Writing: An Interpretation.

Anyone can write. Everyone should try it, even if they never plan to publish it. Writing is like being in charge of your own personal insane asylum. You decide what happens, how it happens, and when it happens. Writing is the easiest thing to do. It’s also the hardest. It’s as simple as simply expanding your most recent dream, the one you can barely remember, and turning it in to a short story, or a novel.

You can’t just write something. It’s not that easy. But at the same time it is. You have to have the idea, even if it’s the smallest thing, such as a silver pocket watch. The idea of that pocket watch leads you to come up with the greatest idea of a story about the creation of time travel – which is nothing but paradox and contradictions. Every writer is a terrible writer. The first draft is what just spills from your fingertips. The second draft – that dreaded first revision – is what your brain tears to shreds. In this, you wonder how you ever dreamed of releasing that monstrosity to the world. 

Writers are constantly working. They’re never ‘off the clock.’ When we zone out and tap our pens, pencils, or fingers against a surface, we’re creating an entirely different world. It’s not just something you can control. Like that pocket watch, the gears of your brain are just ticking on and on in to infinity, until one day, it stops. We writers don’t see it as the moon simply shining. We see it at all these angles, how the moonlight is being reflected off of a piece of broken glass on the mildew drizzled lawn, how the moon casts a dull white blanket over everything in its path. Writing is one of the simplest complexities that we’ve been challenged with. Writing lets you be what reality denies you.

And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt. --Sylvia Plath

The above is a rough draft of the speech thing I'm giving in my AVID class on Thursday. We're supposed to speak about something that's important to us, and I just knew that this is the one that would make most sense for me to talk about.

Restless

Oh, goodness guys.
i'm so bored, so beyond restless. I've got nothing to do, when i could be doing everything. I don't have the patience for anything. I can feel it in my bones, that i can't just sit here and do nothing, but none of my friends are online.
I need real life friends, ones that live in my country. And this is one of those times, where writing won't suffice. It will probably end with me forcing myself to sleep before i end up punching a hole through my computer screen.
ACK.

Also, we're hitting semester finals during the next two weeks. x.x /sad face.

Three Cheers for a New Year.

Ohhai,

If you're reading this. You're awesome, automatically and straight up awesome. If you're not... then you're just not. So. Since this is the first post of the new year, I want it to be something kinda snazzy, so, I will tell you why it took me six days to post anything so far. Then, I will post an excerpt from my NaNo Novel.

First off; my not-so-lame-lame-excuse

On January the 3rd, at 12:15 p.m., I had an appointment at the dentists downtown from where I live to get all four of my wisdom teeth pulled out. I was aware of the entire thing, as they did not give me what i call the "Loopy Meds". For me, one of the worst things was the shots in the very beginning, as my cheek made this very disgusting noise once getting impaled with needles. I hate needles. I hate sharp things in or around the vicinity of my face. So, this was murder, in it's own way. Whenever things got intense, i had both my hands in my TOBUSCUS hoodie, one on my stress ball that i got when my dad was in Iraq, and one on my iPod's volume. When things got bad, i turned up the sound of my music - Secondhand Serenade - and squeezed the hell out of that ball.
The whole thing took about 45 minutes, and if it weren't for the noise, i totally would have fallen asleep, because i thought it a genius idea to stay up late that night. And by late, and night, i mean until 5 in the morning, and waking up at 9:30. I was raiding, with my guild. -cough-
So, then. Let me just tell you this. The shots they gave me, the first one alone numbed up like half my face, including half of my tongue. Which was odd, being able to feel only part of my tongue for a good five minutes, until they came back to give me four more shots, which i couldn't feel. When I got home, I could not for the life of me feel my face. It took. Six. Hours. to get complete feeling back in my chin and tongue. It was terrible. And before that, i was in so much pain that i had to take this medicine stuff that made me pass out for two of those six hours.
So, the day goes on into the next, and waking up was the worst experience in my life. Gravity does not, i repeat, gravity DOES NOT like the morning after the removal of wisdom teeth. I literally did not have any shred of desire to sit up and get out of bed - i tried, three times. When i finally did, i was called into a Skype Call with two of my very good friends. This is how the first few words of my morning were spent.
Friend 1: Good morning!
Me: -muffled, slurred, and just bleh- g'mornin
Friend 1: You sound so downtrodden!
Me: shuddap, it hurts.

