Sunday, December 4, 2011

Remember When

Remember over the summer when I was doing blog posts about what I learned from Harry Potter? And remember how I never actually finished that list?


This is a list of 50 things you can learn from Harry Potter. Some of them are rather tongue-in-cheek, but it's worth a good look.

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Albert Einstein was a genius.

Albert Einstein was a genius.

Case and point, he said this: "I believe in intuition and inspiration. Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited, whereas imagination embraces the entire world, stimulating progress, giving birth to evolution."

Thursday, November 17, 2011

There's Always Potter

So since I got home tonight, I've been cramming/studying extensively for an editing test I'm set to take tomorrow as part of the application process for an internship in Salt Lake. I decided to take a quick break to unwind a little and wanted to page through a book--something I could pick up and read a few pages from the middle of the book and relax a little. I scanned my bookshelf, none of my books looking appealing at all, when I spotted the shrine on top of my bookshelf.

Also known as my Harry Potter collection.

I smiled fondly while I gazed on the solid blocks of colors on the spines of the British editions. I felt my heart ease and my mind relax.

I've known it for a few years now, but Harry Potter has never failed to give me a boost when I need it. It's nice to know that it's still there for me.

Now, I just need to channel the spirit of Hermione and I will kick trash on this test.

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Life as I know it

This is why I love NNWM: ten days into the month, and I'm two full days of the expected word count, I'm nearly done with the shirt I'm making in my sewing class, my Vic Lit professor cancelled one of our assignments and postponed the other (from being due in November to being due during finals week), my dishes are clean (my room will be too after this weekend), I'm up to date on homework and readings, I still have time to hang out with that rugged bear-wrestler of a man I call my boyfriend, I helped a girl who speaks English as a second language with a paper for her class, I spent time with my rad family last weekend, and Thanksgiving is in two weeks.

So yeah, life is busy, but it's awesome, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

A Little Out of Control

Maybe this is normal and it just seems super expensive to me for some unknown reason, but for the month of September my combined gas and electric bill was over $80. And that seems like a LOT.

Especially considering that when I lived at Cinnamon Tree, I was usually paying about about $9.00 for utilities.

Basically I'm just sad because my bank account is looking a little sickly these days. I should just set up a cot in the library and just live there.

Sunday, October 30, 2011

Weird

It's really weird for me to get on facebook and look at pictures of my friends who don't go to BYU and see that their college experience is waaaaaaay different than my college experience.

And frankly, I prefer mine.

(P.S. Less than two days before NaNoWriMo. Brace yourselves.)

Friday, October 14, 2011

Not Quite the Same...

As you can see, I've made some aesthetic changes to my blog (though I will be the first to admit I'm not quite as handy with blog design as my favorite sister-in-law is). And I like the changes. It's very fall-y.

But there's a problem. There are some aspects of the design I'm just not too chuffed about. The spacing between the letters on the headers and titles, the size of the header at the top, etc. Just things like that. And this wouldn't be a problem at all only I've been exposed to InDesign.

InDesign is a magical adobe layout program in which I could change the spacing between the letters and the sizes of my boxes. I had five million fonts to chose from and I had actual font families with designed bold-face and italic text (not what everyone thinks is bold-face and italic). InDesign spoiled me when I'm designing things, and now it's just not the same...

Saturday, October 8, 2011

I don't understand

I was catching up on the news on Yahoo! just now when I read the following in an article about Mitt Romney:

Romney was followed to the stage by Bryan Fischer, a director of the American Family Association, known for inflammatory remarks against homosexuality and "non-Christian religions," which he has said include Mormonism.

"The next president of the United States needs to be a man ... of sincere authentic genuine Christian faith," he said, in a jab at Romney.

Fischer said the next U.S. president must deny evolution, stop government assistance for the poor, veto any increase in the debt ceiling and "treat homosexual behavior not as a political cause at all, but as a threat to public health."

He called Islam the greatest long-term threat to U.S. liberty. "Every single mosque in America is a potential recruiting or training cell for Islamic terror," Fischer said.


So here are me things I don't understand. How can a man profess to be Christian and be so obviously NOT Christ-like? And for another matter, since when has the president needed to be Christian at all? Since when was that a requirement? Don't misunderstand me, of course, I very much appreciate having a leader in office who supports my ideas and beliefs, but there are plenty of good people in the world who aren't Christian.

And while I (in my admittedly limited knowledge of things) don't think we should be raising the debt ceiling either, I think everything else Fischer was quoted as saying is complete poo. The government should stop giving assistance to the poor? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure there's this bit in the New Testament in which Christ advocates the giving of assistance to the poor. When we're in the service of our fellow man, we're only in the service of our God. We need to have charity for the poor, not cut them off. And while I think perhaps we need to overhaul our welfare system and get some things straightened out, I don't think we should just leave people to starve on the streets either.

And can I just say that labeling the issue of same-sex marriage as a matter of "public health" seems a mite ridiculous? Personally, I don't think it's really a political issue either, but a moral one. While people may bash on political candidates for taking stances on purely moral issues, I think those politicians should own up to what they're really doing rather than hide behind the excuse that it's a matter of public health. If he's talking about the spread of AIDS or HIV, straight people can get it too. He may as well try to outlaw pre-marital sex because of "public health." And even if I think perhaps that would save a lot of people a lot of grief, the fact of the matter is the government doesn't really have the right to restrict our agency like that. If people want to make that choice, then fine. If you don't support it, also fine. But own up as to why you really don't support it rather than hiding behind a paltry excuse.

And as for his last point about Islamic mosques being potential terrorist breeding grounds? Give me a break. This country was founded on the idea that men could chose to worship how they would, and the minute the government starts deliberately targeting religious institutions within the country is the very same minute we need to take a long hard look at who we're putting into office.

Really, this article just really makes me hope that anyone who has two neurons to rub together can see that this Fischer man is very much lacking in qualities that would qualify him for any leadership position.


Sunday, October 2, 2011

DEATH

So this is probably going to sound really stupid and pathetic, but I was just re-reading my old blog post about the baby ducks and I mentioned I was snapping pictures on my iPod.

The iPod that is now lost.

I HAVE LOST MY PICTURES OF THE ADORABLE BABY DUCKS!

This is what death feels like.

I'm devastated all over again.

This is why I like him...

There is a boy in my life. He is called Brian. He is currently sick with some sort of nasty cold bug and started bombarding me with text messages. I thought I would share them here, so maybe you can understand part of why I like him.

Log 1
I will be keeping logs to monitor my progression through the stages of this unidentified disease. Hopefully this record will be of some benefit to those stricken in the future.

Log 13
The meds [editorial note: Zicam] seem to be working--my vital signs are showing definite improvement and a full recovery now seems an actual possibility. Fingers crossed.

Log 17
Continued recovery--morale is up, and med supplies are good. Look forward to my last log entry soon.

Log 25
Unforeseen setbacks--nothing serious, but I won't be expecting a recovery any time soon. Meds still working, albeit with less success.

Log 39
Condition deteriorating fast--meds have become completely useless against the disease's onslaught of symptoms. I'm going to try to enter hypersleep to slow the spread to contagation

Log 45
Failed attempts to enter hypersleep--I can only conclude that the disease has unkown properties hat prevent its victim from entering any kind of stasis.

Log 55
Condition continues to deteriorate--new symptoms are discovered every hour. No signs of improvement.

Log 61
Darkness begins to envelope my mind as I spiral into the depths of agony created by this disease. My only solace is in the orange flavored meds--it reminds me of home.
Home.
It's so far away now...

Log 68
The hallucinations are getting worse. The line between fantasy and reality are becoming  so blurred...I don't know how much longer my sanity will hold up.

