Dear Bloggie,
I've been so supremely lazy these days. I've been using excuses like school and play practice to get off from doing things. You know where that got me? An F in Math and Spanish for the third quarter and no writing or blogging done. But I'm over that. Now the work must start. I got a C on my Math test the other day (which is a great improvement when you think of how much time and effort I put in to it, staying for extra help just so I could understand and not fail), Friday the 29th I'm starting with the big end of the school year musical (I'm just deck crew this time instead of assistant stage manager but I am still excited), I've started working on The Curse of the Good Girl once again, I'm trying to get back into the reading spirit, I'm trying to help out with this charity called Locks of Love (I've donated hair to it in the past and my school wants to host an event so I've signed up to be part of the committee -- though it might not work out because right now I'm the only person who has signed up to be apart of the committee), and I have a goal to make 300 paper cranes. The last one is because my school wants to make 1000 paper cranes (there is a whole legend and true sad true story behind it, here's a link because I don't feel like explaining and I sorta want to keep this post short) and so I've taken it upon myself to make 300 during my Spring Break (I've only made 125 by now, but plan to make 25 more today and again 50 tomorrow and Saturday and Sunday).
So this is my little update in life. Hope everyone is having a great Spring Break -- well, that is if you are on Spring Break. I know not everybody is because some of my friends had it in March instead -- during the time I was doing the play, I must add, so I didn't get to see them then either. For those who are on break, can you believe it's almost over! School starts on Monday. *sigh* I wish my school gave to weeks like Cat's school does. Though her Spring Break was in March. Whatever.
~XOXO,
Ariana
P.S. I can't wait for May 25th! I'm going to see Panic! At the Disco!!! (The three explication points I put after their name are not normally there, just the one after "Panic". The other three are because I'm excited. I know, I'm acting like you dear readers are idiots. Sorry, I ramble.) In had mentioned them in past posts because I sooooo loved their first CD. I still love their first CD more, but I like their third a lot too. Lets not even talk about their second.
P.P.S I'm in love with this band (Coma Cinema) and this band (Sleeping At Last) right now. Get their music. Now. For Coma Cinema it's free because the singer is very Indie and isn't sighed to any record label (though he should be because of how great I think he is). The second, well I don't know why the CD is up for free on this site. They have their music up on iTunes for $9.99 for the same CD and for their other CD's, but maybe because they aren't that well known they decided to put some of their music up for free in hops that people will be interested enough to buy the rest of it. It worked. I love the CD so much (except for "Clockwork" which does nothing for me even though the word clockwork is my favorite word ever -- for obvious Steampunky reasons, as well as how pretty I think it looks) and definitely plan on buying more of their music once I have more iTunes money.
P.P.P.S. Have I ever mentioned how awesome I think you, my dear readers, are. Though I would appreciate if you commented more. Or at least clicked on those thought box thingies at the end of my posts. Just saying. :)
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
The Writing Gods Have Found Favour In Me
Dear Bloggie,
As you can tell by the title of this post, I have been getting back into the writing mojo. I don't want to jinx myself since I'm only on chapter three, but I really hope this all works out. I love writing, but recently the only writing I have been doing is for essays and this blog. Oh, and a bout a billion and one poems that I have written since I've become a creative writing major. Gawd, I have written so many poems that I am all poemed out! I swear, soon I'm going to be writing about my Polar Springs water bottle. That seems to be the only thing I haven't written a poem about. Well, not really, but you get the point.
So your probably wondering what story I'm working on. Because I'm only on chapter three (almost 6,000 words in) I'm not going to give it it's own tab yet (you may have noticed that I took down the C.O.A.O.P. tab and just placed the story under Current/Future Projects), but it is under the projects tab. It's called The Curse of the Good Girl and you may remember that I first mentioned it back in September. At the time, I hadn't really written much, just the first draft of the first chapter. Nothing was really rolling with that idea past that point, so I put it aside. Eventually, my schedule became a bit over whelming so I basically put writing aside except for school work and this blog.
I had written the beginning of chapter two and was dabbling in about a hundred different projects, when last week or so I started back up with this. I finished chapter two and am almost down with chapter three. Plus (!), I have a good idea what the storyline is here. Things are going smoothly. For now. I want to finish chapter three this week and then try to do a chapter a week. I don't know yet how many chapter there will be, but it's probably over 20. So, with that in mind, if all goes smoothly and I can figure out the plot line and outline it all out and ect., I should be done before summer. Then, if that really does happen, then I can edit during the June and the beginning of July, and have it up on inkpop and wattpad (a writing site my friend Sierra introduced me to) by hopefully the second or third week of July. I have the first two chapters up on inkpop now, but I'm not putting anymore up until I'm done.
I learned a very valuable lesson with C.O.A.O.P: Once you put it on inkpop, you have almost NO time to write. You're constantly reading other people's work so they can read yours, that you barely have time to do anything else! That's basically why I stopped writing it. I only really had time to write during the summer, but I was always reading. Once school started, I had almost zero time so writing was put on hold completely -- so was reading (inkpop and published books). But I've found time now and am going for it. Hopefully. Good night.
~ Ariana
P.S. This is the cover I've made. Actully, I've made many, but this is my favorite and the one I'm going to use.
As you can tell by the title of this post, I have been getting back into the writing mojo. I don't want to jinx myself since I'm only on chapter three, but I really hope this all works out. I love writing, but recently the only writing I have been doing is for essays and this blog. Oh, and a bout a billion and one poems that I have written since I've become a creative writing major. Gawd, I have written so many poems that I am all poemed out! I swear, soon I'm going to be writing about my Polar Springs water bottle. That seems to be the only thing I haven't written a poem about. Well, not really, but you get the point.
So your probably wondering what story I'm working on. Because I'm only on chapter three (almost 6,000 words in) I'm not going to give it it's own tab yet (you may have noticed that I took down the C.O.A.O.P. tab and just placed the story under Current/Future Projects), but it is under the projects tab. It's called The Curse of the Good Girl and you may remember that I first mentioned it back in September. At the time, I hadn't really written much, just the first draft of the first chapter. Nothing was really rolling with that idea past that point, so I put it aside. Eventually, my schedule became a bit over whelming so I basically put writing aside except for school work and this blog.
I had written the beginning of chapter two and was dabbling in about a hundred different projects, when last week or so I started back up with this. I finished chapter two and am almost down with chapter three. Plus (!), I have a good idea what the storyline is here. Things are going smoothly. For now. I want to finish chapter three this week and then try to do a chapter a week. I don't know yet how many chapter there will be, but it's probably over 20. So, with that in mind, if all goes smoothly and I can figure out the plot line and outline it all out and ect., I should be done before summer. Then, if that really does happen, then I can edit during the June and the beginning of July, and have it up on inkpop and wattpad (a writing site my friend Sierra introduced me to) by hopefully the second or third week of July. I have the first two chapters up on inkpop now, but I'm not putting anymore up until I'm done.
I learned a very valuable lesson with C.O.A.O.P: Once you put it on inkpop, you have almost NO time to write. You're constantly reading other people's work so they can read yours, that you barely have time to do anything else! That's basically why I stopped writing it. I only really had time to write during the summer, but I was always reading. Once school started, I had almost zero time so writing was put on hold completely -- so was reading (inkpop and published books). But I've found time now and am going for it. Hopefully. Good night.
