The Dustpan Race

I always find crazy stuff when I'm visiting home. This past weekend, I came across the following, a story I wrote in 7th grade English that I'm sure at the time seemed clever, but now reads as ridiculous. I should also note that nothing like this ever happened; whenever there were signs of mice in the house, my mom always kept it on the down-low, and would catch them before Heidi and I ever saw them. This story is purely a work of fiction. Here is the story in its entirety, maintaining all grammatical errors, etc.

---

The Dustpan Race

Picture this: my little sister, playing with her dolls, all innocent like. Today's episode is about Ken marrying a beanie baby and Barbie and Theresa trying out plans to try to sabotage the wedding.

Just when Barbie was getting ready to start, my sister screamed "EEEEEEEEEKKKK! A M-M-M-M-MOUSE!"

In the blink of an eye, she was standing on a chair, holding a dustpan, and of course,the mouse stopped dead in his tracks.

Now my sister was trying to figure out where exactly Mom put the cheese and traps, but decided that it was useless, and decided to smush its furry little butt herself.

She jumped off the chair, called it a VERY bad name, and started chasing it around the house like crazy. They weaved in and out of furniture, jumped and ran under and over tables, all while whacking at it from side to side. They kept this on for about ten minutes, until finally she chased him out the door.

Do you think that is dramatic or what? Well, the other side of the story is even more dramatic than you think.

Mr. Mouse got up early that morning, wanting to go to the "grocery" store for some more Limburger cheese (he was always running out). It was his weekly morning stroll, always around seven o'clock, and today happened to be Wednesday. He ate some cheddar on rye, brushed his teeth, stretched his paws, and started on the trip.

He sort of jumped at a screeching noise from somewhere up above, He was then frozen to the spot where he was.

'WHOW!What's that?Cheese? No. OH MY GAWSH! A CAT! No, wait, it has no tail. Hey, I know what she is. She is a human. Okay, now an escape route. Under the chair? No. East? Yes! I believe that that is the way to go!'

He then ran as fast as his little feet could carry him and cringed at what she called him, and hoped and prayed that she wouldn't kill him.

He was chased around for ten minutes, and finally ran out the door. She then went back inside. Mouse waited for awhile until after dark, and stealthily crept inside. He got to hismousehole again.

"From now on," he thought, "I'm taking walks at night."

To Cure a Restless Mind

The dog next door has taken to barking nonstop at different points of the day. His name is Lucas. He's a tiny little thing, light brown curly fur, with so much of it his eyes are hidden most of the time I've seen him. He has a blue cast on one leg, and you can tell when he's outside because amongst the cute little pitter patter of his feet, there's the occasional thunk of plaster on wood. He's a sweetheart, and whenever I see him with his owner when I'm out and about, I stop to give him a scratch behind the ear.

Sometimes he whines, sometimes he barks. We can hear him from the other side of the kitchen wall. His owner has apologized profusely for the sound. I told her it's okay; dogs will be dogs.

We live on the second floor of our tiny complex. Our neighbors below us are Korean (I used to work with one of them), and I often hear him singing, mostly in the morning just after I step out of the shower  or in the afternoon right before dinner. He has a clear voice that's quite soothing to listen to.

There's a married couple on the ground level that like playing a downsized version of badminton in the tiny parking lot. I've seen them most often at dusk, as the atmosphere makes everything glow orange and red, and when things have calmed from the day. They stand about twelve feet apart, batting the birdie back and forth. The woman is beautiful. She has long black hair that she wears pulled back or in a long braid that reaches to the backs of her knees. Both she and her husband came over to meet Emma's dog once as we were chatting in the parking lot. They are very nice people. Everyone we've met here is.

We hear conversations in Chinese next door on the other side, late into the night. It's those times I wonder how much they can hear from our apartment.

I play music sometimes around midday when I'm making lunch or doing the dishes. My roommate has a laugh that could easily carry through walls. I tend to yell a bit when I get excited about something, as does my roommate. I watch a lot of movies on the DVD player, and I often wonder if the volume is too loud.

