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?

Zombies, Costumes, and Other Odd Things

Well, first I must apologize for not getting to Day 5 of being a zombie. I was not sure how to write that post and so I simply ignored it, hoping it would go away. But, assuming some of you are curious to know how the last day went, well... here it is.

There was an epic battle between the humans and the zombies that participated the last day. I was not involved in the first part of it, where the humans had to take a "scientist" to his "lab," which was all the way across campus, in a certain time limit. Apparently, the humans reached their goal because they ended up turning 5 zombies back into humans, including the original zombie which soooo many of us zombies were furious about but what can you do? Because the scientist reached his destination, the game changed a bit for the ending battle. Humans now had the "cure" to the virus, so whenever a human touched a zombie with a sock, the zombie instantly died and was out of the game. In the final scenerio, the humans ran from the scientist's lab to an "extraction site" where our moderator stood, who was going to call a "helicopter" at a certain time and, whomever made it to the moderator in time was "airlifted" in the "helicopter" and our school was "blow up" to rid the town of zombies. As you can imagine, the humans won. The zombies were no longer stunned when hit, they were dead. About 10 zombies survived until the bomb hit our school, which was a major achievement. Jo was one of the zombie who survived until then; I, however, received a sock-dose of the vaccine. When the game finally ended, we cheered loudly for our moderator, who promised that he would try and make sure we would get nerf-guns for the next game next semester.

I hope we do.

Then came Halloween, which was a very crazy day. I spent the night before and most of the day of Halloween (until around 3) copy-editing and dealing with some outrageous problems that hardly seem to happen during my copy-editing session. Then, Jo and I wandered around downtown to "see the scene" and stare at all the people in their costumes and setting up games of beer pong. I didn't know if I should be happy or not that Jo and I had not planned on participating in the Halloween party scene, which seems to be the only thing this town looks forward to every year. Even the adults. I'm still not sure how I felt about it. But, when we came back to my apartment, we watched 28 Weeks Later, which scared the pants off of me. Then , at 11pm, I went to the NaNoWriMo Kick-Off party, which ended up being me and 2 other people writing for about an hour and then going home and crashing and meeting up today at 1:30 to write some more. Now, 4,524 words and two chapters later, I'm totally exhausted. I am still vamped about writing chapter three tomorrow, though.

So, since my brain is dead, I will leave you all with a short excerpt and post my daily doings another day.

Excerpt from Chapter One:

In the cold, stillness of the night, Margaret sloshed forth, her arms wrapped around her body. She leaned forward as she walked, despite the fact that there was not a single breath of wind; in fact, the trees blocked any sign of day or night whatsoever and she plunged through, unaware of what a step outside the wood might take her. She was sure this was night, though. During the day, she occasionally came upon an opening where the light streamed through like the gentle touch of mage and she was assured once again that day was still out there.