~ Ariana
P.S. This is the cover I've made. Actully, I've made many, but this is my favorite and the one I'm going to use.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Identity: Who Are You?
Dear Bloggie,
It’s 12:51 a.m. and I have just finished up my response to some questions my English teacher gave us as homework. I'm a procrastinator, so of course I waited until tonight to do it. The questions were:
What is identity? In what different ways do individuals, groups, and cultures identify themselves? Explain. What is your identity?
This is how I answered:
Identity is the way an individual or a group defines themselves. Some ways they do so are in the way they look, act, and speak. The choices each person makes sometimes speak louder then their appearances. Some common ways people use to define themselves are by the way they dress, what grades they have, or what their social, educational, or financial status is.
I identify myself as a brunette female with curly hair and brown eyes, which is visible from the outside. I tend to be shy around new people, but can be completely out there and crazy with my friends and close family. I have always identified more with my mother’s side of the family than my father’s because of the lack of a relationship I have with him. Still, even though my mother is both Brazilian and Portuguese, I have always seen myself as more Portuguese. My Brazilian relatives are for the most part still in Brazil, while my Portuguese relatives are the ones I see regularly for holidays, birthdays, and other celebrations.
I see myself as sarcastic, but I try never to be hurtful. My temper if neutral for the most part, but when I get upset I’m one step away from having smoke coming out of my ears. I do not identify myself as part of any particular group, but instead see myself as a mixture of many. I have a clashing personality and have a hard time making up my mind on many things. But, I am stubborn about the things I feel strongly for and can not be swayed.
I wasn’t going to make a post out of this, but then I thought about something. Since recently discovery I actually have readers, I want to know more about you. So, you don’t have to, but I ask that you leave a comment on how you identify yourself. You don’t have to put ant real names into it or anything like that, I just basically state what makes you you. Hope to hear from you.
~Libby
Friday, July 16, 2010
Ramblings Of A Mad (As In Crazy) Teenage
Hi Bloggie,
So I'm basically blogging from camp today. Okay, there is no I basically. Right now I'm sitting in the computer lab, trying to make a post out of something so insignificant it doesn't even belong as a Facebook status update. Yeah, not something easy. Trust me. But since I'm beyond the valley of the bored and approaching the graveyard of the dulled to death - I have break from 12 on for the rest of the camp day every Friday (during which I normally swim), but seeing as I'm recovering from an ear infection (that's what that ear ache turned to be) I can't swim this week - I might as well ramble on my blog. That is what blogs are basically for. Rambling that is.
Only two people at most read this so it's not like I'm really wasting someone's time. Though I am sorry for those two people. But on the other hand, when have I ever had anything really interesting to say? Never. So you should be used to it.
You know what I'm going to save you the torture and stop rambling now. Maybe I'll read. Nah, the book I'm reading right now isn't catching my attention like others have this summer. I've read 15 books this summer. Two of those I was technically read while I was still in school, but in my mind graduation week doesn't count. All you do is talk, remember, try on clothes, try not to cry, and practice a skill you've had mastered (for the most part, unless you're like me and have no balance) for almost thirteen or fourteen years - walking.
Since graduation life has only shifted a bit. I'm still driven to write, but now I actually have the time to. That basically means that my time for excuses has ended. I'm going to a school where writing is going to be my major. With the exception of Cat, I was one of the top writers in my class. I even got voted so in the year book - though I think Cat should have won instead, seeing as she got the award in English or/and Literature from our English/Lit teacher, Mr. Marino, but whatever. I also got voted most talkative, but that is no surprise. I've had that in the bag since third, fourth, fifth grade. I'm sure the kids at camp would never believe that, I'm so quiet here it's sad. Now back to the point.
The point is that I was so proud of myself for being up there in writing. I want to be the top at it, reach goals my competition can never dream of reaching. Which is wrong, I know. but I want to be the best. I've never cared about being the best in anything, except for this. Writing.
I used to be good in Math, but ever since they added the alphabet it...yeah nothing good happened in Math after that. History and I are and will always be frienemies, while on the other hand Geography and I will fight until the end, only one of us coming out victories. Science isn't on any better terms with me than Geo, but astrology and phychology classes in the future will most likely make up for the harsh feelings we have for each other right now. And don't even get me started with Spanish...! The language itself isn't bad, but I've had three bad (two crazy and one so-so) Spanish teachers so I have been turned off the subject forever. I'm hoping that in high school I can convince the principal (his name is Eric Bernstein, strange that I remember that. Well I think it's Bernstein, but I don't know for sure. I'm sure about the Eric part.) to add French or Latin (maybe both) to the language choices.
For a post that I didn't even know what to write, I wrote and awful lot. Sometimes I surprise myself. It's like a quote I like:
"I am so clever sometimes I don't even understand a single word of what I'm saying."
-Oscar Wilde
~Libby :)
So I'm basically blogging from camp today. Okay, there is no I basically. Right now I'm sitting in the computer lab, trying to make a post out of something so insignificant it doesn't even belong as a Facebook status update. Yeah, not something easy. Trust me. But since I'm beyond the valley of the bored and approaching the graveyard of the dulled to death - I have break from 12 on for the rest of the camp day every Friday (during which I normally swim), but seeing as I'm recovering from an ear infection (that's what that ear ache turned to be) I can't swim this week - I might as well ramble on my blog. That is what blogs are basically for. Rambling that is.
Only two people at most read this so it's not like I'm really wasting someone's time. Though I am sorry for those two people. But on the other hand, when have I ever had anything really interesting to say? Never. So you should be used to it.
You know what I'm going to save you the torture and stop rambling now. Maybe I'll read. Nah, the book I'm reading right now isn't catching my attention like others have this summer. I've read 15 books this summer. Two of those I was technically read while I was still in school, but in my mind graduation week doesn't count. All you do is talk, remember, try on clothes, try not to cry, and practice a skill you've had mastered (for the most part, unless you're like me and have no balance) for almost thirteen or fourteen years - walking.
Since graduation life has only shifted a bit. I'm still driven to write, but now I actually have the time to. That basically means that my time for excuses has ended. I'm going to a school where writing is going to be my major. With the exception of Cat, I was one of the top writers in my class. I even got voted so in the year book - though I think Cat should have won instead, seeing as she got the award in English or/and Literature from our English/Lit teacher, Mr. Marino, but whatever. I also got voted most talkative, but that is no surprise. I've had that in the bag since third, fourth, fifth grade. I'm sure the kids at camp would never believe that, I'm so quiet here it's sad. Now back to the point.
The point is that I was so proud of myself for being up there in writing. I want to be the top at it, reach goals my competition can never dream of reaching. Which is wrong, I know. but I want to be the best. I've never cared about being the best in anything, except for this. Writing.
I used to be good in Math, but ever since they added the alphabet it...yeah nothing good happened in Math after that. History and I are and will always be frienemies, while on the other hand Geography and I will fight until the end, only one of us coming out victories. Science isn't on any better terms with me than Geo, but astrology and phychology classes in the future will most likely make up for the harsh feelings we have for each other right now. And don't even get me started with Spanish...! The language itself isn't bad, but I've had three bad (two crazy and one so-so) Spanish teachers so I have been turned off the subject forever. I'm hoping that in high school I can convince the principal (his name is Eric Bernstein, strange that I remember that. Well I think it's Bernstein, but I don't know for sure. I'm sure about the Eric part.) to add French or Latin (maybe both) to the language choices.
