The Book

I am published.

This short blog entry today, before the New Year begins, is to let you know that I am officially published. Two of my short stories, of which I am both proud, have been published in a book. The book is a science book, an astronomy book, full of professional papers and recounts done by professional astronomers. Technically, it is mostly the boyfriend's book since he's one of the three editors on the book. Most of the astronomers in the book I've met and adore. They were all very sweet to let me publish two of my short science fiction stories in their astronomy book: "The Demotion of Pluto" and "Titan: Mission Gone BOOM!"

If you're interested in buying a book, go to the  www.CollinsFoundationPress.org and look for the book entitled Small Telescope and Astronomical Research. You can order it straight off the website. Today, it is $19.95. As of the new year, it will be $29.95.

Please let me know if you get it! I would love to hear your thoughts on my stories. So far, I've read them in front of many professional astronomers. I'm curious to know what the public thinks as well.

Goals

My dreams are vivid.

It is frightening to wake up from a dream where everything is exploding around you, where you feel like you're running in slow motion but you know that, in the reality of your dream, you are actually running quite quickly. It is frightening to see your "friends" die in the explosions, give up because they cant run anymore, even though you pull at them to hurry up, and someone ahead eventually pulls on your arm, telling you that there isn't any hope and to leave them be. It's frightening to leave them, as the explosions surround you and your ears are stunned by the sound as you run and run and run... knowing that somehow, someday, you will get to your destination, you will be safe with the few friends who didn't give up, the ones you have left.

It's frightening to wake up and think, "That's a great beginning to a story." And that's what I think whenever I wake up from dreams like that.

A friend of mine recently posted her New Years resolutions and I thought to myself "What are mine?" They certainly have to do with writing, since I feel like I always have a million ideas bouncing around in my head (like the dream, for example). So, I sat down and thought about it and here's what I came up with:

1. I will get straight A's this semester. I feel like I really let myself down this last semester. Even though I moved and was in a new location, a new home, a new situation, a new school, I feel like I should have gotten an A in classes that I got a B. So, I'm determined to bring my GPA back up.

2. I will go to therapy and tell the truth. This one is pretty self-explanatory. I want to get fixed.

3. I will finish the second draft of my novel and edit it, not rewrite it. I'm a freak. Re-writing is in my nature. I keep thinking "what if I did that to my novel?" I need to make a decision and stick with it. So, it needs to be edited, not necessarily re-written. The re-writing can come in bits of the editing.

4. I will not let holidays get me down. Part of the whole depression thing is fighting it. This will be a hard resolution because it starts with New Years Eve, which has a whole lot of a expectation attached to it. Then we move into Valentines Day and so on and so forth. All the expectation makes me want to have the best holiday ever, better than my friends. But even if it's good, I'm still depressed about it. So I'm going to try and not be.

5. I will get published. Technically, with the boyfriend's book out, I am published. However, I want something, on my own, to be published. So I can lift my head up and smile.

Merry Christmas

...

or Happy Holidays. Whatever you prefer.

I know today was AWESOME for me!!! My sister got me the best Christmas gift EVER!

Is Santa a Socialist?

This honestly scares me.

http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/2505663/sarah_palin_santa_claus_or_comrade_pg2.html?cat=60

I checked this out on Snopes.com to see if it was true and couldn't find any info against it. It honestly scares me that A) Sarah Palin would assume that Jewish people don't know the difference between Santa Claus and Jesus and B) that Sarah Palin would say that Santa giving children presents is a bad thing.

Whatever happened to the giving holiday? Whatever happened to the spirit of Christmas? Geez...

Help

I've been keeping most of this inside because I've been a bit embarressed and a little unready to tell everyone my big emotional flaws. But, when I broke down today and told my mom the truth, I decided that I better let the cat out of the bag and break it to the world. Because, really, I shouldn't be ashamed.

I'm getting therapy.

I am one messed up "young adult," if you can't already tell. I'm not quite sure who reads this besides my grandparents and maybe an uncle or aunt, but I really am one messed up person. Because when I was a teen, my dad began his tirade of emotional abuse. Because when I was a teen, I figured out that the only way I could solve things (due to my father) was to get angry. Because when I was a teen, I jumped in the middle of countless arguments, received endless griping about how horrible my mother and sister were, and cried in the corner of my bedroom, hoping that no one would find me there. Because when I was a teen, I discovered that the only way to relieve stress, anger, or any sort of emotion was to cry.

I know this sounds weird and, if you know me in person, you might think I'm a really strong personality and that I have it all together. However, that's my game face. That's what I want to be, what I spend every second trying to be.

The truth is that I am on big ball of salty wet tears. And I can't seem to turn off the hose whatever I do or try. I don't just cry when I'm sad or angry. I cry when I'm scared. I cry when I'm nervous. I cry when there is a situation that I can't control. I cry when I can't figure out my statistics homework the first time. I cry when any sort of emotion beyond happiness gets beyond the level of basic function. And, like I said, I can't turn it off. So imagine being me, going in to my boss' office to ask for a raise, and crying because I'm a little nervous about asking him...

Yea. Pretty pathetic.

But, of course, that's not the reason why I'm going into therapy. The crying is the relief, the break in the dam that helps the pressure to subside. What creates the pressure is the hatred, the pure black blinding hatred for my father and myself that I have built up inside of me that leaks through little cracks, without the crying, effecting my every day life. Making me angry in situations where I shouldn't be angry. Making me depressed when nothing is wrong. The hatred that I have for my father that I can control, which only causes me to hate myself more because I feel like I'm turning into him. The hatred that I have for myself when I look in the mirror and see something different that the person other people tell me that they see.

People tell me not to think badly of myself. They tell me just to take a deep breath and to just calm down. But that's what they don't understand. I don't know how to calm down. And since I don't know how to calm down (except to cry), I can only see myself as this angry, pitiful creature. And it makes me suffer, it makes me depressed. It makes me miserable.

So I'm going to therapy.

A Whole New Ball Game

Christmas break has been going really well so far. I've spent time with my mom's family, I've seen my best friend, I found the skirt for my steampunk costume...

Christmas break has been going really well so far.

Until this evening.

I realize I'm a fairly serious person. In grade school, my friends used to tease me about my lack of sense of humor. I dealt with it, laughing along with their teasing and building up my little brick wall against them. I thought that the older I grew, the more people would understand that I take things seriously because I believe certain things out to be taken seriously. Especially break ups.

Tonight, a friend of mine texted me, letting me know that he and his girlfriend broke up. I freaked out, thinking that he needed me, but he didn't pick up when I called. When he did call me back, he was laughing because it had all been a joke. It had all been a prank.

