trinsy: (awkward)
So today I achieved one of my life ambitions and passed out.  It was okay, actually.  The passed out part, I mean.  Everything afterward kind of sucked.

My parents' church had a blood drive today, and I donated, and afterward I walked over to the food area, and I felt really dizzy, so I sat down.  Some asked me if I was okay, and I said I was fine because I hate people fussing all over me (haha, if only I'd known!).  Then everything went kind of white, and then I had this really amazing dream.  The only thing I remember about it now is that there was some really weird music in it and that it gave me a happy feeling.  Anyway, then I felt something wet on my forehead, and I thought I was home in bed, so that confused me.  I opened my eyes, and I was lying on the floor, and all the blood drive people were crouched over me putting wet towels on my head and neck and stuff.  I asked what happened, and nobody answered, which I sort of get because I'd actually figured out what had happened when I asked the question; what I actually wanted to know was if I'd fallen on the floor or if someone had put me there.  The only response I got, however, was that I shouldn't close my eyes, which made me think I'd fallen because you're not supposed to close your eyes if you get a concussion (as it turned out, someone caught me before I fell; I don't know what the whole eye thing was about).  Anyway, then they put me in this chair with my feet elevated, and gave me this gross power drink and some Nutter Butters, and took my pulse and blood pressure, and it was really, really embarrassing.  All I could think was that I'm so glad it happened here and not when I went to give blood with my Optimal Health class last year, because if it had happened with Optimal Health class, you know I would always be "that girl who passed out after we went to give blood.  What was her name?   Curly hair, do you remember?"  And how awful would that be?

After we left the room, I almost passed out again, and a little after that my mom almost passed out as well.  Then she got mad and said they shouldn't let small people donate.  And I was like, "They don't.  We're just not small enough."

In other news, I've been trying to write my missing moment from OotP since, um, before Deathly Hallows came out, which is sort of pathetic, really.  And I've also been working on this fanmix for James and Lily for well over a month, and I'm still stuck.  I thought I was ready, but then I realized that Track 3 didn't fit at all, so I have to find another Track 3.  Because this fanmix is supposed to compare/contrast with the one I made for Snape/Lily, so it has to have nine tracks that compare/contrast with those nine tracks.  It's only nine tracks and I still can't finish it!  Which is also really pathetic.

Ah, well, such is life.
trinsy: (rose and mickey)

A little over two years ago, I found some of my old writings and consequently wrote this entry.  In it I made the point that I thought what I was writing at the time (Canis Majoris) was good but I was worried that in a few years I would realize it wasn't good.  Yesterday I decided to reread CM for the first time in ... well, a long time, and it turns out that that was a pretty valid fear because I found that the whole thing is pretty rubbish, to be honest.  It's all rather cliched, and it's quite annoying how Peter's character is never really developed, and the emotions are way over the top, and someone please teach me how to properly use a comma, and wow, could I use more italics?

But the great thing about finding all that out is that it didn't really distress me the way rereading People Change did two years ago.  I mean, I sort of realized that yeah, it's rubbish, but honestly, writing Canis Majoris was one of the best experiences of my life to date, just in terms of how much I learned and how much it helped me through a pretty rough time in my life.  And it's also pretty awesome to look back and see how far I've come in just two years.  I don't know, maybe it's taking a Creative Writing class, or maybe it's experiencing real personal loss and realizing that people who go through that don't actually act ... well, the way I had them act in CM, but wow, I really don't write like I used to, and that's really, really great.  But I also wrote a 151 single-spaced page story when I was fifteen/sixteen, and that's really amazing too.

I guess what I'm really trying to say is that yeah, I wrote 151 pages of rubbish, but I'm so, so glad I did.  And I'm also really excited because I'm really starting to feel that I'm almost ready to write The Power of Will, and I've been waiting to write The Power of Will since before I started CM; I've been waiting to write it since I was fifteen.  And when you've been waiting for over three years to be ready to write something, it is really, really elating to know that you're on the brink of actually getting to write it.

trinsy: (last words)
So I downloaded a bunch of Christmas music over the weekend, and my roommate hung up Christmas lights, and yesterday it rained and I turned off our room light and turned on the Christmas lights and sat on my bed and drank hot chocolate and wrote a Christmas story.  Well, that I was my plan, anyway.  What actually happened was I got about a paragraph into my story and then one of the other girls came in and somehow I got suckered into watching The Notebook for the first time.  I thought it was a huge waste of 123 minutes of my life, which apparently means I am a horrible person and hate love and will die miserable and alone.  Which I am actually totally fine with if it means I don't have to lay on greasy asphalt, or have sex (or almost have sex or whatever it is they even do in that scene) in a dirty, dusty, rotting house, or spend seven years crying and angsting and getting drunk and leading perfectly nice people on because I am pathetic and cannot get over it, dear GOD, people, it's been SEVEN YEARS, MOVE ON ALREADY!  So yes, my plans were rather thrown off.

