A Stupid Snippet for You

"Why are you wearing all black?"
"I felt like looking like a badass today and this was the best I could do."

When I was still living in my little box at school, a thought occurred to me. I frequently left my door unlocked. The only way for people to get to it was for me to let them in the door outside the hall or if they came down the stairs. One day I began thinking, thoughts that were slightly spurred on by the story of that poor girl who disappeared from campus and showed up dead in Mississippi, what if someone came into my room with less that pleasant intentions? How long would it be before someone found me? What could they do in the meantime? Ugly things like that.

I know. Twisted, yes. Morbid, yes. Creepy, ohyeah. But as horrible as all that sounds, I was slightly intrigued by the idea in the way that it might make for an interesting story. While I never did anything solid with the idea, I did slap down 2 and 1/2 pages of random stuff. I figure, it being October and near Halloween, I might as well share it with you.

Read on, think on your dorm days, and be creeped out. Or not. Enjoy either way. =P

(Untitled Piece)

“I was disbanded.”

“What?”

He looked at me. “Kicked out of the medical service – they took away my license.”

I sure as hell didn’t feel sorry for him. I sneered instead. “Yeah? What did you do? Kill someone?”

“I stole a heart.”

“What?”

“I stole a heart that was meant for some rich lady to put inside a little boy whose parents couldn’t afford the transplant. That woman didn’t do anything. She ran around with her fake body parts, buying $300 shoes. She’d step on that boy’s face if she saw him in the street.”

Was I supposed to start feeling sorry for him now? As though he had done some noble thing? Could I even believe him?

“So I stole the heart that was meant for her and put it inside him, free of charge. What could they do? They couldn’t take it back out again.”

“What, so you just let her die to save him? You like playing God is that it?”

He stomped over and peered into my face, hints of anger showing through his expression. “Money buys a human heart – it fucks the system. Do you have a thing for the rich? Are you one of those girls who goes shopping when she gets depressed? That would really make things a lot easier for me.”

“Fuck you,” I snarled and then turned my head, pressing the side of my face into the pillow. I didn’t want to look at him anymore. “I fucking hate people. Everyone is so goddamn twisted these days.”

* * *

I felt like the man in the Pit and the Pendulum – strapped down and waiting while impending death swung ever closer. But he had said, “I won’t kill you unless I have to.” Had to? What was that supposed to mean? What other purpose did he have in mind besides killing me? Why else would he infiltrate my room amidst so many other people and simply handcuff me to my bed? He hadn’t done anything – yet. It was the impending “yet” that I feared. “Yet” could be anything. I immediately labeled him as a psychopath, and you never knew what psychopaths were capable of or happened to be planning. Maybe that was his flawed way of telling himself what he was doing was okay. He wasn’t going to hurt me, just tie me up for a while, make himself at home, and then at the last minute – slash! My blood would be soaking into the comforter, turning it the color I had been searching for four years ago. And he’d be on his way out, locking the door behind him, still telling himself he hadn’t done anything wrong or some other psychopathic bullshit.

I realized I was sweating profusely and it was cold.

How long would it be before someone noticed I was gone? Or worse – how long would it be before someone discovered my dead body? I hadn’t done anything for two days now and no one had done a thing. I’d be lucky if someone called my cell phone or my room phone. The fact that I was offline made no difference – just my luck to decide to quit using my instant message program off and on the past several weeks. Everyone probably thought I was going through yet another one of my hermit stages where I simply secluded myself in my box of a room and wrote and read. Would they ever wonder what I was doing? Did they? Would it be the stench of rotting flesh that would bring everyone running to my door, like it happens in movies? What would I look like when they finally broke it down? Would the blood have turned black-brown by then? I suddenly remembered the victim of Sloth in the movie Se7en. Jesus Christ.

I hated that fucking movie.

* * *

“Yes,” he said, examining what was unmistakably a scalpel, “finally I have everything I need.”

It was all laid out on my tiny space for writing – hardly even a desk – more like the top of a bookshelf. I loved books.

He turned to me, his eyes sliding down my form. I thought of moving, squirming around in one last ditch effort to fight, but I knew it was useless, stupid, make me look pathetic. So instead I opted for staring at him with every ounce of hate I’d ever possessed. I made my body as still as stone, hoping that if looks could kill, they would, and it would be his body bleeding all over the floor for people to find when he started to rot.

He walked over to my bed – a few steps at best – and looked down into my face, silver scalpel still in hand. Shivers roiled through me.

“I told you,” he said as my teeth chewed in hatred and fear at the cloth in my mouth, “I wouldn’t kill you unless I had to. Well, I didn’t have to, and you’ll be fine if you live through this.” He turned around again and went back to the neatly organized tools and picked up a syringe filled with an alien liquid.

If I live through this? Every curse ever known to man popped into my head. If only I could get free I’d transform into an Amazon – a crazed female berserker he’d probably never faced before and I’d wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until I heard his neck snap or his windpipe crushed. All the instruments he had, all the gauze and needles – was I looking at the new Jack the Ripper? The single thought of Maybe I should tell him I’m a virgin swept through my mind. Did it matter? He might only get angry, tell me I was lying, poke me with needles and cut me open slowly anyway. I was sure he was some Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and I simply hadn’t seen Mr. Hyde yet.

He was beside me now, sitting down on the bed next to my hips, looking sad. As if he had any right to. That sad face looked at me and for a moment neither of us moved. I wanted to say something, anything – preferably the worst possible thing that could enter my mind that might damage his intentions. But the gag would have reduced it to growls and mumbles, the same level as a muzzled dog. His right arm moved and came to rest on the other side of my body; he was leaning over me now, his face looking into mine and for a moment I couldn’t control, the briefest of moments, I felt depressed for him. He might have been handsome if it were any other situation. A man I would give my phone number to while blushing like a fool. The depression transmuted into hatred again. A man I might willingly give access to my life – that’s the part that made it so goddamn frightening.