I don't know about you, but it was no joking matter. Telling a friend that you're moving back to the coast to be closer to the ocean so you can drown yourself because you broke up with your girlfriend is not funny. Frankly, it's concerning. And I was concerned. And hurt. Hurt that a friend had played such a cruel trick.

I'm posting this as just a ramble. I don't know what I'm going to do about it all and I hope everyone who reads this learns from my experience.

What a way to celebrate the week of Christmas.

Twidiots, Part 2

Ok, I just found this article and, if you were interested in my first reporting of poor Military_Mom's story, here's the conclusion to it: http://www.floridatoday.com/article/20091217/BREAKINGNEWS/91217033/1086/rss07

Please read and sympathize for this poor woman.

Twidiots?

I have this kind of love/hate relationship with Twitter.

I've been off and on it for a while. Sure, it's fun to update my status every hour and make my life seem interesting but, honestly, who cares what I’m doing every second of my day? After a while, when you have absolutely nothing to update your account with except for “bored as hell” or “watching the rain,” you realize how dull your life has become.

However, I decided to give it a shot one more time, just to see what the fuss was all about. And, for about two days, I thought Twitter was cool. Then I heard about Military_Mom.

You’ve heard of those people whose life is completely surrounded with Twitter? This is Military_Mom. If you just go and look at her page, almost every minute of every day is taken up by updates and notes to her readers. She was one social mama. So, you can imagine how shocked her readers were when, about an hour after her last Twitter, she mentioned to her readers, “Please pray, my 2-year-old son fell in our pool,” which has since been removed from her page.

It has since become a controversy. Was Military_Mom Twittering when her son fell in her pool? Or was this just an instance where a rambunctious 2-year-old just fell in a pool while his mother had turned his head for a second? Readers have been leaning both ways.

I’m not sure which is it, but the woman made the call to the police about her son falling in her pool around 5:38pm on Monday, according to Florida Today. If you check on Twitter, this was only 15 minutes after her last “tweet.” It completely shakes me up. The facts are unclear but a little brutal.

Military_Mom has responded viciously to four different Tweeters, telling them “you are an ass, I was outside w/him and it took 2 sec for him to slip away, I hope U never feel this pain u ass” and “where us your heart bitch.” However, as someone who wants to agree with Military_Mom, I have to look at the hard facts that this woman has not come back with a reply against the statement that the might have been checking her Twitter or Twittering while her child was wandering around.

Losing someone, especially a child, is hard. I cannot imagine what this woman is going through, whether it is the fault of her Twittering or not. I’m trying to stay on the side of those who are praying for this woman and giving her their condolences. If I were her, I would have deleted my Twitter account by this time instead of taking the controversial Tweets off of her page. My heart goes out to this woman, whatever state she is in. Especially because I believe, unlike others on Twitter, that she would not Tweet her son was at the bottom of the pool while he was there. Maybe she really wanted prayer. I know I would.

Even so, I’m thinking harder about getting off of Twitter. If not just because the readers are so brutal about something they don’t have all the facts for.

Who would want a Web site like this to be the blame for your child’s death? I know I wouldn’t.

References:

Florida Today: http://www.floridatoday.com/comments/article/20091215/BREAKINGNEWS/91215016/Merritt-Island-toddler-drowns-in-swimming-pool

Military_Mom: http://twitter.com/Military_Mom

The undeleted Tweets: http://girlarsonist.blogspot.com/2009/12/mom-tweets-while-son-drowns.html

Conflicted Holiday

Christmas is a conflicted time of year for me.

Now that I live away from home, Christmas is no longer a holiday that I begin and end with my family. It is a holiday that I join in on, a holiday that is left to childhood memories and feelings of the past. I really feel like that, until I am married and have my own family to celebrate the holidays with, Christmas has become simply a time to "remember when" and just spend time with the family I have.

Two memories dominate my mind when December decides to show her chilly face in my life. First, there's the memory that makes me look forward to Christmas. The memory of growing up in Tehachapi. The memory that reminds me of how Christmas feels. This one consists of decorations on the house, the snow covering our 2 1/2 acres of land shimmering in the moonlight, my sister and I pulling our sleds up a hill only to ride back down it again, calling after our dog who had decided to hide in the snow from us, making cat huts (instead of snowmen) out of snow for my cats (who loved them, by the way, and would hide in them as soon as we put an old towel inside that they could lie down on), hot chocolate, a roaring fire, a giant Christmas tree with presents stacked underneath it, listening to the sound of laughter as I watched my family open presents, the smell of the pancakes my mom would make every Christmas morning...

The Christmas of my childhood.

Then, there's that memory that always ruins my Christmas, that memory that makes me despise this time of year more than anything else. You probably guessed it. It's the memory of my father and the legacy that he left behind when he decided to thrash his way out of his family's life. Now, most people might be mad at me for not just saying "screw him!" and throwing this memory out, but, when it's been so deeply ingrained in my mind, it's hard to remember Christmas without remembering him. Without remembering how much he hated the holiday. Without remembering how he moaned and groaned about getting the Christmas tree every year because "it wasn't Christian" and "it's too much trouble" and "that's not what Christmas was all about." Without remembering how, on Christmas day after my sister and I had opened up all of our presents, he would ask us to give him half of the presents that we had recieved to give to the homeless shelter. Without remembering him getting mad at us when we asked him why he didn't just ask us to do that before we opened the presents, before we had seen what they had given us. Without remembering closed blinds and hiding in bedrooms and going out to see a movie with my mom and sister just so we could get the hell away from him sitting at home, being an absolute terror.

I once gave my father a Grinch tie as a Christmas gift and a joke. Now, years later, I wonder if I was predicting the future.

So, as I end finals this week and head from my university to my mom's house for Christmas, I open my book of memories and try to flip backwards through all the bad memories to my childhood in Tehachapi, when all I thought about was stockings and snow and servings of bacon, fresh from the skillet.

What memories do you carry with you at this time of year?

After Birthday Blues

Last night went well. I went out with some friends from the newspaper and the boyfriend for some sushi and sake. We had a wonderful time. After, we were thinking of going to the bars; however, we decided that it was raining much to hard for that and, instead, came home for some eggnog and rum. Yum!

But the birthday is over. And even though it's pouring down rain, and I would love to be working on the end of my novel or doing this:

I, instead, have to do this:

However, I have some exciting/interesting prospects lined up that, if they fall into the right place, I might mention about winter break or even the next semester. We'll see what happens!

Happy Panda

I'm 21 today! Woopee!!

Now... all the major birthdays are over with. It's sort of weird, hoping that this birthday would come and now it's halfway over.

