The Penny Thought

I mostly spend my days feeling like...

2011-12-13T22:01:00.000-05:00

A useless bit of stuff that does the work that talented, busy people pass on down.

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 22

2011-11-23T03:11:00.001-05:00

Day 22
It is... 3:07AM, so I guess it's techinically Day 23 of NaNoWriMo. Whatever. Either way you look at it, "here I sit on a field of victory," though my well-earned comforts are four hours of sleep and a nice lunch tomorrow during the blaze of work I've got to get done. Perhaps all of this will sink in more fully when I wake at 7:30AM, feeling like a pile of poo. This being: despite a full day of work, getting teased about a guy I just met named Adrian for like 3 hours, and feeling dog-tired, I have finished NaNoWriMo, on this 23rd day of November. 50,064 words, baby. Oh YEAAAAAAH.

Total words for the day: 3,049 words
Total word count:... WTF? Why am I doing this? I won! I WON!

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 21

2011-11-22T17:34:00.000-05:00

Day 21
It took me forever to get to 3,000 words tonight, what with walking to and from choir practice, watching the West Wing, and eating food so as to not faint from lack of nourishment. So close to the end now... :)

Total words for the day: 2,970 words
Total word count: 47,015 words

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 20

2011-11-21T16:58:00.000-05:00

Day 20
It is impossible to explain how tired I am of this novel. All of the end scenes are stuck, drowning in my brain fluids, and they. Will. Not. Come. Out. Especially not when all I want to do is watch television and do the work piling up on my proverbial desk. Lost, you must wait! As Time Goes By, one day we shall be together again, as we once were. The West Wing: have no fear. I love you all. BLAH. Wrote today as much as I freaking could after watching Death Proof with my sister and taking a four-hour nap. Ah, novel avoidance. I am so good at you!

Total words for the day: 3,567 words
Total word count: 44,019 words

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 19

2011-11-20T19:31:00.000-05:00

Day 19
I spent the whole day with Gran and Dad shopping, then went to church, then came home, ate dinner, and then left to go to Walmart. By the time 11:30pm rolled around, I was dog-tired and only prepared to do one thing: watch SNL. I did not write my words for the day (because I am a silly-billy cottonheaded ninnymuggins who trips at the finish line) and only managed a scant four hundred. BLEH.

Total word count: 40,452 words

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 18

2011-11-20T19:28:00.000-05:00

Day 18
Wrote laaaaaaaaate at night because I spent the day with the daycare kids and then the night playing games with Courtney and Mom, taking a dessert run to Dairy Queen, and watching television. I am bad. But I wrote all my words! :)

-Made it to 40,000 words-

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 17

2011-11-20T19:27:00.000-05:00

Day 17
Sleepy, but wrote and wrote all of my word count goal. Yayness.

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 16

2011-11-20T19:26:00.000-05:00

Day 16
Tried to write a little before tonight's childcare and a little during, but Kaili was so distracting, with her adorableness, that I stopped trying. We played Trouble and colored and yelled things at Dan to see if he could hear us through his television-watching haze. Then I came home and wrote the heck out of my words. :)

-Made it to 35,000 words-

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 15

2011-11-16T19:34:00.000-05:00

Day 15
Wrote a bunch during a Lonely Write-In at school for 3 hours and then more at home. Finished in time to watch an episode of the West Wing. Then I was tired. So I went to sleep.

Total words for the day: 4,317 words
Total word count: 32,600 words

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 14

2011-11-15T02:22:00.000-05:00

Day 14
Goodness, I just can't seem to get out of bed in time for... you know, morning or whatever. I met my personal word goal for the day of 2500 words written and actually was able to write a little more despite a rocking back ache, a sore throat from singing with a cold and asking, time after time, for my adorable choir to hush, and the desire to do anything, anything, anything but write today. I try not to focus on all that is still left to happen in my novel and just live, by God, in the now. Tomorrow I hope to reach the summit of 35,000 words. May not happen, but at least I will definitely see 30,000 words. Still have my fingers crossed for a NaNo-free Thanksgiving. :)

Total words written today: 2,948 words
Total word count: 28,016 words

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 13

2011-11-14T00:38:00.000-05:00

Day 13
Still felt like death on a Triscuit, but I made myself write and reach my goalie-oalie of 25,000 words. Then I promptly bought my halfway reward. As I type this, I am shocked. Halfway finished with a novel... Gloriosky!

Total words for the day: 2,856 words
Total word count: 25,068 words

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 12

2011-11-14T00:32:00.000-05:00

Day 12
TOM messed me the eff up, so I was laying in bed, kind of wishing I wasn't alive all day. Only wrote 200 words and surprised I wrote that many... Ugh.

Total words for the day: 200 words
Total word count: 22212 words

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 9, 10, & 11

2011-11-12T19:18:00.001-05:00

Day 9
Stayed home from helping Mom with childcare and wrote as much as I could. Made it just barely to the my word count goal for the day.

Day 10
Has a sweet writing session in the magically retro lounge at USMH and wrote almost all of my words there. Had another quick session after doing some neglected homework.

Day 11
I'm bad. I was super freaking tired after having a full day of work while still under the thumb of my disgusting cold (and movie night with the kids!) so I didn't write anything. FAIL.

Total Word Count: 22,067 words

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 8

2011-11-09T23:35:00.001-05:00

Day 8
Felt even crappier (if possible) today. But Dan was cool and got me my favorite soda mix (one third Cherry Coke, two thirds Coke Zero) from Sam's Club and it helped fuel me into a writing rage! Wrote the death scene aka Most Unnaturale Murder.

Total words for the day: 2218 words
Total word count: 18,327 words

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 7

2011-11-08T00:02:00.001-05:00

Day 7
Too effing tired, and so, the word count has suffered. Ah. Poor word count. Got up late, nursed by cold, went to choir practice, came home, ate dinner, wrote as much as I could, watched some good ol' West Wing, and now... bed. :)

Total words for the day: 793 words
Total word count: 16,017 words

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 6

2011-11-07T21:23:00.000-05:00

Day 6
WOOOOOO!!!! Wrote over four thousand words in a little over three hours, even though I was sick, and in spite of a tasty lunch at El Ranchero's and an unplanned remnants trip to Joann Fabrics. And now I get my sweet present, the Philadelphia brass ensemble Christmas CD. HAHA! :))))))))

Total words for the day: 4,395 words
Total word count: 15,223 words

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 5

2011-11-05T23:45:00.003-04:00

Day 5
Woke up feeling terrible. I've got a cold (which is funny, 'cause the NaNoWriMo poster I've got says on Day 5, "catch the flu - fall behind"). I only wrote a little today, because I felt so crummy. Hoping to catch up tomorrow and still make it to 15K by Sunday's end!