Log 74
I pity any man who finds himself in my predicament--the disease is unstoppable. My only wish is that these logs are preserved to help mankind's struggle against this unknown menace. Farewell. I go now o die, a man hopelessly lost in a sea of misery. Please, don't let me die in vain.

Thus the end of the logs. Keep in mind that he sent these to me all in the space of about two minutes, several of them were out of order, and I got Log 39 about four separate times. But I was laughing the whole time. This is why I like him.

Friday, September 30, 2011

To NaNo or Not to NaNo...

That is the question.

So for those of you who did not know, last year I participated in (and totally kicked trash in) an annual event called National Novel Writing Month, more commonly known as NaNoWriMo. The goal of NNWM is to write a 50,000 word novel in the space of 30 days. It's pretty crazy and almost anything you write during NNWM is guaranteed to be a pile of poo.

Which begs the question why anyone does it in the first place. For me, it was the joy of creating. In order to crank out that many words in 30 days, you're writing nearly 1,700 words a day (which averages out to a couple of pages). You're forced to turn off your internal editor and just create. It's really kind of awesome.

Last year, I loved doing NNWM. There were a couple times when I went completely mental and told my roommates I wanted to be a cubist painting, but it was a blast and worth every minute. And (ironically) I was even more on top of my homework during November than I was the entire semester.

This year, though, I had already decided to forgo NNWM. This semester is kind of crazy for me. Namely I have two opening shifts at work (that make me super tired ALL the TIME because 6 in the morning is not a happy hour) and twice a week I have a three hour sewing lab. Not to mention the rest of my classes, including a creative writing class in which I am being forced to write things that are not entirely of my liking. (id est I have discovered I have too many words in me to write a picture book.)

Then, I got The Email. This email came from the regional head of NNWM for Utah County. I've never met this person, but because I'm registered I get the emails anyway. So The Email was all about how NNWM is only a month away and how there's going to be a pre-NNWM event in the middle of October and how they already have write-ins scheduled at fancy libraries.

And all of a sudden I was slammed with nostalgia about getting 5 or 6 hours of sleep every night while I hammered out a novel. I remembered the giddiness of creation and the intense satisfaction of watching my progress bar grow every day. Not gonna lie, it's a pretty addictive sensation.

So now I'm all conflicted. I want to do NNWM again. I want a reason to write an obscene amount of words every day. (These days, my goal is to get 500 a day, and I'm struggling even to get that...blasted school.) I wouldn't be starting a new writing project. I'm already way in over my head with my current project, but I think to myself "Wouldn't it be so nice to slam out 50,000 more words? In just a month? Sure, those words will be jumbled and silly and you'll edit most of them out, but you'll be that much closer to actually finishing the dang thing."

And that, my friends, is a very tempting thought.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Really?

It's been a while and I never did finish my "what I learned from Harry Potter" series, but I have something to whine about so I'm going to do it here.

On Saturday, I lost my iPod touch. Like really completely lost it. It was sucked into a wormhole and now is gone for good.

On Sunday, I emailed myself, hoping perhaps a kindly Samaritan would find my iPod, check the email to see who it belonged to, and would contact me.

On Monday I contacted the places I had been on Saturday to see if anyone had turned it in. I also spent an hour searching Brian's car, Tawny's place, and all the places I walked that day.

Today, I searched my apartment completely for it. No sign. I logged into my wireless router to see the client list, thinking if my iPod were in my apartment, it'd still be connected to the wireless and I would know it was here at least. No sign. I dug through my things to find the case the iPod came in so I could register it on Apple--only to discover that registering your iPod does absolutely nothing. If someone finds my iPod and thinks to call Apple with the serial number, then I'll get it back. But only then.

I got so desperate that I googled ways to find missing iPods. It turns out there are a tun of useful apps and programs you can download onto your iPod to track it down if it's lost...unfortunately, the only people who know about these programs are the ones who have since lost their iPods and now have no way of downloading said app/program. On the "report lost or stolen Apple product" all Apple tells you to do is contact local law enforcement and hope for the best. They don't even have somewhere where I can just say "yes, my iPod is missing" which (admittedly) wouldn't do anything, but it would make me feel like I was being proactive.

Now all I have is the agonizing feeling that comes with uncertainty. If I knew it had been stolen or I knew it had been run over by a car in my parking lot, I would feel loads better about this whole mess, but as it is now, I'm just really whiny and mildly depressed.

Friday, July 15, 2011

Heh, heh, heh...

So I haven't dropped off the face of the planet, not really at least. The last three days have been a whirlwind of finishing reading the books, trying to stay on top of my writing, cleaning my apartment, prepping for the movie, and bracing myself for the bittersweet ending of the last twelve years of my life.

Fear not, however, I have not forgotten my goal. It'll just get done in the next day or two. (Obviously Harry Potter never taught me about not procrastinating...)

But here's the sneak peak of lessons: constant vigilance, love and sacrifice, saying goodbye and taking that frightful step forward.

Cheers.

Monday, July 11, 2011

Life Lessons Day Four

Are you getting sick of these yet? Because I'm not. HA!

Lesson Five: You can learn something from everyone you meet, so pay attention!

This is just kind of a hodge-podge lesson. I believe there's something to be learned from every person who crosses your path in life (even if that lesson is you shouldn't be a jerk to people to have crappy jobs). So here are some individual mini-lessons from different Harry Potter characters.

Harry taught me how to keep fighting, even when the odds look grim.

Ron taught me that it's okay to admit you've made a mistake. You're friends will forgive you.

Hermione taught me to embrace my intelligence.

Fred and George taught me that you can make your career dreams come true if you try hard enough.

Dumbledore taught me that everyone deserves a second chance.

Lupin taught me that you can still be a good person even if crap things have happened to you.

Sirius showed me the values of loyalty and friendship.

Neville taught me that it's never too late to take a stand.

Snape taught me that love conquers all.

Bellatrix taught me how not to be a crazy psychopath.

Luna showed me how to love myself for who I am--quirks and all.

The Dursleys taught me how to not raise my future children.

Lily Potter taught me the importance of sacrifice.

There's really so much more and I could expound on everything I've written here a hundred-fold. But the long and short of this lesson is that everyone has something to offer you. I firmly believe that you can always learn something from the people you meet (or read about). Whether they help you or hurt you, there's a lesson there to be learned.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Life Lessons Day Three

Lesson Three: Trust your friends. You don't have to bear your burdens alone.

I have been blessed with some pretty phenomenal friends over the course of my life. If you don't believe me, ask me about them sometime. I can gush for a good 6 or 7 and not think anything of it. I'm talking really stellar people, who for one reason or another, seem to think I'm worth their time and friendship as well. And while I've always been ready and willing to drop everything for any one of those friends, I've always been hesitant to allow them to do the same for me.

I know I'm not alone in this. It's hard to ask for help. It's hard to trust people. It's hard to admit that you can't handle things on or own. It's hard to confide in someone when you know they're just going to worry and you want to spare them that.

So I've always been grateful that one of the overarching themes of the Harry Potter series is to trust the people around you. Trusting people is a scary thing. It can backfire on you with catastrophic results. Case and point: James and Lily Potter (and I guess you could Sirius as well) trusted Peter Pettigrew to be their Secret Keeper. They trusted that he was still their friend, that he still had their best interests in mind. Really, though, he was a treacherous little sneak and had already sold out to Voldemort. Because James and Lily (and Sirius) trusted Peter, they lost their lives, Sirius lost his freedom, Lupin lost all of his friends in the space of about 48 hours, Harry lost his parents, etc etc.

But with the Peter Pettigrew incident aside, the Harry Potter books teach a lot about trust and learning to rely on other people and accept their help. Because Harry is a typical fantasy hero, he tries to do everything himself. He doesn't want to put other people in danger, he doesn't want other people to risk themselves for him, and he doesn't want to admit that he needs help sometime. After all, in archetypal hero always faces the foe alone. That always seemed silly to me. You know, no man is an island and all that.