Anyway.

Harry vs. Bella: Why Twilight Fails to Impress a Lover of Lit

If Harry Potter and Bella Swan were to get into a duel, who do you think would win?

If we took into account that the spineless high schooler would inevitably call upon her handsome werewolf or animal-sucking vampire for protection, where-as the Boy-Who-Lived would simply raise his wand to the challenge, I think we would have our answer without discussion.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’ve been a die-hard fan of both Twilight and Harry Potter. I have read all the books and seen all the movies. I’ve heard all the opinions there really are possibly to be heard. Yet, still, I come back to the same conclusion over and over again — without fail, the Harry Potter series kicks the Twilight series out of literary consideration. After carefully considering all aspects of what makes a book appeal to an audience, and remembering that the next movie in both series comes out November 2010, I have come up with a list of reasons why fans should put down Eclipse and pick up Deathly Hallows.

1. Character development — When we meet Bella and Harry, they are two very under confident teens. Harry’s sort of a trouble-maker. Bella is so depressed after moving away from Arizona that the readers are afraid she might kill herself. As the stories progress, Bella’s attitude develops into “If I don’t have Edward, my life is over,” where-as Harry steps up to the plate, wand in hand, ready to figure his life out. Not convinced yet? By the end of book four, Bella’s selfish idea is that she will protect the vampire baby in her stomach even if it’s going to kill her, where-as Harry unselfishly goes to his inevitable death to protect the world from a very evil being.

2. Climax — Stephanie Meyer murders the idea of climax in her plotlines. At the end of Book 3, there is an epic battle with the werewolves and Cullens on one side and baby vampires on the other side. Does it feel epic? No. Mainly because Bella is too stubborn to stay home and has to be out in a tent, in the middle of the woods, freezing her fanny off with a worried Jacob and Edward, who should be fighting to protect her. On the other side, we see Harry fighting Professor Quirrell in book 1, a massive spider in 2, dementors in 3, Voldemort in 4, Death Eaters in 5, Death Eaters in 6, and a ton of people including Death Eaters and Voldemort in 7. There is always a climax. The audience never yearns for a fight scene, which is what I yearned for at the end of Meyer’s Breaking Dawn, where the Volturi show up, there’s a set up for a massive battle, and then… then… nothing.

3. Sequels — Sure, everyone publishes a book they’re not proud of, but I think I’ll take Harry’s angst, Ron’s struggle with his love for Hermione and a little drama over a finale book that made readers’ eyes widen as they say, “HUH?” Come on, Stephanie Meyer. You tiptoe around every little subject, keep your characters innocent and then your fourth book contains pedophilia, brutal sex, and a C-Section with Edward’s teeth? At least J.K. Rowling is consistent.

4. Morals — This is pretty plain and simple to me. When the Harry Potter series first came out, parents freaked out over their children reading books about witchcraft. However, I could always shut parents up with arguing that the series is an epic about the struggles of good triumphing over evil. It doesn’t tell you how to get the hair of a unicorn and mix it with toads’ eyes to make a love potion. On the other hand, I haven’t heard many complaints from mothers worrying about their children reading Twilight. This bothers me because the book teaches selfishness. She wants Edward. No, she wants Jacob. Now she wants both at once. “I don’t care about my soul as long as I can be with you.” What is this? Shouldn’t mothers be worried about their daughters running off with the first boy they meet because, “Mooooom, we’re in looooove.”

So there you have it. Megan’s perspective on these two infamous book series. Keep in mind that I did read both series, I was a die-hard fan, I saw the movies and I’m taking this all from a literary perspective.

And don’t dis on Harry Potter. That book has come a long way and I feel satisfied when I read it, unlike the disgusted, emo feeling I get from Twilight.

Steampunking It

I almost had a heart attack when I found out Monday night about the Edwardian Ball that's being held in San Francisco in January.

Of course, if you didn't know already, I'm a steampunk fanatic. I really wanted to go to SteamCon in October but getting my costume together that quick is a little much for me. However, this time I'm ready, this time I've got it. I'm going with my sister and a friend first to the Edwardian World's Faire and then to the Edwardian Ball in the most beautiful red dress and (hopefully) a parasol.

The dress looks like this and is from http://www.retroscopefashions.com/images/gallery/gallery130.jpg








Anyway, it's Dead Week in school, the week before finals, and the word "dead" is taking on a new definition for me this week. First, it's definitely much colder here than it was in the bay area, where I used to live, so I actually broke out my heavy black jacket, the one I wore to Chicago for the band trip my junior year of high school and felt warm for the first time here in weeks. On the other hand, even though it's cold, the sky is a crisp blue color that you would otherwise ignore on a hot day, and, though it stings your nose, when you breathe in, you can smell every little icy scent going on around you. In a way, it brings me back to my childhood, living in the mountains of Tehachapi, in my parents' house, sitting in front of a blazing fire that my father had stoked up to be so hot, so intense, that it was impossible to stand in front of it for more than a couple of seconds without feeling overwhelmed. I missed that fireplace...

Google Has Issues

This weekend, the student newspaper worked double time so that we could make up for the fact that this coming week is Dead Week. Maybe it's Dead Week for everyone else, but for me it's "you have a final on monday, your paper is due Tuesday, and you have a lot of statistics homework" week. I guess it is better, though, because I really only have 2 finals that I'm taking during the actual finals week and they're spaced evenly on Tuesday and Thursday.

What I'm really excited about is the fact that I'm turning 21 on Friday. My friends from the newspaper and I have been discussing what to do for my birthday. They, of course, want to go out to the bars, in the town where there are 10 million bars to choose from and is known for its drinking on Friday night. I, on the other hand, voted for sushi and sake, because sushi is my favorite food ever. So that's what we'll be doing on Friday. No bar scene. No getting Megan plastered. Just going out to dinner. Yay!

Anyway, since my brain is still pretty dead from all the double-time copy-editing I had to do yesterday (7 hours worth of copy-editing), I'm going to leave this post with an interesting little tidbit.

Google is weird. If you've ever searched its engines, you know that it has this habit of trying to finish whatever sentence or phrase you want to look up. So, I thought it would be interesting to look up a word and see what phrase pops up with it. The results are... kind of odd.

What
What are these strawberries doing on my nipples, I need them for the fruit salad

Why
Why is my poop green?
Why is there a dead pakistani on my couch

Those
Those who do not learn from history and are doomed to repeat it

I
i like to tape my thumbs to my hands to see what it would be like to be a dinosaur

Who
Who moved my cheese?

Try this on your own. You might spend hours trying to find something fun, like I did!

