Mockingjay and War

Dear Bloggie,

  Sunday night I finished Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins. Yes, I know, it came out MONTHS ago, but sadly I have had very limited time to read. Plus, I think there was a part of me that didn't want one of my favorite series to end. But life goes on so Saturday I sat myself down and continued (I had only read about 40 pages into the book prior) reading. Once I started, I could barely stop.

   SPOILER! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! TURN BACK NOW OR ELSE!

   I have heard a lot of mixed reviews, but personally I loved it. Though I must add, it was a lot older than the other two. The first book was more of the physical side of war (with the exception of Rue and the mutts with the other competitors eyes) which only took place in the arena. The second had hints of  psychological warfare, but still the true danger was in the arena. In Mockingjay, it was a big mixture. What will stay with you is the mental and emotional part of war. Those are the parts that will haunt you far past the last page. Still, the amount of death in this novel is so great that I can't say it's not as big. It's far from that. The book is just one big emotional, mental, and physical journey through hell that expresses what war really is like. Finishing this book, I felt devastated, hopeful, haunted by the ghosts of all who had died within it's pages, and physically drained.

   Still, I understand what people mean when they feel that Katniss was out of character in this book. In the past novels, though angry and resentful could describe her, she had also always been strong and brave. This novel, there were points in which I thought she would never be again.

   While normally you would think this is out of character, you have to take in consideration she is only a 17-year-old. Imagine yourself in her place, still young and already having seen more death and destruction then most will ever see in their life. Your enemy has discovered how to break you and is taking full advantage of it. Countless of people have died because they knew you. Others are being held hostage and beaten and broken for the same reason. All because you are the face of a revolution you never asked for. Both your enemies and your alleys have used/are using you. Besides your family and a select few friends, you don't know who you can trust. This is the reality Katniss lives with.

   This book deals greatly with the reality of war. We send our troops of into the field and expect them to be perfectly fine with killing others, with seeing their friends die. But they aren't OK. Many have PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) for years. Some never recover (take Vietnam for example; Google it is you don't know what I mean). Some take their lives for what they have done. You have to be pretty messed up not to feel sick after taking another's life. Still, we expect our service men and women to be all peachy.

   In Mockingjay, Katniss serves as a perfect example for what war can do to a person. She is broken to the point that she's numb. Then, when everything is all over, they expect her to move on like nothing happen. How can she when she has seen so many die because of her. She may have not had done it herself, but it makes no difference to her. These people knew her and now they are dead for it.

   Though I am fully aware of reality, I not-so-secretly expected her to win the war, return home to her family and friends, pick between Peeta or Gale (I was cheering for Peeta) and live happily ever after. Instead, what I found was a broken girl who had lost many of her friends, her beloved sister, and was quite happy if she died. Yes, in the end Katniss and Peeta ended up together, but there was a bitter-sweetness to it. After all that had happened beforehand, her finding love seemed insignificant. Still, at the same time, Katniss needed Peeta there. She couldn't rebuild her life alone. As Gale had predicted in one of the chapters, Katniss chose the person she needed to survive.

   Gale, like her, was fire. Though he cared for her and undoubtedly loved her, he had as much fight is not more than her. After all, she had first been recognized as The Girl On Fire. Fight and fire were some of the last things she needed after war. Add in that she would never be able to think of him without remembering the way that Prim had died, it was easy to see that they would never be.

   On the other hand, what Katniss needed was a calm baker. He soothed her, was there to reassure that the nightmares were over -- or at least they were over in the conscious world. They would never be over in her dreams. Like our own soldiers, the war would never be truly over for her. But life didn't need to be all bad, she would live on and move on as much as possible, it would just take some time.

                ~ Libby

Let The Self Loathing Begin....

I've gained three pounds.

