Digging Down Deep for Motivation

Well, well, well. If my calculations are correct, I last posted November 10th.

2010.

Bro.

That's pathetic.

That's just downright embarrassing.

I don't even know why I even came out and admitted this.

But the truly tear-jerking, shoulder-shaking, sob-worthy sadness of this whole post is that I'm only doing it because I happened to make a deal with Monica.

The hour groweth late, so I shall quickly skim through my brains for the summer activities that have been happening to me lately.

1. Harry Potter.

         For those of you who are not Harry Potter fans, please leave. Just exit my blog, right now, and crawl into a small dark hole. But bring a small reading light and the boxed book set, so that when you return I can happily welcome you back.

       For those of you who have stuck with Harry and his pals to the very end... who attended the movie showings in full costume... my kindred souls... I salute you.

         For normal people, who most likely fall somewhere in the middle, stay cool.

        Isn't it strange to think it's all over? JK Rowling's legacy has not been a passing phase, a fleeting obsession that was cool for a while but then faded (*cough* *cough* Twilight.) It's been spread out over a decade, and it's readable whether you're six or thirty six-- it's not too childish, it's not too hard. And it deals with STUFF, not necessarily KISSING AND ROMANCE AND SUCH, but deeper love. (And, obviously, I enjoy books with kissing. I enjoy movies with kissing. It's just a good thing.) It makes it more accessible, you know? I mean, I read The Philosopher's Stone when I was but a wee lass of six years old. I think I read it with my mom over the course of months, and then one day I climbed a tree and finished the last quarter myself because I couldn't wait longer.

       And then, before you know it, the seventh book is out, and we made my dad buy three copies so nobody had to wait to read it first. And I read the 700+ page book in about eight straight hours, crying in the right parts, smiling in others, biting my fingernails for most-- and then the books were done. It was a perfect ending.

      But it was okay, because the movies were there. We had those to look forwards to. Personally, I've had July 15th booked off my calendar since I left the theater of Deathly Hallows Part I. And now it's all over.

      Now, I may or may not have had PMS and/or was overtired that day, but did I ever cry. Some people claim to not cry at movies. Ha. A friend of mine said via Facebook "OMG I cried three times!" And I'm thinking, "I wish. I started crying, and then just kept going." But it was okay, because when you leave the theater hiccuping with your makeup smeared around your eyes, going to the bathroom to try to make your face less red and blow your nose, you're not alone. All those dedicated Potterwatchers are there for you.

       And in case your wondering, I used my fluffy hair to my advantage and dressed up as Bellatrix Lestrange to attend the midnight premiere.

       2. Stephen King
        
          I am an avid reader (further classified as "bookworm" or "nerd") and have recently discovered the wonders of good old Steve. I have been reading his novels this summer, and I also watched the Green Mile. (And I died in all its fantasocity.) "The Langoliers" and "The Body" are my favorite novellas. "Needful Things" and "Misery" are my favorite books. And for the record, don't read "Pet Sematary" and then proceed to obey your mom's wishes and get the water hose from outside when it's midnight and pitch black outside. I'm fairly certain it's bad for your blood pressure.

        ON THE SUBJECT OF BOOKS I recently read Paranormalcy (actually I finished it two hours ago) and was astounded, angry, and jealous. I was astounded that a book could make me that happy to read, and how much fun it was. I was angry it took me this long to read it, because I was denying myself of awesomeness. And, oh, jealous because I CAN'T WRITE LIKE THAT.

          Kiersten White: you rock. And I hate you a little for it. But I can't, because anyone who creates Evie has to be sweet.

          3. Work

           I have at last joined the leagues of the working class, and found that I have not been missing much. I am a Sandwich Artist at a restaurant called  Subway, which is situated in about every city and/or town across the globe, I have been realizing.

              Well, perhaps not in Africa. Or those other eastern places that don't eat real food like fries, or pizza, or even subs, but eat weird things like abalone (which sounds like lunch meat but is actually an endangered sea creature type object of a sort) and poisonous fish and weird plants and, I dunno, shark fins.

         It's a pretty sweet job, actually, because I work with some sweet teenagers and we have fun. And also, we get free Slushies and fountain drinks. And coffee. And half-price cookies, which sounds like a good idea until you get a slow day and consume half the pan. (I recommend White Chocolate Macadamia Nut, which have to come from heaven or someplace similar.)