But Harry hardly does anything alone. He was blessed with some remarkable friends--Ron and Hermione chief among them. He has friends who are willing to stand at his side, regardless of how moody he's being or how many people are targeting him. They care about him. They want to help him. At the beginning of Half-Blood Prince, Dumbledore counsels Harry to confide in his friends, saying that Harry does them a disservice by not trusting them. He goes on to remind Harry that Sirius, who has recently fallen in battle, would not want Harry to shut himself off.

There are plenty of times when Harry tries to shut himself off from his friends. When he thinks that Voldemort's possessing him in Order of the Phoenix or when he realizes that he's going to have to go on a country wide search for Horcruxes at the end of Half-Blood Prince. In both instances, his friends refuse to let him retreat. Ron assures him that "we're with you whatever happens." I think it's safe to say that Harry wouldn't have gotten through the things he did without their assistance. Where would he be without Hermione's hard work and intelligence? Where would he be without Ron's heart and humor?

Six feet under, would be the appropriate answer.

Harry's ability to trust and love his friends is one of his defining features--and it's definitely one of his qualities that set him apart from Voldemort. Despite all he's been through, despite the abuse he's suffered at his aunt and uncle's hands, despite the number of times he's seen Hogwarts faculty break faith with the school (ie Quirell, Lockhart, Moody, and (supposedly) Snape), despite the number of times when Ron let petty jealousy or moodiness get in the way of their friendship, Harry continues to trust them. While Harry's reliance on his friends may have caused more problems for them (and by "may have," I mean "definitely"), he couldn't have done what he did without them. Had their situations been reversed, I don't doubt that Harry wouldn't have done the same for his friends. He always comes to Ron's defense when Malfoy starts on Ron's family. He still hands by Hermione, even though she can be an overbearing know-it-all at times.

The true nature of friendship is selflessness and trust. You help your friends because you want to, because you care about them and want the best for them, and you trust them to do the same for you. I don't think I can count the number of times when my friends have pulled through for me even (and perhaps especially) when I'm feeling wretched and unloveable. Being able to confide in your friends isn't a sign of weakness. It's not a sign that you can't handle things or that you're weak. In fact (and I think Professor Dumbledore would agree with me), I would say it's a sign of great strength. At the end of the day, it takes more strength, more faith, to trust someone than to not.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

Life Lessons Day Two

Welcome to Day Two of Life Lessons from the Magical World of Harry Potter.

Lesson Two: "The thing about growing up with Fred and George is that you sort of start thinking anything's possible if you've got enough nerve." Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

I started reading the Harry Potter books at the tender age of nine, so I think I can safely say that I've grown up with dear Fred and George and I've developed that same "anything's possible" mentality as Ginny.

The books are filled with wonder and magic, but magic isn't the cure-all solution that one would assume it is. The characters in these books still struggle through their problems--from the mundane problems of homework, finicky teachers, and school relationships to the overwhelming problems of being hunted down by a psycho-serial killer--as though there were nothing magical about them. To them, the fantastic elements of their world are as mundane as the electrical elements of our world. And in the end, they have to sort out their problems the same way we do--with a lot hard work, diligence, and perseverance.

Because Gryffindor is the house of the brave and the daring, it shouldn't be surprising that so many of those characters have "got enough nerve" to chase after their dreams and solve their problems. But for someone as shy as I am (and I know, to some of you who know me, you're thinking: "Sarah? Shy? Hardly!"), sometimes summoning that nerve is hard, so I've always been grateful for such stellar examples of what you can achieve when you put your mind to it. Fred and George opened a joke shop. The marauders became animagi at the age of 15. Ron finally got the girl. And Harry defeated Voldemort how many times?

Within the Church, we're taught that, with God, anything is possible. But were also taught that our faith is nothing without good works. There are times when it feels like God isn't giving you the help you want or think you need and you end up working harder than you ever thought you could to achieve something you want. In truth, God was there the whole time, but he's so much more aware of our strength and capabilities than we are, and he knew what we could do without his direct influence. I believe wholeheartedly that God is at our side at all times, but I also believe (with equal fervor) that we never know what we are capable of until we do it.

The Harry Potter books didn't teach me about finding quick ways to solve my problems or how to take short cuts in achieving my goals. They taught me about diligence and perseverance and enduring to the end. They taught me to summon my nerve and commit myself to the tasks laid out before me. Magic is more than wand waving and silly incantations. Real magic happens when you discover the potential inside yourself and learn how much you can really do.


I'd like to close with the words of another author of my childhood, Shel Silverstein:
Listen to the MUSTN'Ts, child,
Listen to the DON'Ts,
Listen to the SHOULDN'Ts,
The IMPOSSIBLES, the WON'Ts,
Listen to the NEVER HAVES,
Then listen to me close--
Anything can happen, child,
ANYTHING can be.

Friday, July 8, 2011

Life Lessons Day One

In case you've been woefully ignorant of my life for the last twelve years, I am obsessed with Harry Potter. It's a healthy kind of obsession, not an "I want to marry Dan Radcliffe and have his children" kind of obsession. You see, I grew up with Harry. I started reading the books when I was nine, just after the third one had come out. And I think it's probably pretty safe to say that, outside of my parents/family and outside of church/religion-y things, Harry Potter has probably been the most influential thing in my life to date.

And because the last movie is about to come out (and because I'm feeling nostalgic) I thought I'd share with you all some of the lessons I've learned from Harry Potter. So you get one life lesson a day from now until the release of the movie. I hope you enjoy :)

Lesson One: It's okay to be a strong and intelligent woman.

The rise of Harry Potter happened at the tail-end of the nineties--a time where female role models for young girls primarly consisted of Britney Spears and the Spice Girls. With the Harry Potter books, J.K. Rowling supplied my generation with an onslaught of strong, intelligent women. Here are some of my favorite examples:

Hermione Granger: She's probably the first character to come to mind when people think of intelligent female book characters. I love Hermione. She's gotten a lot of flack over the years about being the stereotypical "smart but ugly girl" over the years. I would know. I once wrote a paper on how the people who thought that were just stupid. Here's the thing about Hermione: yes, she's brilliant, and yes, she can be a bit of a stickler sometimes, but she never (ever) backs down from what she believes in. Remember SPEW? But more than that, she's completely dedicated to Harry. In the seventh book, when Ron deserts the horcrux quest, Hermione stays behind. She doesn't chose to run off with the man she loves. She stays behind with Harry and lives in a tent in the middle of winter and helps the fruitless hunt for horcruxes. And this wasn't even the first time that Hermione stuck by Harry when Ron didn't. (Think Goblet of Fire.) Hermione, for me, was the embodiment of a young woman who never tried to hide her intelligence, never tried to change herself for the approval of others, and never backed down when the path she'd chosen turned difficult.

Nymphadora Tonks: On the surface, I think Tonks comes across as a bit . . . airheaded, perhaps. I attribute that to her choice in colors and her clumsiness. But she's a fully trained auror, and that takes quite a bit of work. Think of it like this: In order for a Hogwarts grad to be considered for Auror training, they have to take NEWT level potions. Tonks would have been one of Snape's students, and he doesn't take anyone into his NEWT class unless they achieved the highest score on their OWL. And I don't think anyone would deny that doing that well in Snape's class is anything less than brains and a good deal of hard work. So here are the things I especially love about Tonks: she's a smart woman who doesn't fall into the "fun-sucking, rule-stickler" stereotype and she's willing to fight for the man she loves. This is probably just the romantic in me speaking, but Tonks knew that she loved Lupin and she knew that Lupin loved her (but was just being a bit daft) and she wasn't going to give up on him. Seeing as how the power of love is one of the overarching themes of the novels, Tonks's love for Lupin and her willingness to stand by him regardless of the difficulties is an important part of the series.