I also read Six Characters in Search of an Author which is a really fantastic play and one I recommend to anyone who writes fiction.  A few quotes that exemplify this brilliance:

"A character, sir, may always ask a man who he is.  Because a character has a life which is truly his, marked with his own special characteristics. ... And as a result he is always somebody!  Whilst a man ... in general ... can quite well be nobody."

PRODUCER: And so you'd say that you and this play of yours that you've been putting on for my benefit are more real than I am?
FATHER: Oh, without a doubt. ... If your reality can change from one day to the next....
PRODUCER: But everybody knows that it can change like that!  It's always changing. ... Just like everybody else's!
FATHER: No, ours doesn't change!  You see, that's that difference between us!  Our reality doesn't change. It can't change. It can never be in any way different from what it is. Because it is already fixed. Just as it is. Forever!  Forever it is this reality. It's terrible! This immutable reality.  It should make you shudder to come near us!

"Authors usually hide the details of their work of creation.  Once the characters are alive ... once they are standing truly alive before their author ... he does nothing but follow the words and gestures that they suggest to him.  And he must want them to be what they themselves want to be.  For woe betide him if he doesn't do what they wish him to do!  When a character is born he immediately acquires such an independence ... even of his own author ... that everyone can imagine him in a whole host of situations in which his author never thought of placing him.  They can even imagine his acquiring, sometimes, a significance that the author never dreamt of giving him."

And the last one kind of makes me go, "Oh god, I hope fanfic-ers don't get their hands on this."  But seriously, aren't they brilliant?
trinsy: (doctor and rose)
It's weird to think that I've only been here a week.  It feels soo much longer.  I remember this from last year, only it was cooler last year because the novelty was there.  Now it's sort of like: "Here's school.  Here's homework."  And already on Thursday I had to motivate myself to go to class by thinking, "Only fourteen more Art classes; only thirty-one more Writing classes."  It was the second day I had those classes!  Pathetic!

Overall, though, being here is pretty awesome.  I didn't think I was going to like my room very much when I first got here, but now I'm totally in love with it.  My bed is in this sort of alcove, and I can just sit on my bed and read and no one even realizes I'm in the room.

And of course it was nice to come here and already know people.  The first morning, my roommate and I woke up around the same time, and we were just sitting on our beds talking, and I remembered how awkward it was the first morning last year.  She and I are the only ones in our group who can fully appreciate that because we're the only two who came in total strangers and ended up deciding to room together another year.  It's just nice to already be comfortable with people and not have to get to know new ones.  It's nice to be able to arrange to meet someone you already know for lunch on the very first Monday.

It's also nice when you're the only one in the unit who doesn't go out on Friday night, and you know it's not because you're a loser who still hasn't made friends yet, but because you simply don't feel like going out.  I had a very productive evening last night, actually.  I didn't do homework, though I already have a mountain that I need to wade through.  Instead, I sat in my alcove with my computer and wrote a fanfic about Sirius and Regulus, one I've been meaning to write since DH came out.  I'm actually really pleased with how it turned out.  And then some of the girls came back and we watched I Love Lucy on TiVo, and then they all went out again and I went to bed.  It was really very nice.


Tonight we're going out for my birthday, which I'm excited about materialistically because it means I'll get presents (though I'm sure we'll have fun, as well).  I'm holding out for new clothes, which means I can go longer without doing wash.
trinsy: (don't care)
So you would think that writing a short story would be the absolute perfect assignment for me.

You would think that, but you would be wrong.  Very wrong.

Here’s the problem: I am a writer.  Writing is just what I do, and I know I’m good at it.  Maybe I’m not publishable yet, but I’m working on getting there.  But anyway, because I am a writer I a) write purely for myself, b) am a perfectionist about my writing, and c) hate 90-95% of what I write anyway.  So writing a story for school is a huge problem because a) it means writing for someone else, b) I refuse to write anything unless I have a brilliant idea, and as I have no brilliant ideas, I have not written anything yet … even though the story is due Friday, and c) whatever I write I know I will hate so much I probably won’t even be able to bring myself to proofread it.

Now, I ask you, why?  There is seriously no justice in the world.  All my non-writer friends settled on ideas and began writing weeks ago; but I, the writer, haven’t even decided what to write about!  I am one of the most laidback people I know.  I’m not a perfectionist about anything … except writing.  Of all the things I have to be a perfectionist about, it had to be writing!