Total words for the day: 500 words
Total word count: 11,320 words

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 4

2011-11-05T23:43:00.001-04:00

Day 4
Got up early (yay!), had some coffee and did a little bit of writing before Mom left to drive Courtney around, leaving me as sub with the kiddos. I wrote a bunch before Courtney' candle party--which turned out not to be a candle party, 'cause Tammy had to cancel because of personal injury--and then a bunch after. Made it to my word count goal of the day. :)

Total words for the day: 2007 words
Total word count: 10,820 words

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 3

2011-11-04T16:19:00.001-04:00

Day 3
Woke up late again (still EPIC FAIL), and went to a meeting at church which I had hoped I could write during, but listening to all those people talk was super distracting, so I only wrote 200 words then. When I came home, I put the kettle on the stove for peach tea, lit my special super glow-y PartyLite pillar candles, and put in a CD of classical music. An hour and a half later, I reached my word count goal for the day. :)

Total words written for the day: 2,395 words
Total word count: 8,504 words

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 2

2011-11-03T00:50:00.001-04:00

Day 2

Slept in late (FAIL) because I watched a buncha episodes of Lost the night before. Buuuuuttttt, I wrote a LOT today, from 3:00PM to 4:30PM, a little bit at Recovery Kids, and then from 8:30PM to 10:00PM in my room. Great second day, too. :) Plan to get up at 6 in the morning so I can type my words early before all my work at church. Also: Mom made pot roast. Delicious.

Total words for the day: 2,427 words
Total word count: 6,109 words

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 1

2011-11-01T01:30:00.001-04:00

Day 1
Did a magnificent writing sprint from 12am-1:30am and wrote entire daily word count, thanks to the wonderful Spotify which holds like every freaking song on the planet. :) If even half of November goes as smoothly as this, I think I can make it!

-Later-
Had a write-in with myself at school and wrote a bunch more. Lots of fun, so I'll have to try it again. What a great first day of NaNoWriMo! :)

Total words for the day: 3,682 words
Total word count: 3,682 words

Rocking the 'WriMo

2011-10-18T13:11:00.001-04:00

NaNoWriMo is so close, I can almost taste it. 13 days until I take the full plunge into Proxy, my newest novel in the Ilikarr trio. I actually hope to finish the novel (the scenes outlined in my plot list) by the end of November and then move straight to editing in the new year.

This is sure to be a wild November! :D

Proxy

Synopsis: The faeries have finally struck. After months of quivering silence and mounting fear, an unforgivable act sends the nation of Ilikarr reeling from its impact. King Keiran is proving to be less and less like his shrewd father, unable to seek out a course of action that would counter this audacious move, when his sister, the sharp-tongued Ellyn, offers a plan crafted by the only faerie human in their history. It calls for the purposeful infiltration of the Kingdom, a daring ruse that Ellyn hopes will get them close enough to Queen Athalia to assassinate her before she leads her band to war against the innocent. And there is only one candidate left.

Excerpt:

The executor cleared his throat for the seventh time. Ellyn giggled. With so many people in the hall, it was no wonder he could not get the attention of his audience.

The funeral had been the week before and an utterly bleak affair. Her mother had excused herself shortly after the speeches began, to hide the tears she could no longer repress. Time had seemed to drag on as the men and women who had had the privilege of knowing her father spoke at length of his noble attributes. Lord Elwin praised the king’s shrewdness. Master Quiggs commended his bravery in the face of his illness. By the time her brother had finished outlining her father’s character, nearly everyone was crying, some discreetly, others’ sobbing in flagrance. Thankfully, Councilor Morven told a somewhat irreverent tale of the king’s more unorthodox methods in closed sessions of council which ended the procession with laughter.

Ellyn could see the councilor from where she sat, his wild red hair flashing like a beacon through the gloom of the room. There were others present that she knew, though the majority of people that had been summoned were unknown to her. Her family was there of course. Nara was still beside herself with grief and her mother looked grim, but Wyn sat expectantly, as if eager to hear the reading of the will. Ellyn did not blame her. While she cared little for what her father had left her—what could he have to give that would replace him sitting by her side—Ellyn wanted to understand what the others in the room had to do with the life her father had led.

Her brother and his wife had yet to arrive, but Penna was there, sitting beside her love. Ellyn was glad to see her. The last several months had to have been hard on her friend, what with the public outcry at her release. The people of Redge felt that someone had to pay for all the faeries had done to the women of the village last summer. As Penna had admitted that her own faerie blood had caused her to transform into one of those terrifying creatures, in an open trial before the Council no less, the blame was easily fixed on her.

It had angered Ellyn beyond words to see her people turning into mindless, raging lunatics, so eager to satisfy their own lust for revenge that they would try to tear apart the life of a traumatized young woman, a person she had known her entire life. And so it had fallen to her to act. It was one of the last things Ellyn had discussed with her father, before his sharp mind had finally forsaken him as well. Ellyn sought out the opposing force, the grief-stricken, irrational crew that they were, and sat them down with Penna. When Penna told her story, of how she had lived terrorized by a voice only she could hear, only to be kidnapped and made to live among the faeries against her will, Ellyn watched as the people slowly relinquished their hold on hatred.

Redge had not returned to normal since then. It was still reeling from the loss of its women, for even those who had been freed were mere shadows of the people they had once been. But slowly, the land was healing. Penna seemed to have, in some small measure. The girl was certainly thinner and paler than last June, but still she smiled, her hand tight in Drewan’s. Ellyn beamed at her.

There Is Nothing New Under The Sun

2011-09-28T19:34:00.000-04:00

I have come to the conclusion that my life is destined to be Ecclesiastes to the fullest. I have ideas that I think are good or at the very least, worth the time it took to come up with them. Others quickly inform me of my foolishness. I don't know how much disappointment I can take from the place I am supposed to go to feel whole and renewed, completely at peace and overflowing with love. It really makes me question if I'm not just better off getting some lackluster office job, copying papers, fetching coffee, pacifying people. That's pretty much what I do now. Out of here, maybe I could put the feeling of magic back. Maybe I could hear God really speak again. Today is a day where I just want to run away from everything, drive until I don't know where I am, until I'm in the middle of a natural nowhere, surrounded by nothing and everything. Alone with God. We tout community endlessly, but maybe I wasn't made for it. Maybe it's just me and God and that's the way it should be.