Follow The Yellow Brick Road…

Dear Bloggie,

   Yeah, I know, it’s been a while. Life has been “interesting”, as Cat calls it. I don’t see it that way, but I will NOT stop blogging, so I might as well update. Lets start with NaNoWriMo -- or the lack of it.  I know, I was so excited to start the project. I have a good idea how it’s going, I made an awesome cover, and I want to write it, but the first chapter isn’t going well. I’ve re-written the beginning of chapter one twice now (I only have 655 words by now, not including the prologue which is actually my a short story my 5th grade teacher had told me in, well, 5th grade; don’t worry, I make it clear that it’s not my story bit one that is a moral, be nice to others one that we all hear some sort of during our life) and can’t decided what to do. I want it to be perfect. My old English teacher, Mr. Marino, instilled this want to do well in me. I’m glad he did, but sometimes it gets annoying since I tend to over edit myself in my writing. I know writing needs a lot of editing, but when you’re writing your first draft you’re just supposed to just write. Like I do with my blog. But I can’t with my stories.

   On equally not-happy news, things between me and Zach will not work out any time soon. My closest friend at GHAA (we shall call her Annie-May on my blog, not her real name) really likes him. I never told him OR her of my feelings for Zach, so I don’t blame her, but of course I’m jealous and upset. Except I can’t tell her that because I’m scared how she will react. If I had told her before, she probably wouldn’t have minded, but I didn’t. She had asked if I liked anyone and i had told her know. I lied, and now I’m going to have to deal.

  Thankfully I do have other parts to my life. For example, on Monday we had our auditions. With all three rotations over (I can’t believe I’ve been in high school for ten and a half weeks now!) we chose our top two and auditioned for them. I was super nervous. I was sure I was going to fail my audition and be forced to take Visual Arts for the year. I could of course audition again in the spring for next school year, but by then I would be behind everyone. All I could imagine was failing and being so behind that no college would take me and I would end up living in the streets of New York, in the heart if Times Square, in a cardboard box begging for pennies and slowly dying from the toxic fumes of taxis/cars/buses and the sewer. I know, I’m over dramatic. But still, it seemed sorta rational at the time. Sorta.

  The point is that I sat near Zach in the beginning, but after the auditions, while people were finishing up and we were all just sitting around, Zach and Annie-May were talking and I didn’t really feel like joining the conversation. So instead I hung out with my dear friend Marty. He showed me some more of his animations and we talked about them and listened to this music until we were all told to go to out advisory groups. Marty is really good at animations. He was explaining some of it for me, and God, it’s a long and complicated process. You can see his work here. My favorites are the Dumpster Baby and the Playground one. Hope you check them out. They’re really funny. Or at least I think so.

Too bad he’s not only a visual artist, but also a half-day student so I won’t see him much anymore. We’re in two completely different buildings, even after the move in January (when our new school building will complete, making it possible for all morning students, grades 9-12, to be under one roof, and providing housing for the Creative Writing, Inter Arts, and Musical Theater departments). Still, at least I have Sierra. Remember how I mentioned her a while ago, on my lonely post? At the time she wanted to be a visual artist, but after doing a rotation through creative writing she decide she loved it and liked how she got the feeling of being a family in this department.

  As you can tell, I got into Creative Writing! I’m officially a creative writer! I still can’t believe it, but yeah, it’s true. I’m really excited. I’m trying to get into this Shakespeare class Sierra is taking. It requires a lot of reading and right now she’s the only freshman in it (i.e. it’s difficult), but it sounds interesting so I’m up for the challenge. as for now, It’s a minute to 1am and I have no school tomorrow because of veterans day. Until next time, keep following that yellow brick road and all your dreams will come true. 

~ XOXO,
       Libby

P.S. Yes, I know. I should become a greeting card writer for Hallmarks.

P.P.S. Actually, Hallmarks in one of my top five favorites stores (not sure which spot in my top five,  I just know that Borders, Torrid, and Temptations -- a hair accessory and jewelry store they have in the mall near my house -- beats it for sure) so I wouldn’t mind writing greeting cards for while. As long as that isn’t my only job in the writing world.