Molly Weasley: What I love most about Molly is that she's a stay-at-home-mom, but everyone (the exception to that everyone being Malfoy, who's opinion doesn't really count right now) respects her for it. After all, Fred and George would toe the line after Hermione threatened to write to Molly about their various misdeeds--these boys weren't afraid of detention or losing points, they were afraid of their mother's strength. She's a strong woman--she has to be, raising six sons and a very headstrong daughter. And she's happy and willing to stay at home and take care of the children and be the kind of mother they need. She's not worried about having this grand career. She's not worried about making lots of money. She's worried about helping her children become the best people they can be. She's a compassionate woman. After all, she always treated Harry like one of her own, despite the fact that money was tight in the Weasley home. She's the mother Harry never knew, and she's willing to fight to the death for any of her children. After all, can you forget how she took down Bellatrix at the end of Deathly Hallows? I thought not.

Minerva McGonagall: I can only think of one way to put this. McGonagall is BA. Hands down. You don't believe me? Please consult Order of the Phoenix, the Career Advice chapter, and Deathly Hallows, basically any scene after Harry shows back up at Hogwarts. She's a smart woman and she knows when to stand her ground. She's a Gryffindor, through and through, no doubt about it. And while she seems a little strict at times, there's a lot of heart there, too. (Don't believe me? Go back to when Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup in book 3. She's seen jumping up and down and crying in joy.)

This is only a glance at the many women in Harry Potter. There are plenty of other strong and courageous women (and especially strong and courageous mothers, namely Lily Potter and Narcissa Malfoy). At the same time, they are balanced with women who lie and sneak and abuse power and do evil things. Rowling paints a picture of women that doesn't hide blemishes. She treats women as real people, just like she treats the men. And at the end of the day, she has provided young girls in generations to come an example of women who don't deny that they're smart and who don't dumb themselves down to get the attention of a boy. These are role models who will last--not just for me, but for future generations of Potter readers as well.

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Paling in Comparison

Yesterday at work, I was informed that the following things pale in comparison to working with me. I think you'll enjoy.

Things that pale in comparison to working with me (a selection):
Piloting the starship Enterprise
Jimmer
Frolicking amongst a herd of ligers
Hipsters
Capturing Bigfoot with only a lasso and a Twinkie, taming him, and teaching him how to ride a tandem bicycle with you.

I think this is a pretty accurate list, and it makes me feel awesome about myself. So I thought I would share it with all of you (so you can further understand how awesome I am).

I was also told that I would be a contender if BYU had an award for awesomeness (which would, of course, be presented by Cosmo).

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Signs you're an editing minor

1. While re-reading your favorite books, you can't help but notice how poorly copyfitted they are

2. When you use an em-dash, you're tempted to grab a ruler and see if it really is the length of an m

3. You know what an em-dash is, and you know when you're supposed to use an en-dash in place of it

4. You hate widows and orphans. Especially when they hang out around wordstacks and are surrounded by ten hyphens.

Sunday, June 19, 2011

While Cheering on the Rafishoon...

This past Friday, I had the grand opportunity to cheer on my little sister, The Rafishoon, at her swim camp meet. I made a really rad sign, unfortunately the only picture of it that I have is on my phone, so if you want to see it, you'll have to ask her. When I flashed the sign at the meet, I could hear her laugh even though she was down at the pool and I was at the other end up in the bleachers.

Anyway, something really funny happened while I was cheering on The Rafishoon, and it goes like this:

While the kiddos were preparing to do the 500 (which involves swimming 20 lengths of the pool), the ones who weren't swimming went to the far end of the pool to wrestle with large signs on posts to help the swimmers keep track of what lap they were on. While they were doing this, one of the moms who was there to cheer on her daughter came over to me to ask if I knew what they were doing.

At the time, I didn't really know for sure what they were doing, but I made an educated guess and suggested that they were probably trying to keep track of what lap the swimmers were on for a longer race. This lady and I got to talking about how neither of knew that much about swimming and we were just here for moral support. Then she asked me the golden question.

"So, which daughter is yours?"

Please keep in mind that The Rafishoon is only 4 years younger than I am and the youngest kid at the camp was probably 13 or 14.

Please also keep in mind that I'm not even 21 yet.

Basically I thought it was super funny and it made the whole meet AWESOME (even though The Rafishoon didn't take first in her event).

So, to the lady who thought I was the mother of my 16 year old sister, thanks for the laughs. I needed them :)

Monday, June 13, 2011

Yeah That's Right

For my copyediting class, we were supposed to create a letter of application and a letter of follow up to add to our portfolio. We were told that, if we were not currently looking for jobs, we could make one up. I thought this was annoying and didn't want to make up a position until I had a thought: The Quibbler.

Yeah, that's right. I totally just wrote a letter of application to The Quibbler. It's addressed to Xenophilius Lovegood and everything.

It makes me happy.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

The End is in Sight

Spring term is (finally) approaching its end. It's terminating, desisting, ending. For those of you unfamiliar with BYU's attempt to maximize student stress, immediately following winter semester is spring term. The spring and summer term are each 7 weeks long and in it you cover all the material you'd cover in a 14-week long semester. So yeah, it gets pretty hectic.

I made the beautiful mistake of taking two classes that are very project heavy. My editing class has multiple homework assignments every night and an assortment of editing-related projects. In print publishing, we play around on the computer four days a week and learn how to design flyers, booklets, and newsletters. We usually have a project proposal or a final project due about every five days. That's on top of all the homework exercises, which are designed to make sure you haven't forgotten how to do what you learned to do in class.

Now don't get me wrong. These classes have been great. I've made some awesome friends, I've gathered some wonderful stories about old ladies returning to school, and I've learned practical things that will get me a job (unlike the things I learn in my major classes).

But I'm ready to be done.

Which is why I was so happy when my supervisor at work sent out our schedule for summer term. I'm not taking classes in summer and I have twenty hours of work a week. I have two days (besides Sunday) where I don't have to be in at work at all, and my only morning shift is on the one day we open later.

My mind hasn't really figured out what I'm supposed to do with all the time I won't be at work, because right now, when I'm not at work, I'm (1) in class, (2) doing homework, (3) coming up with reasons not to do my homework--like watching netflix, reading books, or blogging! As of right now, this is my plan for the summer: read in the mornings (preferably under a shady tree where attractive men--the real life versions of David Andrews--can come find me), work in the afternoons (on the days I have work), write (like a maniac), crash the occasional ward activity, watch movies, write some more (maniac, remember?), and maybe do the occasional bit of editing as it comes my way.

The end of the Spring term of crazy projects is coming to an end and the summer term of basking and relaxing is preparing to commence!

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Perhaps I'm Wrong

Because the first of the month is coming up, I figured I probably had to pay my rent soon. So I checked my email, expecting to see some sort of bill or statement, as I received every month when I lived at my old apartment complex. When I couldn't find any hint of a bill or statement (or even a friendly reminder), I checked my "resident portal" on my management's website. Again, no bill, no statement, no post saying "hey, this is how much you owe."

Upon further digging, I found an email in my spam box from nearly two weeks ago. My manager told me that they hadn't received my rent and I needed to pay it. My rent for May was due at the beginning of the month.

Now, perhaps I'm wrong, but I would think that if one of your residents goes a month without paying rent, you would send more than one email--especially if it's a new resident and may not be entirely familiar with rent paying protocol.

Further more, I would think it a standard procedure to inform your residents that a payment is coming up and how much they know. I know how much I'm supposed to pay a month, and I know (now) when it's due, but I don't think it's ENTIRELY my responsibility to be on top of that. As the managers of several apartment complexes, they want their residents to pay their rent, right? Am I completely off my rocker or does it make sense for them to send out some kind of notification (especially if one of their tenants doesn't pay rent for a month)?

