny.)

We got home, gave everyone big hugs, went for a walk, ate WAAAAY too much delicious food for dinner, and enjoyed a gorgeous evening at home.

Happy birthday, Sara!! We love you darling, very very very VERY much.

~Em~

Observe the Dancing Bear

2011-04-02T22:23:00.000-05:00

If I could stop finding awesome things to write about, I could write this post! Sheesh. I'm running the gamut from music to craft to insects to bloggity-thingities. Let's talk about the bloggity-thingities first.

Firstly, OMG IT'S #BEDA! I'm excited!!!! My expectations are high this year. I'm more addicted to writing than ever, and blogging is so much fun to me. I am making lists of things to blog about this month, so hopefully there will be no days where I post something like "I don't know what to post today, and I'm in a rush so LOOK A DANCING BEAR! *runs away*" I might do the dancing bear thing, but I'll make sure there actually is a dancing bear to entertain you. Promise.

Secondly, Blogger has a cool new feature for how readers view the blogs. It requires your browser to be up-to-date to perform properly (IE 8+, Firefox 3.5+, Chrome, or Safari) but it looks so cool! Playing around with it this evening I was so pleased with it that I wanted to call everyone over to the computer to see. However, that is not only an annoying thing to do, but incredibly dorky. So, I tell you all about it instead. There are five different views, and you can see them by adding an extra bit to the blog url.

http://littlebigpicture.blogspot.com/view/flipcard

This one is a great way to access all the different posts quickly and orderly, but it doesn't show any of the text other than the title, and I don't always include a picture in a post, so it doesn't look very cool.

http://littlebigpicture.blogspot.com/view/mosaic

This one is most visually appealing to me because it merges the pictures and text excerpts, but it's harder to see the chronology on it. Depending on how you are wanting to look at the blog, this one can be awesome.

http://littlebigpicture.blogspot.com/view/sidebar

The most utilitarian, this one is great if you are browsing, especially in order. Very clean cut.

http://littlebigpicture.blogspot.com/view/snapshot

This one displays all the pictures from all the posts, which kind of makes it like a picture album of my entire blog. WHICH IS AWESOME.

http://littlebigpicture.blogspot.com/view/timeslide

Personally, I like this one least. There was a bit too much going on with having the latest posts in a column, excerpts of recent posts next to those, and a sidebar with a list of all the posts next to that.

I'm completely goofy for getting so excited about something as simple as that, but I thought it was amazing. :)

Alright, I'm going to go. It's getting late and I am bone tired. I have been running running running of late.

Here's to the best BEDA ever!

~Em~

Blogging from the road

2011-04-01T22:44:00.002-05:00

Blogging from the road, but I must blog, because it is BEDA!! YAY! Proper post tomorrow. ~Em~

UPDATE 4-2-11: Thought I'd add a picture from my day on Friday. A picture is worth a thousand words. That's it; I'm switching to writing picture books. Anways. Photo taken in some gallery in downtown Springfield during Art Walk. I have noooo clue which gallery.

les loutres et la fille

Parks and Coffee: A Recurring Theme

2011-03-30T20:08:00.000-05:00

Time to finish up my retelling of my spring break. So far, I've covered Monday and Tuesday, but there's still Wednesday and Thursday to go. Let's do it!

After our very busy Monday and Tuesday, Kara and I decided to take a chill day on Wednesday. Dressing up in our purple dresses we'd purchased the day before, we did whatever as the mood struck us. After a quiet morning, we went to the park for a picnic lunch.

Kara made a delicious Chicken Salad. Mmmm....

Delilah thought it was yummy too. Not that I shared.

She later licked sand like it was made of pixie stix.
Crazy dog is crazy.

After lunch, we walked around the park. I looooove Dunnegan Memorial Park so much. It's a beautiful park and I have so many great memories there.

My favorite is the mossy path running along the east ridge of the park.

Kara looked stunning in her purple dress!

Lilah was my favorite accessory.