Bible Thumping Crazy Christians

I am a Christian.

I'm not a flaming Christian. I'm what I would call a "quiet Christian." I share my beliefs with people who would like to listen and share their ideas and opinions back in a calm manner. When my family moved to the coast when I was in high school, I was (what people called) a "pretty crazy Christian." I called people out right on the spot, I didn't explain myself after giving the answer that I believed was right. When someone asked me if they were going to hell and told me they weren't a Christian, I stuck with the "yes, you are going to hell" and was told that I hurt a fair number of people's feelings that way. As time progressed and people stopped talked to me, I turned my tone down from an 8 to a 4, realizing that the way you approach people about Christianity should be gentle, calm, and optimistic. As much as I believe that the Bible is the way, someone else has a right to their opinion as well and it would be just of me to listen to it, even if I'm going to contradict it with another verse from the Bible.

So... when I saw this man on my campus looking exactly the way he does in this picture, claiming to preach a message of love from God... my blood boiled. And every time I look at this picture, my blood boils.

How would you like it, Christian or no, if you came upon someone like this? From this picture, what I gather is that he is pointing his finger, his mouth is open, and his eyes are narrowed. Which means... he's accusing someone of something. And that's just what he is on campus to do. I don't care what he has told everyone. His yelling and screaming and finger pointing presents a message of hate.

I'm come across this guy twice on campus, by myself, and both times I felt compelled to speak to him. The first time, he was standing on top of something, looking over the heads of students, screaming how they were all sodomites and lovers of homosexuals and how God "abhors" them all. I witness a young man from the college standing next to him, holding a sign in cardboard that read "God abhors this guy" and I listened to students laughing at guy screaming. I praised another young man who was telling the crowd that God and Jesus both love everyone and that they want to save everyone, while the preacher tried to scream over him about how they were all sinners and horrible and going to hell. I attempted to say something to him but he didn't listen to me and, I admit, my yelling up at him just blended in with the rest of the chaos.

The second time, Wednesday afternoon, I found that guy out again with an even bigger audience circling him this time, and a buddy who was holding the sign that the guy was holding the first time that I saw him. Off to the side were two young men holding cardboard signs with phrases such as "Jesus loves all!" on them, and I decided to approach them this time. I was grateful to find that they were from a Christian fraternity on campus and were trying to prove to the audience that you can preach a message without screaming, which was true because people continuously approached them, talking to them calmly, and mainly asking if they were with the two men who were yelling at the crowd. After talking to one of the guys for a while, I saw the preacher had stopped yelling so, against the boyfriend's warning earlier that day, I approached him.

I was calm. I asked him if he had a moment. I then proceeded to inquire how he thought all of this yelling was preaching a message of love, when it appeared to everyone that he was preaching hatred. He yelled at me after I had approached him quietly, inches from my face, with his horrid crooked teeth and horrid crooked breath, while I stood there quietly, looking at him quizzically. I felt the full force of his confrontation with his face so close to mine, accusing me of not being a true Christian, of not spreading the message of God. (I wanted to tell him that he reminded me of my father but I was afraid he would actually suggest my father is a good man.) Yet, never once did he open the Bible that he had been slapping around in his hand. He asked me if I had read the Gospels and seemed a little surprised when I confidently replied "yes" and wanted to add "have you?" When he went so far as to say, "What do you think your little ice cream socials and your little Bible studies can do compared to my preaching?" I actually shook my head and walked away. I wanted to slap him. I wanted to punch him in his crooked teeth and get him to stop making Christians look bad, make him stop angering Campus Crusades and the Christian fraternities and sororities. Of course, I didn't, but I wanted to. Perhaps I felt this way because the message he was spreading inspired anger and I wanted to show him anger in the form of my fist.

I later found out from another staff member at the student newspaper that the police have a record on this guy. His group travels around CSU campuses, screaming "the love of God" messages, and getting in people's faces so that someone physically assaults them. Then, they sue that person for a lot of money (claiming that they were in the campus free speech area) and they move to the next CSU. Personally, if I could, I would convict them of a hate crime.

My blood boils when I see that picture. My blood boils when I see that man.

I wonder what the police would say if a girl decked that guy in the face.

Men in History Who Got Screwed Over in Odd Ways

When I was still living back home and going to junior college, I had this crazy history teacher who taught the early years of U.S. History. We'll call him Dr. K. Anyway, so Dr. K started me on this craze of loving people who had crazy things happen in their lives. Or crazy things that just happened to end their lives. Here are three of my favorites and their crazy life-altering stories:

John Smith

Everyone has heard of the famous John Smith, who came to America as a famous explorer. However, what people don't know (or what has been fairly misled by the Disney film about Pocahontas) is that he wasn't actually romantically involved with the daughter of a Native American chief. Instead, he was capture but then became friends with some Native Americans after they grew fascinated with Smith's ability to read his pocket compass (and Smith did claim that he thought Pocahontas helped him out a little bit, although he couldn't really tell because he couldn't understand the language.) Anyway, so the best part of the story is when Smith was traveling down the river with some of his men and his gunpowder pouch caught on fire. He received a very severe burn underneath the belt (if you know what I mean) and he returned to England for treatment under the belt. Poor John Smith... :(
And, of course, we all think of him like this:

But, unfortunately, he really looked like this:

Edward Braddock

This guy was a British General, who had kind of a pompous attitude that ended up getting him killed. During the French and Indian war, he had the grand idea of having approximately 1,400 of his men march to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, even though he had received word from his Native American spies that the French and the Native Americans had massed in Pittsburgh. Since Braddock didn't respect Native Americans, he naturally didn't want to listen to their report so he decided to go to Pittsburgh against the will of the spies. As you can only imagine, they all marched to Pittsburgh and 900 out of the 1,400 people got completely slaughtered by the Native Americans because the British had no idea how to fight the same way that the Native Americans did. It ended with Braddock getting shot off of 4 different horses and getting hit in the chest and dying 4 days later, after General Washington took over. Pretty depressing death, huh? It'll teach people to be less arrogant.

Rodrigo de Jerez

Our good friend Rodrigo came over to America with Columbus. When the Native Americans approached the settlers with tobacco as a welcoming gesture, Columbus thought the whole idea of smoking was completely disgusting. Rodrigo, on the other hand, became the first European to be addicted to smoking. He really liked the habit. So, thinking that he was completely brilliant, Rodrigo decided to go back to Spain to show everyone the gloriousness of tobacco. However, unfortunately, the Spanish decided that Rodrigo was possessed by the devil because he could emit smoke from his nose and mouth, so they turned him over to the Inquisition, who threw him in jail for seven years. So, poor Rodrigo was not only the first European to become addicted to smoking, he was also the first European to have to break the habit cold turkey. Poor man!