        Technically, I guess that would make Heaven situated in our industrial freezer.

Moving on.

All I've been doing this summer is lazing around, doing a few creative things and feeling guilty when I don't do anything. And then I think, summer is meant for relaxing. You're recharging your batteries for school when things get busy.

And then I think, but since it's noon you could probably get out of bed.

I've taken some pictures, I've played my guitar and my tiny, adorable purple ukulele, and I've even blown the dust off an unfinished manuscript and been polishing that a bit.

Maybe I should just finish that damn thing, send it to a few publishers, and then forget about it. That would be nice.


All right. I'm not going to promise I'll be a regular blogger, because I suck at keeping those kind of promises. (Hence, the junk food I will never ever eat because it's bad for you and you don't need it and you can talk yourself out of it honestly it's not worth it oh okay just this once mmmmmmm). But on the other hand, I don't want to be the kind of blogger whose every other post is "Oh I'm so busy! I should write more often!"

I think the problem here, is that we need a MAKEOVER. Clean everything out. Start fresh. Make it pretty. Dust off the cobwebs.

Promises are easier to keep when they are pretty.

Midsummer Haze

Blogging life has been slow lately, and I haven't had any action on my Comments page. I thought you cared!! Wah!!

But then again, I can't complain too much. Because I've barely been online, either. My excuse? I don't have Wireless for my laptop up at the cabin. To check my blog, I would have to a) give up watersports time to sit inside, b) fight my way through the lineup to actually reach the computer (I have a big family), c) Wait for 3.5 hours while Google loads up or d) all of the above.

Good news? Miriam's Isle is going awesome! I really have it going along nicely! I have 136 pages AND COUNTING!! I'm really really eager to finally write THE END and to upload it to Lulu and have it bound and published. But I know it won't really happen that fast. Hopefully, the first draft (or "exploratory draft", as Laini Taylor puts it) can be complete by the time school starts. After that, I'm torn. I might want to immediately dive right back into it, adding and subtracting scenes, developing the plot lines a little more, making it perfect. I also might want to just shove it in a drawer for a month and come back later. Perhaps I could do a combination: the burning desire for the finished product might be gone, but I could idly skim through it and ask people's opinions. Give myself a little time off. That would be nice.

Man, I'm excited for school. Jeez. I shouldn't be. But I am! I'm going to high school! It's exciting!

We just had a lot of company up here. One of my cousin's friends, Neva, was also a part of it. I like her. She has a wicked camera, with one of those 2000 dollar telescope lenses or something. The other family visiting, some family friends, also have a photographer daughter, Meghan. We went on a nature walk and she showed me some of her pictures. They were awesome. She has a really good eye.

This inspired me so much I took a bazillion pictures on a solitary walk by myself and also on a boat trip up the creek. I picked and sorted and found about five that turned out nice. I like to edit them on Picasa, making them more interesting. I would LOVE to show em' to you, but THEY'RE ON MY COMPUTER, not the slow family computer. I hate this computer. I hate the crappy moniter and the clacky keyboard.

Oh well. I also decided I want to attempt to find a vintage wardrobe. I did a lot of research on my laptop (there's a tech guy up here that let's us borrow his wireless but he's not here) and I love it. It's so unique. And cheap, if you dig for stuff and thrift stores. I plan on doing that. I mean, at Value Village you can get a lot of stuff for 75 bucks. At another store, you could get a pair of jeans and some socks for the same price.

So, when I figure out how to use an old-fashioned cable to hook up my computer to the 'net, I'll show ya'll my beautiful pictures. It could be later today, actually. I've never made two posts in one day before. That would be interesting.

Bye, all, as I leave you groping for clarity in the midsummer haze.

VOLLEYBLAST!

My brother Landon's baseball provinicals are coming to a close. They may have a chance of going into the finals!
My family and I are camping right now, and today I have volleyball camp! You're free to sign in from eleven thirty to twelve-forty-five, which is when the camp begins. I'm really excited to be going, but kinda nervous too. I mean, it's highly likely that everyone else will be fanatical skinny people that jog in the morning and can do the six-minute run without dying. I am none of the above. Plus, I'll be the only cripple there. But my volleyball knee pads will probably slide right over my braces, hiding the horror of my deformity. Ha ha, I sound like Le Fantome de la Opera. Who is awesome.
But who knows? I could have a blast. *snork* VolleyBLAST, get it? Har-dee-har-har. I mean, during the school year during volleyball I was, modestly, one of the best players on the team. During practices I would run and cheer and work like no one's business, but I wouldn't even feel my tiredness until we had to leave. Practices were always too short. And I've got a mean spike.
This going to be a cool new experience! Whee!!
P.S. Off topic, but I'm learning how to play guitar. I'm using my brother's guitar and book, and I'm just teaching myself. It's easier than I thought, though my fingers are practically bleeding when I'm done.

