if places were people no. 5

i never thought i'd see you as a person,

except now that i found you it makes sense:

you became the place we hated.

you formed as i slept,

so i woke to your enormous cancerous thought processes

and your hopeless breath

that blows as mercilessly as the wind.

i woke to you being a mountain,

and i dangled off one of your cliffs.

you rise steeply

from the endless plain floor.

not sunshine falling from heaven,

but rock wishing to rule above grass,

tough as meat and

those shard-like word ledges threaten from miles away

sharp collarbones and jawline and thin thighs

my intention was to never climb your type,

but i'm the only one close enough to try.

now, when you aren't slicing with your obsidian edges,

you're mixing in dirt, breeding infection, reveling in the primal.

hungry green eyes.

you're wild, snarling,

edging away at every flower,

the ones that do bloom are tiny and dull and only last a week or two,

and then your thin breath suffocates them.

seeds only last so long underneath your snow.

your endless winter,

and the longer i spend in you the more i realize

why no one lives

here anymore

your hands used to hold mine and now they

hold me in the sunshine, mocking, until my skin burns.

your skin is dirty and rough and darkening with every day spent so close to the sun

your eyes used to make my own light up,

and now i shiver away at your glance,

afraid of what it might mean.

every car going in the opposite direction seems to call my name,

and i want to go with, but

from where i sit i can see the gravestone that holds childhood memories

and if you will not guard in then

i will

although i think even the memories have crawled out and left

i don't think you even know where the graveyard is,

though it continually fills with your victims,

and you know it not.

you only know when i'm in the area,

your arrows made of steel and the knowledge of my weaknesses

seek out not my heart, but the

arteries pumping towards it.

you aim for my limbs, not

my organs.

you look for targets to maim,

not to kill.

you would hate to be a killer.

you would hate to be anything horrid,

anything blatantly wrong.

but you don't mind the label of desert.

or rock of a mountain.

you don't mind the fact that people climb you to die, not to live.

or that they only come visit you when you smile,

not when you snow your black snow, dark thoughts.

you don't mind that everyone calls you no-mans-land,

no-woman's-land

the forbidden and hated and avoided land.

you say you don't mind, anyway.

but it must be lonely.

it must be quiet.

and i know how you loved the music in the city squares.

how you loved it when people smiled at you

and i know it because you loved it before you changed,

and you say it's an act but i will be honest

i do not believe those words of yours.

i try to bring it to you, the music,

but it isn't the same without the crowds of dancers

and anyway,

your shale mountainsides cut my feet when i dance for you.

it must be trying,

having everyone hate the way flowers grow rarely

so i try to plant a garden,

but your winter comes to soon

for sprouts to push out of the ground.

it must be

so

terribly

hard

to be a mountain in a country

where everything dies.

and yet here i am,

sitting with you,

because so far i have always been a mountain person

and i am starting to think that i have changed,

and that maybe the ocean is more of my style

except i don't want to leave you.

not like this,

not when you've run out of victims so you're turning into one yourself.

not when i can see the structure of the mountain,

and the covering is starting to fall.

the skin is starting to sag and stretch and

you're getting thinner.

i don't want to leave that grave of childhood

the snows came early this year,

i think you crave the ice water more and more.

there was one day this winter when i couldn't make it to the grave.

when i went the next day,

your forced laugh of a wind had felled a tree

breaking the headstone.

i think i will catch one of those cars now,

because who knows when the snows will melt.

i think i will go to the ocean

to see if less thin air will bring clarity of mind.

i think space

between us will make your

visible ribs seem less knife-like.

maybe space will make me miss you.

maybe i will like the thin air when i come back.

maybe the flowers will grow more, if i'm not watching them.

maybe you will have a bouquet for me when i come back.

maybe you will not be so hated when i come back.

maybe it will be better

when i come back.

if i come back.

you stabbed me from behind, when

i turned to walk away today.

an ice shard through my thigh

so that when i do walk, it will be painful.

i can still walk.

but i don't know

when i will come back.

if

i will come back.

too many scars from your arrowheads will

make it harder to climb your

unscalable peak

if i come back.

YO ALL!!! i'm still alive. (seriously i keep saying that. why. maybe because i have multiple not-so-near-death  experiences so i SHOULD be dead.) (i was busy.) (and there was a lack of coffee.) (don't ask.)