“I promise I’ll be careful,” his tone was soft, and whatever his intentions may have been, the softness of it drove fear into me almost more than if he were a raving lunatic. At least then he would have made more noise and attracted more attention. “I’ll leave the door open but you’ll have to contact them yourself.”

Contact who? The hell was this guy talking about? He lowered his head, all the muscles in abdominal region tightening so much they began cramping almost immediately; his forehead was nearly touching my chest. Don’t touch me, you bastard, don’t touch me…

He looked up again. “I’m sorry about all this.”

Fuck you.

Sitting up, he clinked the glass of the syringe, letting any excess air escape before leaning over again and carefully slipping the needle into a vein in the crook of my elbow. I watched as he returned to the array of instruments, feeling heavy and losing hope, my own human water eking out around my eyes. Fuzzy darkness crept in and I could see him standing there, waiting against the short bookcase, silvery scalpel waiting patiently to begin what it was created for.

* * *

I found out what he took hours later after I woke up. I had called the police, woozy, in a strange near-absence of pain, a distorted version of my room. All I knew was that he was gone, my door was ajar, the phone was there, working, and another human answered the number of 911.

They arrived and took me to the hospital immediately. I don’t remember a lot. I think all my thoughts were consumed with how I was alive, alive and relatively whole, as far as I knew. I remember mumbling it aloud a few times.

When I was finally coherent and my parents had been called, I begged them to tell me what he had done and they finally relented, explaining that I was in good condition, but a part of my liver was missing. I was aware of the neat stitches that now graced my side but never even entertained the idea that something had been removed from my body.


Happy Halloween

Where Have The Pages Gone?

Indeed. Where have they gone?

I never heard back from the guy I sent my stuff to. Maybe he was so unimpressed he decided to forgo writing back and saying anything. Not something I appreciate. If you think it sucks then for God's sake tell me! Sheesh.

I've gotten a few more random rejections here and there. Tor said no. Mmm. I sent off another attempt to Windstorm Creative Ltd. It would be fantastic if they thought otherwise. I don't have any high hopes though. Rejection is part of the job. Even all of you know that by now because I've mentioned it so often. If it happens again I'm thinking I should try getting an agent. Might make things a bit easier. Then the hunt will begin to find one.

Haven't been doing much writing at all lately. I'm stressed, or mildly stressed all the time. I have some issues focusing. Not a good thing. It frustrates me even more. I hate knowing there isn't anything I can do about my present position except wait until I have everything under control. Reading Stephanie Plum has given me a small boost, though. I've been scribbling some nonsense in the red pieces notebook, so I feel that that's something.

I don't know. I felt before like my muses were all locked up somewhere, in comas, whatever. Now it's just the whole writing thing is quiet. Sleeping. I feel like working on another book is dumb until I get something freaking published. I mean, what's the point in making yet another something if the first one isn't going anywhere yet? That and I still have to muddle through a lot of filler and filler annoys me. Ok, well maybe it doesn't annoy me, but it's not the same as the good stuff, so it's not as much fun to write. Gotta be there though. I've tried to think of ways around it, but nothing works so I'm sort of stuck with it. And I don't even want to talk about grad school writing...

Writing = slow. *sigh*


Currently: Hummm....

Life Throws Weird Shit At Me

As I wait for the library to inform me that the book I've requested has come in, I write reviews and have delved into the world of Anne Rice (no Sandra, Sarah, not the A. N. Roquelaure version of her). Ashley bought a huge chunk of a book a while back - it contains Interview with the Vampire, The Vampire Lestat, and Queen of the Damned all in one shot. I'd been thinking at dinner a few nights ago, "I need a good vampire story," and like an idiot started thinking I should ask the book leaders of Epinions when it dawned on me that Ashley had Anne Rice sitting in her closet. So that should keep me in line for a while.

Aside from that, I've been thinking, "Crap, if we move soon..." I'm still waiting on responses from 10 different places about work I've sent. I suppose I'd have to send another letter to them just to be sure all rejections (oh all right, I'll say it just to be positive, acceptances) get to the right place. That would suck. But I suppse it's something I'll have to face (possibly - the longest I'll have to wait is around 4 months...hopefully. Might be up to 6).

Then there's the review thing. Been cranking those out pretty steadily, from anime to the books I've been reading (still haven't reviewed Wicked yet - not sure if I want to review it before or after I read Wizard of Oz), from V for Vendetta to Black Adder, just a medley of stuff really. But it's Epinions that brings me to my odd yet interesting news about writing.

About a week or so ago I got an email from a fellow Epinioner about a book he was working on about challenges people face and the various coping mechanisms they use to deal with them. Things of that nature. All giddy for a fellow writer, I obliged, of course, and wished him all sorts of luck. He'd mentioned working in publishing for quite some time, so the man knows his stuff. I made a joke and mentioned how I write too, though since I'm into the fantasy genre, I'll be the one most likely to starve. He wrote back and told me he worked for Houghton Mifflin and if I had anything they might publish, let him take a gander at it and he'd pass it on to the appropriate editor. Houghton Mifflin. Houghton Mifflin. Do you know how kick ass that is? They're the ones putting out copies of Lord of the Rings. I have their version sitting on my freaking shelf. They only take agented submissions. Let me reiterate - I don't have an agent. Now granted, he mentioned that since they are the ones cranking out Lord of the Rings, it's not exactly high priority for them to take on any other fantasy work. After all, Lord of the Rings is like the Bible for all fantasy, let's face it. And we all know the Bible is always the top selling book in America.