After the park, we dropped Lilah off at home and went for coffee. Yes, more coffee. See, I'd promised that if I came, Kara would still be able to get some homework done, so Wednesday was a good opportunity to keep that promise. I wrote the blog about the Tuesday odyssey while she did Chemistry and Algebra.

LOOK! HOMEWORK! Kara's, not mine.

"I want to get a picture of you being arty." -Kara

"Well, then I want to get a picture of you being smarty." -Me

We ate, drank, and were merry the rest of the afternoon. We went home, had some chili, and then Kara got roped into making chocolate chips for her little brother. Bit of a funny story. Oh, let's give him a secret code name... uhhhh... Jack. So, secret codename: Jack, who is eleven years old, wanted cookies. He asked Kara to write down the ingredients for him so he could make it. Well, then as he tried to start, choosing the right bowl was a bit of a debacle. Then there was the butter... bound for disaster. So, Kara swiftly took over the butter. Bit brilliant really, but I was sworn to secrecy. Anyhoo. From the butter it led to the sugar, to the flour... and by the end poor Kara had made the cookies herself.

While she was baking, Kara mentioned a radio show I was OBSESSED with as a kid. I got very excited, and another of her little brothers, secret codename: James, pulled out the tape of the first show. We played it and I danced around their kitchen like the crazy person I am. It was fabulous. I remembered the words to the songs even though I haven't heard it in EONS. I loved it. Absolutely brilliant.

The rest of the evening was very relaxed. We played our instruments and just had a nice time relaxing before bed.

I turned us out early on Thursday morning for coffee at eight with Dr. K. Kara had work at nine, so she only stayed for the first hour, but Dr. K and I talked until about eleven. After he left, I stayed at Java Station and wrote. Well. That was the theory. I mostly stared at the window and tried to ignore the couple whispering furtively behind me. Please, please, PLEASE, if you go to a coffee shop, do not whisper furtively. It isn't a library, and if you are discussing something that's private, GO SOMEWHERE PRIVATE! *has a new pet peeve*

All set up. Music, notebook and pencil, coffee.

After Kara got off work we went to the park, walked Lilah 'round the loop. I still needed to pack, but I had a few more hours before Mom and Sara would be down to pick me up. The park was nice, but it didn't feel like the perfect ending. That's when Kara turned to me and said exactly what I was thinking. We decided on a spontaneous road trip in a westerly direction. (In other words, to Stockton and beyond.)

We took the old spring road shortcut through Fairplay to Bearcreek, then on to Stockton. We stopped by the Emporium. I was all coffeed out, but Kara wanted a cup, so she got a macchiato or some such, which she drank while we sat on the bench in Stockton City Park. It was starting to get later and I was very eager to continue our journey, so we hit 32 again to go out to Caplinger Mills.

They were letting water, so Sac River was way up.
As always, the bridge was beautiful.

Buuuuut, I wasn't there for the bridge. There's a giant sycamore, and attached to the tree is a giant rope, and on that rope is a lawn chair, suspended. Yes, a lawn chair swing. It's the best swing ever, and it's great because a grown-up can even get some decent air in it. Kara HAD to have a ride on the swing. I wouldn't be happy otherwise.

I think she liked it. I was very good and didn't spin her.

We left as the sun started to set, but on the way home we stopped at the dam. I know I keep saying this, but I love the dam. Emily loves this, Emily loves that. Sorry, I just do. It was a very lovely time.

Lovely time was lovely.

And as we drove away, Kara spotted a fish. Kara doesn't like fish, but she stopped the car and reached for the camera. "Are you going to take a picture?" I asked. "No! You are!" she replied.

This is Kara's "EWWW A FISH!" face. Awwww.

Just in case there are any other ichthyophobics in the readership today (I know Kara is, but she spent several minutes just staring at the photo of the dead fish... so... I'm not sure what's up with her.) I won't post the picture of the fish. I will tell you that it was a Gar and leave it at that.

After we got home it turned out that my mom and sister were going to come fetch me the next morning instead. So I spent one more lovely night at Kara's (and ate a lot of baked goods) before shipping out the next morning.