For a post that I didn't even know what to write, I wrote and awful lot. Sometimes I surprise myself. It's like a quote I like:
"I am so clever sometimes I don't even understand a single word of what I'm saying."
-Oscar Wilde
~Libby :)
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Incandescent Chapter 1 & 2
Dear Bloggie,So these are the chapters. Hope you like them. please comment if you read this. I could really use the criticism so don't be nice for the sake of not hurting my feelings or something.
~XOXO,
Carrie
Chapter One
The priest’s voice becomes white noise in the back of my mind as I listen to the steady beating of rain against the stained glass panes.
I’m tired and restless seeing as I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in almost a week. Someone in the crowed lets out a shrill sob. I clench my fits and bite my lip, holding back the anger; they have no right to cry. They didn’t hold her frail hands and pretended everything was going to be ok. They never watched her go from energetic to lifeless within a matter of weeks. They sure as hell weren’t there as she inhaled her last breathe.
If anyone should be crying it is my father, but even he doesn’t deserve it. He wasn’t there either.
I glance over at my Dad sitting besides me on the pew. His lifeless gaze is on her coffin as if they were the only two in the room. He doesn’t cry or even pout, but instead his face stays in the same apathetic demeanor he has carried for the last fifteen years of my life. I can feel him shut down; I’m losing him too.
This wasn’t how it was destined to be. Mom wasn’t doomed to contract cancer, especially terminal cancer. She was supposed to watch me grow up, cry when I left for college and on my wedding day, coo over the grandchildren I would give her. She was meant to live.
Why didn’t she try? Why did she give up so easily? Why her? Why, why, why?
But I already know the answers to half those questions. It was too late. The cancer had already progressed past the point of no return. She didn’t believe the experimental treatments would work. She said they would only make things worst.
I focus on playing with my thumbs, anything to make me forget why I’m here. Suddenly a tear drips onto my hand. I hadn’t even realized I was crying, but as the hot salty tears slide down my cheeks I can’t seem to stop. I beg myself to be strong, but I can’t find the will. I was strong for her, but now it doesn’t matter. I’m wheezing, unable to catch my breath. My chest is sizzling, it’s just too much.
Before I can react a manicured hand slips through mine, giving it a light squeeze. Crissy looks at me, her eyes saying she’s there, she understands. She doesn’t. Her parents are sitting two rows behind us healthy and alive. But still, her hand warms my clammy palm. My sobs turn to dry heaves before ending. I don’t look around at the multitude of eyes that will be filled with pity. I don’t need their pity.
I think of the countless things that are about to change. I’ll never again hear her laugh or see her smile. I will never be awoken to birthday pancakes or be comforted when I have a nightmare. I will never have her shoulder to cry on when the world seems to be against me.
Life without her is worthless.
I push back those dark thoughts. She wouldn’t have wanted it this way. She would have wanted us to move on and be happy. But what do we have to be happy about? My mind becomes a movie; fifteen years worth of film flip through until I hit play on my favorite.
“Mommy! Mommy! Look!”
My screams echo through the empty beach. I run towards my Mom, pointing at the slide and pulling her with me. She laughs and follows. I climb the slide, my bravado suddenly disappearing as I peer down at the ground. I’m stuck at the top. Too scared to climb down, but also too scared to slide forward.
“Mommy…?” I whimper.
“Baby, you can do it!” my Mom encourages.
I gaze onto the ocean. The waves and the shore collide with a deafening roar. I know those waves are ten times more dangerous than the slide I am so intimidated by, but still I feel the longing to swim in them.
My mother’s face takes on a giant grin and I know that my own must look determined. I sit down, grasping the hot metal for dear life. I hesitate. I think about telling my Mom I’m not ready – that I’m only three and have plenty of time to work up the courage. However, at the same time I desire more than anything else to make her proud. I want to show her I’m a big girl that can swim and go on slides.
My mind is made up. I glance towards the ocean one more time before letting go. It goes by quickly. Before I know it I’m being lifted into my Mom’s proud arms. She spins me around as we giggle.
“Mommy, I did it!” I boast.
“Yes you did! You’re my big girl.” Her voice is full of bravo but her eyes are sad.
I nuzzle my head into her neck, inhaling her sweet flowery scent. “Don’t worry Mommy, I’m not that big. I’m not leaving you.” I don’t know why, but those seem to be the words she wants to hear.
“Oh, I love you baby. I’m not leaving you either. I’m right here forever and always, I promise.”
“Forever.” I echo as she carries me towards the house we rented on the beach for the summer.
Crissy squeezes my hand again as the organ begins to play. Mass is over and it’s time for my final goodbye. I’m not ready. She promised she wouldn’t leave me. She said forever and always. Forever isn’t over yet, this isn’t fair. We made a deal, I wouldn’t leave her if she didn’t leave me. Why did she have to go? Why?
I can feel the dry heaves beginning again as I descend the church steps. Two vehicles catch my eye. One is the limo Dad rented for us, the other is a hearse. I shuffle into the limo immediately before I can see anymore.
The burial goes as planned until they lower the casket; Dad begins to cry. I bury my nails into my palms and ignore him, looking at everything and anything besides him or the coffin. Then I see something.
There, on the other edge of the cemetery under a willow tree, stand two creatures. The first has an avocado completion, its pointy chin, large pure onyx eyes, and a dark long mane giving it an alien like appearance. The other has the same dark eyes and tresses, but its skin instead a frostbitten blue. Both creatures were startling and beautiful. Hideous and breathtaking. They are the makings of dreams and nightmares.
Their gaze interlocks with mine for but a moment before I hear Crissy whisper my name. I pear at her and notice she’s motioning towards my hands. I look down, having forgotten that I am holding a Violet, my Mom’s favorite flower. I step forward and throw it onto her casket, whispering my final reluctant goodbye. When I glance towards the willow, the creatures are gone.
Chapter Two
Everything is energy. No time, no space. No skin and bones hold me together, but still I can see, taste, smell, and feel. My senses are heightened. I taste the bitter tang of darkness – crawling under my skin, trying to grasp my core. I feel the scorch of light as if I were the sun itself. The sweet smell of spring hangs in the air, invisible breezes tickling my bare cheeks.
I sense everything. The flow of breathe and spirit mixed with the flutter of skirts as we dance in a ring. I feel at home here, in this limbo between the real world and the spiritual plane. I’m nowhere and everywhere. I can be somebody and nobody. The supreme powers which govern the world course through my veins. Suddenly my vision becomes lucid – just in time for me to be propelled into utter darkness.
“Ever?” calls a familiar voice as I follow it into the shadows. Just as I begin to believe that the darkness is endless the ground disappears sending the world crashing.
“Miss Moore!” This voice is shrill, hanging only an octave lower than a scream unlike the one that had first broken through my dream. I raise my head off the desk, quickly wiping away a drop of drool as the class breaks into a fit of laughter. Crissy shoots me a look of pity, her eyes promising to slide me a piece of gum when Mrs. Hoyt isn’t looking. Whenever I’m stressed or embarrassed I chew gum, I guess you could say it soothes my nerves.