*dies*

Opportunities like this don't come every day. Hell, they hardly ever come...ever. But I'm not fooling myself either. Oh, I can dissolve into dreams of glamour of just how awesome it would be for them to pick up little ole me. Good lord how I would owe that guy everything I freaking owned. But truthfully, I was hesitant to send him anything. I'm not trying to put myself down, but I don't think it will fly. I don't think Houghton Mifflin is interested in publishing any more fantasy - it certainly isn't listened on their website or in Writer's Market. So instead of wasting the man's time with the whole shebang, I just sent him the first three chapters and the prologue. I told him all of this. He did say that if I thought they'd be interested to send it along, but I'm leaning towards "Probably not" so I took the middle road and just sent him a piece. After all, as I said to him in the email, he knows more about the company than I do. So I'm letting him make the final call. I refuse to get my hopes too high (or high at all for that matter), but like I said, I can't help but think, "Oh, what if..."

Man that would so rule.

Naturally, I put him on my WOT.

On an additional note, I got a reply from Edwardsville this time. I got plenty of help from Carbondale, though never a specific reason why I didn't get chosen. However, the Edwardsville reply basically said what I knew all along. HAH! Now I have my proof; less genre writing, more literary fiction, less on novels, more on short stories. Fack, if I don't have my work cut out for me. I can never think of a good short story, much less a literary one. *rolls up sleeves* Well, if they want it, then they're gonna get it. I'm sure I've got a literary short story in me somewhere that I can crank out!

Currently: Haha!

Scylla and Charybdis

I sent off 3 more letters today, or a total of 13 poems...plus the poem I sent off electronically yesterday. Thinking back, I should have sent two, but I'd settled on one poem in another document and thus forgot about it until digging around in all my stuff today.

I failed in my attempt at an all-nighter. In fact, there never really was any attempt. The dog ended up in my room and since she's getting older, I didn't want her to have to deal with the light on all night and I wasn't about to kick her out, so I just went to bed around 12am (and subsequently slept like crap all night).

So the writing is sketchy. I've been meaning to write to two newspapers and offer them services, but I don't know how that will turn out. I'm leaning towards not-so-great, which makes me want to not bother at all, hence saving me two (or four if SASEs [self addressed stamped envelope] are involved) stamps. Still, there's another part of me that says, "Well hell, why not?" so I'm still iffy on all that.

No one needs writers anymore it seems. Anytime I do a job search, it's always for engineers and sales people, always sales people. Customer service - crap that has to do with dealing with bitchy people for days and months and years on end. No offense to the human population (actually, scratch that, I don't care), but fuck that. People suck. You all know my position on that. It's similar to Dane Cook's position on shoes. There's got to be something out there that fits me better. Something I can slip into without too much worry, something that puts me in a position that even if I deal with people, my status puts them off to even thinking about being bitchy. A long shot, I know, and something I'll probably never, or at least not soon, find. I'll probably have to settle on something that simply brings in dough until...well, I'm not sure.

Actually, I want to say, "Until we move." There's more opportunity in Pennsylvania. At least, that's what I've been telling myself. There isn't much that Champaign/Rantoul has to offer, as we all know. I should just apply to Barnes & Noble for now because at least then I'd be in a quiet atmosphere where the likelihood of meeting up with bitchy people is greatly minimized. But then there's another problem. The car. I made the mistake of saying, "This is Nikki's summer of travel!" The reason behind my decision to work, that and the writing. But it turns out since we only have two cars and mom will be working, dad will be at school, and someone will have to take Ashley to Parkland, the ability to travel is slim to none. Summer of travel my ass. My plans with Stacey got cancelled, thus ruining the possibility of visiting my grandparents, and you all know how my Colorado trip went. I feel like I should do something, but at the same time, I feel like I'm simply stuck between a rock and a hard place. Sure, I should build up my credit and aim for a car, but even with a credit card, what do I do? You all know me - I never buy anything. Ok, that's not necessarily true, but when I do buy things, I never buy enough to merit the use of a credit card as it is. $100 a pop, max (and I think that's only happened twice and even then it was planned).

Another thing I need to do is email the graduate evaluators (or whatever you'd like to call them) and ask about my previous attempt to get into their school. As it was the writing samples that took me out, I need to find out (if at all possible) what it was that they didn't like. Was it the style? The content? Or is it simply that I'm a bad writer and have never realized it (which I doubt due to the fact that I've never had a teacher take me aside and inform me, and I've had some that I know they would have done if it were true, or at the very least, write plenty all over a story/poem I've turned in, and though I've had not-so-awesome comments before, never anything telling me I need to rethink everything). Perhaps I should do that now before I forget...

So that's me. I feel a bit like Megan, though I think I'm stressing less because she doesn't know what will happen if those morons don't contact her (which also makes no sense to me considering how this country appears to be hurting for teachers 365 days a year). In the end, once I get answers from the grad schools (if I do - they'll have to remember who I am or dig up my file, that is, if my file still exists...which also reminds me, I need to contact two professors about reference letters as well as the career center in order to ask about my file info blah blah blah) I'm going to make a second attempt. I'm not going to bother with U of I this time around. I've heard way too many negative things about them. I place most stock not in what my father and all his collegues say, but Mari, the younger (my age actually) sister of Nick (Stacey's boyfriend) as she went there as an art student. Apparently all the art teachers have their minds made up already as to what is art (which most of us would probably throw up on - you know, shit on canvas, 5-yr-old scribble, that sort of thing) and what is not (such as Mari's work, which is very impressive), and that sort of thing always worries me. People who reject things and have no open mind when it comes to writing/art/etc. that is different from what they write/create/etc. and thus they are biased against things. I keep telling Stacey that if Mari does open an art gallery, she can hire me. I always did love art and music and all things that pay $0 in this world. Go figure. Point is, Mari hated U of I (hear hear!) so this time I'll try Penn State. See what happens. That would be handy. Besides, my itch to go somewhere has not been scratched and I like to look at that sort of thing as a major adventure, and I'm always up for a new adventure.

So yeah, if that goes through, Nicole will be going to Pennsylvania.