Easily, the best spring break ever.

Bit of housekeeping before I go.

1. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABY SISTER! She doesn't read my blog. Ever. So. Moving on.

2. I will be doing Blog Every Day April. (BEDA) Nothing better to do, so why not?

3. There is no third item.

4. This item is false. The next item is true.

5. This item is false. The previous item is true.

Later!

~Em~

Honky Tonk Badonkadonk

2011-03-27T00:27:00.001-05:00

It's so hard not to stare
At that honky tonk badonkadonk
Keepin' perfect rhythm
Make ya wanna swing along
Got it goin' on
Like Donkey Kong
And whoo-wee
Shut my mouth, slap your grandma

What? This isn't a post about the 2005 single "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk" by Trace Atkins? Are you sure? Because I think it is. It isn't. Well, poo. What's it about then? Oooooh! The trip to Ha Ha Tonka last Monday. If you insist.

Right... let me back up first. (We hate to see her go/ But love to watch her leave... er, sorry.) For months, my friend Kara and I have planned on me spending the week of Spring Break at her house. In the early hours of the twenty-first, I arrived at her house. We threw my luggage inside, packed up and immediately hit the road, bound for Springfield. Kara had a nine a.m. appointment with one of our old music teachers, Clint. (I say old, though it's not yet been a year since he taught us.)

Clint was Kara's guitar teacher for several years, and a theory teacher to both of us for one year. Kara has written some (wonderful) songs and was meeting with Clint to work on them. He has everything a music nerd could want: knowledge, creativity, talent, and a recording studio in his basement. It was wonderful watching them work on Kara's songs. They even got a couple scratch tracks down before we had to leave.

After Clint's we ran back to Bolivar and met up with the Yohn girls to all go to Ha Ha Tonka. Kara and I had never been, so we wanted to see what all the fuss was about. So, I loaded up once more, and off we went. (Oh, disclaimer: I stole all these photos from Kara Y. They were either taken by her, or Madalyn.)

Left to right: Kara P, Me, Madalyn, Kara Y, Emily Y, Abby
Yes, there were two Karas and two Emilys. I vote we rename Madalyn to Abby.

There was a lot of hiking. At least four miles of hiking. We saw the "castle," the carriage house, the water tower, the spring, the natural bridge, THE FREAKING STAIRS FROM HELL, and not many woodland creatures. We did see a Bald Eagle on the way into the park... and a dead deer. Anyways. PICTURES!

One of many views we saw of the valley below.

Castle ruin-y goodness.

The "castle" made for a nice backdrop.

I don't have a reason for this picture, I just love it.

So, Kara Y. told her sister, Emily, to get under this rock shelf, and then said, "Don't get dirty!"
This is the expression Emily made in response. I feel she was justified.

I saw this rock and I had to lay on it. I hadn't planned on looking quite so alabaster.

It is worth noting, that when we tested later, Kara P. proved to be paler than me.
I was a little overexcited by this. Still, she didn't splay herself out on every rock we passed.

Cute Emily and Abby are cute!

This is all Madalyn's fault. I have no problem with my butt, but I knew Maddie was stalking us from behind.

So this was my clever solution.
Our hands, they start a shakin'
When she gets the urge to dance
Drivin' everybody crazy
You think you fell in love
Boys, you better keep your distance
You can look but you can't touch!
WHAT??

I once took an 8-mile trek through wild Colorado, at one point being forced to swim, to reach a natural bridge.
This one was blessedly easier to reach. Also smaller, but I was happy about the easy to reach part.

The First Rule of Ha Ha Tonka: When in doubt, ham it up on a rock.

After the natural bridge, Kara Y. forced us to walk the Stairway to Hell so we could see the spring. There were 316 stairs and I swore to myself on every single one that I would never do this again. We went to the bottom, watched some Mexican guys jump the guardrail and splash around in the water (which made me super jealous) and then we went right back up the stairs. I HAD A REALLY GREAT VIEW OF THE WATER FROM 200 FEET ABOVE THE WATER. *sigh* So, 632 steps later, I was ready for ice cream.

