My Life in [Strange] Pictures

I just uploaded my camera for the first time since Cali [that was last summer, guys]. It took awhile, considering that I had hundreds of pictures to sort through, but eventually the were all safely in the computer and I backed them all up onto a DVD [because I'm ridiculous paranoid ever since the epic computer crash we had a few years ago--I lost 50-something good stories!].

So after I flipped through my digital albums, I felt like showing off. All of these are pre-Cali, but you should still enjoy them anyway:


I call this one "Florida: where I wish I lived during the winter months"



No idea.



Me & my kiddles



I just like the lighting in this one. Oddly poetic.



Yes, I keep the blinds closed during the day [so I can write without being stared at]. That's why my room is called the Bat Cave.



Me & my kiddles again



Lulu, our mildly retarded [but usually unconditionally-loving] mutt



Flowers from our crabapple tree [we have a lot of trees here...]

Goodnight :] And happy leap year!

It was a Moment of Weakness

Forgive me, friends, for I have sinned. Turned to the dark side. Sold my soul to you-know-who [and I'm not talking about Voldemort, either].

I got a facebook.

Trust me, it's not what you think! Let me explain! It's a long story. It's not you, it's me. [I could go on like this forever, you know. Especially since I'm really, really exhausted].

Anyway, I did it. I got a facebook page. My only reason was the threat of decapitation from my dear old friend DZ [thanks, buddy, for the wonderful way you've destroyed my life. Hey, hey, just kidding--you know I love you].

Don't worry. I won't enjoy my facebook page in the least. No fun. Just communication. :D Well, maybe I'll have just a little bit of fun...

I know, I'm ridiculous. But life seems to be better off this way.

Oh, and I'm going through severe Eclipse withdrawals. My cousin/godsister [gothsister!] has my copy of the book, and as much as I love the fact that she's reading it, I'm going mildly crazy. I guess I just have to grin and bear it, suck it up, and be a big girl. Simultaneously.

Gahhhh, it's way too late for me. I'm getting all bubbly and giggly [yes, it's possible. I'm not serious all the time] and laughing at my own not-funny jokes. My vocabulary has also committed suicide in a rather violent manner.

That's my cue to go to bed. Goodnight :P

The Pain of Proximity

We drove past your new house today. Your new home, I should say. Not that it's new--or even much of a "home" in my eyes--but to you, it's the world.

Of course, we didn't actually see the house. I wouldn't know where to find it. We were merely within a few miles of wherever that house would be; I do know, after all, the city and approximate area in which you now dwell. Our car seemed to go ever so slowly on the highway while we meandered on through those few torturous miles; I thought I would go mad simply by breathing in the same air I'm sure you've breathed.

It was as if the sheer locality of your presence had produced a foul odor, potent even to my less-than-sensitive nose, nauseating to an infinite degree. Needless to say, it hurt me. Just a little.

But you, naturally, will never know how much pain you've caused. Oh, no, you'll never have any idea, not even a general estimate. We, however, will forever remember. Always. And that tiny piece of my heart--of my memory--that you stole away with you will ache for eternity, until one of two events occur: you come home, or I finally forgive you. I've yet to determine which is more probable.

Enjoy your world while it's still new enough to be considered wholesome and good. While the happiness and satisfaction last.

For your own sake, I hope your common sense returns long before that contentment runs dry. For all our sakes, I hope that wonderful day is soon.

Or even happens at all.

Rent!

How could I have forgotten this yesterday when I was posting? Tonight I'm going to see RENT with the family.

It's probably one of my favorite musicals. Well, no "probably." It is one of my favorites. Wicked is right up there too, along with Lion King and numerous others.

So add something to my schedule--performance with the fam. Tomorrow, too, I also forgot to add that it's my dad's 42nd birthday, so I'll be celebrating that.

Oh, and despite popular belief [and popular desire], I'll have dance class tomorrow, too. Ew. I don't know, dance really isn't my forte. I can dance...sort of...but I don't like having to use technique and all that icky stuff. Give me a loud beat, some flashing lights, a pretty dress, and the rest of our crew--we'll show you how it's done. ;]

2 days until Kalahari! :D I'll post again soon. :]

The View From Here

From today--Monday, February 18 [it just took me four tries to type February lol]--my view looks rather, well, good. This week is my winter break [THANK YOU JESUS] so I don't have to go to that wretched prison until next Monday.

And you can bet your bum I've got some awesome plans. :]

Today, tomorrow, and Wednesday will be regular break days. I won't get up until I want to, and I'll really and truly "get ready for the day" before I leave the house. I'll actually eat a real breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and I'll stay up late with my girls and boys just for the fun of it. It's going to be shaweet.

