...aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand.....DONE!

That feeling, when you just don't care anymore. When your mind is numb and your fingers ache and your heart is heavy and there is not one drop of interest or motivation left besides sheer determination.

Ever had it? Well it has a name. Its called:


NANOWRIMO: DAY 29

Yep. Folks, I am DONE. D O N E, done. My novel is 50,334 words long and I did it in 19 days because on day 10 I realized that my original novel had become a box of impossiblity. I could have continued it, and everyone is calling me a quitter, but I would rather be called a quitter and write a decent story that actually has a nice message and good, likeablish characters, and have more fun doing it and get an A, than have a crummy novel with no point and stupid annoying characters.
Seriously, they were annoying. And stupid. Anyyyyways! Well I am so glad to be done. I think I remember this thing called a social life... it is vague. "Like a dream." " Or a dream of a dream." But I remember! I'm actually going to go do something this weekend. And maybe not fail Algebra 2. And not be so tired that I don't feel like being alive. And I'm going to read and read!  But most of all I'm going Take a few deep breaths and be glad that I'm as blessed as I am.

But oh dear, my blanket excuse is gone.

 "Laura you need to clean your room." "NANOWRIMO!"

  "Laura can you do the dishes?" "I really need to NANOWRIMO."

 "Laura do your algebra 2/american lit/world history/art/web design/ASB homework!" "NANOWRIMO! I'll get good grades again in December!"

 "Laura why are you on facebook instead of working?" "We're chatting about NANOWRIMO!"

  "Laura why are there taxes?" "NANOWRIMO!"
  "Laura why are there earthquakes?" "NANOWRIMO!"
  "Laura why is there poverty?" "NANOWRIMO!"


You see? That is the beauty of the blanket excuse. It covers everything. And now it's gone.

What am I going to do?

Birthday Musings

Well here I am. It is November 19th at eleven o'clock. The day before my 17th birthday.

Today I feel philosophical. A lot of times I feel as if I say too much while not really saying anything at all. And most of the time I should just keep my big mouth shut. Writing is usually my outlet. But lately I've found it strange that although I'm writing more than I've ever written in my life (27,427 words in 10 days thank you very much!) I feel more and more the need to pour out my soul, for someone to understand me.

Do you ever feel that way? We go through life every day walking, talking, working Algebra problems and writing English essays (or whatever else you may do). Maybe you're a teacher of those Algebra or English classes or maybe you work for the President fending off vicious mercenaries (just a thought), or maybe you don't have a job right now and you're sitting at home in your office wishing you did.

It doesn't matter who you are, is the point I guess. At some time, you have probably wondered what I've been wondering: what is my purpose?

I thought I knew. I thought I had my life all figured out. Would you like a basic summary? Here goes:

DON'T FAIL ALGEBRA 2!!!!!!!!!!!

Graduate (hopefully with a 4.0 GPA [haha that dream died this year])

Write a bestselling novel

Meet and marry a very rich man and hire lots of help to cook and clean for me

Have two nice, quiet, clean, well-behaved children                                                

Give money away to missionaries

There you have it. My life's plan all summed up. I had it all down to the last detail. But this year something changed. Things began to go wrong for the perfect junior year that I had planned out for myself, and from there more things went wrong. And a few things went right. A few went exactly as I'd hoped. But those things haven't been like I planned either. A huge part of my identity has disappeared and all my sweetest dreams have suddenly soured. All of a sudden I'm left wondering what's wrong with me? In the aftermath of all these crazy new dramas, I'm wondering why I'm still not content. I should be. I should be perfectly happy. I have everything I ever wanted, but something still seems like its missing.

And I'm not sure what it is. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not unhappy. I just feel like a bird on the edge of a cliff longing to jump off and fly, but something holds me back.

It’s something to mull over when I should be sleeping the night before my seventeenth birthday.  

Still, I’m not completely insane yet, and though I have this crazy sense of helplessness I know that I have Someone in control always watching out for me. My dreams have changed and my life has shifted and somewhere along the way I feel as if I’ve lost myself. Losing yourself is supposed to be good though, because only after you’ve lost yourself can you find something bigger than yourself. Even though my life may never be what I’d planned, and even though my dreams elude me, I’ll always keep dreaming and someday I’ll break free and fly.