We ran into Camdenton, hit up the DQ, and then headed for home. On the way home, Madalyn and I begged, pleaded, and nagged Kara Y. into stopping at Davis Baskets. We'd wanted to stop when we'd passed on our way out there, but she wouldn't stop. To our great delight, she did on the way back. Kara P. was a total chicken and REFUSED to get out of the van, which was hilarious and adorable all at once. Kara Y. wasn't too keen on exiting the vehicle either, but Maddie and I HAD TO HAVE PICTURES!!! It took a lot of sucking up, but she got out of the car.

There were about 10 different signs like that in either direction advertising Davis Baskets.

BAM!

These were SO BAD! :D

Heeheeheehee!!

I never pass up an opportunity to model my "If The Price Is Right" talents.
There was a mummified European Starling wedged in the door of a clearly disused building.

I'm pretty sure this one is super racist, but I haven't figured it out exactly either.

Kara P. seemed to be most creeped out by the three cars that have been there "FOREVER!"
I don't get what's so weird about three dead cars. Also, I kind of loved the blue car.

We got back to Bolivar, and Kara and I made the short trip from the Yohn's house back to hers. I spent no less than five and a half hours in a car that day, but I was still so exhausted from my exertions that the coffee Kara and I grabbed at Java Station didn't even keep me up that night. I think we had coffee. I'm eighty percent sure we went and got coffee.

I drank a lot of coffee over spring break.

I'll post about the rest of my week as soon as Kara sends pictures. There's a great picture which involves a fish. You'll see.

Later,

~Em~

2011: A Coffee Odyssey

2011-03-23T17:48:00.001-05:00

WARNING: The following may be too awesome. Only readers accustomed to strenuous awesome should attempt it.*

Several years ago, Kara and I fell in love with coffee. A few years after that, we finally found a coffee shop in Springfield which we loved. Last year, it closed. Much wailing and gnashing of teeth. We haven’t had the heart or time since then to find a new coffee shop in Springfield. So, when it became clear that I would be coming down for her spring break, we decided to dedicate a day to finding a new coffee joint. After several weeks of careful planning, the auspicious day arrived. I daresay it lived up to expectations.

Kara and I turned out around nine twenty for our hair appointment. We cut our hair short together over a year ago, and lately we’ve been growing it out together. Kara swears she has a mullet, and it bothers her when I say she did not, so in consideration of Kara’s nerves (“You have no compassion on my poor nerves.” “You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They are my old friends.”) we will say she had a mullet. (Ah! we do not know what she suffered!) I don’t even know how to describe what my hair was doing. Let’s say the only way to make myself presentable to respectable company was to curl it. (I’m out of Pride and Prejudice references. Sorry.) Lisa, hairdresser extraordinaire, worked her magic and tamed our wild locks. Thank you, Lisa!!

In short order, after our hair was done, Kara and I loaded into the Jetta and skedaddled on down to Springfield. We picked up our friend, beastly violist, and ex-orchestramate, Regan, and debated our lunch destination. It went something like this….

Me: Where do you want to go to lunch?
Regan: Panera?
Kara: I was thinking that.
Me: I was too. Cool. Panera it is.

It was clear we were all on the same wave length from the very start. Lunch was mostly uneventful, except for when we saw a fellow we recognized. We all know him from different things, but none of us were keen on talking to him. Thankfully, it wasn’t an issue until we started to leave. He walked in from the direction we were about to leave, so with only a breath of hesitation we all three gracefully changed direction and avoided all potential to talk to him. I’m telling you, same wave length.

From the north side of Springfield, we headed downtown. It took a few minutes to get ourselves oriented and pointing in the right direction, but soon enough we had our destination in sight. Hoover’s Music was our first stop. I brought my cello with me from KC to play with Kara; so we were looking for duets, which we found after some searching. After Hoover's we followed the large, blue downtown parking signs until we ended up in the lot behind the bus station. From there we walked the short distance to Park Central Square.