In those moments when I sit in our living room, thinking too much about all the things that are happening, the things that are worrying me, I notice these little things. I keep thinking about Harriet the Spy and how Ole Golly was always encouraging Harriet to write down everything she saw if she wanted to be a writer. And yes, Harriet was spying on people. But what she came to realize was that as a writer, she was less of a spy and more of an observer. It's the little things that you notice, how everyone has their own way of eating tacos, for instance, or the strange things people put into their shopping carts at the grocery store.* The way light comes through the window in the early morning, how people talk to one another in church as opposed to how they interact at a party or in intimate conversation. It's anything and everything about growing up and living in a new town or in your own hometown. The smell of your grandparents house, or the memories that float in the back of your mind without explanation. It's making sense of how crazy life seems at two in the morning or when your emotions are so overwrought and wrung out you're not sure where to go. As writers, as artists, as people, we are always noticing things. It's proof of the complexity of life, how things are continuously changing, and how it goes on.

We are observers of the world, of the unique life experiences we have. All we need to do is notice them. It's one reason we're compelled to create. We're always on the search for some kind of understanding.


*A few weeks ago, I saw a man pushing a cart entirely full of chicken. I think they might have been leg/thigh combinations.

In Which There Is an Excerpt from a Novel I Will Never Finish

Last night while I was searching for some character notes, I came across the notebooks containing the very poorly-written novel attempt from when I was in high school. I never finished it, but I felt I had it planned out for sequels and other nonsense. The original partial draft is really bad, poorly written, kind of insensitive, and all sorts of crap. I didn't touch it much past my first creative writing class I took as a sophomore in college, mostly because I began to realize how horrible it was, and by then had grown up a little and had developed much different writing goals than what I had then.

I haven't looked at it in years. And believe me, flipping through it again was much more embarassing than I thought it would be, and I felt very, VERY thankful that I've grown as a writer since then. (Thank goodness for all of my fabulous writing classes and professors.)

I did find a second draft of a scene that wasn't the same degree of awful as the original draft, and so I thought I'd share it below. It was written about six years ago, probably around when I graduated high school or early freshman year of college. Don't say I didn't warn you.


-----

Melinda's basement was large and carpeted in a pretty cranberry shade. The main room, the first you entered when you came down the staircase, was a TV room, complete with two squashy sofas, an armchair, and coffee table. A closet was located beside a doorway leading to two other rooms, Melinda's bedroom and a laundry room.

Melinda led us down the staircase and many of the others went directly for seats on the couches as if they'd done this kind of thing all the time.

Only Kevin, Jessica, mark, and I were left to fend for ourselves for seating.

"Let's have our own party over here," Jessica said, motioning to an open wall area next to the food table, and we sat down as Melinda cleared her throat loudly to get everyone's attention.

"Okay, so before anything begins, a couple of rules. No drinking at this party. It won't be good to have a hangover the second week of school." She paused, while Cody, Kenzi, and Don laughed. "Next, we have to watch the noise level. Mom's organizing her office on the second floor, and she doesn't want to hear us. So, have fun, but not so much that she hears it clearly. Third, this is a movie party, so don't spoil the ending for those who haven't seen it! Also, the theme is 'Double the Fun,' so there will be two movies, two kinds of every kind of food, and--" she gave Kevin an odd look--"we will be playing Fourteen Minutes in Heaven."

"OH MY GOSH," Kevin said. "You're serious?" He fell over on his side in shock when she nodded.

"Names will be drawn for those who are single, and couples will have their own turn as well." Melinda pulled two containers each filled with with folded up pieces of paper out from under the food table. She stuck a hand in one of them, and pulled a slip out. "First up is Dani and Brad."

Danielle squealed loudly as she jumped up from one of the sofas, grabbed her boyfriend's hand, and shimmied into the closet. The door shut behind them with a click of final doom.

"Can we start the movie?" Laura asked, walking up to the DVD unit.

"Yeah," Melinda said, going to help.

"You guys," Kevin said, still on his side. "We get fourteen minutes. At a time."

"Calm down, Romeo," Jessica told him, as he sat up slowly. "If you fuss over it too much, you might not get your Juliet."

"Are you okay with this game, Jess?" Mark asked her, rocking on his knees.

Jessica made a face not unlike when you eat something sour. "Better than spin the bottle any day. Still, there's the element of the unknown along with it...What if I get a weirdo, like Don?"