I know I could do more. I know I have the potential for something better than what I'm able to give by the boundaries put up around me. No one wants to give me a chance. Or at least, no one has considered it. My abilities and desires take a backseat to a seemingly less invested individual because they have seniority and authority over me. I have to wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait...

Still waiting.

It's been three months since I've done something meaningful at work. I'm wasting God's time and I'm failing him, I know it. At this point in my life, I can't say there is a single thing I've done that justifies my existence, that did anything to bring the glory to God where it belongs. I might as well go back to where I came from, from nothing to nothing, dust to dust.

I guess this is an exercise in control. Eventually, I suppose, I'll just stop caring about children and serving and what I want altogether. I'll become another yesman in a place full to the brim with them. Another lazy, spiritual waste of space. Hopefully, I can reconcile myself to that.

You want me to maintain? Don't worry. I certainly know how to coast by now.

Bastard out of Maryland...

2011-06-17T12:02:00.000-04:00

I went to Carolina today. Bad place to spend some time. With each word read, it became clearer how disgusting and wonderful this world is. Hate rushes through me, quick and fiery, and I am ashamed.

If only people could look at each other and know their souls, the condition of their hearts. People could look at a son-of-a-bitch child rapist and know him for who he is. He wouldn't be able to hide from their eyes in the guise of an overworked friend who's just looking for his father's respect. His black heart would be open, laid bare for everyone to see and avoid or beat the shit out of, accordingly. And a worthless mama couldn't let silence cover up the truth, that she's desperate to be loved even if it kills her babies.

And a 20-year-old nothing could be seen for what she is: a frightened, lonely child in need of an understanding smile or a kindred spirit, thirsting for a little justice in an unkind world.

Sorry, but...

2011-04-13T03:04:00.000-04:00

Glenn Beck is an ass.

I've never liked what he has had to say. He strikes me as a person with a deepseated disinterest in the life experiences of women and minority groups in this country (and yet loves passing judgment on them), a casual relationship with actual facts, and a hatred for all those who happen to disagree with him and say so. My hope is that he is simply playing crazy for the audience and when the cameras are off, he becomes a sane and rational person capable of speaking in opposition to the people he disagrees with in a tolerant and collected manner. Proof of this remains to be seen.

Even if he were capable of such behavior, his tactics on-screen would remain irresponsible, cruel, and idiotic. His alarmist style of "reporting" is obnoxious and unnecessary, which is why I was glad to see that he will no longer be representing Fox News, a channel which I try, and generally fail, to respect for what it is. As it is, I usually attempt to ignore Glenn Beck, as I am clever enough to know that right-wing extremist political pundits don't speak for the majority of this country, thank the Lord.

Beck's recent take on Planned Parenthood, however, has insulted me on a much deeper level than his childlike tantrums, melodramatic weeping, and for-your-own-good speeches, in which he attempts to decide for all Americans what is "best" for the country, as if we weren't doing so for ourselves in the dark, lonely years before Glenn Beck came along and showed us the light. In his rant against Lawrence O'Donnell, he not only portrays all women seeking out Planned Parenthood for procedures as after abortions, of which Planned Parenthood is responsible for a mere 3 percent, but also suggests that all women who get abortions are callous and flagrant about their use of such services. As if any and every woman continually gets abortions, year after year, without a thought for the consequences. As if the decision to get an abortion were not something deeply personal and potentially heartbreaking for everyone involved, especially the mother of the aborted child. As if women equate birth control with candy and abortions with getting our teeth cleaned: a simple, procedure that should be performed on a regular basis. As if women were not aware of the severity of their actions because our inferior feminine logic disallows such higher masculine thought. As if women were not conscious of the human life at stake.

I never thought I could be so thoroughly disgusted with another human being who, by all accounts, hasn't broken a single law (at least not a criminal law, just a few laws of humanity). It just goes to show you what lengths humanity can go to to prove a cautious optimist wrong.

Huh...

2011-03-17T17:21:00.000-04:00

I'm feeling particularly worthless today. Work isn't as fulfilling as it sometimes is, but I rarely feel like I've done anything at all after a week's work, so that isn't saying much. As a wise person once said, "a nutless monkey could do your job" (and that quote still manages to make me laugh even though I'm mad). That's how it is for me. There are people all around me, doing meaningful important work in our office, but I'm the superfluous one, the one that doesn't belong among such intelligent, creative, and thoughtful people. I am a mere grunt in a room of giants.

Thoughts going through my mind:
I'm a glorified babysitter.
My presence here changes nothing.
If I was gone, no one would notice or care.
I'm being paid to do meaningless busywork.
I don't have a real job.
I am unnecessary.
There are better people out there who could do this job and give it meaning.
No one wants to hear my opinions because they have no value.

There's nothing I can do at the moment except keep accepting my own irrelavence in this work environment. It's probably a good thing I don't have a car right now. When I feel like this, I just want to get as far away from home as possible. I'd drive until I felt better. And that sometimes takes days.

Complications

2011-03-07T21:32:00.000-05:00

Now that I've endured some real criticism of my story, it really made me step back and take a look at the novel as a whole. And there is a lot of sloppiness, to be sure.

Truthfully, there aren't any gaping plotholes (which I am grateful for) or unrealistic characters or stale writing. A big problem is that it's too wordy. I talk too much, a fact which many can attest to, and so, thus, I write too much. That wouldn't be bad but I'd argue that at least 30% to 40% of what I've written is kind of unnecessary.

So I've obviously gone back to the drawing board, back to the beginning to see what works and what doesn't, but now that I've gotten through the "untouchable" stage with Blood Pledge, the stage in which everything must stay the way it is to preserve how 'finished' it is, pretty much everything is up for cutting. I cut 10 pages from it not too long ago (like 10,000 words, friends) and while I bite my lip at the loss, I don't know if it's worse off. Or better off.

I'm quite confused right now...

Done?