P.P.P.S I’m going to post the beginning of chapter one for your opinion. Am I on the right track or not? If you picked up a book in a store that began like this, would you read it? Criticism much needed, please don’t sugar coat please, that gets me nowhere. Thanks. :)

Chapter One

  “Adèle Baudelaire.” The woman behind the table smiled, searching for me on her list. She handed me a name tag, my name written in large but neat print with sharpie. A nine stood in its upper left corner.

    “The number is your group; they will be called together shortly. Find a seat and get comfortable for now. Welcome to the Academy!”

    “Thanks.” I smiled back. She seemed genuinely happy to see me. I turned away as another girl took my place. Her hair was three different shades at least, only one of them being a natural hair color. Addie, we’re definitely not in Catholic school anymore. 

    I searched the room of faces, looking for one person who wasn’t preoccupied in a conversation. It seemed that I was the only freshman at GHAA (what the school website used to refer to this school, George Harte Academy of the Arts; it was named after its first sponsor) who had come here alone, all their friends attending other schools. For the first time since I had received my acceptance letter, I was doubling thinking my choice.

    It’s too late now, I reminded myself. I turned down Northeast Catholic months ago and public school wasn’t an option. Sink or swim, I was here for the year. I just hoped it was the later.

    I found a seat towards the back out the auditorium. A girl a couple seats down let out a loud laugh. I cringed, wishing I had someone to laugh with. I don’t know how long I spaced out, but when I came back to attention a tall brunette was standing on the stage where I had just checked in. Like the other, she had a big smile on her face. Her hair was tied into two braids despite the fact that she appeared to be around my mother’s age. Still, her bright turquoise top and flower printed skirt made her seem younger.

    “Good morning! Can I have your attention, please?” The girls to my left continued laughing. It seemed that I was the only one paying attention.

    “OK everyone, I know you’re all excited, but can you please settle down so we may begin?” The talking continued.

    A woman in a tan dress ran on stage, kitten heels clicking. Unlike every other adult I had seen, she looked as if she meant business. She took the microphone out of the other woman’s hand and yelled, “SETTLE DOWN NOW! IF YOU’RE A FRESHMAN, THEN TURN YOUR ATTENTION HERE. IF YOU’RE NOT A FRESHMAN, THEN YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE!”

    The room went silent.

    “Thank you Jen.” Happy Woman took the microphone back. “Now, I’m Jillian Oliver but you can call me Jill. I’m the head of the musical theater department and as well as the coordinator for freshman arts classes. I would like to welcome you to the Academy. We are very happy to have you here. I know your all excited to begin so I’ll make this quick. Can the teachers--”

    “Freshman!” A male screamed from the door way. He had to be around sixteen at least. His light brown hair almost touched his shoulders in a hairstyle that could only be a cross between a skater and Justin Bieber. His clothes, like his hair, was a mash-up of two styles – wannabe white gangster and skater; typical teen male fashion. He just strolled in as if he owned the place, eyeing the crowed in search for his prize horse. When his gaze reached me end of the auditorium I saw it falter for a second.

The Versatile Blogger Award!

Dear Bloggie,

    I was checking my blog today, when I noticed I had gotten a comment last week. Clicking on it, it led me to Ema Winters blog, in which she awarded me Versatile Blogger Award!  I for one am very honored. You know what's funny about this all? I had actually read her blog post when she received the award, but had completely missed my name on her list of people she was awarding! Anyway, I will keep the rules if the award. 

The rules are simple:

1. Thank and link back to the person(s) who bestowed the award
2. Share seven things about yourself
3. Pass the award to fifteen bloggers who are 'versatile'
4. Inform the recipients

So...here are seven things about me(!):