Then, on Thursday, the five of us girlies are going to the Kalahari water park at Cedar Point. :D !

Kailey, Aphrie, Thena, Maddy, and I will depart from boring old Michigan in the afternoon on Thursday and refuse to return until Friday evening. Check out the waterpark here. The five of us are going to make the Kalahari folks wish they'd never even opened their doors. ;]

I guess, though, that's just how we roll. As Aphrie puts it, "I want a place that will give me something to do at midnight. Hot dresses, shameless flirting..."

Yeah. I'm stoked. :] :]

On Saturday, bright and early in the morning, I leave for Kettering University. I'll be spending Saturday and Sunday there with the SWE [Society of Women Engineers] and again, I'm stoked. This is probably the best break I've ever had. Ever.

If I can, I'll post again soon, but I doubt it. I've got a busy schedule coming up here, and I don't intend to squander a single minute.

To the day, the night, and every wonderful second in between. :]

Blackberries and Burns

So today I got the bright idea to make blueberry muffins from scratch. Shouldn't have been a big problem, seeing as I do quite a bit of baking, but apparently something was amiss. Sanity, perhaps.

I started out with eggs that spoiled on January 25th. Yikes. My grandparents were kind enough to save me from that terror.

Then I ran out of flour when I was only a cup away from being finished. Ugh. Again, I owe my grandparents.

I was also unaware that the berries I took to be blueberries--small and manageable--were actually enormous, unruly blackberries. Sigh. I suppose it tastes sort of that same. Similar, anyway.

Then my batch of mini muffins burned. The jumbo ones and regular-sized ones were okay, but the minis... Ew. Rock muffins.

And now, here I sit, my arm bandaged and painful because I'm the idiot who burns herself on a 400-degree oven rack.

Yeah. Ow. Hurts like [insert inappropriate word(s)]. I've put so much aloe on it that my arm smells like aloe, even though the stuff I've got is allegedly "odor free." Lack of smell is a scent, apparently. Oh, and Neosporin is wonderful, too...

I'm really hoping that this is not an indication of how my winter break is going to go. If I don't make it through the next school-free week, I'll be royally ticked.

"I Thought that Being Strong Meant Never Losing Your Self-Control..."

I thought of you today. Saw someone wearing a sweatshirt just like the one you gave me and it made me think of you. The red one, remember? It was a present, in case you're forgetting.

I don't wear that sweatshirt anymore. Makes me think of all those gatherings we both attended. But you're never there now; it's just me and the others, creating new memories that don't include you.

Found an old email today, one you wrote. From over a year ago. Remember those days? You actually sounded cheerful. Hopeful. Sort of ironic that the happiness of it made me sad.

Your picture sits on my bookshelf, right next to the American Girl doll I haven't played with in years. Once in a great while I'm motivated enough to change what she's wearing, to match the season or my mood, but most of the time I forget. Sometimes I wonder where your doll is, the one who has clothes just like mine. You would have never forgotten to change her clothes.

You were always just a little bit more perfect than I was. Seems kind of silly to resent you for that now. The time I spent being envious of you was foolishly wasted on my part.

It's distressing for me to look at your picture. You're smiling, exactly as you always did, and the trees you stand between are still in their places back home. The trees are still there, even though you left. When I'm too furious to even glance at you, I flip the frame down and force your image to stare at the white paint of the shelf. That's what you get, I think to myself.

Have I thought of you often? Too often. Do I miss you? Of course. But I would never tell you that.

People say it's good to feel, to let go. It's not feeling that I have trouble with. The hard part for me is getting past the hurt and moving on with my life, with all our lives.

As for forgiveness, I don't know what to say. In my words, you're forgiven. In my mind, I'm still too angry to do anything but blame you for all the damage you've caused.

The next time we meet--because there will be a next time--be prepared for my questions. I'm already braced for your answers.

Wednesday, I Just Love to Hate You

Another late night. Another mindless, empty dream. One more, always one more to come...

And yet, I'm strangely relieved that the pattern never changes. I run myself ragged, pay all my dues, and when the exhaustion finally catches up to my head, I fall asleep. The cycle begins only five hours later. Relief can only go so far...

Wednesdays are especially hard. School week fatigue starts catching up, homework begins to pile on, and I'm barely home in the evening to get anything done.

Look at me! It's 10:15 at night, and I'm just finishing up all of my Wednesday "stuff." This is the first time today I've sat down and actually been allowed to relax.