Our first stop of the day was The Coffee Ethic. Clint had recommended it the day before, so it was a late entry into the coffee race. However, it did not disappoint. It's a cozy little shop that opens up into the downtown library with big doors. I admit, that earned it big points. We were all a little giddy and nervous about how exactly to go about our orders, because we wanted to try the shop favorite at every place we went. Thankfully, the barista was a friendly sort of fellow, so I plucked up some courage and explained our quest for the best coffee in Springfield. In describing our venture, I used the phrase "coffee odyssey" and later Kara, Regan, and I decided that using "odyssey" in a sentence would be a good way to judge a barista. The gentleman at Coffee Ethic responded favorably to the phrase and to our endeavor.

He was very encouraging and set us up with a beautiful caramel latte.

There was limited seating inside, and we were there during a high coffee traffic time, but it was gorgeous outside, despite some construction work going on in the square. Kara was eager to well-document our trip in pictures, so we passed around the camera and tried to wrangle ourselves all into one frame. After a few minutes a middle-aged woman came out of the coffee shop and asked if we'd like for her to take a picture. She kept saying we looked adorable "from there" and was very eager to help out, so I handed over the camera and she went back inside. I was at a bit of a loss for a second, and then I realized she'd been sitting in a seat in front of the window we were sitting at the entire time, but we hadn't seen her because of the glare off the glass. She came back a second later and gave back the camera while we thanked her profusely.

She was right, we were adorable. From left to right: Me, Kara, Regan.

About half-way through our latte--we shared every cup so that we were never too hyped-- we decided to create a rubric for our coffee experiences. We factored in the visual presentation of the coffee, flavor, interior design, quality of customers and baristas.

And so rubric was born.

Each of us had a different thing we loved about Coffee Ethic. I loved the artwork (which featured brains performing weird and often macabre tasks), Kara was super impressed with a customer there who was wearing scrubs and studying cardiology and emergency medicine, and Regan was enamored by the barista's Rocky t-shirt as well as his likeness to Mr. Stallone himself. We should have gotten a picture of him. He was by far our favorite barista of the entire day.

When it came time to give an overall rating there was a question as to what to call our numbers. Stars? Lattes? I fell back on an inside joke I share with Regan. We met through homeschool orchestra, and her brother, who is not found of homeschoolers, asked her at the year-end concert who was that classy lady playing cello? Well, it was me. (What can I say? I clean up nice.) Regan confessed this to me that summer when we were rooming at String Fling together, and it has amused me to no end ever since. After recounting the story to Kara, she quickly agreed that we would rate things in "classy ladies." Rubric completed, I took our mug back inside and thanked the barista. When I came back outside, Kara and Regan were beside themselves. Turns out Regan's brother had just driven past our table and I'd missed it. His loss. (*giggles*)

The Coffee Ethic: Five very classy ladies.

For years, I've wanted to wander around downtown Springfield, but I'd never got around to it. Turns out Kara and Regan were in the same boat. So from the Square we struck out with a few shops in mind, but no exact knowledge of how to get to any of them. Of all the grown-up things I've done, wandering around just me and my friends is possibly the most grown-up I've ever felt. Well, fun grown-up. I've done sucky things that were more grown-up, but pointing in windows and giggling when I accidentally scandalized Kara by admiring a modern painting of three nudes (There was only one exposed breast!), I couldn't think of a one of those sucky things.

Speaking of the three nudes, right after that was another store front with art on display. I paused when a portrait of a woman caught my eye. She had yellow, peach, and pink plumes sprouting from her face and the entire thing enchanted me. On closer inspection, the portrait was a human representation of a bird. There was another of a girl as a wood duck. It was also stunning, but it was more obviously a wood duck whereas the other looked like some sort of magical nymph. Kara was far more agreeable to these portraits. We were about to walk on when a man hurried up the sidewalk and said he was about to open if we'd like to come in and look. We followed him inside as he apologized for being late. I think one of us mentioned that we were just wandering around. We had stumbled across Artwalk. I hear about Artwalk every month thanks to my deliciously arty Springfield friends, but I'd never seen it. There was some really great work, and Regan and I both want to go back on April 1st for the next Walk.