SO YEAH. there's another super-downer for you. in my defense i TRIED to find something uplifting. what can i say. i listen to too much chopin to be an expressively happy person. OH WELL. 

xoxo

if places were people no.3

I thought you were a shortcut.

You took us the long way 'round.
With stops at every station.
Pauses after every sentence.

We never went
faster than
50 miles an hour.

26 hours is a long time to sit and stare
memorize each other's faces, skin lit up by
dimness of walkway lights, reflecting off the scratched, plastic-y windows.

Maniacal laughing clatter of steel wheel against steel track
annoying complaint of rubber window lining against foggy glass to the outside
Almost distant stubborn stomach grumble of the machine taking us to somewhere

You are that in-between place
That interpretation
That 'please wait while document loads' symbol.

You will always come back
But sometimes you will sleep
And Destination will take your place

Sometimes you will go on holiday
And Preparation will visit
To get us ready for you again.

Sometimes your face will change.
You'll grow a beard, or something else ridiculous will happen,
Like the time your eyes changed colors.
And sometimes I will need to memorize that face
Over again.
Take the journey twice.

Sometimes you don't make sense.
And yet you are almost constant and consistent
But you are nothing twice
You are never the same
You are In-between

We had better get used to it because
Consistent is different than static
And change is different from chaos

And sometimes you will drive the train backwards
And north will be west
And east will be south.

And I don't mind.
I love you very much, more than I thought I would,
Because I thought you were a shortcut, someone
I could pass by without a second glance
And you very much weren't.

Which is to say
I like your scenic routes better.

In-between is nice.
Even though it is the definition of patience
and You never had a dictionary.

Which is to say
I thought you were a shortcut
And you showed me the world
And stole my calendar
And my time
And my heart
And now,
I live for the limbo
The in-between
The changing
The unexpected hairpin curve that says
Pay attention.
You don't have time for second glances.
You may not come this way again.

(WHAAAAATTTT. Yeah. Hi. I'm not dead or anything I just haven't posted in FOREVER. Sorry 'bout that. But anyway, if you're interested, the idea for this one was from the train trip we took last October. Fun stuff. LOVE Y'ALL. I'm going to post again soon so stay tuned.)

(ANOTHER NOTE BECAUSE I FORGET THINGS: remember last year when i did that blogtober series? I NEVER DID DAY 18 (the horror) but it was supposed to be "This week I..." and really, that week before the 18th i had gone on a train trip, which is what this post was based on. basically: i finally finished blogtober and its july. isn't that great?)

this is me freaking out about a book

guys.

i am a bookworm.

a starving bookworm, but a bookworm all the same.

it has been entirely too long since i have sat down and devoured pages simply for the devouring pages.

maybe i've just been hibernating from reading. (bookworms do that, you know.)

guess what woke me up.

GUESS.

THIS woke me up.

ERMAGERD....ITS HERE.

i have waited for this book...SO LONG.

the rest of the series is good. its about good vs. bad, superheros and villians and secrets and hidden identities and there's even a really adorable romance. GO READ THE FIRST TWO and then we can squeal over the third installation together.


(not to mention THE COVERS ARE GORGEOUS. #dying)

NOTE TO SELF: nine

Leibster Blog Award

SO - here I get this Pinterest message from Abbiee at her music blog. (This alone was enough to make my day.) (#pinterestaddict) 

And this message says that she has tagged me for the Leibster Blog Award. 

I have seen this award. 

It floats about the internet like gold stars on a European restaurant.  (Go watch The Hundred-Foot Journey. SO GOOD.) 

and I love tags. 

Incentive + ability + TOTAL EPICNESS = BEST

What could possibly be wrong about any of this combination??
So i give to you:

Here's the rules:

1. Steal the logo thingy. Yep, go ahead, take it! (Or, you can dig around on the big wide Web and see if you can find another one that somehow fits your blog better. Or you could make one. This one is from Abbiee. It's pretty awesome. i don't see why you would need a different one.)
2. Link back to the person that tagged you. (Hello. That would be me.)