And maybe they expect me to be a responsible adult and be right on top of every payment, but, you know, the bank still sends my parents bills for their mortgages and whatever adult-bills they have, and my parents are responsible adults. BYU sends me hordes of notifications regarding any sort of activity on my school financial account--even if it's just to tell me they sent me a message telling me I didn't qualify for a scholarship.

I would think, the very least they could do would be to post the charge on my resident portal so when I log on, I can see a list of things I need to pay so I can actually pay them.

Furthermore, I dropped off a check and a signed contract for the place I'm living in the fall over a week ago, and the money still hasn't been taken out of my account. It's just kind of aggravating. I want to pay my rent. I want to be honest and give people the money I promised I'd give them--and I'm getting pretty irritated because they're making it so bleeding difficult for me.

Sorry for the rant. That is all.

Friday, May 13, 2011

Books, Bikes, and Baby Ducks

Here's a collection of random happenstances. Or should it be happenings? I'm not really sure.

The other day in my Print Publishing class, we were talking about the layouts of books and how usually books have a running header, in which the author's name is on one page and the book title is on the opposite page. This reminded me of my first experience with Ender's Game. I was young, I think maybe ten or eleven. We were living in Texas at the time, and Matt was reading the book. I hadn't read it yet, so all I knew about the book was what I could glean from the cover (which wasn't much. Have you seen the front cover of Ender's Game? It's this long side shot of a rectangular spaceship with some distant stars in the background, only you can't tell it's a spaceship because, well, it's a rectangle. It's an awful cover, really.)

Anyway, so I can remember sitting next to Matt in church one Sunday while he's reading the book. He was leaning forward, so I could see the running header at the top of each page. "Orson Scott Card" on one side and "Ender's Game" on the other. For some reason, this confused the daylights out of me. I thought Matt was reading some sort of card game inscructional manual. The fact that the running header sounded like some convoluted card game rather than an author and a book title was just too much for my little brain to handle. After Matt finished reading the book, Dad handed it to me and told me I'd probably like it. I read the book, and things started to make sense. Five or six years later, I read the book again and wondered why on Earth Dad would have encouraged a girl in fifth or sixth grade to read a book with that much profanity. Haha.

Random Happenstance Number Two: Baby Ducks

Now that I live south of campus, I live in close proximity to the duck pond, which is pretty much the best thing in the world now that there are baby ducks in abundance. (Random note: when ever I see the word abundance, I think of a bun dancing. It's kind of awesome.) Anyway, I was walking up to school a little early today in an effort to reclaim my seat from the older woman who likes to use it as a storage unit for her giant suitcase/backpack and her visor. I'm trotting up the hill, enjoying my iPod and the sunshine and my owl-sunglasses, when ahead of me I see a Mama Duck and an entire flock of little baby ducks. The little baby ducks were past their bright yellow stage of development (are baby ducks bright yellow for the same reason Mom and Dad made us wear white hats when we went to Disney World? Think about it), and were cute and brown with little yellow bits on them. I think they were learning how to walk, because some of them were REALLY struggling moving their tiny duck feet without tripping. One in particular seemed to develop really good somersaulting skills.

So I'm smitten by these baby ducks, and I pull out my camera on my iPod and start snapping pictures. The whole time, people are walking past me like I'm some sort of nutcase, and I wanted to shake them all and tell them to appreciate the ducklings! Mama Duck herded them away from me (I guess she thought I was a nutcase too) and I started my trek back up to campus. I walked slowly and kept glancing over my shoulder because they were just SO FLIPPIN' CUTE! I really couldn't stand it. Anyway, when I look over my shoulder, this one baby duck fluffs out his little wings and charges straight at me. For such a little guy, he was a pretty fast runner. When he's about a couple feet from me, he trips over himself, does a somersault, and is then back on his feet and resuming his charge. He stops right at my feet and chirps at me in the most adorable baby duck quacking noise.

I swear, I just about melted from cuteness overload. Once he's done chirping at me, he runs back to the Mama Duck, and once he gets there, one of his little brother ducks decides he also wants to be my friend and ran right up to me and chirped at me some more. I thought I was going to DIE. THAT'S HOW CUTE IT WAS. And I'm looking around at all the other people, and they weren't even paying attention to the ADORABLE BABY DUCKS who were trying to become my friends. (Bethany pointed out to me that the baby ducks might have been trying to scare me off, but, as she said, there's really nothing less scary than an adorable baby duck . . . except for maybe a tulip.)

Basically, my heart has been stolen by adorable baby ducks, and I'm okay with this.

Another Story on Ducklings

Tonight, Bethany and I went to the duck pond because I was eager to see my new baby duck friends. The pond was crowded with turtles, aloof Papa Ducks, attentive Mama Ducks, a clan of almost-tweener ducks, my friends the baby ducks and their less courageous sibilings, and one tiny lonesome baby yellow duck, hereafter known as Little Yellow.

Bethany and I were naturally very concerned for Little Yellow because he didn't seem to have any siblings or even a Mama or Papa duck. Whenever he would swim near the other baby ducks or the almost-tweener ducks, they would swim away. One almost-tweener duck snapped at Little Yellow and a Mama Duck chased him away when he followed her around. I was terrified that Little Yellow was all alone in the world and everytime another Mama Duck landed in the pond, I hoped it was his Mama Duck.

It never was.

Slowly, word got around the duck pond that there was a history behind Little Yellow. (He was, of course, everyone's favorite topic of conversation. I can't blame anything. He basically looked like a living Peep and was absurdly adorable.) Little Yellow had been rescued from the highway with his family by a girl called Heather. She stopped traffic and collected the ducks and brought them to the duck pond. Which is all good and well--I don't support duck fatalities on the highway--but there was a problem. Where was the rest of his little duck family? Why wasn't his Mama Duck still in the pond, nursing her little babies after the traumatic highway incident?

Then the girl called Heather arrived and informed her flock of admirers that she had already removed the other ducks and baby ducks she had rescued from the highway and taken them to her apartment. She was back now to collect Little Yellow and his sibling (who had mysteriously disappeared). Now, my question is, why would you rescue a bunch of ducks from the highway and take them to a lovely living environment, ONLY to take them AWAY from said environment and to your apartment? Further more, why on earth would you leave two HELPLESS baby ducks in a pond without their Mama Duck? NOT COOL. My feelings for this Heather girl are very mixed.

Also at the duck pond was a crazy Mama Duck. At one point, my baby duck friends and their baby duck siblings had a little duck huddle on this log. They were super adorable and were all huddled together in a heap of baby duck feathers. They're just hanging out there for five or ten minutes, when all of a sudden, this Mama Duck swoops in and goes crazy on them! She shoves them all off the log, and (I kid you not) had caught one of them in her beak and just held on while he panicked with little duck quacks. He squirmed for a bit and finally got away and swam as fast as he could to his siblings, all the while chirping like he'd just had ten years scared off of him (which he probably did). And then the crazy Mama Duck doesn't even sit on the log herself. She just gets back in the water.

A note on riding my bike around Provo:

No matter what I say or do, whenever I'm coming up on a pedestrian walking on the sidewalk who either can't see me or doesn't notice me, they always immediately jump IN FRONT of me before dodging to the side. I've nearly taken down three or four pedestrians because, even if I warn them what side I'm on or if they're walking toward me and look up and see me, they always jump in front of me before realizing they've done something wrong. Weird.

That is all.

Monday, May 9, 2011

Adventures in Township

A few weeks ago, I moved into a new apartment. So far, things have been pretty good and my only real hold up has been my shyness, which seems to have gotten worse over the last two years. Not fair.