It's pathetic. I'm so sick of the high school routine--as are most of my peers--and I'm ready to move on. I know who I want to keep with me when we go. I know where I want to go and what I want to do. I also know what I'll be glad to let go of.

In this school, this neighborhood, this town, there are just too many memories. The good ones will stick with me when I go, but the bad... Gah, they're like grounded ghosts. Forever haunting this suburban land. I'll be leaving them here.

I've always been beyond my years. Not necessarily in maturity [Ha! That's comical.] but just in aspiration. I want what the adults want. I want to start my life. I want to get out of the mundane world in which I currently reside. My mind is thinking at 25, and I'm 16. Talk about feeling disappointed...

And everyone will say it's "normal" to feel this way as a teenager. Well, it sucks. Forget the sugar coating and say it like it is. Quit trying to make the world out to be nice and fun and fair and pretty, because that's really irritating. Tell the truth: being in high school sucks.

Only one and a half more years [less, actually, but I'm a bit too muddled to try and count weeks backward from the semester mark] and then I'm free. Free to go on to another school in another boring town with more tedious routine.

Ugh. On days like these, I want to grow up and be an author. Live off of whatever change I can find in the couch and sleep on that couch in an apartment somewhere. Somewhere far from normalcy, from the suburbs.

Won't happen, though [insert deep, lengthy sigh]. Surprisingly, I'm too rational for that. Unfortunately.

I probably won't post for a few days. My schedule is ridiculous, as is my schoolwork load. Two more days until winter break...

The Good, The Bad, and The Biased

So Saturday's conference was pretty amazing. It was THE most informative conference I have ever attended, and I left feeling really, really, knowledgeable.

But like most things, it wasn't all bliss. I will attempt to give you a rundown of all that went on, including the pieces in which I'm disappointed. I want to tell you EVERYTHING.

Let's start with the basics. Of all the forty-something people that were invited, I was--by far--the youngest. Only one other kid was anywhere near my age, and he was 18. The next in line were the two or three people in their twenties, followed by everyone over fifty. I was a little bit conspicuous, you might say, as I strolled in typical teen clothes.

Like I said, it wasn't a very crowded place. Probably only forty-five writers in all. A good chunk was there for the genealogy sessions--family histories and such--so I didn't interact with them much.

My first session was about self-publishing, identifying each and every step that must be taken in order to publish a book on your own. The author who was lecturing was AWESOME. She was very specific, going into detail on all the fine points. All the things I don't know.

It was also quite comical when her powerpoint began to malfunction and I was the only person in the room who knew how to fix it [I was, remember, the only one still in high school]. She gave me her book for free because she thought I was a sweet, kind, and caring young girl. Let's not confuse her with the truth, okay? :P But hey--she now knows my name and my email. And I've got her card. Progress!

She also gave us all this really nifty idea for dealing with rejections. Robert Frost was rejected 500 times before one of his poems was accepted; this author wrote the number 500 on her board and subtracted one every single time she got a rejection. I'm SO stealing that.

But I now realize exactly how much money it takes to self-publish. How much money I don't have. Still in high school, guys; any income I receive immediately becomes an outcome. I try to save...

My second class was about writing a book proposal. Like the first session, it was highly informative, and I walked away knowing much, much more than I thought I would.

However:

The instructor was a class-A nasty. Not to everyone, though. Just to me.

She had us do these practice paragraphs, the kind that you would use to start a query letter. I was pretty damn proud of mine, I must say. I was totally in the zone, focused on what I was doing, and the words just flowed right on out of my pen.

But I was sincerely curious as to how it would sound in a query. I didn't know if it was too strong in some areas and weak in others, or if I was altogether off-key. So when she asked for volunteers, I waited until a few other people had gone, and then I raised my hand.

She wouldn't even LOOK at me. She ordered me to reread half of it because I "mumbled" [well, yeah, lady, because I'm absolutely terrified of you because you're a witch] and then didn't give me an ounce of feedback. She just sort of said "Yeah, that works," and went on to another person. She totally snubbed me!

And then, after class, I had a question for her. I wanted to know how to make myself sound more credible on paper, considering that I haven't had the opportunity to earn a degree or any of that fun stuff. I asked if it would be juvenile to include my "accomplishments" in school, like being the editor-in-chief of my JH newspaper and such. I asked if those kind of mundane achievements were relevant in a query.

She took one look at me and said, "You're writing young adult fiction, right? Then it's relevant." She then proceeded to slam--not shut, slam--her laptop shut and blow me off. I was shocked. I stood there for a moment, quite a bit baffled, and then turned tail and left.