Mrs. Hoyt’s bird like stare continues. Her crimped blonde hair gives her the mad scientist impression while her beady stare is reminiscent of a vulture watching its prey before it swoops in for the kill. She’s holding a yardstick in her hand, her rigged posture forewarning problems for me. It’s not like this is the first time I’ve fallen asleep in her class therefore I understand her anger, but she wasn’t exactly sympathetic the first time either. I guess I kinda respect her for it though. With most of the teachers I’m treated like a fragile china doll. It’s all “Be careful what you say around her, she may cry.” or “Don’t push to hard for missing work, she might snap.” or even “Ohh you’re tired? Maybe you should go home and rest.”
Still, as Mrs. Hoyt stares me down, not caring that I’ve been having a hard time sleeping since the funeral seeing as the house is so quiet. Or that my dad took off the afternoon of the funeral because he couldn’t even take time away from work for his own daughter. No, Mrs. Hoyt doesn’t know those things – not that she would care. All she knows that I, Ever Moore, dared fall asleep in her second period Spanish class and now must be publicly humiliated as punishment. In her eyes it doesn’t matter if I’m “fragile” or that I’m scared and alone. All she cares about is that if I ever by chance go to Spain I will be able to explain to them how to set a table or that I want to eat flan. Who the hell would want to eat flan any way? It’s soft and wet and swishy and it feels like inners.
“Mrs. Hoyt? Sorry to interrupt but we have a new student I would like of you to meet.” Principal O’Brian says, unknowingly saving me from Mrs. Hoyt’s wrath. I can still feel her beady eyes burning into my skull so I keep my head down as he continues. “Class, this is Kellen le Fey. He just moved here from Chicago. I hope you all make him feel welcomed.”
A current of energy runs through the class – the new student has caught their attention. Next to me Crissy shifts in her seat, reaching into her backpack for her emergency lip-gloss. Mrs. Hoyt’s gaze finally leaves me as she skims the classroom for an empty seat, once again her gaze resting where I sit. “Welcome Mr. le Fey, why don’t you take a seat in the back next to Ever? You can borrow her book for now; maybe she’ll finally concentrate on her work instead of daydreaming.”
Upon hearing my name I grudgingly pear at the new kid, my jaw almost hitting the desk as I lose complete control of breathing.
He’s undeniably gorgeous with onyx black waves that fall just shy of his shoulders, his perfectly sculpted face giving him a godlike air. A loose lock cascades before of his shinning dark green eyes, long thick lashes making his every blink appear as if it were the flutter of a butterfly. Clad in jeans and a black shirt and jacket stands a long, lean and dare I say sculpted body. He smiles, his brooding eyes sparking with amusement as someone in the class lets out a wolf whistle.
“Dibs!” Crissy whispers almost too low for me to hear never mind anyone else, but still he looks toward our direction, a cockiness now in his step as he walks down the aisle of desks. I sink into my seat looking the other way, the contradiction of his shy eyes and the smug smile instantly turning me off. Or maybe it’s just because – as Crissy likes to remind me – I have social issues and tend to shy away from the remainder of humanity.
But I swear that as he takes his seat, if I pear from the corner of my eye and concentrate, I can see another side of him, gleams of light hiding beneath his flawless cream complexion. Nonetheless there is an error with my observation; just as fast as I catch the glimpse of this other side, it’s gone.
“Gire a la página de veinte y cinco de actividad de lectura.” Mrs. Hoyt says, class falling back into its usual pattern as Principal O’B leaves, excluding the whispers and stares that are now aimed in my direction that is. Great, Spanish has just become my favorite class.
He can’t believe it.
Finding her was easy, he doesn't even need to search the crowed of faces for hers, she’s like a light. He’s merely the moth to the flame. But at the same time he’s surprised, she’s not what he expected. She’s so human.
When the teacher assigns his seat adjacent to hers she finally peers up, her jaw dropping. He can’t help but smile. He’s been known to spur that reaction in many females, but none of them were quite as obvious about it as she is. The girl beside her calls dibs, a flush rising in her cheeks when she sees he’s watching them.
He takes his seat and is about to introduce himself personally when she looks away, building a mental wall between them. He can feel her hesitance. He’s not use to this. Most females fall over themselves to merely catch a glimpse of him, nevermind sit beside and speak to him. Just peering around the room he can sense everyone else acting as he anticipated. The females are intrigued, even the teacher. On the contrary the males are inhospitable, as suspected. When an alpha male is in the presence of beta males, they normally react with jealousy.
He’s not worried though.
She’ll cooperate in the end; she has to. No matter if she likes it or not she’s one of them. One of us.
He can sense that she’s already changing. It’s not obvious yet, but he can see her glamour wearing out. The Seelie Queen did an excellent job concealing both of their immortal sides. But she’s gone.
He catches her eye, the corner of his lips twisting into a smile. “Kellen le Fey,” he says extending his hand. She stares at it as if it where diseased before whispering “Ever Moore,” pulling down the sleeves of her sweatshirt and sliding to the edge of her seat so she can be as far away from him as possible.
Inside his ego dims ever so slightly, him not understanding what is wrong. He’s never felt like this before; he’s never felt so unsure of himself. He’s Mr. Confidence. Mr. Answers. Mr. Been-Called-Arrogant-By-More-Than-A-Few-Females.
The priest’s voice becomes white noise in the back of my mind as I listen to the steady beating of rain against the stained glass panes.
I’m tired and restless seeing as I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in almost a week. Someone in the crowed lets out a shrill sob. I clench my fits and bite my lip, holding back the anger; they have no right to cry. They didn’t hold her frail hands and pretended everything was going to be ok. They never watched her go from energetic to lifeless within a matter of weeks. They sure as hell weren’t there as she inhaled her last breathe.
If anyone should be crying it is my father, but even he doesn’t deserve it. He wasn’t there either.
I glance over at my Dad sitting besides me on the pew. His lifeless gaze is on her coffin as if they were the only two in the room. He doesn’t cry or even pout, but instead his face stays in the same apathetic demeanor he has carried for the last fifteen years of my life. I can feel him shut down; I’m losing him too.
This wasn’t how it was destined to be. Mom wasn’t doomed to contract cancer, especially terminal cancer. She was supposed to watch me grow up, cry when I left for college and on my wedding day, coo over the grandchildren I would give her. She was meant to live.
Why didn’t she try? Why did she give up so easily? Why her? Why, why, why?
But I already know the answers to half those questions. It was too late. The cancer had already progressed past the point of no return. She didn’t believe the experimental treatments would work. She said they would only make things worst.
I focus on playing with my thumbs, anything to make me forget why I’m here. Suddenly a tear drips onto my hand. I hadn’t even realized I was crying, but as the hot salty tears slide down my cheeks I can’t seem to stop. I beg myself to be strong, but I can’t find the will. I was strong for her, but now it doesn’t matter. I’m wheezing, unable to catch my breath. My chest is sizzling, it’s just too much.
Before I can react a manicured hand slips through mine, giving it a light squeeze. Crissy looks at me, her eyes saying she’s there, she understands. She doesn’t. Her parents are sitting two rows behind us healthy and alive. But still, her hand warms my clammy palm. My sobs turn to dry heaves before ending. I don’t look around at the multitude of eyes that will be filled with pity. I don’t need their pity.
I think of the countless things that are about to change. I’ll never again hear her laugh or see her smile. I will never be awoken to birthday pancakes or be comforted when I have a nightmare. I will never have her shoulder to cry on when the world seems to be against me.