2011-01-05T17:33:00.000-05:00

The new year has brought all kinds of things I don't want to deal with already, and it's only the 5th. First, I'm learning to drive (for real this time), a prospect that delights everyone but me. I resent the implication that because I hate driving there is something 'wrong' with me and that something must be 'fixed' so I can be like everyone else. What is wrong about not wanting to drive around in a machine that has the potential to kill other people as the result of single moment of carelessness?

Another thing is that a grammar Nazi (I myself am one, so I say that without disdain) has found my story and is now contenting herself with boiling it down to style, diction, and other similar issues. While I'm glad I have a sense of grammar decent enough to thwart her on that front, it is not enough. Apparently, my style and diction are terrible, at least for the first two chapters of Blood Pledge, which is all she has reviewed so far. I don't want to sound ungrateful at all, because feedback is exactly what I'm looking for on this story, and I appreciate her voice a lot more than the other, generic feedback I sometimes receive ("Great--update soon"<--how is that at all helpful?). It's just harder to take than I thought it would be, especially from someone I don't know.

It kind of makes me want to take the story down. After looking at some of her things and rereading some of the things other authors have written, things my sisters have written, it's becoming clearer to me that I was never meant to be an author. I just don't have that spark of originality that others seem to possess in abundance. I'm still a writer. Nothing can stop my brain from coming up with these ridiculous things to write. I just wasn't meant to be published. Sorry, Pete, I changed my mind. I'm a girl. That happens sometimes.

Besides, the world has enough "faerie" stories on the market. More than enough. It's silly to think they'd have need of another.

Me? Published?

2010-12-14T01:56:00.000-05:00

A friend recently asked me how NaNoWriMo went, and when I told him that I had won, that my story was finished, he beamed at me. "So, when are you getting it published?" he asked, his face quite serious, which helped me realize, seconds later, that he was not in fact joking as I had imagined.

I consider him an extremely knowledgeable man. He knows people who have been published and he certainly understands the entire process more than I do (as a child, I believed, and as an adult, I wished, that publication was some sort of magical thing that just happened to your book, suddenly and inexplicably).

And I could not help but feel completely embarrassed.

As I tried to explain how I was now delving into the editing process, throwing in a bit about the Amazon writing contest I hope to enter in January of 2011, I blushed and squirmed at the startling thought that came with his words.

I never expected anyone to actually read my book and enjoy it. I wrote it for myself, dreaming of the day, in the distant, far off, you-have-to-shout-to-be-heard future when it might maybe hopefully be published, so that others can take the same journey that I've taken with the curious Pennamin, delving into my land of Ilikarr themselves. No one I know has read more than a small, insignificant portion of the story, and now that I'm on the precipice of this, throwing my book to the world and watching it be adored loving fans or devoured by angry masses, I am reluctant to discover that I am frightened. Very frightened.

But what struck me, what reverberated through my brain, resounding even now, was his utmost confidence in me and the pride in his voice, as if he knew what I did not. That there was no possible way that I could fail in achieving my goal.

It made me want to work harder.

So now that classes are drawing to a close, you may see me, sitting on a park bench somewhere, hiding behind a massive green binder, and scribbling like the maniacal authoress I aspire to be.

Thanks, Pete. That was so the kick in the pants I needed.

About That Paper...

2010-12-07T11:50:00.001-05:00

Yeah, I nailed it. Got an A on the paper, and an A in the class. Just goes to show you that with a little energy and late nights (aka early mornings), you too can write a paper that was meant to take you 2 months to create in just 5 days! :D

As I knew it would (of course), though the energy has not left me from NaNoWriMo, the creeping doubts have returned. The onslaught of people I know who were cheering me on during November want to read my novel. As in, they actually say they're excited and when will I be getting that proof copy? (like, seriously? What's up with that?)

My mind is having no part of that, saying things like:

"No one wants to read this."
"Everything worth writing has already been written."
"You're kidding yourself."
"This story SUCKS."

At which point, I take a deep breath, eat a piece of chocolate, and keep editing. I thought it would be easier when the story was finished, and I'm in no way complaining that it's done. It's just that a new set of problems have surfaced, completely alien to the first.

BOO.

Oh the NaNoness of me!

2010-12-02T02:18:00.000-05:00

So winning NaNoWriMo has given me this incredible energy. Not physically, unfortunately (my back hurts like the Dickens), but more in my mind, as if I could jump off a 30-story building and land on my feet if I wanted to (I wouldn't). Or enter my novel in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Contest and win (haha). Or write a 10-page research paper I was supposed to write over the course of 2 months in the next week.

Aah, NaNoWriMo, you've opened the doors to so much lucrative fantasy... :)

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 28 & 29

2010-12-02T02:14:00.000-05:00

Day 28
I wrote the daily word count goal and I tried to write extra, but I spent most of the day with family and at Haley's birthday party, so that didn't really work out at all, which sucked.

Day 29
I WON NANOWRIMO! I herald my victory far and wide! I wrote tonight a shocking and exemplary 3300 words (after seeing Tangled, which turned out to be great inspiration) to soar across the finish line around 3am. I am glowing with excitement! :)

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 24, 25, 26, & 27

2010-11-28T19:26:00.000-05:00

Day 24
I wrote in between helping Mom and everybody else cook the turkeys for the Thanksgiving dinner. Wrote no extra, just daily word count.

Day 25
Wrote (heh heh, in between Thanksgiving meals) daily word count.

Day 26
Wrote daily word count, laaaaaate into the night.

Day 27
Took me an hour, but I wrote, wrote, wrote, from 1am to 2am. :)

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 23

2010-11-24T02:31:00.000-05:00

Day 23
I didn't write the daily word goal for the day, but just wrote to the suggest daily word count, using my extra words of yesterday as a cushion for today. It was a busy day, friends. :)
Word count: 38,337 words

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 22

2010-11-23T02:32:00.000-05:00

Day 22
I made myself write extra for getting up late. So I ended up writing 2,339 words today!! WHOOM! I'm feeling good about getting so close to the end. It's almost over, friends...
Word count: 37,439 words

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 20 & 21

2010-11-22T02:36:00.000-05:00

Day 20
Finished writing at one thirty in the morning. Don't remember much else, 'cause it was a short day. :)

Day 21
Took a nap, so got behind on homework (which took till 10 pm to get finished). Wrapped up the writing at 2:30am after watching the AMAs and an episode of 24 with Lauren. Also, I suck at writing action scenes.
Word count: 35,006 words

