Week 12

So I completely spaced last week's entry, my bad.

Anyway, to recap, we met with Carol Lynch Williams before the Thanksgiving break and I have to say that talking to her, though mostly listening, was a blast. The woman is hilarious though she can come off as being very flippant sometimes. She was our last author to visit and I think she wrapped up what I've been hearing all semester very nicely like writing about what moves you and how you make time for the things you love to do. Out of everyone we've heard from, I think I relate most to her writing process. She told us that when she writes, she'll edit as she goes, reading through yesterday's writing before starting for today. I've always been like this when I write which can make for slower going but we can't all be zippy little writers :P I really appreciated her outline for the way she lays out her books with how many chapters are usually allotted to what sections and what needs to be included in each section, at least generally. She told us that our stories should start on a day when everything is different and, oddly enough, I'd never really thought about that before, how most all stories do that. Thinking about that actually helped me figure out where to start my novel which was handy even though I'm rethinking it now. Honestly, I really just enjoyed so much of what she said like how in the middle of your novel, when the writing gets hard and perhaps less interesting, you need to get your character up a tree and throw rocks at them. Also, she mentioned those doors/choices a character makes or is forced into that prevent them from going back to where they were. It's odd because I usually think of those as more physical manifestations but they can also be when your character learns something that changes the way they view other people/the world, etc.

Good stuff to think about and try out :)

So, we're all knee deep into our Individual Projects now and I am so excited to read everyone's stories! Currently mine is misbehaving a little bit but I'll share some of it with you.

"Witch." The word was quiet and yet forceful, its speaker indistinguishable from the crowd but soon they were all chanting it.

"Witch. Witch. Witch." The word hissed across the ground and around my ankles, seeping into my clothes until its weight almost dragged me down. The corset I was wearing was quickly becoming too tight. I cursed the day I had become preoccupied with town-side fashion.

"Yes," Blaines whispered, his voice anything but kind, "a witch. And what do we do with witches?"

The shout was deafening after the hushed whispers.

"Burn them!"

As one, they stepped forward but I slammed the door shut and flung the bolt across it before they could take another.

Week 11

I love workshop days, can I just say that? There is nothing quite like getting that feedback, the negative as well as the positive. When I feel stuck in a certain area or something, work-shopping is just the thing to help me out. Not to mention is absolutely awesome to read what everyone else is writing. The whole thing is very exciting. I especially love being able to identify certain people by their writing now, having gone through the semester with them. It's cool to recognize literary footprints.

For my final project thingy I'm looking to write 2 to 3 chapters of a YA novel. I have a story in mind, now we'll see if it feels like cooperating, if not behaving.

This is going to be a brief entry today so I'm skipping right to a bit of my recent writing.

"I'll be there in a minute." I waved Julia on as I slipped into the bathroom. The door clattered shut behind me. The springs must be wound too tight or something.

I blinked to adjust to the dim light of the room. Why is it that bathrooms are either too dim or too bright? This one gave me the feeling of being underwater with the blue green tiles and paint just barely illuminated by the bulbs above me. The white sinks stood out like a row of seashells.

Scanning the row of five stalls I noticed that there was only one other person here, occupying the third stall.

I counted back in my head. It was Thursday. I'd used this bathroom twice this week. That meant today was the third stall. Of course it would be. I huffed and leaned against the wall to wait.

I was going to be late for class. Again. But I knew better than to just use one of the four open stalls. This girl was going to think I was crazy for waiting when there were so many open but it didn't matter. If I just used one of the others I'd be back in here in five minutes if Mrs. Kelsy would give me a bathroom pass. Then I'd have to explain my double trip to Julia.

I pulled out my notebook and flipped through it, looking over the homework that was already piling up for tonight.

I heard the flush and then the running of the tap. I nodded absently as the girl passed me and the door clattered again. She was wearing shiny new sneakers with sequins. Not really my style, but to each their own I suppose.

Week 10

Is it just me or have we officially hit that point in the semester when everyone's brains just kind of explode? I know mine has and, judging by the kinds of questions we've been getting at our desk in the library, I'd say this has happened to several other people at least.

