Oh, right

I decided you might want to know what  NaNo 2011 is about.  You know, maybe.
I need a drumroll here.

VIRAL VIDEOS.

You think this concept is not interesting and lacks plot.  Psh.  You lack imagination.

And I'm still on the metaphorical fence about Script Frenzy.
And I did choose such an ugly colour because  I thought it would stand out.

You just got poemd

Get it?  It's like pwnd.  Except poetry.
This is another one of those things that I find to be hilarious and no one else thinks is vaguely funny.
I'm pretty sure I like this about myself, because it's good to think that things are funny.
So that's you know, good.

I've written my poem for AP Lit.  It's a really nice poem.  I don't want to post the whole thing here.  I want to post one stanza, but if I post one stanza, people will connect that one stanza to the poem on the wall of the classroom.  I need to write more.  I need to post a Fiction Friday every day of the week and I need to make that comic a reality (because it would be the same kind of funny that I am (not funny at all)(I'm pretty sure that the use of nested parenthesis when words are present is illegal))  Maybe this summer.  I'm going to be lacking internets this summer, so...maybe.
In other news, I've decided on the topic of my NaNoWriMo this year.  Be jealous.  Be comforted by the fact that I've decided remarkably late this time around.  I usually determine this sort of thing in the third week of November, the year before I will write it.  I love the feeling of having a novel running around in my brain, keeping me from concentrating on anything at all.
In other news, I need to find a writing contest or fiction magazine or something to submit this one story to.  Because I love it and think it's good and it's basically my wordbaby.
Also, FRANCE.  I'm excited when my mind wanders on over to the thought, but the rest of the time, I'm totally clueless.  Huh.

On Writing

I need to write something.  This is obvious, you say.  It's almost Script Frenzy, which you're doing this year, which doesn't garner nearly as much excitement as NaNoWriMo does, but still seems interesting.  And that novel.
Remember that one?  The one that I thought wasn't horrible?  The one that I thought might have a chance?  Something needs to happen with that thing, that beast that's sitting on my chest, making it hard to breathe.  I need to type it.  And edit it.  And get it out of my freeking head.
Also, today I need to swim, work on local scholarship stuff, and write the freeking thing.
Also, film school.  And I need an art something to work on, so that I have direction.
Life?  Structure. Nap.

Fiction Friday

I'm sorry. I do not know what is happening with this. Did I mention that I was sorry? Because I am.

I see the stars all on their own
Tonight
In the woods, with only the trees.
I remember when it was just you and me.
Before the world fell in
through the ceiling
on top of us.
Remember how much we laughed?
That one day when we drove to
the beach and raced into the waves
so loud and so quiet and so together and
so alone.
And it was strange
at that moment
because I remember
thinking that
we were perfect together
but only at that second
and
soon
everything would
change.

And I'm a little bit scared
you know how
I get scared for
no reason sometimes
and when I
did, you could always tell
even if I tried to hide it.
You said it was in my eyes.
And that was why we had been so
amazing together
like we could conquer the world.

Three Things

With creative pursuits, there's always a stage of exploration. You've been introduced to it, you try it out on a whim, and you have absolutely no idea what you're doing. It's like...you're in the woods, in a place where you've never been before, and you see a bear. At first, you flip out, and then you realize that it's actually Smoky the Bear, and instead of killing you, it talks to you. And then you get talking. After the conversation is over, you remember it and assume you were high while this occured. Either that, or having a very odd dream.
That analogy will make more sense tomorrow, when you see the profits of said creative pursuit. Actually...when I read that...it still makes no sense to me. Whatever.
Thing two: I'm not sure if this is a case of me being whiny or things genuinely being more difficult for me than they are for other people or both, but I effing suck at memorizing French verb conjugations. No matter how hard I study them, I can't ever learn them. Poop. Any ideas on how to make this easier/possible?
Thing three: I'm pretty fairly sure that I messed up something for financial aid at two of the schools I got in to. They weren't schools that I especially wanted to go to, but I'm wondering, right now, what could have been. I hate that notion, the idea of all the things that could have been if only you did one thing differently.

Also, if you're the kind of human being who functions like I do, I bet you would get some sort of benefit out of reading this.