Anyway, I live in this sweet new place with a fireplace and comfy, comfy couches and a full-sized oven/stove, real carpet (not that stuff that all the church buildings use), and actual walls with dry wall instead of cinder block. OH! How could I forget to mention my GIANT washer dryer??? No more paying through the nose to wash my clothes! (And no, I did not intentionally rhyme that.)

Of course, there are some little things that annoy me--like how you have to turn all the door knobs counter-clockwise to open anything. Yeah, that's kind of weird. But little things can be overlooked by the sheer awesomeness that is a washer/dryer.

My roommate, thus far, has seemed pretty chill. She's usually not home when I am, and when we are home at the same time she's either watching TV in the living room while I'm in my bedroom or she's asleep (and snoring SUPER loud), in which case I sprawl over the comfy-comfy couches and do some reading, writing, homeworking etc.

But I have recently become concerned that my roommate might be using my toothbrush. When I moved in, I checked the bathroom drawers to see where her stuff was so I would know not to put my stuff there. I was a little surprised to find nothing in either of the drawers, but there was a blow dryer and a hair straightener in the left-hand cabinet, so I assumed that half was hers. Accordingly I moved my stuff into the right-hand side. I figured she probably just kept her bathroom stuff in her room. I don't know why she'd do that, but we all have our quirks.

Now yesterday afternoon, I went to ask her what time ward prayer was at, and she was in the bathroom brushing her teeth. The toothbrush looked a lot like mine, but it's not like I own a one-of-a-kind toothbrush. I don't even think they make those. So I just kind of shrugged it off. I went to ward prayer, came home and had dinner, watched some Doctor Who on Netflix, then brushed my teeth and went to bed. In the morning when I woke up, though, I was curious. While I waited for the water in the shower to heat up, I picked up my toothbrush.

The bristles were wet.

Nine hours after I last used my toothbrush, my bristles were still wet?

It's sketchy to say the least. For all concerned citizens watching, please know that my toothbrush has been moved into protective custody and will soon be retired due to sanitation codes. (I needed a new one soon anyway.) However, I may be conducting several experiments to see for certain what's been done to my poor toothbrush.

Also, when I got out of the shower, I stepped in a LARGE wad of my roommates hair. Large as in it could have passed as a balding rat.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Where have you been, where are you going?

(Please note: I've been have trouble formatting the last few blog posts--all my paragraphs just mesh into one. I'll try to avoid that, but I really don't think there's anything I can do) Last night, as a break from horror stories and paper writing, I went tunnel singing with Debbie, Julie and their respective men. Tunnel singing is a unique BYU phenomenon where we all huddle together in the chilly weather in the tunnel outside the Marriot Center and sign hymns for an hour on Sunday nights. During my freshman year, I was a tunnel singing pro. I went almost every week by the end the semester and I pretty much thought I was the cat's pajamas. Going back as a second semester junior gives your a different perspective on things. I watched circles of freshman students interact. I watched girls chatter and text and share things on their cell phones with each other. I watched boys insert loud cheers ("Let's baptize!") into church hymns. I watched the ebb and flow that is freshman interaction at the end of the year. And I realized something about myself: Two years ago, I was an idiot. For some of you, this probably isn't a surprised. I mean, most eighteen year olds are going to be idiots. I think I was a particular breed of idiot, though. I used tunnel singing as a means of posturing and looking good. I went and I memorized hymns so my friends (particulalry the attractive male ones) would think I was extra spiritual. I got caught up in my petty and shallow need for attention and would stand off to the side of the circle, a pious tear in my eye, waiting for on my friends (hopefully one of the attractive male friends) to usher me back into the fold. I jostled for position at the end of tunnel singing so I'd be next to who I wanted when you all join arms and sing "I Need Thee Every Hour." I didn't want to be practically hugging those two people, so I'd shift around (leave to take a phone call or say hello to someone else I spotted or move across the circle because I "couldn't see" in the dim light where I was) until I was wedged in between two people who (I desperately hope) were completely oblivious of my shamelessness. Two years later, I realize how stupid and shallow and petty I was. Don't get me wrong, I had a lot of really great things going for me then too, but hopefully now I'm just a bit better. I've stopped trying to appear pious and righteous like I used to. Perhaps it's a result of having gone through some trials and learning to bear burdens. Perhaps it's a result of seeing the Atonement work in my life and the lives of those I care about, but I look back on that "look at me, I'm so holy" attitude with something akin to mortification. I've grown in these last two years. I've learned how to stand on my own, to not change who I am to vie for attention. I've learned that it's more important to love myself for who I am and who I have the potential to be rather than wait for some boy to come along and sweep me off my feet. I'm still a romantic at heart. I do daydream about wild fantasies (wild in the sense of unlikely, not in the sense of untamed or unbridled), but I know it's far more important for me to be who I am and work on improving myself. Everything else will fall into place. So, to my younger self, I shake my head. Perhaps we can blame it all on the fact that I know I wasn't getting much more than five hours of sleep on the average night. That's bound to make you a little crazy. To my present self, kudos. At the very least I can recognize that I've learned something. To my future self, please forgive me if you look back at this in a few years and feel the need to smack your hand to your forehead. I'm trying, okay?

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Growing Up in the Digital Age

I'm currently working on three seperate papers for three classes of mine. One on linguistic choices in general conference talks as a reflection of the times, another on the cowboy code-ism of Daisy Miller, and the third is a comparison of Stephen King's "Man in a Black Suit" and Nathaniel Hawthorne's "Young Goodman Brown." Because I've grown up with the internet, most of my research has been conducted online and I'm reasonably proficient at looking stuff up on the internet. However for my Stephen King/Nathaniel Hawthorne paper, I've found that I needed to use a couple of books. I was just flipping through two of said books, scannning pages and chapter notes for any reference on King or Hawthorne. It was painful and tedious. I thought to myself: Why can't their be a "search" function on books? Why can't I tell the book "Show me every thing you have on Stephen King" and then it would tell me where to look? Five minutes later, I remembered that each book has an index, in which they tell me every page whereon they mention Stephen King or Nathaniel Hawthorne (and in some cases both of them together). It really would have been nice to remember that right at first.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Irony is...

Irony is writing a report on a book about punctuation and the song "Oxford Comma" by Vampire Weekends plays on your iTunes.

Thursday, March 31, 2011

NaShoStoMo

For the past couple of days, I've been itching for something to blog about but nothing has particularly come to mind. Nothing interesting, at least, which was why my last post was about the weather. Last night I was debating whining about the papers I have to write for classes, or the fact that I feel like my writing ability is getting worse (rather than better), or the new library employee policy which says that I'm not allowed to read books on the clock. Or write them, for that matter. But then I struck blogging gold. (Editorial Note: The fact that I'm listening to "Jerk it Out" by The Ceasars seems to make this blogging gold better. Its something about the beat of the song in conjunction with the sun outside which makes me really excited) I was stalking some professional writer's blogs and found Dan Wells (author of I Am Not a Serial Killer, Mr. Monster, and I Don't Want to Kill You) and discovered that while he's on book tour this month, he is venturing his own NaNoWriMo knock off. Since it's hard for him to novel-write on book tours and because he's terrible at writing short stories, he has decided to do a short story a day for the month of April. And because I'm a writing junkie and like competing in off-the-wall writing challenges, I think this is a marvelous idea. Here's the short list of goals (established by Dan): each story has to be AT LEAST 200 words; each story must have a beginning, middle, and end; by the end of the month, you should have 30 short stories, so it's not necessary to do one short story a day--just have thirty by the end. So my dear blog followers (of whom there are few), I extend the challenge to you. Thirty days, thirty short stories. For all of you who thought a novel was too much to handle, this is much more feasible (and if each story is only 200 words long, you're writing about 44,000 words less than you would during NaNoWriMo). As for me, I'm totally jazzed to find a productive way to continue procrastinating my research papers, school projects, and finals studying. Rock on, writers, rock on.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

This is just ridiculous

I know its conference weekend this weekend, which means that the weather is obligated to uncooperative, but dropping more than twenty degrees between Saturday and Sunday is just plain ridiculous.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Saturday Night Work Shifts

I'm at the circ desk with Tawny on a Saturday night and there's nothing to do. I mainly attribute this to the following facts:
(One) It's a Saturday night. Most people like to go on dates on Saturday nights.
(Two) There was a basketball game and we totally trashed whatever school we were playing (by 22 points)
(Three) Because we trashed them, we are now in the Sweet Sixteen and people like to celebrate things.
(Four)Who on earth goes to the library on a Saturday night? Finals are still three weeks away.