So, which one are you saddest for?

Finished

I know it's been a week since I posted last but, as a college student, I've needed the break. I didn't get a break from college (far from it, actually, since I had to copy edit even after the school week was over and study for a Human Sexuality test that I can only pray that I'm going to pass) but I've mostly been working on my word count for NaNoWriMo, chugging away to get to those 50,000 words.

And yesterday, as the boyfriend and I were stuck in traffic on the 5, trying to get back to our new hometown, I got to 50,000 words and did a silly little dance in my seat. Then I promptly fell asleep for about a half an hour.

I am quite proud of myself for making it this far. I've only written 19 chapters and I have 32 chapters in this novel so I still have quite a ways to go. But, I do feel confident that, in the next month, I can finish these chapters. I'm going to keep trying to make my word count every day, the 1,667 words that seemed to loom at me whenever I would start writing. After I'm done with Draft 2, I'm definitely going to have some people edit this book of my and start in on revision, myself. Because the next step?

Editing. Revision. And trying to get it published.

Excerpt from Chapter 19:

He could still see her beautiful pale face, her auburn hair, the powerful sparkle in her lavender eyes – Detao, goddess of life. How many walks had they gone on after the earth had just been formed, the other gods staring jealously as their younger sister chose to converse regularly with him, lord of all dragons? How many years had it taken him to ask her for the one thing that might forever change their destinies? He would never forget nor forgive her for that day. Her long green dress flowing gently behind her as she approached him on the beach had rendered him speechless, as he had never been before in her presence. He had bowed his head deeply and made the request, much harder than he had expected even though it had only been a few simple words… but nothing could have prepared him for the pain that was to follow. Occasionally he could still feel traces of it, the pain of one bodily shape – having been born and meant to fulfill that original shape – shifting into another one, a smaller one, more restricting. But even then he retained the golden hue in his human skin that had glowed on his scales, his teeth still pointed slightly, and his fingers remained claw-like. When, at last, the transformation had become complete, he had dropped to one knee and offered his love and service to the one who had always been there for him, to the one whose touch he craved by the second, as a devoted servant and lover.

Night of Writing Dangerously - Part 2

I am nowhere near finishing my novel. At 38,417 words, I have just finished chapter 14 and I have 32 chapters planned out for this book. It's pretty insane. When I finish NaNoWriMo, I need to keep writing because I'm still going to have at least 10-14 chapters left to write by that point in time.

However, last night's Night of Writing Dangerously definitely helped me knock out some of my word count! I wrote 4,000 words last night. Yay!

There were a group of four of us that carpooled down to the Julia Morgan Ballroom in San Francisco. I didn't dress up in the noir theme that they had going on (and, once I got there, I wished that I had), but Kyleen and her son, Curtis, did. And they looked spectacular.

It took us about 3 hours to get there. Surprisingly, there wasn't as much traffic on the Bay Bridge as we thought that there might be, so we got there early. We didn't get in until, 5pm, however, so we stood around, watching people come up in their amazing costumes and I felt jealous of all of them. The first picture is of our entire group, together, right outside the ballroom. From left to right, it's Terry *(the woman who let me come to this event as her guest), Kyleen, Curtis, and myself.

 

 

When they finally let us in inside the ballroom, we were awestruck. It was absolutely gorgeous. They had table upon table set up for competitions such as word sprints. I knew I wasn't going to win any of them since I'm not that fast of a typer but it was fun to see people so excited.

 

 

 

 So, as you can see in the picture above, there was a Candy Buffet at the table right behind ours. And yes, we munched on candy until we were too sick to want anything else but real food, which wasn't served to us until 7:30. So, after we sat down, we just got to writing. Terry won the first Word Sprint and, with it, won a book but had to wear a flower pot hat until the next word sprint:

I was jealous of her book. I'm definitely going to the book store today in search of it. Then, we also had cards to compete word-wise with other tables:

Mostly, though, we just ignored most of that stuff and write. Chris Baty, founder of the Office of Letters and Light and NaNoWriMo, came up to talk around 8pm. At one point, I went and got my author's photos done and I cannot WAIT to see them when they come out but I fear that might not be for a while. Then, before we left, we had the most amazing (and kind of disgusting) creative doughnuts served to us. Mine was a mixture of Captain Crunch Cereal and what tasted like Krispe Kreme frosting:

 

We called this one the nose bleed:

There were just tons of doughnuts. There was a doughnut that looked like a hamburger with bacon in the center, and doughnuts with cereal and just every other thing you can imagine on top. I was so sick of candy and sweets by the time the doughnuts came that I took about 2 bites out of my doughnut, threw it away, and just went back to writing.

So, as I said, I wrote about 4,000 words. I met Chris Baty, who told me that I could come work for him if I lived close enough. (Which would be awesome! Gotta convince the boyfriend to move us to UC Berkley for grad school now.) And I just, overall, had a good time. We got a bag with the awesome Night of Writing Dangerously logo on it and, inside, lots of cool stuff, including an offer to edit the first 15 pages of my novel for $35, which, unfortunately, I do not have the money for at the moment. On the flip side of things, I think I'm going to try and raise my own $200 next year and not go as a guest. And I'm going to dress up in whatever theme they have. (Hope it's steampunk.) Here's to hoping!

 

Excerpt from Chapter 15:

Naomi scoffed and pushed him, and, as Farren fell backwards, fire unexpectedly spurted from his fingers, lighting the couch closest to him on fire. As the flames began to eat their way through the silk cushions, Micaal yelled at his apprentice for his clumsiness and inability to ever be a proper blacksmith, Raneese began to roar with laugher, and her apprentice, Tren, leaped from where he was sitting on the couch, clutching The Book of the Gods to his chest, and yelling at all of them. In the midst of the craziness, as Micaal began to shake Farren by the shoulders, pointing to the flames, Damian pushed his way through the crowd and put the fire out with a short spurt of water from his hands. The damage had, unfortunately, already spread through half of the couch, eating up most of the beautifully embroidered cushions. Adrianne giggled along with Piper and Raneese as Tren jumped up and down, the book pressed to his chest, shaking a finger at them and cursing them all in the name of the gods. Damian had to jump between Micaal and Farren, who, fire at their fingertips, faced one another in a duel of control. It seemed more like a duel of out-of-control than anything else.

Tidbits for you today!