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 17, 18, & 19

2010-11-20T02:16:00.000-05:00

Day 17
Had a test, so wrote late at night again, around 1am. But better news, I focused so hard that I was able to write all of my words in 1 hour! It was incredible! (And once again accomplished with the music of JYT)

Day 18
Wrote all my words, despite going to see the midnight showing of Deathly Hallows. I wrote almost all my words before departing the house at 6pm, with only 300 words left, which I wrote as we sat waiting to get into the theater. :)

Day 19
Wrote little bits at a time, after sleeping in waaaaaaay too much (got up at 3:00pm) because of how tired I was from the night before. Got finished at 2:10am and wrote extra words! At this rate, I'll be back on track by the time Nov. 30th rolls around. 199 words behind.
Word count: 31438 words

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 16

2010-11-16T20:47:00.000-05:00

Day 16
Once again, I wrote like a normal human, finishing up at 8:45 pm with extra words (hurray!). Hopefully, the midnight release of HP won't interfere with my writing on Thursday. I'm going to have to work extra hard not to fall behind more. 630 words behind.
Word count: 26,036 words

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 14 & 15

2010-11-15T22:31:00.000-05:00

Day 14
The writing was slow, even though I got a little cushion word count done at 12 pm. Stayed up till 2:30 am. Tomorrow will be different, hopefully.

Day 15
Wrote early today (if early can be considered before midnight xD) and finished at 10:30 pm. Finally, I get to go to bed like a normal person. :) Wrote extra too! I treated myself to some pumpkin mousse with chocolate cake and ice cream as a reward for being such a good girl and for reaching the halfway mark. 926 words behind.
Word count: 24,074 words

Blood Pledge Inspiration

2010-11-14T15:43:00.001-05:00

I've been mentally living in the beautiful fantasy land of Ilikarr for 14 days now, and it got me thinking about the inspiration for each of my story ideas. So I decided to puzzle it out before I forgot the thought entirely (with me, it only takes about 10 seconds).

Blood Pledge
I'd say the underlying theme of Blood Pledge is to really explore the issue of control. Penna's struggle begins when she is taken out of control by a being that is truly evil to the core. But when Penna had control in the beginning, she was clearly not making the most of it, so the argument then becomes, is she worthy of having that control restored?
The story was largely inspired by Ella Enchanted, Gail Carson Levine's Cinderella masterpiece and my first delving into the fantasy genre. Ella's entire struggle is for control and what she can do within the boundaries that have been set, hoping one day to break through her restrictions. For Penna, it is the opposite. She has free rein in the beginning and her freedom is slowly taken away from her until she is completely at the mercy of her counterpart, Brialyn. GCL's work really got me to take that extra step into the literary world, to not only write something, but to think about what I was writing, to consider the characters as people instead of playthings--though they are fun to play with!

Thunder's Cry
Shannon Hale's fantasy books, mainly The Goose Girl and Book of A Thousand Days, really gave birth to this idea, suddenly and powerfully. I was writing a poem, avoiding my homework, and it was about the stars and how they look to weary travelers on the way home after a long, hard day. Silly, childish stuff. And then, my mind just jumped to the conclusion that there was a girl in the sky. A girl who could call down the rain. A girl who was trapped and most importantly, a girl with a story.
Tera is the main character, and a girl after my own heart. Her vivacious wit and fortitudinous nature is truly incredible to write and even just to ponder. This book deals with the issue of power. Gio, the villainous mage of the story, is drunk with the power he possesses, using it to take what he wants without regard for others, and in the end, it is what destroys him. Tera, who he kidnaps to be his bride, is the opposite. She recognizes the control she has over others and uses it to help, rather than hurt, even when it costs her more than she wishes to give.

My silly stories, which are just for the benefit of my Fictionpress readers (all 3 of you!), 43 Kisses and The Fast Lane are simpler. The Fast Lane arose out of the desire to complete a goal (a desire that failed to provoke me into writing at all--a year and a half and still only three chapters!) for once in my life, but 43 Kisses was inspired by both my love of 43Things.com and Eulogies and Post-It Notes Can Change The World! by Imaginary Parachute, who is an authoress of epic proportions. It's still on the back-burner though (and turned on low).

Okay, that was fun.... Now off to do real stuff, like my NaNoWriMo writing and my take-home exam that's due tonight at midnight. Aah, school, way to suck the fun out of my life...

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 13

2010-11-14T02:38:00.000-05:00

Day 13
Found out that the Pride & Prejudice soundtrack helps me focus in a way that other classical music does not (so sorry, Beethoven, Mozart, and Bach. You been beat by a Frenchman.) Wrote all my words in just over two hours. 1392 words behind.
Word count: 20,274 words

NaNoWriMo, Day 12

2010-11-13T03:57:00.000-05:00

Day 12
Met my word count goal at 4am and got about 300 words caught up. Super tired, but pleased with today's work. 1421 words behind.
Word count: 18,579 words

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 9, 10, & 11

2010-11-12T03:08:00.001-05:00

Day 9
Wrote only my daily word goal, no extra. Took a long time to finish it, so got to bed around 2:30 am. Work tomorrow! :(

Day 10
Couldn't write, too exhausted. Only wrote half of my daily word count and hit the sack at 1 am.

Day 11
Wrote my daily word goal and a little extra after sleeping in WAY too late today, so the morning's writing potential was squandered. 1778 words behind...

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 6, 7, & 8

2010-11-09T12:03:00.000-05:00

Day 6
Did not catch up today with less than 200 words of writing. Still feel crappy. Luckily my TOM is almost past and it won't come back until December, at which point I'll be long finished!

Day 7
Wrote a whopping 2,692 words, but am still not caught up entirely. Only a bit behind and proud of myself for working so hard and keeping up with school.

Day 8
Wrote 1,800 words, so only 1000 extra words to go until the word count is back on track. Need to start writing earlier in the day because daily word goal is starting to be met later and later in the wee small hours of the morning. Not good!

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 5

2010-11-06T03:28:00.000-04:00

Day 5
Going to bed with only 982 words down. I was very ill today, so I let myself break Commandment #1 and #6 of the Wrules of Wrimo. I'm too tired to worry about this right now. I need to sleep so I can catch up again tomorrow. Good night

NaNoWriMo Log, Day 1, 2, 3, & 4

2010-11-04T21:47:00.000-04:00

Day 1
Slept in too late, so the day felt rushed, but made it to my word goal by 9 pm, so had extra time to fool around. Wrote a 250 word cushion for the next day

Day 2
Had a crazy work day, so ended up writing until 11:30 pm. Rewarded myself with a mini Kit-Kat, a mini Hershey's, and 5 rounds of Uno on Facebook

Day 3
Had another wild day, shopping for work, so wrote well into the night and finished at 12:30 am. Writing is getting tougher.