Nicole also needs to get her butt to the library to read two books in order to get a feel for another publisher in order to submit in the case that they match what I write. I went through a lot of my poetry lists to try and find out who is good and who's information is basically dead. Hard to say though - I'd have to phone some people if I wanted to know really bad, but the easier way would to just find an updated Poet's Market (Barnes & Noble trip, sneak in the back and check without buying). Until then I'm waiting on about 5 email messages sent out yesterday (some coming back that same hour saying "Sorry, this ain't goin' thru."). One came back positive, though the editor said nothing about possible submissions. Who knows.

Whew! *sigh* There's a lot I need to do, to consider, all that jazz. But this blog entry has gotten long enough and I'm sure you all have things you need to do (or not, I don't know) so until next time!

Currently: Mm...I dunno...

Edit: Brownies - that's what he made. And he bought icing to boot.

Feel The Anger Flowing Through You...

I am never using fanfic.net again.

Let's be honest: That fucking sucked.

Their program for uploading and posting made no sense. They say in their little guidelines: "Do not upload chapters as separate documents." Basically it says I'm supposed to load one main document and then edit it in some other place in order to make chapters.

Uh, right - where?

Their system is backwards. Or outdated. Or contradictory. Or something. I had no other way but to upload separate documents for different chapters. There seriously was no other way to do it. And let me tell you, I'm patient with computer programs. It's one thing for my computer, which I'm used to, to suddenly freak out on me and hence I freak out in return. It's totally different for me to be online with some new program that doesn't have a lot to it at all and be stuck working with it for over 2 hours. I should have been done over an hour ago. I don't know why it wouldn't accept number signs or asterisks either. That was really getting to me. Finally managed to settle on dashes.

Ugh. Man that was annoying.

Glad I'm finally done with it. I'm not touching it or posting anything. Ever. Again.

On another note, I'm back into #1H. I should work with some poetry. I need to email some people too. I need to do a lot of things in the world of writing. I rewrote a section of #1H, or am in the middle of it. Cutting out a lot of the beginning. I didn't want to introduce characters I really wasn't ever going to use. Makes no sense. A waste of 5 pages, but oh well. I like it better this way. This was how I was initially going to do it anyway so hey, good times.

That's really all I have to say. I really just had to rant about that site and its stuff. Honestly...

Currently: Feeling Violent

"Hello Beastie."

If you recall in the last posting, I was creating a fanfic based off of the most recent Pirates of the Caribbean movie. (Shut up, I already know I'm stupid). Actually, it's not really based off it, it's just a random idea I had that I had to act on. I really did only mean for it to be like, 8 pages. Seriously. I had no intention for it to get so big. Would you like to know the page count? Okay. Keep in mind, this isn't typed up yet, so the page count is of college ruled paper (one sheet, front and back) with my handwritten words all over it in that tiny style I have.

20 pages.

Yeah. I ran out of room in my previous notebook after the initial 9 pages. Actually, the initial story is only about 18 or 19 pages. Then I just continued on with a few random ideas that popped up due to the soundtrack (which I again, highly recommend. It seriously kicks pirate ass). I finished the whole thing up this morning, actually. I was writing all during the trip (save when we were out hiking) and was up until about 2 last night (or maybe it was 1:30...I don't know) because the storm would have kept me up anyway and I was on a roll. That's when I finished the intial idea. I did the last two this morning since I didn't want to go down and instantly have TV in my face.

Aside from my pirate nonsense, on the 19th I sent off parts of my first book to a publisher. I know, one try isn't going to cut it, but I've been stuck doing research on places, trying to get their information, having issues with that, trying to see what they're looking for and if my stuff fits the bill, etc. etc. Whether or not I should get an agent, and even then if said agent is still in business, yadda yadda. It's messy. I'll probably have to go get the most updated edition of Writer's Market. Or maybe Author's Market, the one specifically for books. At least I'm pretty sure that's what it's called. There are two other places I can send it to, but I need to do more research on them to see if I should even bother wasting the postage.

Anyway, that's that. I don't know if I'll send the finished pirate story to Megan directly or just give her the site I'll end up posting it on. Either way, if you seriously want to read it, contact her, haha, because I'm done with it after this (except for Stacey, since you don't know Megan).

Okay. Peace out.


Currently: Ho hum.

Edited at 12:23pm 7/29: It's 28 typed pages (single-spaced of course)

BLOODY PIRATES!

The deal is I've just gotten done watching the new Stargate episodes, SG-1 and Atlantis. A select few of you know what I'm talking about, and probably even fewer of you give a shit. I think Stef watches it. And now I'm up here rambling in order to avoid the news, which is perpetually on in this house. Oh, how I hate the news. It's always the same shit; people dying, countries being assholes, everyone hating us. I do not see how this is news.

Now the Stargate episodes should have incited the little #1H muse, but instead it's merely made me all excited to see the new ones, which I have to wait until next Friday to see, which I will then have to wait a few more weeks to see since I'll be off romping in Colorado at that time. Damn. Oh well. The thing is, I've been writing something else. Something pointless, something utterly useless, something I can't even modify later in order to be useful. Okay, that's not entirely true; I'm sure if I really wanted to and really tried I could, but I'm really not into bothering with it. I should be doing something productive, and yet I'm writing a bunch of drivel, which I initially thought would take up maybe 5, 6 pages and has extended to...well I'm not sure of the page count at the moment, but it's getting to the end of my notebook, which means I'll have to get into my other one, so I suppose it's probably 8-10 pages by now.