1. The first story I ever wrote (as far as I know) was written when I was somewhere between three and five. It's was never completed, but in short it was about a green skinned, orange haired, warty nosed witch, who was married to a pale, black caped, with black hair vampire. I never got past that point, but when I found it I was so surprised. I had completely forgotten that I always had a love for writing. I always assumed that it began when I started to love reading in fourth grade, but this story brought back memories of a little me telling my mom that I didn't need to read books in order to like writing. Of course now I realize that to be a good writer you have to read.
2. I have attend three wonderful schools in my life. Before that I attended two Catholic schools. The first was Cedar Court School, which I attended since I was three, until it closed when I was in second grade. The second was saint Brigid School. I was there from third grade until last year, when I graduated from the middle school. Now I’m at The Greater Hartford Academy of the Arts. It’s like public school, but not exactly because you can’t just go there, you need to get into the lottery. I guess it’s a public school with a focus.
3. I had an English teacher in sixth grade that had a Boston accent. Instead of saying “garbage”, she said “gaah-bage”. When we imitated her, we would say “That’s gaah-bage!”
4. When I was three, one of my best friends was a boy named Antonio. We met in pre-school. Almost everyday we would play house -- extreme addition! We weren’t just normal parents, but instead super spies. Our baby (which was black baby doll, while he was Spanish and I’m a mixture of white and Latina; we had a very multi cultural family) was always being kidnapped so we had to go rescue it. After we went on our death-defying missions that included crossing shark/crock tanks, we would return home so I can make us dinner. Too bad in our second year of preschool (which was for three and four year olds, making us four) he started hanging out with boys and so our close friendships ended. When I was five I discovered that I had a crush on him, but by that time he was no longer attending my school and both of my best friends had started liking him too.
5. I have two cats, a girl named Coco and a boy named Cinnamon. My mom and I call Coco Shredder because she shreds any paper you leave near her. Cinnamon used to pee on the floor, but thankfully he seems to have gotten over that.
6. I love living in Connecticut even though our winters and summers seem to always go to the extremes. Our winters are bitter while our summers are smoldering. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
7. I can be very, very, VERY shy around people I don’t know. If I’m in a room with no one I know, I can seriously sit there awkwardly and hope to become one with the wallpaper. Or die. One the other hand, when I’m comfortable around people, I can be overly outgoing. So outgoing that I can be embarrassing -- to both myself and others who know me. 

Now, I don't have 15 bloggers to give this award to (sadly), but I do have 14...so 14 bloggers who are versatile(!) :

1. Evie J - Peace, Love, and Books
2. Kristia S - OxKrisTeeAuhOx
3. Cat - Cat's Blog
4. Keary Taylor - Keary Taylor 
5. SM Johnston - Down Under Wonderings
6. Leigh - Leigh Fallon 
7. Rose. Whyte. - Just Remy
8. Stormy J - Peace, Love, and StormyJ
9. Sarah - Sarah Serentipity 
10. Jen - Write, Read, and Love! The Thoughts of a Young Adult Author 
11. Neisa - Straight From The Horses Mouth 
12. Alexis - The Seduction of Alien Tears
13. Paige W - The 828
14. Paige D -Writer's Rambles 

Go follow these people above. NOW! Again, much thanks to Ema!

~XOXO,
         Libby

Weekend Update With Me

Dear Bloggie,


    So my diet is going pretty well. I mean, except for this weekend. What happened was I had my junior leader meeting on Saturday. We had a photography class at U of H (University of Hartford) from 9am to about 1pm, then we all went to Six Flags for Fright Feast. One, Fright Feast was a BIG let-down (plus people were acting like idiots and I somehow managed to trip over a tiny rock and hurt my ankle -- I've been limping since Saturday night now-- which just made things crappier), and two, there is, like, no healthy food at Six Flags. The healthiest thing is a salad, which given that their only dressing choice that I would like with it is ranch, makes it not so healthy. I've been replacing ranch with French dressing, which is a lot less calories.


   In the end I ate a grilled chicken wrap -- it's lettuce with two strips of grilled chicken on top, ranch dressing for taste, though I guess I shouldn't have added the ranch. I already had a bagel with cream cheese and a bottle of Coke earlier. Basically, Saturday was a no diet day. Sunday wasn't much better because my mom surprised me by making buttermilk pancakes since I had mentioned a couple days before how I haven't had them in a long time. My initial reaction was to turn them down -- I'm quite proud of myself for that -- but I couldn't because she made them specially for me. Thankfully, I walked around A LOT at Six Flags, so I only feel half guilty.