Friend 2 was laughing.

Anywhore. So the pain kept going and going, and that's how the last two days were spent. Today, i was being a nerd, and i raided and such some more. Just because i felt like it. So that's the majority of how i spent my last week. Between playing WoW and LoL, I've done a bit of napping, dying of pain, trolling tumblr, and a tad bit of writing.

and now. For the excerpt i promised earlier. Just need one moment to look for it.

He paused to make sure she had gotten all of the information so far. When she nodded, he continued. “We’re going to assume that since we’re dealing with demons, we know that they cannot penetrate holy ground, unlike the vampires and wolves. So we’re looking at some other massive building, perhaps a storage unit or a hospital. Something where they can store a lot of people, because we’re pretty certain they’ll be holding hostages for their experiments. If you need to start mixing an arsenal of poison, after I’ve filled you in would be the time to do it. We’re expecting hordes of beasts to be there, and we cannot underestimate any of them. Doing so, as Natja says, would be your dying mistake.

If we fail to recover Connie – and this is hoping she’s still alive and relatively normal when we find her – we’re going to blow the place sky high. Leave no prisoners; destroy everything they’ve worked for. After that, any one of us that remains alive and kicking are going to go back to Thirty-Six and tell them about everything. What we do after that is no longer up to any one, unless a siege is coming onto our home. If not, and you’re dead, I’m just going to go crawl into a hole and acquaint my temple with Mr. Happy-Bullet.”

“That,” Jac said slowly, swallowing hard. “Sounds intense. Let’s hope it doesn’t end that way, shall we?”

With a curt nod, he stood up and came to where she sat in her bunk, leaning his arms on the edge of her bed. “Got everything in your head, comrade? We’ve got to be able to trust each other.”

“Roger that,” she said, straightening up. “I’m going to go heed your advice and starting brewing some chemical concoctions in the armory. Unless you want to die from the fumes, I suggest all of you stay out until I say the coast is clear and the fume vent has done its job.”

Shoving him to the side with a playful push, Jac hopped down from her bed and made her way to the armory, closing the door behind her. Above the door frame, a red light turned on and the door sealed itself shut.

Going into the kitchen, Jess looked for something to drink. Finding some powdery stuff that one was to put in a cup of water, he tested it out. Reading the label of the package, he shrugged at its unfamiliarity. The water turned orange the second he poured the powder into it. Grabbing a plastic spoon, Jess stirred it carelessly as his attention wandered. Leaving the drink on the counter, he opened the fridge and grabbed some sliced meat, cheese, onions, and ranch. After searching the various counters for some bread, Jess proceeded in making a sandwich he used to love as a child. After putting all the used ingredients away, Jess took his meal and glass into the common area.

As he sat down in one of the cushioned seats, he made himself relax and think of nothing but the sandwich that lay in front of him on the paper towel. Staring wistfully at it for a second to see how long he could resist eating it, he shook it off and took the delicious thing between his eager hands. As if it were a slow motion film shoot, he bit into the sandwich, his eyes closing as the familiar taste teased his taste buds.

When he opened his eyes again, after having swallowed it, he found Annelise sitting across from him, smirking.

You look as if you’re thinking naughty thoughts about a sandwich. She signed to him, folding her hands before him.

Maybe I am. You’ll never find out, and you’ll be left wondering forever if the guy you met on the bus to hell was falling in love with a sandwich.

What sounded like a chuckle came from the back of her throat. You’re a pig.

“Not a pig, Stitches, just a man.”

I wouldn’t go that far – I mean really, isn’t the word ‘man’ a bit of a stretch?

Narrowing his eyes, he smiled, “Up yours, Stitches.”

 

 

Jess is one of my favorite characters to write. He's snarky. 

Anyways. That's that, and I hope you kinda enjoyed it.

Signing out for the moment,

-Lisa