Life without her is worthless.
I push back those dark thoughts. She wouldn’t have wanted it this way. She would have wanted us to move on and be happy. But what do we have to be happy about? My mind becomes a movie; fifteen years worth of film flip through until I hit play on my favorite.
“Mommy! Mommy! Look!”
My screams echo through the empty beach. I run towards my Mom, pointing at the slide and pulling her with me. She laughs and follows. I climb the slide, my bravado suddenly disappearing as I peer down at the ground. I’m stuck at the top. Too scared to climb down, but also too scared to slide forward.
“Mommy…?” I whimper.
“Baby, you can do it!” my Mom encourages.
I gaze onto the ocean. The waves and the shore collide with a deafening roar. I know those waves are ten times more dangerous than the slide I am so intimidated by, but still I feel the longing to swim in them.
My mother’s face takes on a giant grin and I know that my own must look determined. I sit down, grasping the hot metal for dear life. I hesitate. I think about telling my Mom I’m not ready – that I’m only three and have plenty of time to work up the courage. However, at the same time I desire more than anything else to make her proud. I want to show her I’m a big girl that can swim and go on slides.
My mind is made up. I glance towards the ocean one more time before letting go. It goes by quickly. Before I know it I’m being lifted into my Mom’s proud arms. She spins me around as we giggle.
“Mommy, I did it!” I boast.
“Yes you did! You’re my big girl.” Her voice is full of bravo but her eyes are sad.
I nuzzle my head into her neck, inhaling her sweet flowery scent. “Don’t worry Mommy, I’m not that big. I’m not leaving you.” I don’t know why, but those seem to be the words she wants to hear.
“Oh, I love you baby. I’m not leaving you either. I’m right here forever and always, I promise.”
“Forever.” I echo as she carries me towards the house we rented on the beach for the summer.
Crissy squeezes my hand again as the organ begins to play. Mass is over and it’s time for my final goodbye. I’m not ready. She promised she wouldn’t leave me. She said forever and always. Forever isn’t over yet, this isn’t fair. We made a deal, I wouldn’t leave her if she didn’t leave me. Why did she have to go? Why?
I can feel the dry heaves beginning again as I descend the church steps. Two vehicles catch my eye. One is the limo Dad rented for us, the other is a hearse. I shuffle into the limo immediately before I can see anymore.
The burial goes as planned until they lower the casket; Dad begins to cry. I bury my nails into my palms and ignore him, looking at everything and anything besides him or the coffin. Then I see something.
There, on the other edge of the cemetery under a willow tree, stand two creatures. The first has an avocado completion, its pointy chin, large pure onyx eyes, and a dark long mane giving it an alien like appearance. The other has the same dark eyes and tresses, but its skin instead a frostbitten blue. Both creatures were startling and beautiful. Hideous and breathtaking. They are the makings of dreams and nightmares.
Their gaze interlocks with mine for but a moment before I hear Crissy whisper my name. I pear at her and notice she’s motioning towards my hands. I look down, having forgotten that I am holding a Violet, my Mom’s favorite flower. I step forward and throw it onto her casket, whispering my final reluctant goodbye. When I glance towards the willow, the creatures are gone.
Chapter Two
Everything is energy. No time, no space. No skin and bones hold me together, but still I can see, taste, smell, and feel. My senses are heightened. I taste the bitter tang of darkness – crawling under my skin, trying to grasp my core. I feel the scorch of light as if I were the sun itself. The sweet smell of spring hangs in the air, invisible breezes tickling my bare cheeks.
I sense everything. The flow of breathe and spirit mixed with the flutter of skirts as we dance in a ring. I feel at home here, in this limbo between the real world and the spiritual plane. I’m nowhere and everywhere. I can be somebody and nobody. The supreme powers which govern the world course through my veins. Suddenly my vision becomes lucid – just in time for me to be propelled into utter darkness.
“Ever?” calls a familiar voice as I follow it into the shadows. Just as I begin to believe that the darkness is endless the ground disappears sending the world crashing.
“Miss Moore!” This voice is shrill, hanging only an octave lower than a scream unlike the one that had first broken through my dream. I raise my head off the desk, quickly wiping away a drop of drool as the class breaks into a fit of laughter. Crissy shoots me a look of pity, her eyes promising to slide me a piece of gum when Mrs. Hoyt isn’t looking. Whenever I’m stressed or embarrassed I chew gum, I guess you could say it soothes my nerves.
Mrs. Hoyt’s bird like stare continues. Her crimped blonde hair gives her the mad scientist impression while her beady stare is reminiscent of a vulture watching its prey before it swoops in for the kill. She’s holding a yardstick in her hand, her rigged posture forewarning problems for me. It’s not like this is the first time I’ve fallen asleep in her class therefore I understand her anger, but she wasn’t exactly sympathetic the first time either. I guess I kinda respect her for it though. With most of the teachers I’m treated like a fragile china doll. It’s all “Be careful what you say around her, she may cry.” or “Don’t push to hard for missing work, she might snap.” or even “Ohh you’re tired? Maybe you should go home and rest.”
Still, as Mrs. Hoyt stares me down, not caring that I’ve been having a hard time sleeping since the funeral seeing as the house is so quiet. Or that my dad took off the afternoon of the funeral because he couldn’t even take time away from work for his own daughter. No, Mrs. Hoyt doesn’t know those things – not that she would care. All she knows that I, Ever Moore, dared fall asleep in her second period Spanish class and now must be publicly humiliated as punishment. In her eyes it doesn’t matter if I’m “fragile” or that I’m scared and alone. All she cares about is that if I ever by chance go to Spain I will be able to explain to them how to set a table or that I want to eat flan. Who the hell would want to eat flan any way? It’s soft and wet and swishy and it feels like inners.
“Mrs. Hoyt? Sorry to interrupt but we have a new student I would like of you to meet.” Principal O’Brian says, unknowingly saving me from Mrs. Hoyt’s wrath. I can still feel her beady eyes burning into my skull so I keep my head down as he continues. “Class, this is Kellen le Fey. He just moved here from Chicago. I hope you all make him feel welcomed.”
A current of energy runs through the class – the new student has caught their attention. Next to me Crissy shifts in her seat, reaching into her backpack for her emergency lip-gloss. Mrs. Hoyt’s gaze finally leaves me as she skims the classroom for an empty seat, once again her gaze resting where I sit. “Welcome Mr. le Fey, why don’t you take a seat in the back next to Ever? You can borrow her book for now; maybe she’ll finally concentrate on her work instead of daydreaming.”
Upon hearing my name I grudgingly pear at the new kid, my jaw almost hitting the desk as I lose complete control of breathing.
He’s undeniably gorgeous with onyx black waves that fall just shy of his shoulders, his perfectly sculpted face giving him a godlike air. A loose lock cascades before of his shinning dark green eyes, long thick lashes making his every blink appear as if it were the flutter of a butterfly. Clad in jeans and a black shirt and jacket stands a long, lean and dare I say sculpted body. He smiles, his brooding eyes sparking with amusement as someone in the class lets out a wolf whistle.
“Dibs!” Crissy whispers almost too low for me to hear never mind anyone else, but still he looks toward our direction, a cockiness now in his step as he walks down the aisle of desks. I sink into my seat looking the other way, the contradiction of his shy eyes and the smug smile instantly turning me off. Or maybe it’s just because – as Crissy likes to remind me – I have social issues and tend to shy away from the remainder of humanity.