Chapter 11 tidbit:

Onions.
Hundreds of onions. Red, white, and yellow, they nearly poured from the door, round, large and small. Their smell could make a rabbit fall dead; some, smashed, shone with tear-jerking juice, a danger to those who happened to stumble in their path. Margaret covered her nose with her hands, her eyes already watering… not from the smell.
Tiny hands, reaching up, tiny loving hands. She squeezed the round white globes in her blood-stained palms, the clear juice streaking through the red and down her arms, dropping their sweet fragrance to the hard-packed earth below. Tiny hands, reaching; a tiny voice, crying, “sister, sister, all dead, sister!” Once pushed away, twice pushed away, three times they reached, up and up… “sister, sister”… until flying and clutching tight, crying, sobbing, “sister…”
And silence.

Chapter 12

Over the years, Tristen had debated with himself, his former mentor, Piper, the other Dragonriders, and even Katisha about the moral ethics of his connection with his brother. Since the foundation of his ability, around his 22nd birthday, Tristen had been able to use his connection with his twin brother as a way to keep his eye on the kingdom. He had discovered the ability almost by accident one day, while with his mentor and concentrating on lifting his dragon off the ground by sheer ability, when he had suddenly thought of his brother in a moment of desperation. Katisha had dropped to the ground, his mentor had yelled at him in frustration, and Tristen had suddenly found himself in Jacob’s head, hearing his brother’s voice and seeing out his eyes as if they were his own. He had been frightened at first but, as the months passed and he heard no word from Jacob about the experience, he had finally been convinced by his mentor to fine-tune the skills and use them as a benefit to the other Atherians, along with himself. He was able to tell when his brother was in trouble or in a heated debate. He had even, on several occasions, accidentally arrived just as Jacob was making love to some strange woman and had to draw himself away from his brother’s mind before seeing more than he wanted to know about his twin. Each time he went in, he tried to convince himself it would be the last, that he wouldn’t spy any longer. Each time he couldn’t help himself, trying to convince himself that one more time couldn’t hurt, that Jacob wouldn’t notice.



And an extra bit of news...


I'M GOING TO THE NIGHT OF WRITING DANGEROUSLY!!!!!!!! Pictures will come after Sunday!

Blood to Blood

Tonight, while talking to one of my dearest friends, I stumbled upon a memory of the past.

When my father first left, almost 3 years ago now, my younger sister took on the idea that no one could do any wrong in her eyes. Her view on my father was that there had to be some good left in him and it was her job to find it. She searched and searched, only to be turned down again and again. I watched her struggle, tried to help her, but I think I reminded her too much of him. Finally, after her senior year of high school, that personality trait cracked a little and she began seeing people, for their good and bad, like she used to. Even still, living with her for those 2 1/2 years were painful. We both fought against one another, not quite sure what it was that bugged us about the other one. We knew how to push one anothers buttons and did so often, so often that it broke my amazing mother's calm until she would have to scream at us to stop fighting.

However, in the past few months, since I have moved from my mother's home up to college, my sister and I have begun to get along. Lately, we've talked on the phone more than twice a week, whether it be about school or my dad or whatever. We get along. We laugh at one another's jokes and tell one another stories of our lives. I can actually say that I'm beginning to believe that I'm becoming friends with my sister. All those years of screaming "I hate you" and "Once you move, you'll never hear from me" in the heat of the battle are gone when we talk on the phone. It's a relief. And I'm happy about it.

So here's to you, sister dear!! And our future friendship. For good and for bad.

Down With Some Sickness

It is Sunday and I am sick.

I'm surprised this didn't happen earlier. Everyone at my university has been getting sick and, conveniently, both the boyfriend and I came down with the same sickness at the same time, so we have the same symptoms and everything. And, since both of us are sick, we've been looking at one another pitifully, with no one to take care of us because one of us isn't well enough to want to take care of the other one.

There's a whole lot of pitiful going on in my apartment right now.

At some point, though, I have to leave because I'm supposed to make it to 25,000 words today and, as you can probably see, I'm close but not quite close enough. However, something wierd is going on. I've been told I wasn't going to the Night of Writing Dangerously and now it seems that it might be back on again. The whole thing is so confusing.

Barnes and Noble really needs to get on the Christmas ball and start making those Peppermint Mochas because I'm getting to that time of the year where I'm craving them. And since I only allow myself to drink them during the month of December then... well... It's close to that time.





Excerpt of the day:

Margaret stepped forward and attempted a curtsey, stretching her neck forward to kiss the hand that the gypsy king held out to her. He drew it back with a hearty laugh before she could even touch it and then reached out and took her hands in his, drawing her up to look at him. Up close, Margaret suddenly found she felt warmth in the mismatched brown and green eyes, and she relaxed as his warm hands clasped hers. His long grey beard had various clock-like objects tied to it, his mismatched clothing hung with odd gadgets and around his waist hung hundreds of pocket watches. “You are welcome, my dear, to dine with our little group tonight,” he told her and his voice was gentle and calming. Margaret couldn’t help but smile. “I am Ronin, King of the Gypsies. Please accept this gift,” he continued, unhooking one of the intricate pocket watches from the belt around his waist and hanging it around her neck. “Always remember that time is your friend, sorceress…”

Lately

It's been a busy couple of days.

Oddly enough, right when I decided to change my major, the school's major change website stopped working and the advisor that I needed to sign my papers to verify the change went out of town. Luckily, the adviser also happens to be the adviser in charge of the school newspaper, so I know where to find him if I need to know.

And speaking of the school newspaper...

About a week or two ago, the Chief Copy Editor circulated an email amongst us copy editors, asking who wanted to take on her job next semester. (It changes per semester, which means I could be a writer one semester and a copy editor the next.) I debated going for the job since it pays about $300 a month, which would be a nice little chunk to store away for the summer. However, I thought that one of the girls that I copy-edited with would do a better job of it. Long story short, she (the copy-editing friend) convinced me to go for the job. When I went down to talk to the Chief Copy Editor, she told me the job would basically go to whoever spent the most time training. I was also supposed to write a mission statement, which she said I have a slight edge on since apparently I'm the only copy that actually calls contacts to check the spellings of their names and facts that they gave the writer. So, Tuesday I went in for my first day of training and I will continue to go in to train on Mondays and Tuesdays until the end of the semester. I'm running against one other girl, another copy editor (but not the friend), so we'll see how it turns out. All I can say is that, if I get that job, I'm going to feel really guilty while sitting in basic journalism classes with freshmen and sophomores and that being my first semester of journalism.