From Artwalk we arrived at Indie. We found it by chance, but we were looking for it. It's a little store where local designers can sell clothes, jewelry, accessories, and decorations. It was a completely charming store and everyone was super friendly.

I'm so glad we found it!

I got a set of earrings made from Cracker Jack charms shaped like pistols. (They show up in future pictures.) Kara loved the dress below, and Regan was really in love with a neat upcycled necklace.

Cute dress is cute!

Continuing on with our successful methodology of wandering, we stopped in a shop we found called 3House. If I were a rich girl, (*singing* Na na na na na... Oh, sorry. I love Fiddler on the Roof AND Gwen Stefani.) I would wear pretty much everything in the store. I fell in love with one jacket in particular. Mmmmm. Suffice to say I was very inspired to get on top of designing my own clothes ASAP.

And finally we found the other shop we were hoping to find, Vintage Vice.

They sell all vintage clothing.

We walked in and they were playing "Strange Magic" by ELO. I was thrilled. As we perused the clothing racks they played "Mr. Roboto" by Styx, a song I can never remember the name of but really like, and "My Sharona" by The Knacks. I WAS SUPER THRILLED. It was my favorite music of the day. None of us got anything, but it was a neat place.

By then our free two hour parking was getting close to due. Following the blue downtown parking signs, we rounded the building and ended up once more at the Jetta. Never once did we get lost downtown, nor were we beset upon by roving gangs of furry green monsters and/or creepers. The girls were concerned, but my ears were packin' so I was walking tall. We got out of the heart of the city and headed for an inevitably popular college haunt.

Potter's House is right across from the MSU campus, and clearly caters to that crowd. We ordered to-go after ordering our most adventurous flavor of the day, Berry White Mocha. However, we looked around while they were making our order, so we could form a complete profile for our rubric. There was more seating than at Coffee Ethic (if you don't count the library as seating), though a good deal of that was outdoor. Our biggest criticism was probably the sweetness of the syrups completely covered the coffee flavor. I didn't catch how many flavors went into the particular drink we got, but I still, it was really sweet. The raspberry flavoring was kind of an aftertaste. I wouldn't get that flavor again, or whipped cream, but it was still a good latte.

The Potter's House: Three and a half classy ladies. (Yes, we cut up our classy ladies. I could make a joke about "bits," but Kara is going to read this. *waves*)

We went from there straight to Heroes Coffee. Keeping up our streak, we again found it no problem. We were all very impressed with our navigation skills. (Who needs boys?? Well, we did for them to make our coffee, but not for navigating.) On the way to Heroes we talked tv shows, and somehow Dexter came up. I watched when it first started, but gave up because it was too hardcore for me. So I was explaining to them how Dexter is a serial killer who only kills people who deserve to die, like pedophiles and rapists and such. I said something along the lines of "creeps who had it karmically coming." To which the girls said "karmically" isn't a word! Well, me being me, I whipped out my Kindle, pulled up the Oxford New American Dictionary and pulled up the entry for "karmically." Don't cross the word ninja.

Imma word ninja! Seriously, I love those earrings.

Our Heroes experience was mixed. It's a chain, so it was lacking some of the coziness of our previous stops, the barista wasn't that engaging (And he had the perfect opportunity when Kara got her money stuck in the zipper in her wallet. It was kind of hilarious.), there was a gal behind us in line who was... sadly disgruntled, but there was a super sweet girl outside who was studying Latin and she took our picture for us. The coffee was great. We got a "Hero" to-go, and it was a great flavor. I recommend it.

Gratias tibi ago, adorable college girl.

Heroes Coffee: Four classy ladies for carry-out. Three and a half classy ladies for staying there.