So just what is taking up all my time and has me more involved than the #1H story (which would have me more involved were I not busy writing all the stuff that has to draw into the story before it gets good - never was a fan of the crap. Not that it's crap, it's just not as much fun to write)? A fanfic. Yeah. How lame is that? I never thought in a million years I'd be bothered with something like this. You see, I went to see the newest Pirates of the Caribbean and when it got to a certain point, I was all excited about the whole thing and when the movie was over I was more giddy than I have been in a long time when it comes to a movie. It was that damn kiss between Elizabeth and Jack that had me all revved up. If I've ruined it for you, well, trust me, I haven't, and you should know better anyway. Anyway, something in me clicked and some alien idea got into my head. Suddenly I found I was more interested in Johnny Depp/Jack (hard to say which exactly it was that was tugging at me) than Orlando Bloom (whose hotness, by the way, went away a long time ago when he started dating Kate Bosworth or whatever her name is - a Hollywood chick, and that's all I needed to know for him to not be cool anymore, or at least, as cool). That kiss affected me more than I thought it would (I knew it was coming, all thanks to the TV guide channel), and suddenly the pairing of Elizabeth and Jack was very interesting.

I read a few short pieces at a fanfic site where you can find basically anything you might find interesting (if you recall my search for my muses and the failed excursion with Kakashi) that dealt with the ElizabethxJack pairing, but decided in the end, these didn't work well for me. Or rather, they didn't sit well. I couldn't very well let Elizabeth suddenly abandon her feelings for Will, thus none of the fanfics seemed to work out. Then I started thinking. Then I got an scenario into my head. Basically one scenario is all it takes. To be honest, I wasn't really ever going to do anything about it. I've had an inclination to do a pairing before a while back when school was still in session concerning some anime characters, but since I knew it would be pointless writing, never acted on the impulse and simply waited for it to die down. Took a while. The thing is, I knew this idea wouldn't go away until I did something about it - instead it would just play in my head every night until I stuck it on paper, similar to Dumbledore's little pensieve. Too many thoughts in your head? Take them out.

So I did, and have been for the past three days (I believe). I was going to try and flash-bang it, like I said, slap it down in 5 or 6 pages, but as usual my ideas tend to grow a little larger and I get into more detail, yadda yadda yadda, and here we are at the present. It will end, and I won't have to worry about it anymore; if I want to revisit it I can always just dive into my little paper pensieve and enjoy. And I do feel like I'm being wasteful of my time (not the paper; that's exactly what that particular notebook is for). Instead of writing query letters and such I'm writing about...well I won't tell you exactly what I'm writing about since I feel a bit stupid for doing it in the first place, though I do admit that it is damn hard to wade through Jack's thought processes, not to mention coming up with good dialogue for him. I consider that, at the very least, good writing practice.

When I'm done, I might post it at the fanfiction site in order to give millions the chance to read my rubbish, and I've also been considering sending it to Megan (yes, just Megan) seeing as she's my fellow Pirates fan. I doubt the rest of you will want to read my nonsense, but something tells me she'd be all excited about it. From there if she wanted to distribute it, by all means, I'd give her leave to, but I'm not going to bother shipping it out everywhere.

So that's it. That's what my dumb self has been up to in the pencil lead sector. Dorky, huh?

...I am such a geek.

Currently: Bright-eyed and Bushy-tailed

The RRSGS -Or- Book #1H

It's slow going, really. I've paused on the poetry thing (though in reality I should get back on it because it's not as though it takes up too much time...sort of...sometimes. Ok, it depends) and have gotten to work on a book which stems from an idea I had last summer that came about during an hour of lying in bed and then a 24/7 writing session on the computer soon after, something I never do, really. I have issues with writing on the computer when it comes to stories for some reason. But to get to the point, the Isu story (aka #1F) has been put on hold. Yes, the one with the characters made out of Brett, Shawn, Katie, Sandra, and everyone else. It's an interesting enough story, but not enough to truly hold my attention. The same went for #1E, which was based on characters from my high school friends. I literally had to force myself one day to do some writing on it by going to a Barnes & Noble at 8am (or whenever they opened) and staying 8 hours, only getting up to stretch and clear my brain before getting back to work. I burned out after 5 hours but got a lot done.

Moving on, I think tonight will be an all-nighter. Normally that means I'm going to stay up all night and write, in this case on #1H, but I think instead it will be a mix. As a Top Reviewer on Epinions.com, I need to keep up a certain quota of reviews in the movie section. To be honest I don't even know what the number is, so I just need to write a bunch and hope I've made it. I should email someone. Anyway, I have a number of other things, namely soundtracks, that I should review as well and have simply been, that's right, putting it off because I'm lazy. So tonight I'll do some writing, do some reviewing, do some writing, reviewing, etc. etc. I don't have to worry about going to the stadium tomorrow because we didn't all week anyway and weekends we simply don't go. Dad says the time off is good for his back and knees anyway, which I don't dispute.

But back to the writing. It's been slow going. It's the kind of writing that I sort of want to do, the kind I know I need to do, but in reality, really wish I didn't have to do just so I could skip on ahead to where all the good stuff is. I should work my ass off on this. Did you know that on average I've written each book in about a year's time? Except the last time I did that was with #1E - I haven't written crap since, in the ways of completion anyway. No offense to my character-friends, but I shouldn't have bothered with #1F and simply gone on to #5 or something instead. But it seemed like such a good idea at the time, and in many ways, still is. I just need to get past the boring stuff. That's the thing everyone hates - that boring filler. Like the second Harry Potter book. Haha. J.K. Rowling said that one was such a drag to write, but just had to get out there for the second year.

Listen to me, talking like I'm some published author. Nope, still have the title of writer. That's different to me. Until I'm published I'm not an author. What I should do is write a query letter and send off #1 like I've been talking about. God I'm lazy. Or maybe a bit fearful of having to go through all that. Not the rejection part, no, that doesn't bother me, that's a part of a writer's life: Death, taxes, and rejection. No, I mean the fear of how long it may take once I get on that road. I guess it equates to rejections, but it's like, once I hop on, I fuckin' hop on. Here we go, and it's a long ride.

But who knows? Maybe I'll be like that kid that wrote Eragon. Boy that would rule. But I guess I should stop daydreaming and make it happen, damn it.