Day 4
Approaching mental breakdown. Procrastinating, crying, but will get through to meet word goal for the night, no question.

The Misfortunate Never

2010-06-20T01:42:00.000-04:00

A friend of my sister's recently got married and I was invited to the wedding. I don't even know why I decided to go. I should have known that it would only serve to depress me.

It must be practice for when my sister gets married. Maybe then I'll be able to smile..

Sometimes I think fast and easy is better than the seclusion I've chosen. Sometimes I think I'd rather be happy now and hurt later. But it's a feeling I'm not brave enough to do anything about.

What a revolting coward..

Relationship Games

2010-03-28T20:11:00.002-04:00

A lot of things have led me to ask this question--the culture I've grown up in, the peers I'm surrounded by, prevailing images in the media, and recently, the work I've been doing composing 43 Kisses, my latest short story--and it's really been on my mind for an incredibly long time.

Where along the way did we as a society devalue the meaning of a kiss?

I could never do that, ever, unless I was sure that the kiss meant as much to the person I was giving it to.

Writing Creature

2010-02-02T07:44:00.000-05:00

Today, as I've been reading over my drafts of my stories (and contemplating just how long it took me to reach 40,000 words--SQUEEE--of Blood Pledge), I realized that each one feels different to me and that this probably affects how I write it and when I feel like writing it. I really began to notice this when I had two novel projects going at the same time, which was back in November at the start of NaNoWriMo. Thunder's Cry wears differently than Blood Pledge does, and the same goes for The Fast Lane, Always On My Mind, 43 Kisses, and even what I imagine Proxy will feel like when I get to start writing it. They are different beasts, each mystical and interesting, but only related through my telling of them. It's especially noticeable when I'm writing Thunder's Cry because of the set-up of the story. In Blood Pledge, a very specific set of things have to happen in order for the plot to progress. For Thunder's Cry, I know what's going to happen, but more than half of the story is simply up in the air--it's like daredevil writing! They also feel like different months (Thunder's Cry feels like September; Blood Pledge feels like June; The Fast Lane feels like May; Always On My Mind feels like April; 43 Kisses feels like July). It's an observation both strange and oddly helpful. *off to add more to those 40,000 words*

I self-medicate!

2010-01-13T22:18:00.002-05:00

With Michael Buble.

Whenever I listen to his voice (that sultry, silky-chocolate-smooth, tractor beam voice), I just feel a smile growing on my face, even when I'm annoyed or in the throes of depression. I feel pretty... almost SEXY. <--I like that word, 'specially during one of the rare times I may apply it to myself.

He can even conquer the worst traps of I.U. that make me keep my head down and my frown intact like cement.

THE PROOF: Haven't Met You Yet-- I defy any single woman who listens to this song and doesn't crack a smile or at least feel a twinge of hope somewhere inside.

*off to listen* :)

Ready to Quit

2010-01-06T19:10:00.003-05:00

I need a place to go a little bit insane. Prepare for cyber-shouting and obscene use of the CAPS LOCK OF RAGE.

In an awesome culmination of events, I have graduated from my community college and I'm transferring to a 4-year college to get a B.S. in Early Childhood Ed.

Well... at least that's what I thought at the beginning of December.

I am SO incredibly tired of talking to people who really have no clue what they're talking about. And maybe that's not their fault; you can't blame an honestly ignorant person for a lack of knowledge. But really, is a transfer student so unheard of at this school known NATIONWIDE that they literally have NO INFORMATION to give someone calling their supposed 'help desk,' the name of which I disagree with wholeheartedly (who do they help? Certainly not me. I had the briefest of brushoffs with a disgruntled man whose voice was almost too low to hear clearly and who made it very plain that my questions were bothering him). The website is just as committed to the transferrence of useful information. *ohthesarcasm* There are so many inconsistencies, that now I type in the URL and give in to the inevitable urge that will result: either throw something or cry in utter frustration.

I have called, my mother has called, we have left messages, we have emailed, we have gone to the school. It is the same everywhere. Why would you hold a potential student, a person who is going to pay you a RIDICULOUS AMOUNT OF MONEY for a place at your school, at arms length and not give them the things they NEED TO REGISTER?

I'm done now. Done, but definitely still pissed. There is no reason for this to be as difficult as it is. NO REASON AT ALL.

......

.........

I think instead I'll just become the hermit of the woods behind my house. Maybe I could pay my sisters to bring me food.

It Helps if You're Insane

2009-11-06T18:32:00.003-05:00

Another Inside Ugly day. :( And I have to catch up on my NaNoWriMo word count, while successfully avoiding doing my homework!

The beginning is my favorite:

In our land of Ozul, the only thing that has a memory as far back as the beginning of all is the waters. The galloping rivers, the crashing waterfalls, the clumsy streams, the drowsy lakes: each has a melody, one given to them by the sky. The rain has filled these places, the rivers that carry our boats to the ocean on its swift currents, the waterfalls that unthinking children play in, the pots in the tall grass waiting for a thirsty field man to take a sip. The rain has a way of taking the memories and cleansing them, not erasing, but replenishing what has been lost by time and the stomping footfalls of people.

I gave the rain a voice when I was her companion. Before my enchainment to the sky I thought I would love up close, the rain was a quiet thing, a timid dancer. Her light steps would land on the roof and plink out a delicate euphonious lullaby. I loved the rain. Standing in it, twirling in it, soiling my best and worst clothes by playing in it, I loved the harmlessness of its song. There were no floods, no lightning storms, and no thunder.

Lightning storms are as new to the people of Ozul as being dry again is new to me. They do not understand the blinding light that streaks in open veins across their beloved sky and they hate the cackle of thunder that crashes in the night, waking all to see what new destruction has occurred. I pity them for it because it is not going anywhere. There is a man in that sky who has lost his wife and he spends his days in a desperate search for the bounce of raven curls, the smooth twist of mouth, the ivory complexion as sweet as any cloud’s, and the thunderous temperament that belongs to his lover.

