Hippo- BEDA- Day 3

Hippo. 

I like that shit.

She is fabu, banging, amazing, lovely, talented, brilliant, beautiful, smashing, hot, awesome, mind-blowing, ace, marvelous, and something only her own.
I love you.

My (Brief) Advice to Teenaged Authors- BEDA- Day 2

1. Your writing sucks.
Because writing it re-writing and you do not spew brilliance at the start of anything.
2. Put your work out for people to see.
You'd be surprised at how other people see your work much more objectively than you.
3. Read everything that you can get your hands on.
Even the shitty stuff. Read stuff you hate, find out why you hate it, don't do that.
Read stuff you love, find out why you love it, make that your own.
4. Being bad is mandatory, and can be fun.
Don't expect to be good the first time. You don't rent out a concert hall after three violin lessons. You don't don't get good without being bad first. Laugh and learn. 
5. Your writing won't always suck.
Work hard.
Get better.
We all have work to do. 

I'm Not Sorry- Blog Every Day in April- Day 1

"Stop being so anti-social" 

I'm not sorry for not wanting to go out.

I'm not sorry that I haven't seen you in forever.

I'm not sorry that I'm being quiet.

No, I don't need to talk.

I'm just not built for this. I am not anti-social. I'm just not social by nature.

I spend a lot of time alone. I like being by myself. When I am alone and I can learn, think, breathe at any pace I want. I can react slowly or brashly. I can learn anything given enough time because I am that stubborn. I try on clothes, do quantum mechanics and read comic books. 

Half of my personality is not a big picture person. I like the details. I hold onto things and think about them and wonder freely.

And half of me is laid back and carefree and easy-going. But that part of me is less-prominent and is, unfortunately, not really me.

I am details and analysis. I am depression prone, and I am easily upset. There are so very few people that I can be around for a long time.

I'm not sorry, and I'm not anti-social.

I'm just not made for this. 

Paper Milestones

My world is the written word. My childhood can be marked out in paper milestones: the pride I felt when, at six years old and having exhausted everything available, I was allowed to choose books from the class above me. Stealing novels from my parents’ bookcase and reading them under the sheets at night. Clean, crisp pages. Words.

When I was eleven, reading saved my life. Having moved out of primary school and finding myself totally bewildered by the web of social intricacies I was thrust into, I sought protection in the library every spare moment I had. Desperately unhappy, but lacking the maturity to understand what was happening to me, I found a way to express myself in other people’s language.

Many people have a false perception of obsessive-compulsive disorder. I do not feel compelled to wash my hands any more than is normal, nor do I shower three times a day. While the rituals carried out vary between individuals, my own have always been quite devious: they seek out something I gain pleasure from, and then try to destroy it.

This Year

So, it's been almost a month...

And I am (In February) making the obligatory New Years post.

During 2012 I would like to

Daily:

• Drink eight glasses of water
• Make something with my hands
• Write something for an audience
• Write something for myself
• Go outside

Weekly:

• Go running
• Read/ show a piece of my writing to someone in real life
• Go out with friends
• Call my Dad

And, I may have said I don't have resolutions. And maybe I didn't in January, but I do in March! 

Happy Leap Day, everyone

Mother and Father

My father is the perfect contradiction in terms.

He was a jock. He played football, and softball, and basketball. He was great at all of them. But, he suffered the same tragedy I did, he got hurt and hasn't played much since.

But even before injury, he was an artist.

That’s how my parents met- he was a graphic designer, she a journalist. She crafted the words and he put them together, she the brains and him the bronze.

He drew, and played, and sang. 

He did everything and never stopped to answer any questions. 

I think I got my rushing from him. Wanting to be everything, see everything, go everywhere. That’s all him.

My father, is never happy in one place. His home is in something that can be taken everywhere-

a camera, a canvas, a guitar.

My mother is not that. She is content. Happy.

I am the both-sides of the my father and the nothingness of my content mother.

I guess it works that way sometimes.

What do you title posts without quotes? (People hate emotions)

I think that in these past sixteen days of not blogging I've noticed some things that I had sort of, forgotten about over the year.

I am, and this will be a big surprise if you know me, a stubborn person.

I know, you're floored.

But, I think that one of the traits that goes along with that is guarded-ness.

Everyone has a set list of emotions they don't want to share. Which is fine, I think. If it weren't for that my list contains almost every emotion.

I let a lot of that go around most people, but I never forget it.
As it happens, I don't allow myself to laugh in class. Ever.

That's stupid of me.

But I haven't stopped.

And one of the things that I've really noticed is that the Internet strips a lot of people of some of that.

Maybe it's easier to share your emotions with your laptops, but I'm always a little flabbergasted about the openness of others here.

In real life, it's difficult to talk to others because there's only so much complaining you can do before someone starts to dislike you.

But, here I could complain as much as I want and all you would have to do is click away.

If someone dislikes it, they can go back and read some of mine that they like more. Or they can just never come back.

In real life, I'm all your ever going to get.
I'm a multifaceted person, but not nearly in the way.

Reader, darling, I have to task for you.

Tomorrow, or today, depending on when you read this. No matter you when you read this,   really. Think about your answer when someone (not a stranger- a trusted person) asks how your day was.

Are you being honest?

Why not?