Thanksgiving can't come soon enough.

I ripped through Princess Academy in the last few days [I adore Shannon Hale] and I just picked up The Screwtape Letters this afternoon. I've never read it before and I'm excited to get into it. My biggest question right now: why is his name Screwtape? Wormwood I understand as with many of the other names that have already come up but Screwtape? Seriously, what kind of demon is that? I'm assuming that it is my symbolic knowledge that is lacking here because I would never insult C.S. Lewis, though I am intrigued at the dedication made to JRR Tolkien at the beginning of this edition.

Okay, today's writing excerpt is from the big YA idea rumbling around my skull right now. It only ever comes in bits and pieces and never in an specific order but I'm working on that. In the mean time, please feel free to let me know if you think this works or not. I can take it!

Time had such little meaning here and I had nothing to mark it with even if I had wanted to. I never knew if the glimpses of the forest that I saw were given to me in my own time or if I was witness to another plane where a world experienced the seasons out of order. Though, it was more likely that the one out of order was me.

I watched the trees for a long time, trying to assess what time of year it was out there where lives were normal and being lived. October? No, November. Though many of the trees were still clothed in rich colors, others had shed their leaves entirely and I watched in pained wonder as yet another tree released a storm of leaves, a cloud of swirling color caught up by a breeze before settling upon the forest floor.

I missed autumn. Walking through the trees under falling leaves had always been a treat each year. I couldn't tell if the magic was being kind or cruel in giving me this site of the season I loved the most but would always be ever only on the brink of here in eternal summer.

I heard myself sigh, a great rushing, rumbling, and heart-wrenched sound very unlike the dainty, staged, little sighs that I had exuded in another life.

Week 9

And I'm late! Ah! What's happening to me?!

I'm going crazy that's what. Completely bonkers.

Oh well.

Lately I have been struggling with writing [okay, life in general], just not having any motivation and making it easier for myself to not make time for it but it's always there at the back of my head. Hopefully I'll be able to pull it back into habit territory soon.

For my YA novel I read The Host by Stephanie Meyer. For those of you who haven't read it, hold your horses. I've heard all there is to complain about in regards to the Twilight series and let me tell you that her writing has much improved with this book. I've probably read it at least 5 times and it brings me to tears each time [in a good way]. I'm not generally way into scifi which is where she treads here but I love this story, its originality and complexity. Her character development isn't even comparable to the Twilight books because you actually come to care for the characters in The Host though I will admit that [for some strange, personal mental reason] I mispronounced the main characters name for the longest time [and I still do because I've decided I like it better than the common pronunciation].

Okay, can I rant to you guys for a minute? So I'm a psychology major, hence my advanced writing credit is Writing Within Psychology this semester which is all about academic writing which I positively abhor. Getting through class has been hard enough due to my dislike of the writing style but last week it got worse in an unimaginable way. My TA was teaching the class and we were talking about Journalese and how the quality of writing in popular magazines like People has gone down the tube. Valid argument, yes? Suddenly, he decided to sidetrack and offend me in the biggest way imaginable [I assume it was just me because none of my classmates objected to the following. some even, horrifically, agreed with him]. He said "So let's talk about Harry Potter for a minute. Aside from what it may have done/be doing for young kids learning to read, etc., it's awful writing. It's just bad writing." I swear, if I had been fortuitously holding something heavy in my hand at that moment I would have thrown it in the general direction of his skull [because let's admit it, I have no aim]. I just couldn't believe he had said that! But then he continued with "I mean, if I were to re-write it I would do it completely differently." And guess what monsieur TA? NO ONE WOULD HAVE READ IT. Can I please get an "AMEN" to this? I may get ridiculously enraged when I think about this, but I know I'm not crazy.

[steps outside to take a little breather]

I'm going to move on to a very short snippet of my sad writing journal. As always, I tend more toward introspection that actually writing...I need to work on that.

Who would we be without mirrors, if we never saw ourselves? Our judgement of others would potentially stand but how would we think of ourselves? Was it our ability to see others' appearances that first drove us to seek out and make reflective surfaces in which to examine, and then preen ourselves? How would we, and our world, be different without them?