"I heard that," Don called, his eyes glued to the movie that was now playing on the TV.

Jessica rolled her eyes.

Kevin leaned in. "There's a way to solve that issue, you know."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "What's the answer?"

"Settle down, find a nice steady boyfriend. Then you know he's not weird. AND he wants to kiss you because he loves you for you, and is not just a perverted bag of testosterone."

"Don't talk to me, Kevin, you're making my brain hurt with your crazy outlook on life."

-----


Yep. I need to burn it. *sigh*

Things Jelani and I Talk About

A few months ago, Rebecca Makkai gave a reading on campus as part of the English department's Visiting Writer Series. The selections she read to us were very good, and her responses during the Q&A session were really interesting (her characters were so thoroughly three dimensional, as it seemed from the snippets she read to us, and good character development is something I really admire).

As usual during these sorts of events, I sat with my good friend, Jelani*. Every once and awhile, he will lean over to tell me something about whatever it is we're watching or listening to, or something he finds interesting. During Rebecca Makkai's reading, Jelani made a noise of recognition. I looked at him, curious. He paused, and I offered my notebook to him.**

Humbert is the name of the, uh, main character in Lolita, he wrote along the long side of the page.

Ah. Well. I responded. A minute or so went by, and then I added, I need to read that book. I haven't yet. 

make sure it's the annotated version. the footnotes really enhance the experience.

In a good way or bad way?

very very good. you will need the novel in your right hand, a dictionary in your left in order to make it through that book, btw

Coolbeans. Noted. Will do. 

it's perversely one of the best books ever written. 

Then, later, when Makkai confirmed that she slipped many literary allusions, including Humber from Lolita, in to her book, The Borrower, I gave him a nudge, and pushed my notebook over toward him.

Yay you! 


*He leaves bits of brilliance and intellectualism on The Hype Weekly, and bleeds genius and, on occasion, whimsy, on his personal blog. I also owe him about a billion Poetry Nights at Auntie Mae's. I should probably get on that.

**We have had a lot of conversations over the years, and while most are verbal, there have been a few that have taken place on paper.

Worse Poetry

I never remembered that there was a short-lived literary magazine* at my high school. But, low and behold, when I went upstairs to my room to head to bed late last night, I started poking around a little bit (one of my projects for the summer/fall is doing a massive cleaning up there and getting rid of everything I don't need). On top of a pile of boxes was a booklet stapled together with a blue cover, entitled "Paint Me As I Am." 

I didn't know what it was at first. I thought it was something left over from my sister's years at the jr./sr. high, but when I saw the worn post-it note on the cover with my name on it and my fourth and fifth hour classes from Spring 2003 listed, I became exceptionally curious. 

Some of the entries are anonymous, some chose to keep their names attached to their work. Two of my poems were chosen to be included in the journal. And they're awful. So deliciously awful, in fact, that I wanted to share. 

Ahem. 

A Garden 

A bench

Set in a grove 

Flowers blossoming all around

Lilies 

Roses

Daisies

Chrysanthemums

All under a willow tree 

With low flowing branches

That grab you with love and wonder

Beside the gently babbling brook

Water softly engulfing pebbles 

With every breath it takes

Around the pebbles swim

Tiny fish

Frolicking within the 

Great expanse of what they call home

Birds sing gaily in the trees

Singing the bird song

Telling of a Garden

Nature's Garden

And, of course, the quintessential angsty high school poem, complete with subtle title, no? 

Leave me be

anger 

rage

it's not all good

don't care what you say

so mad

life hates me

shut up and listen for once 

be happy

'cause 

you're one of the lucky ones 

you probably have a life

that's all milk and honey

well you know what

i have no happy life

cause I'm not like you

don't even go there

 nor start your

foolish hypocrisy

cause it's not all good

don't laugh

not funny

don't you see

it's not all good

leave me be

One thing to understand--something that I have to keep reminding myself of--is that these poems were written when I was freshman in high school. Other than that, I'll let them speak for themselves. Happy Wednesday. :)

*If I remember correctly. I don't remember it lasting much longer than one semester because it might have been a class that put it together--but it's been about 9 years and the details have since escaped me. 

