tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24376453929496606962024-03-14T08:53:16.161-04:00Writing to BreatheAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222233412304660376noreply@blogger.comBlogger141125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-74059439787187663932014-04-13T01:48:00.000-04:002014-04-13T01:48:32.054-04:00NEW BLOG!Okay, so, FINALLY I have figured out the blogging stuff. It took forever, but now it is much more organized and is under my new e-mail address and is over at:<br />
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<a href="http://naomirthompson.blogspot.com/">naomirthompson.blogspot.com</a><br />
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It will have such things as:<br />
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<a href="http://naomirthompson.blogspot.com/search/label/Media%20Mondays"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSrXfC1n04VOgl9ofwQ4_31xsqoFNwlrUqYPtGboFR-yXybMTUn43ZexZCeypSZBVbYrBcPQ9Rgy59U2foy0fr2BBSh74nvevxP_Pj241BxhEuBDW2tHJhb5n7fYBAi13nJlchw7VofhY/s1600/MediaMonday.png" height="70" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://naomirthompson.blogspot.com/search/label/Writerly%20Wednesdays"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Tg6wy9Q5tGFi5I-uIcTv_N2lguD58vde-LKMtalKUe3voz7Nvq1Co1tUkm1mNtWaJjqOS-m0SJMUcy4ezs_bUyRSrF4AqYr3i_Vz-jyP0_kqBzTOzG8kR7Zzqxl2ejH0sNupMRjEDi8/s1600/WriterlyWednesdays.png" height="60" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b> AND</b></span></div>
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<a href="http://naomirthompson.blogspot.com/search/label/Slumpvis%20Sundays"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaT1UdlRfutEXNIqZczK8XG7bpscFc1QMgpg-JnUwgLcVPSbcSF6ts9mg1Mp_ChdHPM6tMJG9VhCJ_3v516HTeMND7EkSM3oK-E3UqacyJHpX9l7Mtz9tAKkbyYotf8Oxd81SY2GoGyro/s1600/SlumpvisSundays.png" height="71" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I will slowly be making my way around the blog-o-sphere to re-introduce myself and to spend time again with all you lovelies. I miss this part of my life and I don't want to give it up. So. I'm a gonna' try and do this.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOPu06ixkkBLYxonVSqO1VvhxWxwjdGc3w7-OhqVFO3x0g7ZyfQBKMAHQeNTfVYvUgs3euUYhezNTs9q00P0HHVGmUxBbg5GYLJwA5VllpVkUBojZGhY2oYRNabU5e_pCPLVXKqrZraCg/s1600/Naomi.Ruth3.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOPu06ixkkBLYxonVSqO1VvhxWxwjdGc3w7-OhqVFO3x0g7ZyfQBKMAHQeNTfVYvUgs3euUYhezNTs9q00P0HHVGmUxBbg5GYLJwA5VllpVkUBojZGhY2oYRNabU5e_pCPLVXKqrZraCg/s1600/Naomi.Ruth3.png" /></a>Peace. ~<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-75573158589883366512013-05-11T19:44:00.000-04:002013-05-11T19:44:03.093-04:00Projects Always Take Longer Than I Want Them ToEventually I will be moving over to a new blog. I have a whole set up of what I'll be blogging about (yay for organization!), and I already have been working on writing blog posts. There's just some life stuff I have to take care of first. Like finals. And other things. SO. Eventually I will move and be organized, but probably not for another month. I'm hoping by June 1 I can have everything up and running and set and stuff. I'm excited about a lot of it, and a little bit hesitant about some other stuff. Which is all very vague. BUT! I'm working on it and I'm excited for the future because I know it will get better. And there are so many things to learn and watch and be involved with and experienced and there are people to get to know and ALL THE THINGS.<br />
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I hope y'all are all doing well and I can't wait to get back into an organized form of living so I can get back into the blogging world that I have missed out on for so long.<br />