But I swear that as he takes his seat, if I pear from the corner of my eye and concentrate, I can see another side of him, gleams of light hiding beneath his flawless cream complexion. Nonetheless there is an error with my observation; just as fast as I catch the glimpse of this other side, it’s gone.
“Gire a la página de veinte y cinco de actividad de lectura.” Mrs. Hoyt says, class falling back into its usual pattern as Principal O’B leaves, excluding the whispers and stares that are now aimed in my direction that is. Great, Spanish has just become my favorite class.
He can’t believe it.
Finding her was easy, he doesn't even need to search the crowed of faces for hers, she’s like a light. He’s merely the moth to the flame. But at the same time he’s surprised, she’s not what he expected. She’s so human.
When the teacher assigns his seat adjacent to hers she finally peers up, her jaw dropping. He can’t help but smile. He’s been known to spur that reaction in many females, but none of them were quite as obvious about it as she is. The girl beside her calls dibs, a flush rising in her cheeks when she sees he’s watching them.
He takes his seat and is about to introduce himself personally when she looks away, building a mental wall between them. He can feel her hesitance. He’s not use to this. Most females fall over themselves to merely catch a glimpse of him, nevermind sit beside and speak to him. Just peering around the room he can sense everyone else acting as he anticipated. The females are intrigued, even the teacher. On the contrary the males are inhospitable, as suspected. When an alpha male is in the presence of beta males, they normally react with jealousy.
He’s not worried though.
She’ll cooperate in the end; she has to. No matter if she likes it or not she’s one of them. One of us.
He can sense that she’s already changing. It’s not obvious yet, but he can see her glamour wearing out. The Seelie Queen did an excellent job concealing both of their immortal sides. But she’s gone.
He catches her eye, the corner of his lips twisting into a smile. “Kellen le Fey,” he says extending his hand. She stares at it as if it where diseased before whispering “Ever Moore,” pulling down the sleeves of her sweatshirt and sliding to the edge of her seat so she can be as far away from him as possible.
Inside his ego dims ever so slightly, him not understanding what is wrong. He’s never felt like this before; he’s never felt so unsure of himself. He’s Mr. Confidence. Mr. Answers. Mr. Been-Called-Arrogant-By-More-Than-A-Few-Females.
It doesn’t matter, he tells himself.
Though his ego has been bruised he knows that no matter if she is attracted to him or not, that’s not why he’s here. She is the daughter of Morrighan. In the end she has a destiny to fulfill pass these four cold, concrete walls, not even in this world. A shudder flows through her body as if she can read his thoughts. With that it begins. The hourglass has been turned. As class drones on he can feel her humanity fleeting. The sands are slipping, sooner or later time - and sand - will run out.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Carrie and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
Hi,
So this is only going to be a quick post since I should be doing both my home work and working on my book Incandescent (Ever's story), but I just needed to say a couple of things. First and foremost... Serena and I are friends again. Yeah after a month er finally made up. What happened was that her brother is sick in the hospital so her mother asked my mom to bring her to the dance. As we are getting into the car she taps me on the shoulder and asks if I'm still angry. Well I said no and that led us to talking out what happened. Let's just say by the time we walked into the dance we were laughing.
The second thing I wanted to say is that I am having the worst day ever! I keep falling all over the place. Like earlier I kept bumping into people and tripping, but it wasn't until I was leaving school and fell and scraped my knee that it was really bad. So right now my knee really hurts! Ooch, Ouch! Well, have to get back to homework and writing so ta-ta for now.
~XOXO,
Carrie
P.S. I had my placement exams on Saturday, and though I did horribly in math, I met some kids and talked. They seemed nice and a lot like the people I know right now so I'm not worried so much for September anymore!
So this is only going to be a quick post since I should be doing both my home work and working on my book Incandescent (Ever's story), but I just needed to say a couple of things. First and foremost... Serena and I are friends again. Yeah after a month er finally made up. What happened was that her brother is sick in the hospital so her mother asked my mom to bring her to the dance. As we are getting into the car she taps me on the shoulder and asks if I'm still angry. Well I said no and that led us to talking out what happened. Let's just say by the time we walked into the dance we were laughing.
The second thing I wanted to say is that I am having the worst day ever! I keep falling all over the place. Like earlier I kept bumping into people and tripping, but it wasn't until I was leaving school and fell and scraped my knee that it was really bad. So right now my knee really hurts! Ooch, Ouch! Well, have to get back to homework and writing so ta-ta for now.
~XOXO,
Carrie
P.S. I had my placement exams on Saturday, and though I did horribly in math, I met some kids and talked. They seemed nice and a lot like the people I know right now so I'm not worried so much for September anymore!
Friday, April 23, 2010
Editing Sucks
Greetings,
So I have written in a couple days. Well, more than a couple. Four days to be exact. Don't know why I wrote that, just felt like it I guess. Yeah, so lets get back on track.
So I have written in a couple days. Well, more than a couple. Four days to be exact. Don't know why I wrote that, just felt like it I guess. Yeah, so lets get back on track.
So yesterday I experienced the writers lifestyle. By that I mean I wrote until 9am. Not so much wrote as edited, but that's not the point. The point is that I put all priorities aside (a.k.a sleep) and concentrated on writing. I gave my godmother, Claudia, my book about a month ago, and she has been slowly editing and reading it. By now all I've gotten back is the prologue and part of the first chapter. Yeah, my aunt is slow, but now that she finally found a job after being unemployed for a year, she doesn't have much time.
I wasn't really sure what the the point of this is, but I think i found it. Editing sucks. Really it's the worst. I pity all editors. Not enough that i don't want the them to take a chance on me. They must really really love their jobs to stick to it, because I never could. I can barley stand editing my own work, never mind other peoples. Well that's not totally true. I love reading over my friends work, I just don't like reading over other people's work. People I don't know. Like the people on inkpop.com. I only do it because they in turn will read mine.
So yeah, that basically it. I just wanted to spread my editing pain. It took me hours just to edit my prologue! You know what? (Of course you don't!) I'm going to post my prologue up. Why not? That and I'm going to post a small part of two future novels.
Monday, April 19, 2010
World War III: Lulu Cohn vs. Me
Dear Bloggie Readers,
So I'm utterly bored. Today was my first day of spring break, and you know what exciting things I did today! If you guessed traveling to California, then you're WRONG! What do I hear from the person sitting in the back of my imaginary audience? You said nothing? Well guess what? DING, DING, DING! You're right! But you win nothing.
Okay, on slightly saner news (and slightly is already pushing it) there are voices in my head. Not really voices, but more irking people. Wait! Before you call the men with the big needles and the white jacket for me, let me explain. You all know I wrote a book. Well it is called Becoming. Here's the summery:
Lulu Cohn never thought her dreams would come true – too bad they turned out to be a nightmare.
Lunetta Cohn, Lulu to most, lived a simple, middleclass life in Salem, Massachusetts for sixteen years until the night she had her first vision, one of her family’s death. It has now been a long and bizarre year since she awoke to find her dream had come true. Lulu, a sarcastic, clever, and strong willed about to be seventeen year old girl, has now discovered that a grandmother who she believed to be dead is still alive and living in a small Connecticut town. But just as she adjusts to her new life, one filled with friends and a potential love, deep buried family secrets start to unravel, dragging Lulu and the people she cares most about into a dark and mysterious world of magic and sorcery.