Currently: Carefree

Poetry Soup

Sophomore year I had lunch with Kurt and rambled to him about whether or not I should buy a book called Poet's Market. At the time it was the 2004 version. In the end (and in no way due to Kurt's thoughts - he was basically like, "Uh, I don't know...why the hell are you asking me?" which was totally legitimate so don't worry Kurt) I bought the book...and never used it.

Until now.

I guess I was busy then with school and didn't have time for poetry and cover letters and postage and all that nonsense. Now it's 2006 and the problem is this: Every year the creators of Poet's Market, Writer's Market and the other books of that family (my Writer's Market is the 2002 version I believe) update everything and punch out a new edition. So who in this book still exists and who does not? That's what I need to find out. I already went to the little library here to see if they had one I could compare with, but no such luck. I was expecting that though.

So I've been combing though the pages, picking out specific places to look into. First I went with themes, then openness to submissions (beginners, experienced, etc.). Right now I'm focusing on places that have websites as they are the easiest to determine whether or not they are still in business. Email submissions are good because they cut down on envelopes and postage.

I've sent off a lot of poems so far - why poems you ask? To be honest, I'm not really sure. I don't do well with short stories, as I think many of you are aware. I need to go with a different approach. But I figured it would be important to get my name in print somewhere so I don't look like some slug amateur. So I guess I'll tell you something interesting.

3 poems have been accepted by a little publication called 3 Cup Morning. The funny thing is that A.) it's Canadian (but who's complaining?) and B.) I got a response in roughly an hour. That's got to be record time. Are they legit you ask? Well, yeah. Poet's Market doesn't put bogus places in their book. Besides, I did a search on 3 Cup Morning because searching for a publication usually yields somebody's publication credits. Anyway, when putting this kind of thing in a cover letter, editors don't all know each other. There are (in this edition at least) over 1,800 places to send poetry. In short, it looks good.

I think now I'm going to hit the hay after a bit of entertainment. I should send some more stuff and then get to work on a query letter and send off a book or part of one. That's getting heavy duty, but hey, I'm not getting any younger, and how the hell am I ever going to get a book published if I just let them sit there?

Currently: Magical

*Nyarg*

I've organized a lot of my writing pieces. Some of you may have seen the dark blue binder I have which carries the maps I've made, along with various pieces and ideas for things. I stuck my revised #1 in there, so it got pretty crowded and thus I had to move a section into a different binder. I might even move more and keep the dark blue binder restricted to books 1-6.

But that's as much as I've done so far. The muses are still asleep, though I have had one stirring. I wanted to write a bit about Anna yesterday but then suddenly found myself out of commission and lying on my bed dying. Wasn't a very good time. So I didn't do much. I want to see a certain something in order to try and get things awake more, but I also want a writing desk for peace and quiet and good lighting. Honestly, after too long this yellow light in the computer room sucks. Hurts the eyes.

Perhaps instead of trying to come up with an entirely new scenario, I should just write down the two I have sitting in my head and get them down on paper. One deals with Anna, the other does not. My only slight worry of that is both have music that inspired them and I've had times like this before where I've had an awesome song for something and I just play it over and over to go with the writing. 7 minute song though one of them may be, the scene is just absolutely gigantic. It's a friggin' war for goodness sake. A lot of detail, a lot of stuff going on and I'd have to play the song for an infinate amount of time, which I don't want to do because the last time I did that I grew tired of the song and it doesn't impress me anymore. Heh, like I've sucked all the awesomeness out of it. I'd have to supplement this one with other music. I'd just have to. I really don't want to suck this song bone dry of all its coolness.

Either way, muses or no muses, I'm going to have to start forcing some stuff onto the pages. Be aggressive, b-e agressive and all that jazz. Stacey gave me two 5-subject notebooks, college ruled, as a graduation present. *drools everywhere* Yes, yes, I'm a slave to the blank page. She gave me some pencils too, and though they're not the kind I usually write with, they will be used - oh yes, they will. In fact, I should go look to see what size lead they have because I haven't thought to look until now.

Either way, I have the tools, so I guess I should just start improvising. Yes, that's the ticket.

WRITING IMPROV HERE I COME!


Currently: A lil spaztic

Wrong Key

So I've been holding off on reading a certain fanfic for, oh, all semester. Why? Basically because I was afraid that it would trigger a certain muse and I'd want to go on a writing rampage, but because of all the reading I had to do (amongst other things at the time) I wouldn't have the kind of time I wanted (hours on end) to write. However, last night I decided to risk it as I can finish my last three things in at the most three days, which I have, and read until 4am. However, things did not look promising. Still, I finished it today at risk of running out of shopping time (well not really, I just wanted to get out by 2 and didn't leave until at least 4ish. Part of that was because my grandparents got online and started chatting).

But to move on. The story disappointed me. It wasn't the right key, if I even want to bother calling it a possible key at all. And so that particular muse still sleeps, much to my aggrevation. I know there are keys to waking up the other muses as well, that's usually what happens, I just have to find them. It's like this is turning into a video game or something. Find the correct keys, get blocked by homework and tests and other crap, get to the muses, and finish the game by writing something super-awesome. Mmm...sounds nice. Despite the fact that this one didn't work, I think I know where I can find the real key, but I just have to wait. After all, it was the first opening of the door to that muse. He was awake and hanging around before then, but it wasn't until I did the reading that he came up, tapped me on the shoulder, and smiled right in my face. Ironically, that author is bogged down by the same things as myself.

So the others are still asleep, and I'm banging on the see-through coffin of one of them. It's a matter of time. Just a matter of time. I think another key will at some point be through Deviant Art...and something else somewhere....

It's just a matter of time.

Currently: A bit tired and weary

My Muses Sleep

All my muses are currently in comas.