Of course, I know what will happen.  I will settle on a very bad idea at the last minute, and the story will be horrible, and I’ll never be able to bear looking at it again.  Which is what happened last year.  Which is what will happen every time I have an assignment like this.

Sometimes, actually being good at something is not a good thing.
trinsy: (wondering)
So basically, I have to write this short story for English, and I have no idea what to do.  I really wish I could just print off some of my fanfiction, but unfortunately that isn’t an option.  I am absolutely obsessed with drabbles, but I have a vague idea that my teacher will mark me off for not having character development.

On the bright side, I only have three weeks left of school.  On the not so bright side, I have about a million things to do before then, not the least of which is whitening my teeth before my glamour shots.  Also, I have to buy jeans and a dress, and as I lost both my jobs, I have like, no money.  But hey, in three weeks everything will have worked itself out, and I’ll have time to write again.

So all in all, life is good.
trinsy: (Writing)

Okay, so how weird is this?

1. I got dressed before noon.
2. No one had to remind me to vacuum and dust.
3. I finished my homework before dinner.
4. I read a magazine that wasn’t the Reader’s Digest.
5. I didn’t get on the Internet when I wasn’t supposed to (a first in about two years, I think).

Which is all totally bizarre, because I never get dressed before noon unless I have work/school/church; someone always has to remind me to vacuum and dust; I never finish my homework before dinner (and rarely before 11:00 pm); I don’t read any magazine except Reader’s Digest (actually, I don’t really read at all contrary to popular belief, people who like to write do not necessarily like to read); and I am almost always on the Internet, whether I’m supposed to be or not.  So it was a very bizarre, albeit very productive day.  But the really weird thing has nothing to do with my newfound productivity.  Well, actually, it does.

You see, ever since I finished Canis Majoris (and I’m truly sorry I haven’t posted the final chapter; I’m waiting to receive the banner for it) I have had the desire to write/been getting ideas for writing/been writing like crazy.  I’ve joined two Round Robins; I’ve written a one-shot for a site project (soon to be posted at MNFF, although that wasn't the site it was written for); and I’ve gotten a crazy idea for an original story (rather akin to my story about the Clarke family, except the kids aren’t related, and instead of each one being named after a month of the year, their names are based off er, never mind).  In fact the only thing I haven’t been writing is Masquerade Cliché (and I really must update it soon).  Which is all very bizarre, and a bit annoying, because while I was slaving over CM I almost never wanted to write (don’t get me wrong, though, I never forced myself to write it; that would have been dreadful).

I’d like to think that finally finishing a story was a great turning point in my journey as a writer, and this happy state of affairs will last forever, but I know it won’t.  And no, I’m not being cynical.  I have, let me remind you, been writing since I was ten, and I know that this sort of thing happens.  One day, out of the blue, you want to just sit down and write, write, write; it lasts for a few weeks, maybe even a few months, and then, one day, out of nowhere, you just can’t write anymore.  The words won’t come; the ideas are stale; and the desire is all but gone (the longest I’ve ever been in this state was about six months, and I suspect it was because I was being forced to crank out, on average, one lengthy, in-depth, analytical paper a week for my English class).  Eventually, however, the desire returns, often with a vegeance.  And so, the cycle continues.

For now, however, I’m going to enjoy it.  I’m sure the new “Jacob” kids won’t mind.  And the Clarkes are probably glad of some company in Bizarro World

trinsy: (Default)
I'm seriously frustrated right now.  I cannot write.  I seriously can not write!  I have two chapters left of Canis Majoris, and I know exactly what's supposed to happen in them, and yet somehow I cannot write them.  Oh, I try.  I try and I try.  But it doesn't happen.  Either I don't write anything at all, or I don't write what's supposed to happen, or I write something truly horrible, or (most commonly) a mix of the three.

And, quite frankly, it's getting really annoying.
trinsy: (Default)

My inspiration’s waning

As I sit down to write.

Just to get a simple sentence out

Will prob’ly take all night.

 

My inspiration’s fading

As my fingers begin moving.

To stop before I start to cry

Would prob’ly be behooving.

 

I try to vent frustration

In free verse most of the time.

For some reason, at the moment,

I have the urge to rhyme.

 

It really hasn’t gone so well;

This poem’s an atrocity.

Besides, I’d rather write a book

That becomes a monstrosity.