His lightning strikes Ozul as he peers down from his black clouds, illuminating what should be dark to spy his wife among the villagers below. Her laugh at continued freedom echoes in the mind of every frightened child. The thunder is her answer to his search. She mocks him with the sound. Sometimes he is close, but she slips through his overeager fingers like a bar of dripping soap.One day he may catch her and cease the battle of the skies between husband and wife. But these new storms, woken by his mischief, will not return to sleep. They will rage on after he is dead for a thousand years, ten thousand years, a million even. For the rain has a memory, and its memory is eternal.

Spitting Up Acid

2009-10-09T23:32:00.005-04:00

This is one of those unbearable times. The secret times I'm not supposed to talk about, let alone be possessed by. This is one of those times I wonder why the hell I was born. Please forgive me for the following self-pity. I haven't earned it, and it embarrasses and humiliates me, but I have to say it. "When you have a bad taste in the back of your mouth, you spit it out." I feel so ugly sometimes. Not just outside ugly, but that grips me the most--staring at myself half-hoping that if I stare hard enough, I'll suddenly like the reflection, hiding in scrubby shirts so no one looks too hard at the flab I try to hide, the frustration over chubby arms, scarred feet, and hips as wide as a the pick-up I plan on owning one day. The outside ugly pales in comparison to what's beneath the misshapen unfeminine flesh. Inside Ugly is who scares me. Inside Ugly is mean to me. He looks a little like my sister's fiancee, the guys in my Theatre class, and my friends at church but mostly like my father. His face is impossibly handsome, but he knows it, and it goes through his body like venom, perfecting the smirk that never leaves his face. Don't try, he says. There aren't enough hours in the day to fix what's fu**** up in you. Let it go, no one notices anyway. Their minds are occupied with something better. Usually 'the something better' gets to be my sisters. Right at the point where I've managed to ignore Inside Ugly long enough to brush my hair, one of them will walk into the bathroom and ask to borrow something, one of my new shirts perhaps that are long enough to hide half of my shameful thighs. I relinquish the careful hold I had on self-esteem and let it fly off back up to the ceiling, just out of reach once more. Since I'm already in very deep, I should just continue... My older sister is the perfect opposite of myself, the lead character to my Girl No. 3. She is what I have strived to be my whole life, before I realized how pointless that was. She's already fulfilling the role I want, but I can't take it from her. I am a minor character, not the star. It's close to worse when I catch a glance of my younger sister. She's already surpassed me in many ways, in ways I will never be able to catch up. That's me: one-hundred and fifty paces behind, choking on bile and dehydrated. .... More? There's still more.... I learn more from people by what they don't say than what they do. People make a point to tell me, not realizing of course the situation I have so rididulously placed myself in, how amazing my sister looks ("look at her, no wonder she's getting married!") or how cute my little sister is getting to be ("someone's going to snatch her up, for sure!"). This is how I've gotten so good at keeping my constant battles to myself. Inside Ugly is still my secret. No one but you knows he exists. I smile brightly, dance on the balls of my feet, and say, "Of course, she's lovely! You should see her in those new jeans she bought!" It's my line. I memorized it faithfully, just to spite Inside Ugly. He likes it when I fight him because he gets to punch back, leaving wounds that won't ever show. ...The bad taste has faded to a nervous gurgling in my plus size gut. I'm going to bed now before something else comes to the surface. I think this is enough embarrassment for now. Please don't comment. This was not a plea for attention or sympathy, because I honestly don't want to hear anything about this. It was a way to throw my feelings and a small shard of Inside Ugly into the infinite. Bit by bit, that's what this is going to take.

Blue Lines

2009-08-09T21:43:00.003-04:00

EDIT on my profile: Recently, I decided I was wrong and Walter Wellesley Smith was right. Big shocker there. Writing is opening a vein, I'll admit that much... I think the problem I haven't been finding the right ones. Sometimes things are so in sync and pounding along so rhythmically--the sound of my clack-clacking keyboard versus my warbling brain, singing words from my heart--that I begin to doubt it was any other way. Two thousand words later... I am stuck. Again. I never thought it was going to be easy. I guess I underestimated the power of words stuck in the back of my throat. Sometimes I feel like I'm choking on the story and some experience is going to be my Heimlich maneuver (sp?) so the ink soars and I am finally freed from this madness. Freedom is a long way off. :)

Heat Rises

2009-06-18T00:50:00.001-04:00

On the surface of our skin
Lie hidden thoughts, too strange to pin
On upsetting quandaries, great and small,
Or whispers of a feeling called
The greatest emotion to be expressed
One that never stops to rest
From taking victims in its game
Of pride and power—love, by name
Those thoughts float up, their color red
Leaving trails of blotches from something said
To point out the oblivion in our eyes
That keeps us from our desired prize
Silence seems to feed that beast
To make our lives a frenzied feast
Of sporadic actions, tendencies
That live on discomfort and unease
This unease shows upon our face
A mark of biology's embrace
With all things alive and all things craving
An endless love, a life worth saving
Blushes are dear nature's way
To contradict the things we say
The ways we lie when we feel small
And much too plain to risk it all
On one perfect person, the person who
Could be our match and make us new
Love's lack of variance shocks us then,
Until we find that we have been
Crossed and jilted times before
Yet consistent with each paramour

We know that we remain love's fool
That red faces and lies are its odd tools
But its grasp is tight, its hold too strong
To liberate us from its bond
Until we must burst forth in pain
To speak the truth that kept us sane
To speak of love, its hold on us
With the one we now can trust
Happiness would not be so deep,
If its costs were not so steep;
By giving up much baser pleasures,
we trade lust for love and sweeter treasures
Science and love do battle often
One's task, to harden, the other, to soften
The human mind, to turn its gaze
From colder facts to warmer ways
But in rare occasion the two combine
To make sense of a different kind
In science, weights drift to the surface;
Love is the same, for that is its purpose
It's inevitable that truth seeks light
That heat drifts upwards in the night
Whether it's merely a degree
Or part of a feeling kept low-key
Though predictable be a blush's cause,
The emotions hidden, the life on pause
This familiar track holds few surprises,
For love is simple and heat, it rises

Tongue In Cheek... Or Not

2009-05-15T17:26:00.004-04:00

Some people have told me that I assume that I'm right. Maybe it's true, maybe it isn't. I'm honestly unsure. All I know is that I'm tired of making excuses for others, pacifying them into their comfort zone, and hiding what I feel, because it may not be what others want to hear at that point in time.