So I just have to suffer here, not being witty or entertaining, just relatively bored.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Life is Good

My feet were cold, so I grabbed a pair of fluffy socks that had been sitting underneath my netbook. My netbook was on and the socks were being heated by it.

Now it feels like I've stuck my feet inside a toasty oven.

Life is grand.

Monday, March 7, 2011

Ideas Are Cheap

Next to the advice "write what you know," I think the most common writing advice ever given is the small tidbit that "ideas are cheap." If you listen to writers talk, they'll tell you. Ideas are cheap. It's the skill and talent required to write that's hard to come by. They hand out this fact like parents hand out candy on Halloween, and over the last few years, I've come to accept this morsel of truth as hard fact. I've been blessed with enough quirky ideas to know that they're easy enough to come by if you know what you're looking for.

This past weekends was one of those very moments, where suddenly an idea made sense. The very basics of the idea had occurred to me years ago after seeing a production of Robin Hood at a high school, but at the time, I didn't have enough of a sense of, I don't know, life in order to piece the idea together into a story, or even a premise. But when the idea came to me again late Saturday night and again Sunday morning (during sacrament meeting), it was like someone lit a fire underneath me (if I may be so cliche).

Ideas that didn't work three years ago suddenly did. Characters looked more fleshed out, more original. The basic premise became more plausible. The conflict became . . . more conflicting.

And I really don't think I can communicate to you the rush I feel with this new idea bouncing around in my head. It's still not very fleshed out. There are still a lot of things I need to figure out and a lot of things that need to be tweaked and twisted until they all fit together. But I'm excited and I want to get going.

Here's the hang up of cheap ideas, though. New ideas are inherently more intriguing than old ones. So while my mind wants to race off with this new material, this new toy, this new playground, my creative writing class is still waiting for me on the old playground. I have a partially finished manuscript (I estimate that, at 50,000 words, I'm about a third of the way through), and I want to finish it, I really do, but this new shiny idea is way too intriguing.

And add that to the fact that I have a monster assignment due tonight, a paper due on Thursday, a test on Friday, another test the following Wednesday, another test the following Tuesday and three major papers looming in the distance and you might be able to understand why the concept of cheap ideas is so troubling.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

I hope you don't mind...

(Just warning you, this post is basically me just whining about people I have to deal with--it probably won't even be that witty, I just think my roommates probably get sick of listening to me whine, so I should do it somewhere else)

For my creative writing class, we're supposed to submit 1,000 words a week for our workshop groups to go over in the second half of class. Collectively, (as in "as a group") we decided that we wouldn't mind if anyone posted more than that, within reason, as long as everyone still understood that the mandatory 1k was all that had to be read.

Now considering that I write that much in a day (on average), it's usually not a problem for me to find a thousand words to throw up on livejournal, and because of my word surplus, I usually post an additional 300 words or so, not expecting anyone to read all of it if they are really that crunched for time.

Now, there has been a gal in our group who has been posting 2,000+ words a week for the last week or two and that is a little extreme, but we talked to her and smoothed everything out. She didn't realize she was pposting that much and will now be word-count-conscious in the future.

And, as recently as this past Thursday, our professor reminded us that we are under no obligation to read anything more than 1,000 words, regardless of how many words someone posts.

So, with this in mind, I submitted my bit for workshop today like I was supposed to. Because I don't like leaving scenes unfinished (and its hard to do a decent, relevant scene in just a thousand words--that's only three and a half pages double spaced), I posted 1,500 words. I warned my group that my word count was a little heavy and added "I hope no one minds." Now, for me, that little warning was just a heads up to whoever was reading to let them know they didn't have to finish. I just figure, if there are people who don't mind reading a little extra, I don't mind recieving that little extra feedback.

Which was why I was a little suprised to find that someone had commented and said that she did mind. And from the tone of said comment, she minded a lot. Because apparently posting 543 words (yes, she must have copied my post into word to get the accurate word count) was far too many and she never agreed to read that much. She was quite short about it.

And all I could think was "Really? You're okay with reading whatsherbucket's extra thousand words, but you're getting short with me about a few hundred?" Granted, this particular member of the group and I have butted heads in the past. She doesn't like my protagonist, she doesn't like my dialogue, she doesn't like my characterization, she doesn't like my conflict. Basically, I'm not writing a story that would interest her. If it were on the bookshelf at a store, she wouldn't pick it up. And I'm perfectly okay with that. It's not for her. Somebody else is going to like it just fine. I can't please everyone.

And to be perfectly frank (and yes, you can be larry), what she writes doesn't exactly suit my fancy either.

(Of course, she has only read one-seventh of my total word count right now, so the fact that she complains about things that are explained in the other sixth-sevenths of the book doesn't exactly endear her to me)

What really gets me, I think, is the fact that she took the time to write that comment, when it'd probably take just as much time to read those extra 500 words. Maybe I just read fast, but I can usually read the five thousand (plus change) words I get from the group as a whole in under an hour--and I think someone else in the group has said something along the same lines.

I wrote her a polite (and an honestly polite--not the fake polite like in those notes I may or may not have left on my grammar homework) reply saying that I was just informing people of the word count and I never expected people to read more than they were required.

But I'm not going to change my submission.

And I'll probably keep track of how many words she posts in the future. Not that anything will come of it, but just because I like having the satisfaction of knowing she's just as much at fault as I am.

And all of this is probably why I should go to bed at midnight instead of staying up to finish reading books and checking my email and now writing relatively whiny and passive-aggressive blog posts.

I hope you all have a wonderful life and that you didn't mind my self indulgent whining.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

1K a day will make you insane

Back around the end of December I had a thought that went something like this: "Hey remember back in November when you sold your soul to noveling and wrote nearly 2 thousand words a day? Remember how awesome it felt to write that much and create that much? Remember what it was like to watch that awesome graph bar go up everyday?"

And then I thought to myself: "it'd be really swell to do that ALL YEAR LONG!"

Which is how I made the goal to write 1 thousand words a day. It was going pretty well for a long time, but I've begun to reach the point where things are getting hard and sticky and unattractive and discouraging. My word count is currently about 35k words (which is about 140 double spaced pages on my word doc), and really, getting that much done is pretty impressive. But I feel like everything that I write is awful and I feel like everything I submit to my creative writing class is just being ripped apart, because they fail to understand that a lot happens in the 6,000 words a week they're not reading.

The kids/students in my writing group have about half my word count. They're still in the beginning stages of their work and most of them write chronologically. And I find myself in this headspace where no one quite gets what I'm doing and no one is taking my word that I've got a grip on it.

And yet, I still try to do 1k a day, even though I feel drained and worn out and not excited about the writing or the creation anymore, because the practice and the habit is good for me.

Unlike the wise words of Owl City, I do need a telescope to see that there is hope and it doesn't make me feel brave. :/

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Corpus

Dear Grammar Class Corpus Searches,

You are seriously the biggest waste of my time to date. You are neither easy, quick, enjoyable, or even useful. I am NOT a linguist, I am an editing minor. These searches don't help me DO ANYTHING. I don't learn anything from them, and had I not been conditioned in my youth to jump through hoops to get points, I seriously wouldn't bother fussing with you at all. My other editing friends (one of whom is a linguist) have never used corpus searches. I don't see why I should have to.