Annii's Eyes

The blue of her eyes made me remember times passed, lost love, and the sea just before a storm breaks across the water.

Scars Part 11

“It was my fault sir. Connie was just trying to get my notebook back from Tim, and I really think he was responsible for the book hitting his eye. You really shouldn’t struggle with a girl over something that doesn’t even belong to you when she’s just trying to be nice and,” She glanced up at the principal, her gaze dropping quickly to the floor again. “the teacher told everybody to behave while he was gone; so you see Connie really didn’t do anything wrong sir and I don’t think she ought to be punished for just trying to be nice and make sure that Mr. Alden’s instructions were obeyed.” This speech was delivered very quickly in a quivering voice. Alice’s hands were shaking visibly and she could hardly bring herself to look up, but she seemed so determined to protect his goddaughter that principal Harrison felt relieved and grateful for this excuse to pardon Connie.

   “Thank you Alice. Connie, you’re excused. Tim, in the future, please desist from taking the girls’ things. You are all free to go to lunch.”

 

   Tim brushed past the girls out into the hall, and Connie was almost afraid, but she was so grateful to Alice for forgiving her and coming to her rescue, that she knew she had to say something fast before the girl’s courage fell away.

   Trying desperately to think of something, Connie swallowed, watching as her chance slipped by as the neared the cafeteria.

Surprisingly, it was Alice who spoke first.

Scars Part 10

 “Violence is something we simply do not tolerate at Jefferson, Miss Wheeler.” Principal Harrison’s voice was filled with warning and his eyes with disbelief. Connie’s father and Mr. Harrison had attended school together and belonged to the same fraternity. The principal was properly shocked that his goddaughter could produce such a black eye as the one before him, even by accident.

 Tim Carey was nursing his eye with a disdainful look at Connie and he kept muttering about chicks and their overreacting. Connie’s godfather stared at her very harshly. Still, she was not sorry.

  Alice’s blue notebook had been returned to her and Tim was punished for his behavior. If she had to do a little community service or detention to make up for it Connie didn’t mind. She thought of her growing collection of stories and dreams in her backpack and shuddered to think of Tim Carey reading them, and worse would be aloud to the class. But Alice, already a figure that drew ridicule and bullying, the punishment would have been too devastating to imagine.

  Connie sighed, wishing she could explain about the notebook, but knowing she wouldn’t be able to. So she simply nodded and said “Yes sir,” until the principal finally stopped his lecture on violence within the learning place.

A knock on the door surprised all three people in the room. Tim Carey removed his icepack and blinking rapidly. Connie glanced up in shock.

  Alice, whose greatest fear was being noticed, was asking to speak with the principal.

Nanowrimo Intro

  This again? I held my breath as she strode toward me, glancing around for some escape. I saw a door, but she’d seen me, so it was too late. Her eyes became like fire, their intensity boring into my soul. I was screaming in hell, those eyes flashing fire at me. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the fire disappeared and I was eleven years old in my grandfather’s store, buying myself a stick of candy. The candy was always the same: blue with purple swirls, and I could almost taste the flavor of spun sugar. Then this too faded. Next there was Rosie; her smile sweet and steady, her laugh like music, and her face too beautiful to be real. She was running towards me, reaching out with both hands. I began to run, but my legs wouldn’t move fast enough. Just as her perfect, soft fingers reached out to meet my own, everything vanished again.

And in the blackness I could feel again the stabbing pain of a breaking heart.

  I woke, drenched in sweat, and shaking. Tears burned in my eyes. I was always disoriented after the dream, it always felt so real, and I usually took a few minutes to realize where I was. Tonight however, I was surprised to find myself not in my New York apartment on Mercer Street, but rather back in the humble cottage on Cannon Beach. It startled me to see the place again. It had been, at one time the best place on earth for me, now a bitter reminder of things I would rather forget. But this is where it began, and I knew if I ever wanted it to end I would have to blend the dream with reality, find those eyes, find that store and forget the girl who broke my heart.