3. Answer the 11 questions that I provide for you at the end of this post. (So. Many. Questions.) 
4. I looked up the official rules for the Liebster award, since i had never done it before and i wanted to LEARN about it (because i love to learn.) and guess what? You're supposed to provide 11 random facts about yourself. (yesssss.....) so do that. tell us about how you eat nutella at midnight and only use slippers on christmas and have only ever had two pets at any given time. 
5. Tag 5 – 11 bloggers that you think deserve to be Liebster of the Year (i don't think that's actually a thing but shhhhh - don't tell anyone :), who have a less than 1000 followers. (apparently you can get a little widget for your blog that lets people know how many people have followed your blog. or you could just ask the blogger. Or you could just guess. Because really....who's counting?) i was confused on the number of nominations you could give so i googled the original liebster blog award and basically the rules have morphed over the years. some people say 11 bloggers, some say 5, some say 10, some say as many as possible. I JUST THINK ITS FUN TO FIND OUT ABOUT PEOPLE. so do however many nominations you want. TAG AWAY.

6. Ask them 11 questions. (or more. or less. but why would we ask less questions? this is an interrogation, right?) (kidding. its actually not. but if it was it would be the coolest interrogation ever.)
7. List these rules in your post. (if you want you can copy and paste from here, or you can do your own interpretation.)

8. Let your tagged bloggers know you've tagged them, via social media or their blog. (IMPORTANT STEP. and give them a link to your blog post that nominates them because if they don't have that then they can't see the questions.) (lol, no i'm not talking from experience. that would be ridiculous.)

9. Also, just as kind of an afterthought...you should really leave your nominator a link to the post you write. Because that's why you were nominated: someone loved your blog. 

So my answers to the phenomenal questions asked by the phenomenal Abbiee:

>>> Best childhood memory?

I don't think I can actually choose just one......maybe the time our friends came over from Portland and we had "Camp LongWalk", which included homemade toy boat races, and lots of bug spray, and sardines, and vienna sausages, and water fights? Or maybe the time we went on the road trip with my aunt to Mount Rushmore? Or maybe the time that Lexy, Dad, and I were home without Mom and Dani and there was a thunder storm so we hung out in the kitchen with all of the doors to the house open and drank chocolate milk and watched the rain come down in sheets? Or the time that we took an unexpected adventure to the coast just because we could? All of it. Really. CHILDHOOD WAS AWESOME.

>>> What is your opinion of Tumbler?
My opinion is a generalization:  Tumblr is full of awesome people who are probably less awesome in person and have less than awesome lives but make them seem awesome by presenting facades on this social media column. They are also often obsessed with some movie or TV series, and this is the subject of much of their circles. (Truth: I would probably have a tumblr if I had more time. God knew that I could only actually live life if he put 24 hours in a day. If he had put in 25, I would have a tumblr, and it would be terrifying. And time consuming. And I would rule the world through tumblr, which would be a disaster. Thus 24 hour days.)

>>> Current Favorite Song?
Hello, My Old Heart by The Oh Hellos - THIS SONG IS AWESOME. AND THE ARTISTS ARE AWESOME. GO LISTEN TO THEM. 

>>> Spirit Animal?? (it can also be a person)
 Tea. Tea is my spirit animal. Either that or a manatee. I like those things. 

>>> What is that thing that, when you do it, you feel ALIVE?
Traveling, especially when it involves public transportation. It's like all of my senses are turned onto super-mode, so I see and hear and feel and taste and smell everything 10 TIMES MORE INTENSE THAN I NORMALLY WOULD. It's like having the volume turned up. (Second choice: running. Because it is then that I realize how close to death I am.) (Thus why I never run.)

>>> Are GIFs life or annoying? Both.  I love them because there are some really incredible GIFs out there that make me react like Exhibit A. But then there are also some really lame ones that people say are awesome and my reaction is something like Exhibit B.

>>> Do you stare at them forever just to read lips with the caption?
Yes. Especially when they only get half-words in there and you're start thinking WHAT DID THEIR FACE LOOK LIKE FOR THE REST OF THE WORD? #problemswithgifs  #lovehaterelationship

>>> Was that last question confusing?
No. Not at all. I get that.

>>> Dream job?
Midwife or Librarian.  Or official tea taster. Or I would love to be a professional hybernator. (That one is still in the works but I think we can make it happen.)

>>> Who is your greatest spiritual influence?
MMM. MY MOM. She's the best.