Becoming is the first in the The Immortals of the Night series which follows Lulu and her friends as they discover themselves and what they have become. Filled with romance, humor and friendship, they will have to wage an age old battle, stop history from repeating itself, and once and for all banish evil.
Yeah, it does sound interesting doesn't it? Yeah, that's the problem. I love the story, but I'm fourteen and how many agents and publishers would take a chance on a fourteen year old to write a eight book series? Count of hands anybody? Let's see...thats....zero hands. Yeah, that's what I thought.
So instead I told myself to write another book. One that was a stand alone or part of a small series. Well in theory that sounds all good and dandy, except Lulu won't leave me the hell alone. Every time I write, I start off all "I can do this!" then all of a sudden I stop. It's like I have writers block, even when I don't. I know the reason though; it's because my heart isn't in it. I put all my heart into Lulu. I wanted to write that book more than anything, but I got discouraged. Now I try to write other stuff and my heart just isn't in it. Truthfully I don't want to continue writing the other stories, I want to work on book number two of the Lulu series, Secrets. Here's it' summery:
Before she can change the future, she will have to discover the truth about the past.
Lulu Cohn is an average teenage girl – well she was until her parents died, she found out she’s a witch, and she fell in love with Jason Griffin, a sarcastic and charming witch hunter who dumped her after she almost got killed. Yeah, Lulu’s life is just peachy these days. But dark forces are lurking around the small town of Westerfeld, Connecticut and it’s up to Lulu to save the day. With the help of Stella Kennedy, the former Queen Bee who is too busy planning her revenge on her former clique to be bothered learning any spells, Soleil Rouge, who gets major headaches when she hangs around too many people because of her psychic abilities, and Ian Sinclair, who keeps hinting that he wants to cross the line of friendship when Lulu can’t stop thinking about Jason, Lulu will have dive deep into family secrets before it’s too late.
You see? It sounds interesting. But I'm scared. Stupid fear!!! Fear sucks. It ruins things.
~XOXO
Carrie
So I'm utterly bored. Today was my first day of spring break, and you know what exciting things I did today! If you guessed traveling to California, then you're WRONG! What do I hear from the person sitting in the back of my imaginary audience? You said nothing? Well guess what? DING, DING, DING! You're right! But you win nothing.
Okay, on slightly saner news (and slightly is already pushing it) there are voices in my head. Not really voices, but more irking people. Wait! Before you call the men with the big needles and the white jacket for me, let me explain. You all know I wrote a book. Well it is called Becoming. Here's the summery:
Lulu Cohn never thought her dreams would come true – too bad they turned out to be a nightmare.
Lunetta Cohn, Lulu to most, lived a simple, middleclass life in Salem, Massachusetts for sixteen years until the night she had her first vision, one of her family’s death. It has now been a long and bizarre year since she awoke to find her dream had come true. Lulu, a sarcastic, clever, and strong willed about to be seventeen year old girl, has now discovered that a grandmother who she believed to be dead is still alive and living in a small Connecticut town. But just as she adjusts to her new life, one filled with friends and a potential love, deep buried family secrets start to unravel, dragging Lulu and the people she cares most about into a dark and mysterious world of magic and sorcery.
Becoming is the first in the The Immortals of the Night series which follows Lulu and her friends as they discover themselves and what they have become. Filled with romance, humor and friendship, they will have to wage an age old battle, stop history from repeating itself, and once and for all banish evil.
Yeah, it does sound interesting doesn't it? Yeah, that's the problem. I love the story, but I'm fourteen and how many agents and publishers would take a chance on a fourteen year old to write a eight book series? Count of hands anybody? Let's see...thats....zero hands. Yeah, that's what I thought.
So instead I told myself to write another book. One that was a stand alone or part of a small series. Well in theory that sounds all good and dandy, except Lulu won't leave me the hell alone. Every time I write, I start off all "I can do this!" then all of a sudden I stop. It's like I have writers block, even when I don't. I know the reason though; it's because my heart isn't in it. I put all my heart into Lulu. I wanted to write that book more than anything, but I got discouraged. Now I try to write other stuff and my heart just isn't in it. Truthfully I don't want to continue writing the other stories, I want to work on book number two of the Lulu series, Secrets. Here's it' summery:
Before she can change the future, she will have to discover the truth about the past.
Lulu Cohn is an average teenage girl – well she was until her parents died, she found out she’s a witch, and she fell in love with Jason Griffin, a sarcastic and charming witch hunter who dumped her after she almost got killed. Yeah, Lulu’s life is just peachy these days. But dark forces are lurking around the small town of Westerfeld, Connecticut and it’s up to Lulu to save the day. With the help of Stella Kennedy, the former Queen Bee who is too busy planning her revenge on her former clique to be bothered learning any spells, Soleil Rouge, who gets major headaches when she hangs around too many people because of her psychic abilities, and Ian Sinclair, who keeps hinting that he wants to cross the line of friendship when Lulu can’t stop thinking about Jason, Lulu will have dive deep into family secrets before it’s too late.
You see? It sounds interesting. But I'm scared. Stupid fear!!! Fear sucks. It ruins things.
~XOXO
Carrie
Monday, April 12, 2010
Afterlife
So I wrote this short story for a supernatural writing contest on one of my favorite sites inpop.com. I decided to also post it in my blog just for fun. Hope you like it.
Can you distinguish the dead from the living? Richelle Costa can’t.
All that crossed my foggy mind as I woke up was that my parents were going to kill me. My head was slumped against the steering wheel, glass shards from the windshield were scattered around my face. Surprisingly though my car looked like it belonged on a Hollywood set, I felt perfectly fine. I lifted my head and peered at the tree that my car had collided with, the hood was dented, smoke rising like a camp fire. That was defiantly the last time I swerve for birds who decided to cross the road at night.
I felt around the passenger seat for my purse, only to find that my cell phone had no service. Great, exactly what I needed. Not only had I crashed my new car to spare a birds life, but also I was stranded in the middle of nowhere with no way to get help. I should have stayed at Lissa’s, but no! I wanted to be home tonight since Zeke would be home from college early tomorrow morning for Spring Break. I hadn’t seen him since Christmas, and let me tell you now; the long distance relationship thing was getting quite lonely.
I mean I see Lissa and Poppy with their boyfriends, all cute and cuddly, and what do I get? A boyfriend who attends college four hours away from me and whom I never get to see. But that was going to change. I had just received my acceptance letter from University of New Hampshire. Zeke would be so excited! After graduation I would be saying “Goodbye Connecticut, hello New Hampshire!”
I glanced around the forest. I had two choices, either stay in the car and wait until morning, hoping that my parents would notice that I was gone or that Lissa would find it weird that I never called to say I got home safely, or two try to find some help right now before the cold New England weather turned me into an icicle. I was always one for new experiences, so grabbing my purse I pushed the car door open and trudged down the empty road. I was nearly in complete darkness; the light from the full moon provided me with enough luminosity not to trip over my own feet.
I remembered passing by a diner just a couple miles up the road on my way to Lissa’s grandmother’s house. I wasn’t really familiar with this area; I’ve never really been out around here. Lissa wouldn’t even be living out in the middle of nowhere if her mom hadn’t decided to redecorate that house form top to bottom, leaving the family temporarily homeless. But she was my best friend, and if I didn’t visit her in social exile, what type of person would I be?