I know, that sounds weird, but several times now I've sat in front of a notebook and have been just totally unable to write. It's not so much writer's block really, I just don't know where to start or end or anything. I know what I can write, but it's just not coming through, like there's a block in a creative pipe (so maybe it is writer's block) and I need a muse to come through and free things up.

This doesn't count because this is what it is - a ramble. Thoughts that float around in my head that really don't take too much creative thought (if any) at all. They're all there, my muses, I can see them all, but they're asleep, floating in clear coffins in a sea of starry darkness, like in some abyss I can't get to until I'm done with all this school nonsense. As though all this current junk causes so much interference they had nowhere else to go but sleep. Yeah, I know all that sounds melodramatic, but it sucks. Just as if you were a math major and couldn't get what you think is a simple problem to work out right and it makes you want to pull your hair out or cry. Or if you're a bio person and the experiments just aren't doing what they should be and there is no real reason why not. Ironically though, I'm not frustrated, because I know that it will all come back once I'm out of here at at home where I don't have to worry about homework anymore. I can focus on what I want to focus on and start sending out more things. Especially big things. Yes, big things.

My first book is all edited and pretty much ready to be sent to an editor/agent. I just need to make up some really good query letters and hope they like what they see. Rejection can bite my ass. I will be published. Even if it doesn't happen right away, I will be dammit.

All my characters are waiting. I just have to find the way back to them.

Currently: Searching for my muses

"A Struggling Writer Lives Here"

That's what it says on my dry erase board. Why is that?

Because I've been rejected by all the graduate schools I applied to.

No, no, don't give me your sympathy; I don't want to hear a bunch of "I'm sorries," that only serves to annoy me and remind me of what happened. And this is writing related, which is why this post exists.

For those of you who don't know, I was rejected by Carbondale Monday the 6th (or at least that's when I got the letter). Edwardsville said no in the first package of mail I opened Sunday night, and today my father informed me that U of I had sent the rejection there (why they sent it to the house, I have no idea). Of course, my dad started getting all these ideas, which (of course) only began to aggrevate me, the main thing being when he began spouting his belief of why I was rejected when I knew all along why. I admit, I was really irked when I had to explain yet again to someone what the deal was and why. But dad forgets stuff all the time so oh well. You see, writers have their niche, and what I was afraid of was that my writing samples wouldn't be good enough for them. They weren't, as the guy from Edwardsville outlined after I inquired. The problem? I didn't have enough of what I knew they would want to see. I've felt awkward in a few of my creative writing classes because the professors have their styles and if you don't write within 5 feet of that, they seem to look down on you a little as not as good of a writer. Of course, my last creative writing class with Dr. Lamonica (where this blog was spawned from) wasn't like that at all and I believe my total freedom helped give rise to some of my best creative ideas that might have made good samples to send. Ah well.

So now what? Well, I'm glad to know I'm not the only one out there like this. Interestingly enough, my sister Stacey informed me that Nick's (her boyfriend) sister Mari was in the same boat as me. I'm a writer, she's an artist. She's not going to grad school, but instead is just going to find a job good enough to give her what she needs while she tries to get her art into the public scene. Hmm, sounds like my plan, haha.

Honestly, that is my plan. You see, when I first got my rejection from Carbondale, I laughed. Not in spite or anything weird really, just "God, finally I have an answer, time to move on with life." I'd become so hung up on grad school and didn't really notice how much until I read that letter. It felt like a weight was off my insides. If anyone had seen me that day, I was bright and chipper, and bouncing all over. I was that glad to finally know. I won't deny that I was a little bummed because I wasn't going to live with my sister and have good times, but I was able to live with that. And that's not all. The rejection was like a wake up call to my writing, which had been sitting dormant for a long while. Suddenly I got out my red pen and went bonkers on the draft. If Carbondale rejected me, then there were only two left, and they could easily do the same. A part of me expected it really, so I started right then and there to get back into what I've been leaving on the back burner, something I am not exactly happy about. All this stuff about getting into graduate school in order to get a job as a creative writing teacher in order to make sufficient enough dough to live on has never been my life's aspiration. That was more of a survival plan. But I can survive without it. I have to. All that was pushing away what I wanted to do most - I wonder now how much it would distract me from my true life goal. My focus has shifted and a tiny part of me thought, "Well, looks like God has other plans for me." You all know I'm not overly religious (but I'm not atheist either), but I do wonder sometimes.

After getting the final rejection today (or I guess, techinically, yesterday), it seemed like the final barriers were down. I opened up old favorites I haven't visited in years and started making lists of places to send my work. I've been too wrapped up in school to do anything with them. Hell, I've even sent off material electronically already. I spent from around after 5ish until about 2 hours ago perusing online publications, listing things, planning ideas, what to send, to who, and when. I looked at my old "Attempts Made" file and noted how in 2002 and 2003 I sent out a total of 14 pieces to 12 different places. In 2004 and 2005 the total was a sad 8 (5 of which were a group of poems) to 4 places. And you know what? I only sent items to them because of my creative writing classes. The 2005 single submission only occurred because that was literally a requirement of the class.

As much as an MFA sounds good to tack on a resume, if I never get it, I don't mind. Like my sister said in her email to me today, "This sounds dumb, but in a way, I'm pretty jealous. You're done. No more school! " She was right. That's exactly how I felt.

So don't feel sad for me, I don't want your pity. Instead, tell me I rock and that you know I'll be published someday. Give me support in what I do. That makes me happier than anything.

Currently: Yay! Happy!

Daytime Fantasies

This post might weird you out, but then again, some of you might do the same things so who knows?

Anyway, now that I've given you the disclaimer, I was going to come back home from class, put all my junk away, and then just flop down on my bed and pass out. However, as I figured would probably happen, the cold air outside woke me up (some...well, enough) so that I know flopping right down on bed wouldn't get me anywhere.