>>> If you had access to a time machine, where would you go?
I would go back. way way way way way back to when i was just a kid, and the worst thing that happened was sunburns and blisters on my feet because i wore that stupid pair of flipflops for too many days in a row. I would go back to when breakfast meant sitting in the strawberry patch stuffing my face with the red fruit, brushing off the umber dirt if there was any stuck on the scarlet, seed-speckled surface. I would go back to when sitting in the hottub in the winter ALWAYS included running out into the snow and rolling around and then jumping back into the tub and the slicing, stinging skin pain that made us shriek with hysterical joy. (and as weird as that sounds, we had a GREAT TIME.) i would go back to before life meant bad things happened too. i would go back to when life meant that summer would always come around and the lawn mower doubled as a 4-wheeler in the wintertime so we could pull the sled around because we didn't have a hill in our yard. i would go back to when my brain wasn't clouded by the everyday mundane fog of lists of things to do and think and say and be and look forward to and worry about. i would go back to simpler times.

and that is quite possibly the most depressing thing i have written since this little downer. 

MOVING ON.

11 random facts about me: (and my sister helped me with these so beware...hehehe)

>>>  blood orange gelato is my greatest weakness. (Shhh...don't tell.)

>>> I have only ever broken one bone, and that was my middle toe on my right foot. (We were playing Disney tag in a narrow hallway...weird things happen.)

>>>apparently I "gulp" my water.

>>> and "viciously" brush my teeth. 

>>> and my driving...you know in the movies where the edge of the world is falling off and the people are running on the little pieces and they have to not fall of the edge of the world and it's really intense and kinda scary??? That's how I drive....or so I've been told. 

>>> the ocean/seaside/beach is my most favoritest place to be. 

>>> despite the beach being my favorite place...I despise swimsuits. 

>>>  I think music is super awesome. And I think the passion that people have for music and arts is really epic. And people who love to do music....they're pretty superb. 

>>> this is not my first blog. I started doing a food blog like, four years ago, and there's maybe 8 posts on it...and I never really do anything with it, but I'm thinking about ressurecting it. 

>>> I do actually eat Nutella late at night.....*sigh*...confession. 

>>> I am a completely unique person. I am an introvert, but I like people. (Sometimes they're stupid, but all of us are at some point.) I don't like fish or chicken legs or good earth tea. Cooking is a stress relief for me. I like music that I like, not any specific band or any specific genre. I like clothes that are kinda hippie, kinda cool, kinda grunge. (Like boyfriend jeans and tunics and combat boots and leather jackets with simple necklaces and fun socks and almost curly hair.) If I could fast forward or rewind, I would think long and hard about actually doing it. But you know what? I wouldn't actually do it. Because I like where I'm at right NOW. And I like my life and who I've become and what I've learned. I am unique. But so are you. So we are both different, but we have similarities. We are grown the same way...with lots of water and food and sleep and laughter and hard work and tears and life. Unique, and beautiful. (Wow....okay #chillsam #endofrant). 

My questions for you...hehehe....

1. cake, ice cream, or pie?
2. where do you go to think?
3. if you were sick in bed and you could ask someone from any time period to come visit you, who would you ask?
4. favorite word?
5. what is your perfect pizza?
6. favorite thing to do with friends?
7. how do you exercise?
8. Do you like yourself? 
9. Who is your fictional tv show character? (I know I'm not supposed to comment on these but I had to on this one.) (for example: my sister is certain that I am Sheldon off of The Big Bang Theory. Which is probably the closest we can get to making me a fictional character, although I would be a really nice version of Sheldon and I swear I don't complain that much.)
10. Why did you start blogging?
11. If Godzilla came crashing through your hometown, or wherever your living, what would you do? 

AND NOW? THE NOMINATIONS. MWAHAHA. (Please excuse this poorly executed linking...I'm still trying to figure out my blogger app and let me be quite frank: I HATE IT SO FAR.)

Jana @ http://janasfaith.blogspot.com/

/// 

Olivia @ http://summerof1999.blogspot.com/

/// 

Adelaide @ http://downbythewillows.blogspot.com/

/// 

Kryn @ http://gardenofhappiness-kryn.blogspot.com/

/// 

Sara @ http://www.glitteringambiguity.com/blog

///  

Bridget @ https://adventuresofasoul.wordpress.com/

Alright my pretty little peaches: don't forget the rules, feel free to paste and copy as needed, and don't forget to leave me a link to your blog when you're done with this doozy. I LOVE ALL YOUR BLOGS. They seriously make my days so nice, because they're so cute and cheerful and thoughtful and adventurous and basically shisihgUTJYRTDRCjnasljdhfkasjdhf ........yeah. I love them. :) 

Thanks to Abbiee once again! This was so fun! 