Although I haven't posted anything for the past couple for days, I am still doing NaNoWriMo. If you haven't seen it yet, I have a box right underneath my profile that changes as my word count goes up. I'm still above the daily word count but, unfortunately, writing has been an effort this week (as the staff of NaNoWriMo told us it would be.) I was also looking forward to going to the Night of Writing Dangerously on November but, due to some mishaps, the car husband of the woman who I was going with broke down so she might not be able to go. So, if I still wanted to go, I would have to pay double price and, personally, I don't have the money for that. It's unfortunate but I'll live and write on.

Excerpt from Chapter Seven:

He remembered back, to a day of smiles and gloating, a day he still despise with all of his might. His mother had stood in front of the castle, removing the crown from her eldest son’s head as he traded it for riding leather, trading his kingdom to a life of living off the land, and she kissed that head, looking upon him so fondly that Jacob had wondered if she had been trying to remember his face in her mind forever. They had said their farewells, Tristen clasping his sibling’s hand in a tight grip and wishing him luck on his new journey. Then, after his brother had disappeared with his new mentor, Jacob’s mother had approached him, tears in her eyes, and thrown the ownerless crown down at his feet. “Do your best to live up to it,” she spat at him, stalking away. She had hidden herself in her room for weeks after that, leaving him without counsel, and died only a year after Tristen had left the castle. His brother had returned for the funeral, his face stony and unrecognizable even though Jacob had only seen a month before. Jacob avoided him that day and was relieved to find that Tristen did not search for his sibling; instead he left on his dragon directly after the funeral had commenced, the same way he had arrived. You couldn’t even bother staying alive after he left, could you? the king silently questioned the tombstone.

Crossing a Line

I try to keep certain parts of my personal life out of this blog.

However, tonight, the boyfriend gave me an unexpected surprised when I came home from a girls night. One of his new friends, a girl, had called him, asking if she could use my ID to get into the bars because she assumed that we both looked enough alike to where it wouldn't be a problem.

First of all, I'm not 21. I don't turn 21 for another month and I realize that, just because my boyfriend is 22, people automatically assume that I am old enough to drink as well. Luckily, neither of us drink that often so it doesn't really bother us. Second of all, if I was 21, I don't who this girl thinks she is, asking for my ID. She could A) get herself thrown in jail B) get me thrown in jail and C) pretty much ruin both of our lives for such an idiotic act. Get a fake ID if you're really that desperate. Third of all, asking my boyfriend for such a favor could potentially ruin his friendship with her. Mainly because she crossed a line. A major line.

I'm here to tell you all this evening that I just wrote a very nasty email to a girl that my boyfriend is fairly good friends with and also someone who he considers to be a smart, decent person. I'm here to tell you that I wrote a very nasty email to someone who I've been getting to know, someone who I've been thinking better of. I'm here to tell you that I wrote a very nasty email to a girl who I don't know that well and, from this point on, no longer want to get to know.

Now, I realize I'm a college student. And I realize that, in this college world, people want/need alcohol. I'm not entirely sure what the point is exactly of getting so drunk that you wake up with flu-like symptoms in the morning, but that's just me. That's just my personality. It has nothing to do with the fact that I've gone through an entire semester of classes about drugs and alcohol. It had nothing to do with the fact that my previous major was health education. It has to do with the face that I do not understand why people can't just get alcohol from their over-age friends before they turn 21. Going to the bars is just like hanging out with your friends - you drink, you get stupid, you get loud. If you want to have a bar scene, drink with a lot of people. I'm sure you'll get the point of the bar that way. If you want to be in the bar atmosphere, DON'T ask to borrow someone's ID. I mean... seriously? If you're going to risk getting someone in trouble, why drag someone else down with you? Find yourself a fake ID and risk jail on your own time.

I really just don't get why students, smart students, are willing to take the risk to throw their lives away like this. They have so much potential in their lives and yet they don't consider how something so simple as using someone else's ID could totally ruin that potential. They might call me boring for not living such an exiting life, on the edge, but, you know what? Who freakin' cares?

And, as I told the friend of the boyfriend, "Smart girls know to wait until they are 21 to hit the bars. Smart girls know it's an idiot idea to do something that could greatly affect the rest of their lives."

Clip from Chapter Six:

They had no idea of what they were doing, none of them. This was their third attempt that month at burning her and each time she had managed to escape their grasp before she had reached the stake. That is, until now. They had caught her off-guard at home, caught her with rope to bind and cloth to gag and a large, heavy object that had knocked her out… she hadn’t any time to get away. But it was no matter: she had been granted with a special gift and she put her faith in that and nothing else. It alone would save her, even if she was currently bound and prepared for the flame of hell. The time for crying out to the gods and weeping had long passed, perhaps never to return. Before her imprisonment, Margaret had been a faithful servant of the gods, a humbled individual. Well, she thought, I was, anyway. Now it’s time for a lesson on faithfulness. Her focus remained on breathing in and out: eventually, the screams of the crowd blended together and dissolved, flowing away from her as water. In and out. It was all she could do to have faith and keep calm. “Witch,” one boy shouted, throwing sand at her down-turned face. Each grain struck her face as dewdrops and fell away as quickly as they had come.

Daily Blurb - From Ch. 5

I don’t know what happens, either, Tristen. I don’t have the ability to see into the beyond. If there are other dragons out there besides our five, I wouldn’t know how to contact them. Certain memories, the memories that are transferred from our mothers when she lays our eggs, are the only memories that we are born with. You filled me with your memories, also, but neither your memories nor those of my mother contained life after the joining of the Elders.

He felt her sadness touch his mind and he had the urge to turn away from it. His gaze moved to the ground passing quickly below, as he tried not to think about the death or disappearance of his beloved soul mate. His eyes grew accustomed to the night and he could make out a well and a tiny cabin up ahead.

“What’s that?”

Wanting More

Have you ever felt when you walk into a room full of peers that you know that everyone likes you there but you simply don't feel like you belong?

That's how I have felt the past couple of weeks regarding my major. I love the people involved in it but I just don't feel as if I should really be there. When people come up to me and ask what I want to do with my major, if I don't automatically say, "nursing," (normally it's along the lines of running a woman's clinic), people give me funny looks or kind of a shun attitude. No offense to the people going into nursing; they are doing something that I completely respect but just don't feel like I want to be involved in. I've been keeping these feelings inside the past couple of weeks, only mentioning to the boyfriend sometime last week that I wondered what it would be like to be a religious studies major.