You are the devil. Please leave my life. I have enough to do.

Sincerely,
I'd rather face a pack of dementors than deal with you right now.

P.S. And the fact that you're a weekly pest only makes me want to do you less.

Monday, January 31, 2011

Monday Nights and Moby-Dick

For me, Monday nights are excruciatingly long and involve looooooooong hours of work at the library. Most nights, there's been at least a little bit of BP (that's library speak for checking all the books in--a painfully boring process which involves a lot of flipping through musty books to check if any idiots have written in the margins or highlighted the pages and the equally boring (and occasionally back breaking) process of sorting hundreds of books and shelving them in the back so the shelvers can shelve them in the library). So most nights, I have that to look forward to to break the monotony up a bit, but not tonight. (BP isn't usually as awful as I just made it sound--in fact, I usually enjoy it because I can rock out to my iPod in the back). So I've been sitting at the front desk for quite a few hours now and still have more to go.

I think I've been fairly productive. I mean, I've been doing my actual work, and then I've written 1,000 words of my latest fictional project (I am now back up to my self-imposed work count--over 21K-- HOORAY!).

I posted one thousand of those words for my creative writing class.

I sparknoted chapters 50 through 81 of Moby-Dick to facilitate my reading (ie so I can skim and still have a general knowledge of what's going on).

I microwaved and ate my dinner.

I checked my email, facebook, and siblings' blogs.

I've mistakenly asked at least three people if I could help them when really they were just standing about waiting for their friends.

Now really, if I had any sense, I would have wisely spent my time reading Moby-Dick, out of which I have some really intense reading assignments (intense as over 25 chapters per class). But here's the thing about Moby-Dick: it's kind of hard to get through. In fact, sometimes I'd much rather be eaten by the whale than slog through it. Honestly, Mr. Melville, I thought you did a great job with Bartleby the Scrivener, but did Ishmael really need to narrate an entire chapter on different types of whales? No, I don't think he did.

So here's the list of things I'd rather do than read Moby-Dick:

Write 1,000+ words for various creative writing projects that I'm feeling half-baked about.

Post my creative writing assignment and read the posts by the rest of my workshop group (we're up to a grand total of two out of six posts so far--one of which is mine)

Sparknote Moby-Dick.

Check my facebook and email.

Blog about what I'd rather do than read Moby-Dick.

Have an appendectomy.

Stand outside in the blustery darkness.

Check the weather and find out tomorrow has a low of NEGATIVE THREE!

Do a handstand.

Sleep.

Sleep some more.

Deep clean my apartment.

Pay my rent.

Pay someone else's rent. (Okay, that's a lie. If I had to choose between paying someone else's rent on top of mine or reading Moby-Dick, I'm going to chose Moby hands down).

And any number of things that would be more exciting, fulfilling, and enjoyable than reading Moby-Dick.

Alas, there's just not that much to do on a Monday night.

Monday, January 24, 2011

On Anxiety

So, remember that post from the beginning of the semester, in which I talked about how frustrating livejournal is and how NOT nervous I was about my creative writing class and have a NY Times bestselling author read parts of my first draft of a story? Do you remember that?

Because I find suddenly that my perspective on this is completely turned around. I've mastered LJ (as well as I need to, at least) but now, faced with the potential embarrassment of my life's work burning to pieces in front of my eyes while a crowd of people look on and laugh (that's only slightly hyperbolic, by the way) now I'm about lose my nerve completely and wish that I could disintegrate into the floor.

This brings to mind a dream a friend of mine once had. She had just emailed one of our professors a few poems she had been working on (in real life, not dream life) and she was feeling anxious. Her anxiety caused her to have a dream in which our professor tore up her poems, telling her they were worthless, and then began hiding the shredded pieces of poems about the room as a "finding game" for his young daughter--because that was all they were good for.

No joke. She really had this dream.

I've realized that I just need to stand as firm as a tree or mountain or some other time-tested firm thing and just own up to what I've written. Yes, it may be dreadful, but isn't that what a first draft is for? And yes, you may think it's silly but it's what I want to write...so I'm going to write it. So there.

Now, if I can somehow summon that attitude for Thursday evening, I might be in half-decent shape. Otherwise, I'll be known forever as "Sarah, the girl who disintegrated in to the floor."

Thursday, January 13, 2011

What I've Learned

What I've learned from The Last of the Mohicans:

1. I can't read the word "wigwam" in a story and take it seriously. Same goes for "squaw."

2. If James Fenimore Cooper were trying to publish his Leatherstocking tales today, he'd be flat-out rejected by every publisher he contacted.

3. Dialogue tags are important, which is why they shouldn't say things like "said the now really anxious girl." (And yes, that is a direct quote).

4. For the sake of clarity for you reader, when you give a character a name, consistently refer to them by that name (and ONLY that name--with the exception of an easily discernable nickname). Having a half dozen epithets for each character is not endearing.

5. Mark Twain was right--see his list of literary offenses made by James Fenimore Cooper.

Update 6. Whenever I see the phrase "without arms" in The Last of the Mohicans, I first think first of a man without literal arms and then remember about a paragraph later that Cooper probably meant without weapons.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Samuel Johnson

Samuel Johnson is often recognized as writing the first English dictionary. I know this because I'm an English major. For an entertaining decpition of Samuel Johnson, you should watch the fourth season of Blackadder when they have to rewrite the dictionary.

That being established, here's the nub. Everytime I hear Samuel Johnson's name, I think he's a black man. And quite frankly, this is a little absurd. Not that I'm racist or anything, but let's face it, back in the days of the first dictionary, not many black men knew how to read. Today in one of my linguistic classes, my professor showed us a picture/drawing of Samuel Johnson.

He's definitely white.

And a little, shall we say, portly.

So why do I think he's black??? All the time??? Even now, when I'm picturing him in my head, he's still black.

According to the wise-woman-of-the-forest (id est Julie), it's because his name is similar to Samuel L Jackson. Probably.

Still, I'm most likely going to be talking about Samuel Johnson the black dictionary writer for the rest of my life.

The end.

Friday, January 7, 2011

Exit Strategy

I've (barely) survived the first week of classes, which has been rife with familiar faces and unfamiliar situations. I'm already behind on my readings (which is mainly to do with the fact that I missed my Tuesday class on account of being out of the state) but that little bit of pressure is healthy, right?

Or maybe not.

Honestly, though, right now my biggest stress is my new creative writing course, taught by one of the (if not the) most successful new sf/f writers in the last decade. And you want to know why it's the biggest stress? Not because I have to submit my own humble writings to a New York Times bestseller (although that certainly doesn't help), but because I have to figure out how to navigate LiveJournal.

And LiveJournal, I'm discovering, is rapidly becoming one of the most convoluted online anythings that currently exists. I have finally mastered the art of restricting my journal to friend-only viewing, and I'm starting to get the hang of adding friends (id est the other students in my weekly workshop group), but I can't even figure out how to check my LJ email. You'd think it'd be simple, but it's not. Facepalm.

But hey, at least I'm in the class. When I arrived last night, there was a crowd of people around the door and people sitting on the floor in all directions with every desk full. Becase I was actually in the class, some poor soul vacated his desk for me. All those milling around had to put their name in a hat and were selected at random for the chance to audit the class. Holy. Cow. Ten more awesome points for my kindly old (as in former, not as in aged) RA who signed up for the class for me.

And what, you may ask yourself at this point, does this have to do with the title of this post?

Absolutely nothing. I just thought Exit Strategy sounded good and wanted to use it.