It could be the falseness talking.

If others do not respect my beliefs, simply because they believe something different, why should I hide what I think? Is that the Christian way? I know Jesus said to turn the other cheek, give your enemies the chance to screw you over that second time with their screaming at the top of their lungs to cover up anything you could possibly want to say (or in this case, debate-hungry & aggressively-opinionated friends in their well-meant ways). But is this the extreme? Jesus took on the church for becoming corrupt in his time, but was this only because God had given him the authority to do so? Do I have the authority to question others or does that only reside with God? If I can speak out when atrocities are going on all around the world, can I speak out when my ideas are being trampled accidently by careless people? Does that make me too confident of my rightness, or too bossy, or too loud?

Questions flood my brain, synapses firing, but no answers accompany them.

My biggest fear is becoming the type of Christian people love to hate, because they are perceived as 'false,' and not part of the 'true' followers. I want to be true to God in everything that I do. I pray for patience in dealing with the people who try me most, and I use my writing to vent my intellectual overflow and my thirst to speak my mind when I become that quick-to-anger lackey of the devil, who speaks too harshly and too loudly, afraid of being unheard. Is silence weak, or the Christian way? I have found no evidence of either argument, except the amazing lover of my soul, who stood before his accusers with a still tongue and spoke not a word.

The thing I have personal evidence of is the astonishing pain of being misjudged because of my silence. I did not used to talk to peers at all becuase my words only succeeded in making them laugh at me. None of us cared if our opinions mattered, we thrived on hurting ourselves and others through our silver-tongued sparring and clever put-downs. The time for that is past, because now all my put-downs are received from the monster that is Unsilenced Unmasked Disregard, which is possibly worse than hate. I find hate irrational, but indifference is a kind of disrespect I cannot accept with the Spartan endurance that it requires.

I sit now with the music shrieking to cover the thoughts of yelling and cramming my thought into another's mind until it is all they can think of. It could be the power I wish to thrive on, the power of the phrase turned just right, and the tagline that forms your whole argument and makes it unforgettable and irresistable.

So people tell me that I assume I am right. Am I?

Streetside

2008-11-06T21:37:00.003-05:00

Sit by the road (I’ll have your smile)
Stop your stares and talk awhile

Perhaps you’ll tell me what you mean
By evidence of things not seen
And sudden smirks, those flirting pokes
Laughing at pathetic jokes

Your words and actions don’t agree
The grin that I can never see
Turns toward the sky at my expense
Higher up with each offense

And arms like water wrap around
Deadly strong and safely sound
When seconds prior, a playful punch
Turned tears to gold and emptied lunch

But taunting friends was yesterday
Our minds have gone another way
Down secret roads of red and blue
With starry nights and roses too

Confounding phrases, strange and sweet
A mystery like green school meat
Attack my chest with throbbing care
And make me wish that you weren’t there
To see the redness in my cheeks
Take residence for several weeks
As you look down and chuckle low
Afraid of what I think you know
Because wanting changes everything
I didn’t know that when I sing
All my words string out for you
Old and borrowed, blue and new

So speak to me with passion’s mouth
Take my hand and wander south
Through make-believe, the land Pretend,
And sort through all the signs we send

Until the postman, sick of speech
Beside the girl just out of reach
Says, “Baby, I was born for this”
And leans in for a single kiss

Nothing

2008-07-07T01:00:00.003-04:00

You look at me. All of you. I see your eyes staring into me, melting my flesh away until I'm exposed and shriveled in your presence. You like the power you have over me; I can almost feel the laughter rising up in your throat, the imaginary guttural sound a cruel blow.

You never bother pointing, but your glares do it for you. They tell me all that I need to know. Inside, I tremble from the hatred. I want to know what I've done to you for this rejection, but I'm too frightened to ask. Part of me still begs for acceptance, something I know you cannot give. This doesn't crush the hope in me.

I fight this lethal dose of animosity in front of the crowds. Tears are weak in your eyes and right now, they're all I have. I save the pain and the humiliation for my empty room and only my mirror can see.

And yet, you never say a word. You don't want the world to know your secrets, so you shut your mouths and let those terrible eyes to the talking. I don't understand what I've done. But you won't tell me so I can fix it; you like the balance of power. It makes you feel stronger.

When my face is forward, I hear all the hidden whispers of your minds flooding me with insecurity. You think it's funny when I squirm, so obviously ill at ease with myself.

It's not all bad. The others say I'm great. Talented. Intelligent. Even pretty. But I can't believe a word you say. Not one. It's too hard for me to turn on the rest of you. Only one clan can be right. I don't know what to believe anymore so I don't believe anything.

I can't denounce you as liars, because I know that I unconciously do the same. I keep a chart in my head, tracking score to boost my self-esteem. I do that better than her, I say. That must mean something. I justify. I offend. I hurt. My hands are washed in the same blood. We're all to blame.

I can't come clean; these stains never wash off. I step on others, crushing them with my weight to get to the top. The tower of bodies doesn't end. It's a long and deadly climb, the lies and malice a choking mist.

It suffocates me.

The Lonely Room

2008-06-28T00:43:00.005-04:00

The end came for us, you and me. I still try to hide it like the child I am, under the covers, behind the curtains, buried in sand, or safe, safe and hidden in my heart. It's going to stop beating soon. I feel my pulse slowing, slipping to nothingness, away, away, to that magic kingdom I made when life could no longer fill me. Not all by itself.

I want you here. Here and now. My dreams can't do that, they have no powers in this land. So I close my eyes and hold the blankets tight against me. You stay where you are. And I remain alone. It's been that way for so long, I sometimes forget to feel forgotten. You might walk through the door again, I say. And then what good will a frown do me. I'll only smile.

Sometimes, it hurts. Pain fills my blood until I want to drain it all from my body, but I don't acknowledge the source. Because you're not gone. You're just far away, too far to touch, to kiss anymore. That hurts sometimes. I liked your kisses.

I used to be special. I used to have a definition, you gave it to me. My name meant something when you said it. No one knew what, but they knew I had to be worth it, because you said so, the final authority on everything.

I'm dying. The why eludes me, I'm going numb. I used to know things. The only thing I know now is that empty space you left behind. My breathing turns shallow, too shallow to whisper your name once more before the end for me comes. Just me.

I turn the last corner and float the last mile out of sight.