Wednesday, I decided that I was done with Health. I was bored and, when my Computer Applications teacher told us that we had to pick a motivational statement of our goals in Health Education, I couldn't think of anything to write. "What it is that you want to do with your life?" one of my friends asked me and my only response to that was, "write." It's true. All I want to do is write. But the realization that I didn't know what to do with my life (apart from write) hit me like a ton of bricks. I have already changed my major once. I didn't want to do it again. I had thought to use Health as a back-up plan in case my novel didn't take off (which there's no guarantee that it ever will) but I knew Health was the wrong back up plan. Even when a very close friend of mine told me, "It doesn't matter what you're major is; you could even take time off school if you want to work on your writing so badly," I couldn't agree. I needed a back up plan.

So, as you might have guessed, after much deliberation, I changed my major to journalism. Since it requires a minor, I am minoring in the Literary Editing and Publishing certificate (which, for some odd reason, journalism still considers a minor even though it is really a certificate). My Health friends are disappointed in me, my journalism friends (and the staff of the newspaper) are thrilled, and my new adviser did this funny little dance when I told him I wanted to change to journalism. I still haven't let my Health adviser know... I figured that would be the upsetting conquest of next week. People who were disappointed that I changed my major from English Lit are satisfied that I am do some sort of writing (as am I) and I really don't regret this change at all. Especially because if the minor falls through due to budget cuts, I'll be a creative writing minor. I've signed up for the classes that are still open and I'm really excited/intimidated by my Creative Nonfiction class next semester.

It was a necessary change and a good one. I don't regret it, even though journalism is a lot more work (unit-wise) than health education.

At least I wont be taking physiology next semester.



Excerpt from chapter 5:
To be posted later today.

Taking a Break

I took the night off of writing tonight. Not because I wanted to but because I just couldn't bring myself to write for reasons I will state when I have them decently clarified in my head. Probably a few days down the road. That will be a hard blog to post.

Anyway, since my novel covers steampunk, I decided to post a few things from etsy that are steampunk related, so you might get an idea of my meaning. I'm currently collecting items (not necessarily these) for my own steampunk costume for the convention in Seattle next year, which I'm totally excited about and hope that some of my steampunk loving friends will join me at. So, without further ado, here I present steampunk:

An underbust bodice that can be found at http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=33763382.

An antique watch necklace, found at http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=13177128.

Aviator Goggles found at The Badger's Den: http://www.badgersden.com/Store/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=304_326&products_id=1258

Pearl Cuff Bracelet: http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=20249909

Steampunk pocketwatch: http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=33787555&ref=sr_gallery_5&&ga_search_query=steampunk+pocketwatch&ga_search_type=handmade&ga_page=&order=date_desc&includes[]=tags&includes[]=title

And then, of course, my two absolute favorites:

The fancy cloth wrist corsage: http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=33820790&ref=sr_gallery_8&&ga_search_query=steampunk+clothing&ga_search_type=handmade&ga_page=3&order=date_desc&includes[]=tags&includes[]=title

Red and Gold Corset: http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=33784463&ref=sr_gallery_10&&ga_search_query=steampunk+clothing&ga_search_type=handmade&ga_page=5&order=date_desc&includes[]=tags&includes[]=title

Mix a few of these things together (the watch, corset, corsage, goggles) and you're getting close to a steampunk-looking outfit!

Happiness = Glee

I wish we had a Glee Club in High School.

I know it might be weird but I actually can attribute much of my current happiness in life with the new television show: Glee. I look forward to it every week, to see what songs they pick to sing. If I'm having a bad day, I listen to "Dont Stop Believin'" or "Somebody to Love" and I can't help but smile. I mean, seriously, when you have people my age singing their hearts out and you can feel it, you can feel that they actually enjoy doing this, life is awesome. Especially now, since the first volume of Glee music just came out today. I know I sound a little silly but I listened to the CD twice before my first class of the day, and that's more than 15 songs.

I'm not really sure what the writers of the show are going to do with the second season, if/when they get produced for season 2. I'm not sure what age most of the Glee kids are in but I get the feeling that they're all seniors in high school.  There are a few ticking clocks running around in the show right now and, by the time the alarms have all gone off, their year of high school will practically be over and then... what? New Glee kids? I'll just have to wait and see. For now, I'm reccommending Glee to anyone having a bad day and listening to the songs has been sending to me bed with a smile on my face.


Chapter excerpt of the day:

   
The little woodcutters cabin in the clearing had been deserted for a while.

Margaret could tell just from looking at it. The windows were tainted with dust and misuse over the years; the door hung open lazily, one hinge broken and falling off; the staircase leading up to the door was rotted and disintegrating. From her spot behind a tree where the clearing began, a quarter mile away from the cabin, she knew that it was the perfect spot to hide. No one had used it in months, maybe years. No one would even notice it as they wandered by. It wasn’t sheltered from the rain, the wind would rattle the windows something fierce, and it probably reeked with rot. The perfect place to hide.

NaNoWriMo Exhaustion... Already?

I kicked butt yesterday.

I'm proud to tell myself that because I really did. I was able to crank out two chapters and over 4500 words for the second draft of my novel in 24 hours. I spent nearly 7 hours writing yesterday. I fell into bed exhausted but totally happy last night. And, according to the boyfriend, the actual writing wasn't too bad either (but you can never trust those you love, right?)

I am exhausted, though. Today, especially, since I had to divide my time between chores, errands, school work, and writing. I struggled to finish chapter three, on which I got stuck twice but forced myself out of writers block after taking a break for an hour or so each time to work on something else. (Like reading boring literature: aka - the textbook for one of my classes. Believe me, that makes you want to get back to writing after a while.) However, I did finish it, finally, and I've made it to 7,301 words, which is a huge jump from the 3,334 words that I only need to have today. I'm looking forward to writing chapter four tomorrow, too, but I'm dreading school. I just want to spend my time writing. However, on the bright side, I organized a student NaNoWriMo group to hang out with me and write in between classes in one of the student centers and, from what they've said on the website, most people seem to be looking forward to it. I really think I'll be making a lot of friends out of this experience (just as I did with the whole HvZ experience) and I'm up for a challenge.

Daily clip - from Chapter 3:
     With a warning screech, Katisha suddenly veered to the left and Tristen clung to her neck, hanging on for dear life. He heard the screams of hundreds and, glancing to his right, he saw a large, boat-like contraption that was attached to a fabric air-filled balloon-like structure. The boat was double tiered and, from what he could tell, those with the finer clothing stood screaming at the bottom tier and those with more decent outwear screamed from the top, as the boat veered to the right, away from Tristen and his dragon. Katisha screamed in fear again, trying to stay air-born after her sudden scare and the people screamed right back at her. It hurts, Tristen… she complained, lowering their altitude once more. I must get away. Several strong beats of her wings and they were miles away from the flying contraption, leaving Tristen only to stare back at it in bewilderment.
     What in the name of the gods' could that have been?