   There is one things I want to add before I go. I was eating lunch with my group, when I looked over and saw this sad, lonely, old man. He was sitting there by himself, food resting in front of him as he peered off into the distance with a cheerless look on his face. It appeared as if he was waiting for someone. Wife, kids, grandkids? Who knows. We were in the eating area for over thirty minutes at least, and no one showed.


   I pointed this out to the girl I was sitting with, Annalise, and she, like me, got all sad. He just looked so freaking lonely. We wished we could just go over and talk to him. Of course we couldn't; for all we knew he could have been a perverted, pedophilic, rapist. We have no way of knowing.


  Still, I wish the world was just a good place filled with people who are just straight forward with their intentions, all of them being good intentions. In that world, Annalise and I could have gone over to him and talked, either keeping him company until his family/people he was waiting for showed up, or at least talking to him and finding out why he was by himself. Poor old man. This is a good reminder on why you should treat your grandparents nicely. Remember that.


~XOXO,
       Libby

Boys

Dear Bloggie,

  I wish boys knew how much control over a girl's heart they have. I mean, I'm might be all feminist-y, but that doesn't mean I don't like guys and don't fall hard for them. As much as I STRONGLY DISLIKE Fergie, I find that my life is similar to her song "Clumsy". I mean, I'm never not liking. I always have some crush or another. The only thing is that I never truly get over someone either, I just start liking someone else. That doesn't mean I don't like the other person, it just means that they are no longer my main like. Please don't think this sounds shallow, I'm only 14 and a half; I don't even know myself, never mind my heart.

   All I know is that I like a guy. His name is Zach. He's the one I wrote the Crushing poem for.

I personally think he's hot, except for the little moustache that teen guys always  love to grow, just to prove that they can.

   According to his Facebook profile (I friended him), he's actually 15. He must have stayed back a year somewhere along the line, but whatever. He's both a musician (i.e. the guitar above) and an artist. I've seen some of his drawings, and wow, he's good. My dream guy can draw and play an instrument -- preferably the guitar and-or piano. I also wanted someone who could write me a poem, but two out of three ain't bad. And I'm only just getting to know him, maybe he can write.

   I really like him, but of course he has one problem; he's not over his ex-girlfriend. I mean, he really thinks she's the one. But she broke up with him over a rumour and left him heartbroken. As a friend, when she came up in conversation I of course was all "She'll come around, don't worry!" Inside though, I was dying a bit. I was telling the guy I liked that his ex will come around. I hate irony.

   I mean, for God's sake, she plays the trombone! No offensives to anyone who plays the trombone, but come on! The trombone is a disgusting instrument. Serena played it for a year and I remember there is a part of it that your spit get's caught in and that you have to drain. I'm losing to that!

    Being my stalk-ish self, I went on his page to see what his ex looked liked. After seeing this picture (and clicking on her profile and seeing that she plays the trombone), I've come to the conclusion this is her.

   Obviously he doesn't have anything against chunky girls which really works in my favour. At the same time, my self-esteem just went down. If she doesn't have the best personality EVER, I'm going to seriously cry. Not to be mean, but she's geeky! And she's not even prettier than me. Yeah, she's still skinnier than me, but take away my weight, and I am so prettier than her. I'm also funny and nice and I can be the best girlfriend ever! But he is totally still in love with her.

   If he only could see that while he's crazy for a girl who has moved on, he has a girl totally crazy for him. Grrrr, it's not fair! I was looking for a song that fit my mood when I found this. I put is as my Facebook status while he was online. Not that he would ever know it was geared towards him. These are my favorite lines, the ones I used for my status.

If you only knew that I think about you

In a kinda secret way

I say kind of 'cause well it's obvious

I must be feeling these things 

Too bad you can't tell 'cause 

If you only knew

It would be a dream come true

Standing next to you

And I might go insane to know

That you feel the same as I do

If you only knew...

~ "If You Only Knew" - Savannah Outen

~XOXO,
         Libby