Events Past and Yet To Come

So, the first past event would be my provincials. I played with another team. The reason why is because on my team, there were twelve girls picked to go to provincials, and I was fourteenth. So, the remaining six of us joined up with four other girls and voila, we had a new team.

But...we kinda sucked.

We lost every game. All three of them. The weather was miserable and rainy. One of the games was 16-0. Ouch.

But there were good parts, too. I was fourth in the batting lineup--that's the cleanup hitter, and that's the best place to be. Statistically, I hit the best on the team. But one of my friends, Beth, hit a double AND a triple. But then she just struck out the rest of the time. I got lame hits, but I usually made it to first. I sliced up my left leg sliding, too. The fun.

Also, I had a great time. Even though we suck, everyone's really friendly and we all had a good time. And finally, the Tisdale sign, where provincials were played, was hilarious.

Yes, this is the sign. "Land of Rape and Honey." Isn't that welcoming?

There is truth behind it, I learned. "Rape" is an old word for canola or something. One of the coaches told me that when I announced the motto for the town.

Plus, my sister's Squirt team won provincials. I was a Squirt last year, and we won. That makes Bill, the coach, a two-time provincial winner. According to my dad, that's like, legendary. After the game, I went up to him and said, "Two years in a row, eh? Getting old yet?"

He gasped. "What? Uh, yeah, no...wait! It never gets old!"

I love making people stumble over their words. I smiled and walked away.

Anyways, we're finally at the cabin! Yesterday was really cold, howevah. I had to wear pants. Not shorts. PANTS. And yes, I still went swimming. Duh.

Today was better. Way better. My nineteen year old cousin Brittany came. It was warm enough to swim. We launched the Sea-Doo, Frank, and I got to drive it back home from the compound. We went tubing. And the weirdest of all, we met a chipmunk named Tina.

It was the strangest thing. Britt and I were sitting on the swing, drying off, when we heard something coming from under the deck. We craned our necks, and ta-da! There was a small, grayish form scooping out dry grass before disappearing back under the planks.

Britt suggested we feed her, so we went inside and got Fibre One cereal and peanut butter crackers and dill pickle Spitz. We littered them around the opening where the ground squirrel came out. A few minutes later she ran on to the deck. The first thing we noticed that she was really fat. Second was that she is not very shy.

We tossed her peanut butter crackers, and she DEVOURED them. I swear, we were sitting a meter away from a wild animal as she munched away. After a while, Brittany fetched a spoon of peanut butter, which she cleaned. In the end, she ate seven mini crackers and a spoon of peanut butter. I even caught it on video! But I'll give you a picture instead.

Here's a lovely story. When we arrived here, we found that there was a birds' nest built on our deck, right onto our window. After conferring, we got somebody to move it to an old covered well we have beneath our stairs. With heavy hearts, we watched as the frantic parents swooped in circles all day looking for their babies. We were sure they were going to die. Then, da-da-da-DAAA...they found their children!! Now they don't dive-bomb us when we walk onto our deck. They feed their children, stuffing worms into their gaping mouths. It's so cute! And yes, I got pictures.
PS-I know the spacing is weird in this post, but Blogger is weird.

Japanese Poems

No, they're not written in Japanese, but they are based on a Japanese style. They are called Haiku and Tanka, Haiku and three-line seventeen-syllable poem, Tanka a five-line thirty-one syllable poem. Here they are!

Haiku...


FLOWER

Silken petals curl
Framing the crumbly middle
In vibrant colors


SUMMER DAY

Parched, yellowing grass
Merciless, blistering sun
Warm, sun-baked pavement


Tanka...

TWILIGHT

The silver sliver
Comes to a rest behind the hills
The suns' heat fading
Leaving the dark velvet grass
Bathed in a blue, dusky glow