Happy blogging, Leibsters!

p.s. I apologize for the length of this post.....but never fear. I have faith in your eyes. :)

62 posts

on this blog, i have posted 62 times in the year of 2015.
Everything from rants and passion
to here's my boring stick-in-the-mud life.

the thing is, so much more has happened.
more than those 62 posts.
broken hearts, broken memories.
slow healing.
laughter that goes on and on until your gut aches.
a goal has been set.
multiple goals, actually.
and boundaries abound,
but our comfort zones have been stretched beyond belief.

i think i thought that life could be summed up.
that we could package life, and even people. and even
events, those summer vacations and
spur-of-the-moment road trips. the year after year of
christmas tree hunting in the woods and countless sledding and skiing days.
but we can't. because those things weren't made to be packaged.
they were meant to sit out, draped over the rocking chair like grandma's quilt.
somehow life wasn't meant to fit in a box. it was meant to spread out and run over everything.
Life isn't poptarts. its microwaved nutella.

but that's how life is best served. warm and gushy.
have you ever had frozen nutella?
worst ever.
frozen life. stuck in ice, no responses, cold and stiff.
what would be the point?

so yes - we'll try to fit life into our blog posts.
we'll try to fit it into a box.
but somehow the smell of sand and slightly damp carpet seeps out through the tape.
somehow, broken pine needles don't do bubble wrap.
somehow, somehow, snow doesn't package.

smiles don't fade in my head but printing out memories make them lose their color.
songs get stuck on replay in our brains even though they make us cry and when we try to record them they come out flat.

i try to type out words but they're two-d.
they're just words.
it seems that all i have to do, though, is read them and the mental images come flooding back, like a re-living of my life.
my eyelids are the screen - on them i can see the flash of red as fireworks go off in the fog.
dad throws up a sparkler and it lands in the snow, turning it neon green for a moment before going black.
lexy waltzing into my room at 5 o'clock christmas morning.
dani making me sit in the dirt so i can sit right in the saddle.
chris and the rubber chocolate cake.
joelle: 'its your happy birthday! its YOUR happy birthday! its your HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
eliza, round body, cooing and making me think that maybe, maybe i could have kids one day.
mom, dragging me along on hiking trips that were my idea and helping me salvage recipes gone wrong. me not having problems with chemistry and she just throws up her hands. me freaking out about basically anything and her say "Sam. CHILL. JUST DO IT. you're only holding yourself back."

and i can't write that on paper.
i can't write any of that on paper.
my mind is absolutely tick tight full of every memory i've ever had.

and i can't get it out.
not on paper.
not on this blog.
i can't recreate the scenes and take pictures.
its stuck in my head.

so yes. i've posted a lot this year.
personally, i feel like i've developed a lot in my writing.
i like my photography.
i'm getting better at arting.
but still -

it lacks that life.
i cannot capture life in my art.
in my writing.
in my pictures.

or maybe i can.
maybe i can and i just can't see it.
because in comparison to the product i see in my head,
the vivid world with so many colors,
in comparison, my output is wan. it is drab and empty.
if only you could see the real thing.

there is a species of shrimp that lives in the ocean. it can see 16 different color cones.
we can see three.
i wonder what that shrimp's world looks like.
it must be vivid.
i wish what i put out there was vivid. 16 color cone vivid.
but its not.
(or maybe i only have 3 color cones.)

i shall continue to write though. i will continue to post.
i will keep snapping photos.
and if next year holds 300 posts instead of 62, well, then grand.
if it only holds 12, that's okay too.

but i must recognise that life is not 2-d.
what we put out might be 2-d.
we probably won't be able to capture essencces. and mists. and 16 different color cones.
but we can capture 3. so why not?
why not do what we can, saturate ourselves in life.
breathe it. right now, its all we have.

THE BIG BAD WRITERS TAG

FIRST THINGS FIRST: This lovely tag came from Kate @ the goodness revolt. so go check it out. :) 

second things: this was supposed to be a vlog, but i'm a rebel and a scaredy-cat, so no vlogs for me yet. maybe later. 