The sign read Goldberg’s Diner, though its neon glow was turned off. If it wasn’t for the lights being on inside, most people would have assumed it was closed. The door chimed as I walked in, an old fashion jukebox playing Mr. Sandman by The Chordettes, one of my grandparents’ favorits songs. Ok I’ll admit it, I love the song too.
The place was relatively empty, but then not many people went to diners around 1:00am. Well, most normal and sober people don’t. I slid into the first booth I saw, waiting for a sign of life. Finally I noticed that indeed there was another person nearby. An old lady around her late 80’s was sitting in the last booth in my row. She wore a long flowing house dress with pink rose pattern. Her hair was thinning and worn as a white puffball plopped onto of her head. She reminded me of great-grandma Margaret, except shorter, and sadly even with that rose frock she had better taste in clothes.
The old lady got up and walked toward me, using a cane to keep herself barely stable. I looked up and smiled as if I was trying to reassure her that I wasn’t a freak.
“Oh dear, you look lost.” she said barley over a whisper.
“Not really lost, more stranded. I crashed my car a couple miles down the road. I was wondering if I could use someone’s phone, put this place seems more abandoned than where I crashed. Where are the owners?”
“Oh, Jane just stepped out, she’ll be back soon. I don’t believe I properly introduced myself, I’m Gretel Fisher.”
“Richelle Costa.” I said shaking her cold and wrinkled hand. I could feel her veins and bones easily. My heart went out to her. She was so feeble and delicate; I was scared I might wound her.
She started telling about her family. She had a daughter named Fiona. She obviously loved Fiona a great deal, her eyes lit up at the sheer mention of her name. Fiona had a daughter of her own named Jane. Jane was the owner of the diner. Her inheritances after Fiona’s husband, her father, passed away. The last person but defiantly not the least was Jane’s son Stephen. I could see the pride in Gretel’s eyes when she mentioned her great-grandson. He was two and had been diagnosed with autism. Jane’s husband couldn’t take it so they broke up soon after Stephen’s birth. I could see that Gretel had great respect for Jane, raising Stephen as a single mom while taking on the family business almost completely by herself.
By the time it was my turn to speak I was no longer concerned when Jane was returning, Gretel was easy to talk to and understanding. I told her about my dad who was the typical business suite type on the surface, but underneath that suit and tie he was really an artist at heart. He could paint so brilliantly that you would presume it was a photo. My mother also seemed to be the classic stay at home type, but that was only because, like Gretel, I had an autistic family member. My little brother Danny had autism, something that used to be hard for me when I was younger. He’s twelve now, but my mother decided to home school him. If kids were cruel to me for being his sister in middle school I didn’t even want to imagine how they would treat him.
I had two best friends named Lissa and Poppy; we’ve known each other since our Teletubby days. Then there was the love of my life, Zeke Reed. We met when I was in sixth grade; he defended me when kids teased me about Stephen. He’s a year older so we’ve been skyping, calling, texting, emailing, and even writing letters when we feel like acting romantic during his freshman year before I come join him next year for college.
When I finished talking about Zeke I looked up and saw that Gretel was crying.
“What’s wrong? I’m sorry, did I say something?” I asked, worried.
“No honey, it’s not that. I’m…I’m the one who is sorry. I didn’t want to say anything. You seemed so scared. So lost. I thought it would be easier if we talked a little first, but now I see I might have made it worst, harder for you.” her sobs quickened. I could detect the word “sorry” being used over and over again, but the rest were mumbled.
“Sorry about what?” I began asking, but right before my eyes the impossible happened. She started fading. I jumped out of the booth frightened. The last thing I saw of her was her hand pointing to something behind me. I turned and noticed for the first time that it was morning. The diner was in full swing of Saturday breakfast rush. I spotted a petite woman ringing up some costumers at the cash register, before taking another costumers order. She had to be Jane; she looked exactly like Gretel except about fifty years younger.
My gaze swept around the now packed restaurant – trying to decipher how I didn’t notice the sudden crowding – when a news headline caught my attention on the small TV behind me. TEEN GIRL KILLED IN CRASH.
My stomach flopped, suddenly I didn’t want to be there, I wanted to be back by my car waiting for my parents to come get me and bring me home. I don’t know how I did it, but before I could blink I was magically transported near my car, which was now closed off with yellow crime scene tape. I didn’t understand what was going on until my parents’ car pulled up. My mother ran out crying “My baby! No, no, not my baby!”
My dad froze, holding the car for support as Poppy and Lissa pulled up in Lissa’s car, their eyes swollen and red. They held on to each other as they cried, must like my father holing onto the car. My mother was on the ground and hysterical, Zeke emerging from my parent’s car to help her up. She turned and cried on his shoulder. Zeke’s face was tear stricken like the rest. His eyes blood red, but no more tears could cascade. As if he had already shed every fluid in his body. I could hear his breathing, dry sobs controlling most of it.
I knew I shouldn’t have turned around, from my family and friends reactions I knew what I would find. But still I turned just in time to see the paramedics lift a body into a vehicle with the word “Coroner” on its side. A delicate hand slipped from under the white sheet exposing multicolored nails. I looked down at my own hands and found my manicure matched.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
My Day With Angela Pearson, Georgia Nicholson, & Other Imaginary Friends
Hi guys!,
So I've decided to turn over a new leaf. No more drama. No more friend problems. No more bitches. It's time for me to live life to the fullest. I know it sounds weird and corny, but I'm just so tired of all of this. Of 8th grade. I can't wait for high school. I get to reinvent myself in a completely new environment. I get to totally be me and not have to worry that other people think I've changed. That's who I want to be. Not the person I became over time at my now school.
Now you all know how I love to write, so I decided to tell you some about my the newest novel I'm working on. It's a very flexible maybe series, because it's just fun. I love reading this series called Confessions of Georgia Nicholson By Louise Rennison because it's realistic. I mean I don't have half the boy drama she does (sadly I don't even have one hundredth) but her friends are so relatable. Like her friend Rosie is soooo much like Yoda/Cat. And now I see that Serena is soooo much like Wet Lindsay!
But back to the point. As I read the eleven book series I discovered that I could relate to Georgia in a way that I couldn't with many other characters. That's when I realized I need to write my own relatable tale. So that's how Confessions of an Optimistic Pessimist was invented. It's also in diary style and it follows our protagonist Angela Pearson as she graduates form eighth grade and has her first summer romance. She has five close friends: Catlyn (Cat) Flannery, Lindsea Anquillare, Kimberly (Kim) Pascal, Victeria (Vicie) Phan, and Renee James-Herald. Then they is her family: her mother Janet, her father Jonathan, her eldest brother Philip, and her other brother Nate (short for Jonathan).
I haven't totally figured everything out, but I have a good idea about this book. It will probably turn into a series, but it doesn't have to since it will have a happy-all-loose-ends-tied ending, unlike my last book where you needed to read the second book because you had so many questions, but I'm not working on a second book yet.
I'm excited and happy today, so I guess thats a turn of events. The sun is shinning, I'm writing, then I'm going to do some homework later after lunch. I'm cold though so it's not perfect, but that's New England. Earlier this week I was dying of heat, today I'm cold. :)
~XOXO,
Carrie