 

But my inspiration’s disappeared,

Relocated, is simply gone;

I’m sitting here asking myself,

“How did it go so wrong?”

trinsy: (Default)

So on Monday I wrote that I was depressed after reading my horrible writings from three to six years ago.  I was very upset when I wrote that entry.  I was in the "depths of despair", as Anne Shirley would say.  But today things are really looking up.  I talked to Camryn this morning, and she pointed out to me that the fact that I wrote anything at the age of ten, regardless of its quality, is really pretty amazing.  And then I got to thinking about it, and I remember reading somewhere that as a writer, 90% of what you write you'll hate.  And I also realized I am a total perfectionist when it comes to my writing (which is bizarre, because I'm never a perfectionist in any other area of my life), which means that I will rewrite the same paragraph for months and still never be completely satisfied with it.  So it's totally natural that I wouldn't like what I used to write.  And also, yesterday I was looking at those old files, and I came across one titled "Story", which wasn't very descriptive, so I opened it up, and I found my very first draft of The Postcard.  For those of you who don't know (which is probably all of you), The Postcard is a story I began a few months before my thirteenth birthday, and ditched around this time last year.  To see what it started out as and what it eventually evolved into was absolutely wonderful for me.  It did me no end of good.

So, to make a long story - er - shorter, I am now quite cheered up.  On with writing, and may every word I write be better than the one before.

Jerry the Frog Spoof Line of the Moment: Gandalf: Look everyone, I’m back in the Shire.
Frodo: Whoohoo! It’s my only chance in this movie to be happy!
Gandalf: Good for you. Let’s see how many names of book chapters we can add into the dialogue.

Deep Thought of the Day: Whenever I see an old lady slip and fall on a wet sidewalk, my first instinct is to laugh. But then I think, what if I was an ant, and she fell on me? Then it wouldn’t seem quite so funny. ~ Jack Handy

trinsy: (Default)

When I first began writing stories at the tender age of ten, I saved everything I wrote on floppy discs.  Why? you might ask.  Because in those days we only had one computer, and the disc protected my stories from being read by anyone else in my family (unless they put the disc into the computer, which they easily could have done, because I left it on a shelf right next to the computer.  But I was young, and it gave me a sense of security, so there you go).  I had several floppy discs, but one in particular was special to me, because it had my favorite story on it.  It was the first story I ever wrote, and it was called People Change, and I was really, really attached to it.  But one day I put this disc into my computer so I could open up People Change and something horrible happened: The disc was blank!  All the stuff on it was gone, that's it, disappeared, nowhere to be found.  Over a year's worth of writing had vanished without a trace.  Naturally, I was upset.  But eventually I resigned myself to the fact that I was never going to see People Change again, and I began a new disc.  Over the next two years I went through five more discs, and at some point all five of these discs got erased!  Eventually I got a brain and stopped saving stuff onto discs and started saving them onto my hard drive, which was a lot safer, especially after I learned how to password protect documents.  But I still got bummed occasionally when I thought about those three years worth of writings I had lost.

So last night I was sitting at my computer.  And I was looking around the desk for something, and I saw my six old discs.  And I thought, I wonder if they still don't work.  So I picked them up and put the first one in my computer and pulled up the page that said if it had anything on it and there was People Change!  It was a very exciting moment for me.  I immediately saved all the files on that disc onto my hard drive and put in another disc.  Of the six discs I tried five of them worked.  I saved all their files onto my hard drive (in case the discs broke again in the middle of the night), and then I went to bed.

Now today I opened these files and began to read, and it made me really depressed.
Why would it make her depressed? you are asking yourself. She hasn't seen some of these for five years.

And of course you would be correct.  But you see, what is so depressing is that I was an absolutely horrible writer when I was ten.  And also when I was eleven.  And definitely when I was twelve.  And I wasn't all that great when I was thirteen.
Well, you're probably thinking, of course you weren't as good as you are now, but you were probably good for your age.

And this is what I thought at first too.  But then a horrible thought occurred to me:

When I was writing these, I thought they were good.  And I think what I'm writing now is good.  But what if, in three years, I read what I'm writing now and realize that it wasn't good?  What if I'm really horrible, but I only think I'm good, and in a few years I'll realize I'm not good?

This is a very depressing thought.  The other depressing thing about all this is that I realized that my sisters are liars!  They are liars because they told me when I was writing these things that they were good, but now I know they were lying.  This makes me really depressed.  Whom can I trust now?  Can I even trust my own abilities?  I'm bummed.  I'll just leave it at that.

Jerry the Frog Spoof Line of the Moment: Padme: What's with all this abnormally aggressive depression?
Anakin: It's all Obi-Wan's fault I'm a mass-murdering basket case!
Fans: Now we know where Luke got his whining from.

Deep Thought of the Day: Sometimes, when I reflect back on all the beer I drink, I start to feel real ashamed.  But then I look into the glass and think of all the workers in the brewery and all their hopes and dreams.  If I didn't drink this beer they might be out of worked and their dreams would be shattered!  Then I say to myself, "It is better that I drink this beer and let their dreams come true, than to be selfish and worry about my liver." ~ Jack Handy

June 2013

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