My grandfather was there with me, and when I told him what she'd done [while fighting back completely irrational tears, mind you] he looked at me and said, "When you walk into these kinds of things, you immediately get stereotyped. Don't worry about it."

So I shrugged it off. And yet, it still irks me. Talk about age bias!

Yes, I walked out of that conference with a head full of knowledge and an ego much more humble than before. Yes, I left with pamphlets that contained hundreds of names of authors, reference books, websites, and email addresses that will help me get where I want to go.

But the most important realization that came to me is that I am really and truly fighting against the tide. A large portion of the adult world wants to see me fail, to make themselves feel a bit better. They want me to struggle and make mistakes, and they don't want to give me an ounce of help. Because if I mess it all up the way they did, they won't feel so terrible.

Well, guys, I'm sorry, but one nasty lady isn't going to be enough. Blowing off my questions and my inquiries won't stop me. If you won't help me, I'll find someone who can.

Beverly Jenkins, the keynote speaker for Saturday's conference, repeatedly told us all not to give up. To continue to write, despite all of the circumstances that you face. Even if you're locked in your room for three days to get an idea down. Even if you feel like you've lost everything to get to where you are.

So I won't give up. Eat my manuscript, world. :]

I Am Absolutely Terrified.

My hands are trembling. My feet are quite literally "shaking in my boots" [boots, Roos, same thing]. I'm attending a writers' conference today, and I don't know whether to be really excited or scared to death, so I've settled for a combination of both.

It's meant for adults, so I'm definitely going to be out of place. And though my grandfather will be with me, I severly doubt that I'm going to know anyone else enough to carry on a conversation. I'm not much of a talker, much less so with people I don't know. Call it a flaw in my character.

So now, here I sit, wolfing down Reese's peanut butter cup cereal [I felt like spoiling myself today] and wondering what the following hours will hold. When I return at 4, if I'm not with Thena or Aphrie, I will try to remember to post again.

Wish me luck, and perhaps a bit of sanity. :]

Lenten Issues

Like many other Catholics, I participate in Lent. Some years I make promises that really don't have meaning. This year, my dear friend Seph inspired me to do something more.

She and I both gave up meat for Lent. Shocked? You shouldn't be...

But it's been three days and I'm already struggling. Seph confessed that she cheated without even realizing it; avoiding meat takes Herculean effort. Seriously. I'm not really a salad person [I like vegetables, but not that much], so my diet now mainly consists all things not meaty and not lettuce-y. Not much in that category. I still find a way to eat like crazy, though.

It's hilarious when I think back to my swim days, when I could eat six meals a day and still lose ten pounds. Our coach gave us a nutrition pamphlet once that explained in detail how a swimmer should eat SEVEN THOUSAND CALORIES EACH DAY. In case you've been living in a cave for fifty years, that's 5,000 more calories than the average person's intake.

We tried to do that and failed miserably. There's just not enough food in the world to eat 7,000 calories.

We did go to Carrabba's once--they gave us a free meal for being undefeated in our division--and it was almost sad how much bread we ate. As soon as a basket would hit the table, it would be empty, and any girl with slow reflexes was totally screwed. I would wager that we hit the 5,000 calorie mark for that day. Maybe.

So funny. Slightly embarrassing to think back on, but still funny. Ah, good ol' swim days...

Same Old, Same Old

Every day is identical to the one before it. Every week runs the same exact way. Each year passes just like its precedents, never failing to bore me to tears with the endless monotony.

Does it ever change? Eventually, I'm hoping. Some day at 5:23 I won't be getting up for school. I won't jump into Aphrie's car at 6:55. And I won't spend seven hours locked in a building that has no windows.

How depressing. Not a single window. Sure, some of the doors have glass, and we've got a foggy skylight in the commons, but still... Depressing. When I get to school, it's dark; when I leave school, the sun is starting to set.

Last year it was worse. I'd go to school at 5:15 for morning swim practice [UGH] and I wouldn't leave until 6 pm because we had after-school practice [UGH again]. I wouldn't get a single moment of sunlight.

And people wonder why I'm an albino.

Today, fortunately, was a change of pace. We had a snow day [insert juvenile shouts of joy and terrible dancing]. I spent the majority of the day at the local mall with Thena and Aphrie, pretending to have cash in my pocket while trying on clothes I'll probably never buy. I did buy two books--not abnormal for me--so now I finally have something to read. It really sucks to be a fast reader; sooner or later, I run out of material.

Speaking of books, I just finished The Pact by Jodi Picoult. Not my usual read, considering that I've got my head up on a cloud and much prefer fantastical fiction, but it was very, very good. Better than I expected. It truly made me think, something I can appreciate when it comes to literature. If I don't have to use my brain, I don't want to read it.