Daniel Radcliffe on Poetry

Aside from the fact I've had a massive crush on Daniel Radcliffe since I was about 14 years old*, I just really like hearing what he has to say about anything and everything. He's always so insightful and honest in interviews. In part of a recent interview with Parade Magazine,** he touches on a lot of things, including poetry. (He writes poetry.)

Quotage:

I think true poetry is a color—it's as fundamental as that. It can provoke a profound, basic human reaction. Understanding what the poet is saying comes from something fundamental in us that is moved by the musicality of language. (Daniel Radcliffe, from Parade interview)

This seriously blows my mind. "...True poetry is a color..." No words.


*I kid you not. I wrote fan letters to him and everything. Erm... But that's a story for another day.

**Here's another part from the interview. As I don't have a copy of the magazine, I'm not sure what the full interview from the print issue of the magazine includes. Anyway, both links are bits and pieces.

"Shake It Out" by Florence + The Machine

One of my Christmas presents was Florence + The Machine's "Ceremonials," and I think I may be a little obsessed with it. This is definitely one of those songs that is perfect for writing and drawing--and I'm sure that the entire album will end up going on my art playlist. Of the three CDs I got for Christmas, this album is the one that I've kept in my Walkman* the most. Everything about the album is amazing.

I updated my iPod playlist last night to include this album in addition to songs from the respective greatest hits collections of The Cure and Tom Petty. I get ridiculously excited whenever I add/switch around playlists--I wonder if that's any indication to how silly the things that make me happy are, but no matter. Music gets me through my day, and I love switching playlists around. I really wanted an updated playlist for the ride back the Tiny Blue Room later today.

Speaking of which...I've been up for three hours and I really should get stuff pulled together. It's so surreal that the vacation is almost over.

*My friend Jessica had to explain what a Walkman** was to her daughter, who is about 5 or 6 years old. When she told me that I nearly fell over. I feel so old (which makes sense, I suppose, since my birthday is coming up next month).

**In case you don't know what a Walkman is, it is a portable CD player that was really popular through the '90s and into the 2000s, just before iPods and other such mp3 players became popular. I think it also derived from the Walkman cassette player, which preceded the Walkman CD player. Anyway, a Walkman can be seen at about :41 or :42 in this early video from Mandy Moore. And the one she has there is super fancy--mine is a simple silver Sony Walkman.

Gratitude

This may be a little cliche to do, but I think there's something really special (and important) in celebrating the things that make us happy, healthy, and safe. It is Thanksgiving, after all. (Though, as my friend Melissa pointed out on Facebook this morning, we should be thankful everyday rather than saving it for one day a year.) Thus.

I'm thankful for my family. They mean so much to me, and I am truly blessed. When I am home, it is for them.

I am thankful for my sister's sense of humor. She knows exactly what to say to make things not so bad. She and I have the same kind of sense of humor. I am also thankful that she laughs at my jokes, because I know I'm not that funny.

I am thankful for God's love in many ways.

I am thankful for books and art. What kind of a person would I be without them?

I am thankful that my health has been good.

I am thankful for my open-mindedness.

I am thankful for Coca-Cola, Milky Way bars, Arby's/Hardees curly fries, and Cranberry Limeades.

I am thankful for the opportunities I've had in my life to travel. They have been few, but worthwhile all the same.

I am thankful for The Westing Game, Harriet the Spy, and the many Nancy Drew mysteries I read in elementary school, because they helped me to appreciate a good mystery.

I am thankful for the ability to drive around the Little Apple without being too nervous. I haven't quite overcome my fear of driving completely, but I'm getting there.

I am thankful for Oldies and 60s British Invasion rock 'n' roll. But mostly I'm thankful for my dad's excellent taste in music. I couldn't have asked for a better kind of music to grow up with.

Though it has been hard, and not to mention emotionally taxing, I am thankful that the drought of any romance in my life has allowed me to seriously consider what I'd like in a relationship and understand my stance on many things.

I am thankful for my mother and her perseverance, creativity, and compassion. I learn more and more from her everyday.

I am thankful for the things I have learned from our trips to Michigan, and most especially the memories they left with me. It has been a long time since my grandparents (my dad's parents) passed away, but I think of them almost every single day.