THIRD THINGS:  the tag. if you write, you're it. :D 

now let's get down't to business. 

WRITE FUEL: WHAT DO YOU EAT/DRINK WHILE WRITING? i will eat anything from edamame to ice cream to regular old dinner and usually only drink tea in unbelievable quantities. (i really really really love earl grey. like, if earl grey were a person, it would be a man, and we would be married.) (either that or this weird vitamin c tea that my mom makes that's like, lemongrass and rose hips and hibiscus. its actually quite lovely.)

WRITE SOUNDS: WHAT DO YOU LISTEN TO WHILE WRITING? absolutely nothing. see, my brain works best when there is little to no noise. so, you can usually find me barricaded within a fortress of silence, violently typing away at my keyboard. sometimes my iPod is even banished from the room. even when it's off. just procedure, principle, whatever you wanna call it. NO NOISE.

WRITE VICE: WHAT’S YOUR MOST DEBILITATING DISTRACTION? my mother. i love my mother to death. she's amazing; you would love her. BUT - i can be in my little zone, and she'll walk into the room and start talking and i kid you not my brain shuts off. it's like "oh mom is in the room and she's talking. EVERYBODY GO HOME UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE." hence the barricading inside the fortress of silence discussed in the question above. so yes, my mom is rather distracting. 

WRITE HORROR: WHAT’S THE WORST THING THAT’S EVER HAPPENED TO YOU WHILE WRITING? i once wrote a paper for an English class that was quite possibly the best piece of first draft ever written by my hand, except i had typed it, and my computer crashed and didn't save it (#327 of why i hate technology) and i had to rewrite the whole thing. but it wasn't the same. really guys: it was beautiful the first time around. i almost had a funeral for it. 

WRITE JOY: WHAT’S THE BEST THING THAT’S EVER HAPPENED WHILE WRITING OR HOW DO YOU CELEBRATE SMALL VICTORIES? usually its just a small line of something really beautiful that i really really like. for example, from my book, when my main female character gets kidnapped:

"and then he sprays something in my face and it feels like fire and then everything goes blacker than the night sky above us."

i don't know why but i REALLY love that line. so basically my small victories are really good sentences, and i celebrate by walking around with a stupid grin on my face. (i swear i'm not proud.)

WRITE CREW: WHO DO YOU COMMUNICATE WITH OR NOT COMMUNICATE WITH WHILE WRITING? Jana and Jacob. Jana because she sings my praises (lol, she's also my cranky editor...). Jacob because he's not afraid to tell me when its terrible awful and i need to throw certain chapters away. and he's got really grand ideas usually. (there's always a few that i'm like "no. just no.")

WRITE SECRET: WHAT’S YOUR WRITING SECRET TO SUCCESS OR HIDDEN FLAW? write without ceasing. although its not actually possible. so do the next best thing: write in your mind without ceasing. practice your page voice. when i think, i think as far outside the rhetorical and cliche and the box as possible. when i notice smells, i think of what they remind me of, and when, and how it makes me feel, and i write two sentences in my mind. when i notice people, i fit their body to a voice, and their voice to a personality, and the personality to an adventure and voila, you have a story. i think the way i want to sound. i think the way i write. sometimes, i even try to write with voice inflections. (you may notice the excessive italicized and caps-lock usage.) and of course, sarcasm. i don't think i could live without sarcasm, so i try to add it to writing. sometimes. as in, when i'm feeling adventurous.  

i heard something on the radio that i think actually could apply to writing really well: they were talking about how to be a good listener.  and to practice being a good listener; so, listen to something on the radio or audio book or something, and then turn it off and talk to yourself about it. literally have a conversation with yourself. i think as a writer, because we are all of the characters and all of the scenes and all of the heartache and joy and EVERYTHING, its important to have the ability to play multiple parts. so its okay to practice that. just like its okay to make faces at yourself in the mirror. just like its okay to sing in the shower, or squeal at the slightest little things, or have any weird quirks. idiosyncrasies are our blood. be flexible. practice that. 

WRITE-SPIRATION: WHAT ALWAYS MAKES YOU PRODUCTIVE? a good nights rest and a story that is going to drive me insane. sometimes arguments get me in the mood, or even just a 10 minute walk outside to get the creative juices flowing.