The next stop was a bit lucky. This could have ruined our record of not getting lost. Luckily, I was paying attention to where we were going, for once in my life, and I spotted Plato's Closet's new location before we passed it. Plato's Closet is a consignment store geared towards highschoolers and college kids. (Like us!) The atmosphere is manic. The racks are well maintained, but packed with clothes. The music is set to Alice (90s, Thousands, and Now! I remember when it was the 80s, 90s, and Now! That was catchier. Is it weird that their catchphrase makes me feel old?) which is top 40 hits from my entire lifetime, and it's blasting. There are angsty teenagers with their crazy moms and irritable dads, all trying to get away wearing something a little shorter than their parents want to get. We spent the first fifteen minutes walking around somewhat shell shocked. Finally, we acclimated to the tempo enough to start looking for clothes in earnest. Regan found a great shirt, I got a very purple, cotton dress with yellow velvet pumps (to match my earrings) and a necklace with big beads in bold colors. Kara got not one, but TWO dresses! She says it's the most dresses she's ever bought at once. They're also both purple. (We're wearing our purple dresses today; it's awesome.)

She came out holding her hips and with large eyes said, "It's poofy!" to which I said, "It's SUPPOSED to poof!"
She's totally wearing it today. It's adorable.

As I'm sure you can tell by her face, she really likes this dress.

Hilarious story about this reject below.

Then there was the gray dress. Kara came out with a confused frown when she put this on.

Me: You look so cute! What's wrong?
Kara: It's kind of short.
Me: *nods sympathetically* Yeah, well, don't do what you're not comfortable with.
Kara: Plus, there's this weird thing going on over here. *lifts one corner of the skirt to reveal a weird wrap of fabric which makes a hole.*
Me: Wha... Huh. That's... *cogs turn... Liiiiightbuuuulb.* OH! It's a romper! *gets excited*
Kara: A what?
Me: A romper! *as if repeating the same phrase more emphatically will make it more clear to Kara*
Kara: *Confused "PLEASE CALM DOWN AND TELL ME WHAT THAT MEANS" face*
Me: It has legs. Go back in there and put a leg through that hole. *pushes Kara back into the dressing room while giggling.* They're like skorts from when we were kids.
Kara: *comes back out a second later*
Me: Better?
Kara: Yes... they're really flowy though. And it's still really short.

I showed Kara some more traditional rompers today to assure her that that particular romper was very sneaky about its romperiness and that most rompers are more like jumpsuits without sleeves or legs.

We all want to go back to Plato's Closet some time. The prices were great, you couldn't complain about a lack of selection, and once you get used to the manic atmosphere, you can get down to business.

Our last stop was Hebrews Coffee. We stayed to drink our vanilla latte. It wasn't as cozy as Coffee Ethic, but their coffees were the most alike. But while Coffee Ethic had a delicateness to its balance, there was a more defined bittersweetness (not bitter bitter, just a pleasing bite) to Hebrews' brew. We also split an absolutely awesome Banana Nut Muffin.

Are you excited, Kara? Should I take a picture? OK!

Hebrews Coffee: Four and a quarter classy ladies. (Yeah, yeah. We got nitpicky. We're practically connoisseurs now. We've earned the right.)

It was a great day of friends and coffee.

With heavy hearts, we dropped Regan back off at her house. (At 8:40... whoops. So much for "We'll be back in Bolivar at six.) The car ride home was great. Kara and I talked about really deep stuff. We got home safe and went to bed. Kara slept; I counted the hours until morning when we could get up to new adventures. Okay, the coffee might have had something to do with my insomnia.

And before I go, three girls in Springfield, no map, barest notions of the location of our destinations, no asking for directions, all a little hyped up on coffee, and we never once got lost. *plays "We Are The Champions" by Queen* There is something to this not planning thing. Still, it's easy to go with the flow when you're with two of the greatest girls in the world. Thanks, my dears.

Later,
~Emily~

*This is a reference to the trip we took to Ha Ha Tonka on Monday. I'll post about that next time.