It's March 15

Also known as the day my house burned down.
Sure is a conversation starter, isn't it? "What were you doing eight years ago today?" "Uh, I don't know." "Well, my house was burning down." "Oh. Oh." And then there's an awkward silence.
The funny thing is, I didn't think of it till about twenty minutes ago. I went all day being excited about Glee being on tonight, and being productive about art, and being excited about life in general, and being excited about France, that I completely forgot about the fact that my life was turned upside down a few years ago. This day used to be a big solemn sort of anniversary for me, and it wasn't, not this time around. This time it was just a normal day. A good day, in fact.
I progressed by leaps and bounds on my art stuff. And I watched Glee, where everything was perfect. Seriously, Klaine kiss! Not just that, but this felt like an old school, classic Glee episode. Guest stars in minor roles, everyone back where they belong. I liked it. So. Freeking. Much. And let's face it, we all went "Squeeee" when the kiss(es!) happened.
I'm growing up, I think. I'm leaving that defining moment of my childhood behind, and at this moment, I love it. I love not having to identify myself by that, I love making up a whole new identity for myself, I love not having to be the same person who I was when I was five or seven or twelve or fourteen.

I'm becoming exactly who I want to be right now, and I don't think I could be happier with myself.

Quote of the Month

"The moral of Snow White is never eat apples."

Lemony Snicket

Even if I'm not there to see you

You should stay focused and achieve your goals. Do something that you can be proud of.

Well.

There have been a couple times that I've let my dog outside and then forgotten that I let him outside and he was outside way longer than he wanted to be. This makes me like...an animal neglecting bad person. I just don't know how to remember. Agh.

Also, I find it to be deeply irritating when poets use (paretheses) in a poem. It's just like...I'm reading the poem. And then I vomit a little in my mouth, and then I move on.

That is all.

With Shoes On

I feel like you can tell a lot about a person by their shoes.

Fiction...Saturday

Don't ask.
There's a lot of things that I don't like about this story, but I need to put something on the blog right now. While typing this up, I read a word that I had written that appeared to be "froe" I do not know what this word means. I am special.
Here goes nothing.


My feet are trying to get out of these shoes and my hands are ripping violently at the chains and suddenly, after years of tearing my fingers to shreds from trying so hard, I break free.
At first, I'm shocked. I run and scream and jump and I'm naked but it doesn't matter because I am so happy, for once in my life.
Pure. Unburdened.
After all that, I thought they might notice. They might see that I wasn't like them anymore, that I had broken out of the mold. I tried to pretend. I was like a clown, having all the same features but incredibly out of proportion, like them, only not.
I tiptoe between people, like statues, frozen in time. I'm the only one who's alive here, and I love it. By failing to live, they've unknowingly given me my own world to play in, to do whatever I want. It's fun at first and then I feel alone. Not lonely, just alone. It's not sad, but it is quiet. I like the quiet because it's very free and very alone, and I've never had enough of that.
I was born to a world of screams, passed back and forth between people who talked far too much for their own good and then I grew and they screamed at me sto don't run don't fall and later quiet down listen to me pay attention to me I matter more than you and then I started school and it got even worse and everyone around me was yelling all the time only now they called it fun and they called it recess but I didn't think like them and I didn't play like them and they were still the same even years later.
But it's going to stay quiet now, I think.


So, what do you think of it? Do I want to know? Hm...we'll ponder that. In the meantime, if you'll excuse me, I'll be off at The Selby, which is like The Sartorialist's cooler interior design cousin.

I'll work on my sociology right after I finish this.

I swear.

First off, I'd like to interject something. My mother has been on a crusade to make sure that all things that may be on the floor near my bed are actually on my bed shelf. Small things. Small, but surprisingly heavy things. Like flashlights. Flashlights with unnessecarially rough edges. So, if you were to turn on the light on my bed shelf and possibly move it a half inch back in the process, a flashlight would fall off the bedshelf onto whatever is below said bedshelf. Sometimes, we are working on art, and we do so while sitting on the floor, leaning drawing boards with drawings on them against the wall. So, sometimes flashlights fall on those drawings and basically rip huge, unfixable holes in the centers.

Bottom line: FUUUUUCK. Also, I'm glad I didn't work on it more than I did. Procrastination pays off, kids.


Writing. Remember writing? I do. I remember all the fun we had together, running through fields of wildflowers, going on roadtrips, misusing commas late into the night. It felt so good, you know? I want it again, no, I need it again. I need to write something.


I can see the comments now "But Samantha, don't you remember the novel you vowed to edit into oblivion?"

But March, you see, is NaNoEdMo. I could edit the novel. In NaNoEdMo.

"But Samantha, you have to do two more pieces (yeah, that one piece that was torn? It was supposed to be for this. Win.) by the 19th to submit to portfolio day so you can get some scholarshippage!"

And then I came up with a compromise. With myself.

We're going to work on both of those pieces (cartooney self-portrait and hipster chairs) until the 19th, when we will go to Grand Rapids and probably get a full-ride of lovely amazingness, and then after, we will go into editing overdrive.

Party on.