WRITE PEEVE: WHAT’S ONE THING WRITERS DO (OR YOU DO) THAT’S ANNOYING? Any writing perspective not done well. For example, first person perspective ("I went and did this, felt this way, she looked at me, he glared at me, etc.") done from two different character's views, but you can't tell the difference.  when it sounds like the same voice, the writer is doing it wrong. 

or, third person perspective. a person has to be INCREDIBLE at third person perspective to keep me entertained. i have to feel like i'm in the story, which is why i tend to favor books from first person perspective. but if its done right, you feel as the characters do. you see the same things, fight the same battles, etc. etc., even in third person. if done right, it is an exquisite balance of dialogue, description, and swashbuckling debonair. (ie: it will sweep me off my feet.)

 

WRITE WORDS- SHARE ONE SENTENCE FROM A PROJECT. PAST OR PRESENT. 

i can't do it. only one sentence? i already did that.....how about a whole paragraph? you're welcome. :)

ll

Going back to my barracks, I stop by the watchtower. They watch everything outside and inside the base, so they’ll know if Nick left or not.

“Hey, Joe. Has anyone come out of Barracks 9?” I know the watchman. He’s usually on this time of night. We’ve talked a few times, and he always flirts, but he smells of engine oil and his hands are always dirty. He’s a Machine Specialist in the mornings.

“Well, look at you, all ready for war. Who is it this time? Did your boyfriend leave the toilet seat up?” Even though he can’t see my weapons, Joe knows that I’m basically an assassin. My jacket must be bulging from the handgun. Joe is trained to notice these things, though, the little things that no one else would notice. That’s what makes him a Specialist. He fixes the things no one else will, just like I take out targets that regular soldiers can’t harm. Joe leans across the counter into the open air, his scarf falling forward from his jacket. He frowns at it and stuffs it back into the unzipped portion of the leather coat. It’s falling to bits. I can’t believe his Sergeant hasn’t made him get a new one.

I roll my eyes at his audacity to suggest that I have a boyfriend, and ignore his question. “Uh-huh. Has anyone come out?”

“Only your boyfriend, about 5 minutes ago. Why?”

“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s my target.” I slide a bill across the counter. Standard procedure. He gives me information, I pay him.

“Keep it, sweetheart. What say you and I go get drinks this weekend instead?” He’s smiling a little bit, but the light is coming from behind him, and while his face is a little hard to see, I know mine is fully illuminated. Right now he knows I have murder on my mind. I leave the bill.

“No.” And then I stalk off into the night. And back. “Which way did he go?”

“Drinks,”  he says, and I pull a knife from the back of my collar.

“Where did he go.” It comes out as a demand, not a question.

Joe smiles. “That way,” he points to the left, in the direction of the gates. I start off. “See you Friday!” he calls. Idiot, I think.

ll

TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK OF THE SNIPPET. oh, and do the tag. please please please do the tag....

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DAY 30: October Favorites

how to you say THIS IS MY FAVORITE.

(lol. it's called fangirling.)

October is OCTOBER. how can it not be a favorite?



it involves leggings and hot coffee instead of the iced we get in summertime. it means more blankets on your bed and awaking groggily to find that the sun is not up yet at 8:30.

October means its okay to spend an afternoon inside reading a book. because in the summertime that's apparently not okay. it also means new kittens because we need more mouse murderers.

it means that hunting season is here so Dad is gone for 10 days and every weekend until Thanksgiving. but when he comes back he smells faintly of woodsmoke and gunpowder and leather and if we're lucky, the iron-tinted odor of blood. (which is gross, but not actually that gross when you're used to it.)

it means that its okay to make pumpkin spiced EVERYTHING. it means its okay to turn on the heater. it means its okay to say 'ITS SO COLD' and your co-workers don't laugh at you.

it means comfort, and family, and giddiness because the leaves on the sidewalk crunch.

it means when you find that friend that absolutely LOVES red leaves that have landed on the round and she's SO HAPPY to have some to throw up into the air and you get a photo like this:

it means taking seven million pictures in the morning when the sun is just coming through the leaves on the trees and you're on the front porch taking them in your pajamas and bare feet and your toes almost freeze off.

its October. how can it not be a favorite? its the last hurrah before winter. its the last sprint, the last adrenaline rush, the last leaf as it falls from the tree.