I've now started Two Little Girls in Blue [another one that's not my normal type], Frankenstein, Blue is for Nightmares, A Countess Below Stairs, The Naming, Pride and Prejudice, and numerous others. I haven't decided which one I actually want to read, but as soon as I've hit the thirty-page mark in each of them, I'll know.

And now, I shall return to my average, boring, ordinary life, chock full of dullness and unoriginality. One more day until I shake things up a bit by attending a writers' convention with my grandfather; I'll let you all know how that goes.

Have a good one.

One Year Later... Wow.

A year ago today, I was dancing across my kitchen tile and screaming in excitement. Exactly three hundred and sixty-five days ago from today, I had finished writing my first novel.

Where do I stand now? Huh. About that...

I'm 87 pages into book 3 [The Heiress] and I'm 82 pages into a completely separate novel [still untitled... I'm waiting to see how the events unfold. Don't want to name it prematurely]. Book 1 is a frightening total of SIX PAGES long, even though I've outlined the plot to bits. It's really hard to write a series backward, because I already know how this book will end. I can't do half as much improvising as I did with book 2, or I'll end up leading to a conclusion that doesn't match my plans. Not that that's an entirely terrible ordeal, but considering that a large chuck of The Hidden touches on the events that should unfold in The Emperor, I'd like my stories to be the same.

It's also very difficult to write two books at once, let alone three. In both The Heiress and my "other book" I have a character named Aidan, except in Heiress it's "Aidin" and in the other it's "Aidan." When it's approaching one in the morning and I'm trying to get the ideas out of my busy head, I have a hard time differentiating between the two Aidans and often I combine the stories.

And then when I reread those portions the next night, I find myself baffled as to how modern technology and terminology wound up in Heiress, considering that it's supposed to take place "long ago." When the hero of Heiress starts talking about the Internet, that's when I start deleting.

So no, there's no new book this year. And I severely doubt that I will meet the goals I set for 2008. Finish a book by the end of summer? HA! That's a funny joke. Haha.

Argh. I'm going to go take my aggression out on my laptop. I only wrote for a half-hour yesterday [hardly enough time] and it seems as though I miss my characters already.

Take care, and if you live in southeastern Michigan, don't go anywhere. Seriously, it's a blizzard. Don't drive. :]

Abbs is out [like a campfire in this weather].

A Smoke-Filled Silence

There was a silence today, so profound and so perfect
I found myself wrapped up in the mechanics of the unadultered air.
Not like poetry, not like song
It was pure and real and exactly as it should have been.
The effort required to be effortless was daunting
And I was afraid to touch what could have been tangible nothingness.
The breath of my peers stopped short in their lungs
Frozen in the terror of shattering such gleamless glass
Reflecting and refracting not a shred of light, it was ideal.
Despair seized my rationality
If it could not be felt, could it leave unnoticed?
I reached out and touched what could not be touched
Stroked what was impossible to stroke
Achieving, with one subtle movement, the impossible.
I grasped at this emptiness wildly, violently
Pleading and begging that it remain my companion.
Silently, it vanished.
I saw nothing, but felt all
Realizing too quickly, too naturally, that it had not been
Nothing.
It had been smoke
Glossing my perspective with its blurry shadows
Shades of sorrows and hues of hindsight.
When lifted, it was most peculiar
I saw nothing, but felt all
And I began to wonder whether or not I'd ever needed the silence
Or if, perhaps, I truly had,
But was now left only with the shocking clarity
And a profound, perfect desire for my silence to return.


--KB, 2008

I Just Want to Wander

It started out as one of those up-too-early, not-enough-time, bad-hair, bad-teeth, bad-everything mornings. None of my clothes seemed to fit, as if I'd become an entirely different person in the past five hours while I slept. I gave up trying to look decent and settled for not looking terrible.

My day then progressed to become a living nightmare: can't breathe right, can't sit right, can't even walk the right way without feeling off-balance and out of key. My own voice irritated me today, my tongue stumbling over basic sentences while my befuddled mind struggled to follow along.

The people who normally brightened my world were suddenly dull and emotionless, their picturesque smiles redesigned into glowering frowns. Those who'd bothered me before now seemed to double their efforts; out of nowhere, the very people I couldn't tolerate--on a good day--had materialized to torment me.

My friends certainly couldn't understand my dismal mood, considering that I can barely comprehend it myself. It's not as if someone has died, or as if my heart's been tragically broken. It's just... Well, it's like I've lost myself completely.

Let me know if you see me wandering around, okay?