So instead I've decided to blog about what I was thinking during my Philosophy class today, and I can do this because it does relate to writing (which is what I wanted to keep this blog restricted to).

There are times when I zone out during class (and I'm sure most of you do this too), and think about whatever I want. It can range from a lot of things. One day my black dragon is curling around Watterson Towers and I'm the only one he'll listen to. Other days I'll be walking in the quad and one of my bad guys (currently deceased though he may be written) will show up and kidnap my ass out of this world. That's usually the typical thought that snakes in. It doesn't even matter - the guy can be anyone. He'll show up and take me with him right then and there to his world (or technically, mine). It's never a girl - because I'm usually the girl. One facet of me anyway, but that's another blog for another day. And I'm not gonna have one of my other girls come and retrieve me. They're pretty much all based on someone else. No offense, but screw that. My boys rule. The only problem is that there is always a stipulation and I can't seem to get away from it. I always have to leave, right there, and I can't ever explain to anyone where I've gone, which really sucks because then my family would be all distraught, not knowing where I went, thinking I've been kidnapped and lying dead in a ditch somewhere when I'm really in some lavish bed in different clothing, eating something pleasant and...well that's if I'm with one guy...I'm not sure it would be so pleasant with the other. Heh, I might get thrown in a dungeon, but that's a whole other concept in itself (no, if you're thinking along the lines of kinky sex, for God's sake go to a church and confess to having a dirty, dirty mind. Sheesh.).

Anyway, that's one thing I think about. Now you can put your mind in the gutter because other times I'll be thinking about sex. I won't lie. It's true. Most of the time it's not me though. It usually revolves around a story, a couple of characters in whatever situation, good times and all that. Well, I guess I could say that I'm involved since I've already said that most of my female characters (main ones) are based on me or some characteristic of me. So in a sense it's not really the true me, just one side. But that's beside the point. It amuses me, to get to the basic point about all this daydreaming. Do you ever wonder (probably not, but now you will, haha) how many people are thinking about sex while in a class? I don't mean, "Man...I need to get some." No, no, not the fleeting thought, I mean having all out fantasies. It's good times. I suggest you try it sometime. Then again, I don't know how any of you people would handle it because for me it's all rather casual. I'm sort of writing as I fantasize, coming up with descriptions, hand placements, eyes, words, etc. etc. I usually have to rewind and do some editing. Add something in, change some lines there, continue on. Hahaha, now that I think about it, it's like I might as well be directing pornography. But it's good stuff, not that lame ass shit they crank out these days. Got that "real" quality in there, as much as it can be real seeing as it's just some random fantasy. No one would probably ever think it of me, which makes things even more amusing. They'd probably think I was totally zoning out or thinking of what I'd like to have for dinner later. Not that I don't sometimes.

Ironically enough, this stuff never gets written. Yeah. That's not to say I haven't ever written any of said scenes - I've written the same one twice, another as a gift to someone (that one was fuckin' hard by the way), and I think another just for kicks. I don't remember because the last time I wrote a scene was freshman year and that was the gift one. So if I fantasize as often as I do, why don't I write it out? Well for starters, I like to give my characters their privacy. Yes, I know that may sound dumb to you, but my characters aren't on the page to satisfy a reader's taste for sexual literature. And it really doesn't need to be in there. I imply it, and I feel that is enough. Secondly, I would strive for accuracy, and well, seeing as I've never hopped in the sack with anyone, one could say I wouldn't know what I was talking about. True, imagination is pretty handy, but in the long run I'm missing out on key items; scents, feelings, touch, etc. etc. I suppose I could write it and get it across, but at the same time it's a bit like describing say, the experience of eating ice cream when one has never had ice cream. Sure they could make it up, easy enough, but experience goes a long way.

That's not to say I'm about just go have sex though. And besides, I'm quite content with my fantasies as they are now. Hehe. XD


Currently: A Lil Tired and Dreamy

Muses

The muse is inherently female. If you start talking Greek muses, you'll get up to nine of them, all female. Even now, movies like Dogma and The Muse have female muses. And why not? It makes sense - there's nothing wrong with that.

And then there's me. My muses of the past several months have been male. Based upon one I get a new character, which usually spawns some female invention as well. The Phantom lead to Rosiel, who was given Cordelia. Kakashi lead to the detail sharpening of Malacai, who until then had been stuck in a sort of Cameron form from Dragonlance - one I did not like but was unsure how to fix. This lead to the sharpening of his brother Mordecai and from there the sharpening of Fiara. I guess I can't really attribute Dr. Beckett to musedom because he was not the main insipiration for Anna.

It's odd, but I never attribute my female characters to muses - I mean in the sense that their inspiration was thanks to a muse. I suppose I could, in which case the muse would be invisible, I would never really know it was there, and walla! the job would be done. I suppose that's the way a muse is supposed to work. To show up without the artist's knowledge, give him or her a eureka! moment and then float off. Not that I know muses actually float. Maybe I should just renege on the concept of the male muse and fall back to the description of Kakashi and the Phantom as mere inspirations. Maybe I am getting visits from muses - female ones - who then inspire me once my eyes hit one of the two men or certain music hits my ears. Actually I'll allow the music to be female muse inspired, the only exception perhaps the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack.

You might think I'm weird, pondering things like these, but then I guess you should be aware of me by now and my line of thinking. The thing is, I sort of want to keep this bloggy writing oriented. Even though I could mention other topics or lament over the same things as I have been - my lit professor says we write about things we don't understand in order to understand them, but I don't want to write certain things anymore for the simple fact that I will never understand them. Maybe I should just start taking quotes and babbling about them.

Anyway, old Greek men came up with all that mythology - so who's in charge? Zeus (man). And of course, who would give men inspirations? Women (duh). So in the end maybe the muses aren't even real enough to bother with. In which case, my muses are male and I win. Sha-zam. Haha.

Currently: Indifferent