I am thankful for the tradition and love from my mom's side of the family. My grandparents have been married 60 years, and they are the heart of my mom's large family. I feel very blessed to be a part of it.

I am thankful that I decided to pick up and read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone in sixth grade.

I am thankful for writing and the joy I get from it. The power of the story is kind of awesome. And, in a way, it kind of saved my life.

I'm thankful for college. It is one of the best things that have happened to me. I have learned so much and in so many different ways, and I have changed so much from the person I was five years ago. I feel like I'm finally me.

I'm thankful for authentic Mexican food and authentic Indian food. I am also thankful for my grandmother's spaghetti, my mom's pasty, and cheesecake.

I am thankful for Glee, Star Wars, and the Georgia Nicolson series.

I am thankful that John Keats (and all related British Romantic poets), W.B. Yeats, William Shakespeare, Emily Dickinson, Walt Whitman, Jane Austen, Sarah Dessen, John Green, Maureen Johnson, and J.K. Rowling all decided to write stuff down.

I am thankful for movies. I am also thankful for movie theaters (though not the raising ticket prices). I am especially thankful for Steven Spielberg and Focus Features.

I am thankful for 80s music and 80s movies.

I am thankful for music and concerts. Especially the trip I took with Brandi and Cassie last year to Kansas City, where we went to Warped Tour and then Lady Gaga's Monster Ball within the course of 48 hours. It was incredible.

I am thankful for my friends. My friendships have, and always will be, extremely important to me. I love my friends dearly. I'm very blessed.

There will always be things to be thankful for, and this list certainly doesn't cover everything. Happy Thanksgiving.

Nanowrimo Attempt #3, Day 3 of Thanksgiving/Fall Break

This is the third year I've attempted Nanowrimo. I've never broken 4500 words. It's about a week and a half or so left 'til the end of November, and I only have 1845 words as of this moment. The goal is to have 50,000.

I think I knew by November 3, two days into working on my novel, that there was no way I'd finish before the end of November. What with major projects and quizzes to prepare for, and an essay for nonfiction, another for the same class to revise, and a literary analysis for my French lit class--in French--to write, I knew I'd be hard-pressed to get it done. There wouldn't be a lot of time to work with.

I'm not upset about it; well, maybe a little sad that I would have to wait yet another year until I had a little more time during the month of November to complete it. But that's reality.

I'm hoping to find a little time to work on it this week of break. Drawing stuff (something I've struggled a lot with this semester) will have to come first. I expect that I'll only have the chance to get about 2000 more words written before the end of the month. Whatever I don't finish, I will get done before the start of next semester.

I know people have written about Nanowrimo many times before, so excuse my possibly cliched ramblings for a moment. Writing a novel in 30 days is difficult, let alone writing one at all. There's so much planning and commitment that goes along with it. But I'm glad the challenge is there, because it's much easier to make excuses than to motivate yourself with the daunting challenge of 50,000 words is ahead of you. It's a boost to creativity, and I really appreciate what it does, and can do.

Anyway, I've been home since Saturday. So far I have:

• Watched all but two episodes of American Horror Story right before bedtime, which is a really terrible idea on my part because it scares the bejeebers outta me. I've had really messed up dreams for the last two nights. (I don't do well with horror, period. And yet I subject myself to what people are calling the scariest show on TV.)
• Started on my homework and my laundry. 
• Proceeded to sleep in past 11am every day since Saturday (which is not good, since I really need to keep up with a normal sleep schedule.)
• Talked with Dad about Snape and other various book-to-movie topics while watching DH Part 2.
• Watched the amazing extras on the second disc of Part 2. As soon as finals are over, I think I'm probably going to watch the conversation with J.K. Rowling and Daniel Radcliffe over and over again until I have it memorized. It's so intriguing...
• Went to see Breaking Dawn with my mom, who told me she was glad she didn't fall asleep during the movie. 
• Caught up on New Girl, which is a hilarious show. I can't stop giggling while watching an episode. 
• Watched Casper with my parents. 
• Went about my business, walking around the house with my cat Naomi at my heels. She follows me everywhere, it seems. Not that I'm complaining. I missed her dearly.