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Have a good next few weeks! For those with finals, good luck!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-81392394493764720412013-03-06T13:42:00.000-05:002013-03-06T14:51:41.432-05:00Cooking as a College Student: Skillet Pasta<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCupZxnafFLIFjCsl6FYaboNYaKR0xpwHMhFwOH6HMd25ebmKP07JS4zu967iSFdlDYseVkM5EiCrdID9kQgzl4hCQrQmNhvs5FBQSwitpctkDhoouzKoqbNSAhKADkX5ygWbmVmL_VTU/s1600/IMG_0655.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCupZxnafFLIFjCsl6FYaboNYaKR0xpwHMhFwOH6HMd25ebmKP07JS4zu967iSFdlDYseVkM5EiCrdID9kQgzl4hCQrQmNhvs5FBQSwitpctkDhoouzKoqbNSAhKADkX5ygWbmVmL_VTU/s200/IMG_0655.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> I have been pretty much only cooking and eating my own food. As a college student without a job and very little funds I have learned to be fairly creative in what I eat. Or, how I cook what I eat, I suppose. I mostly only eat pasta. I need pasta. When I don't have enough pasta I get super cranky.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Because I'm in a dorm I cook in a shared kitchen. This can be fun, because I get to meet and talk to a lot of people I wouldn't otherwise. This can be not so much fun because the kitchen is super tiny. No. Really. I'll get a picture later and show you. It's ridiculous.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And people have commented on how my food looks/smells delicious so I decided it might be fun to share some of the things I cook with y'all. First up is Skillet Pasta!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What you'll need:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Utensil Type Things:</span><br />
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Skillet (or some kind of frying pan)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A lid for the skillet (it doesn't have to fit perfectly - mine doesn't - it just has to cover a decent portion of the skillet)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A wooden spoon (or a metal one, I suppose - I just prefer wooden spoons)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A cutting board and knife</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A bowl/plate of some sort</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">An oven - and a working burner</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Spatula (optional)</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Food Stuffs:</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3bEdYuNUe7aBkEfkBCwLFtrVVRDFvECZdVpCWUBhxyKNrJWGnq0BVXBa0tQweHzP72RgnhgSB7NC4Le37P3mbWMIIWKIN6e0dCGhw_k1IhA6LiXRtC2ge5x5idh3qdUhDeKNR9uGbuSw/s1600/IMG_0657.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3bEdYuNUe7aBkEfkBCwLFtrVVRDFvECZdVpCWUBhxyKNrJWGnq0BVXBa0tQweHzP72RgnhgSB7NC4Le37P3mbWMIIWKIN6e0dCGhw_k1IhA6LiXRtC2ge5x5idh3qdUhDeKNR9uGbuSw/s320/IMG_0657.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Oil</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Spices (I use: rosemary, oregano, garlic salt, and sometimes basil)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">an onion (if you absolutely hate onions you don't have to use onions)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">pasta (I use angel hair or fettuccine, but any kind should work)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">pasta sauce (any kind, really - I'm using red sauce here, but you could also use vodka sauce or other things probably)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">cheese (I uses goat cheese and a bag of mixed cheese)</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Be warned: I don't use exact measurements.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE-e3377okxZKpdA-5DwLe375V4g37BsFHJf74_DfY3cMcrsK3kP94ern2xlmRAKN3xRgATF5ClFMBn5EHhLtafu-ZxTm81gNhQzEg9IrpJ1pl6TWJU7qIIl_aUn7Z46UjF4vnRuDTC-Q/s1600/IMG_0681.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE-e3377okxZKpdA-5DwLe375V4g37BsFHJf74_DfY3cMcrsK3kP94ern2xlmRAKN3xRgATF5ClFMBn5EHhLtafu-ZxTm81gNhQzEg9IrpJ1pl6TWJU7qIIl_aUn7Z46UjF4vnRuDTC-Q/s200/IMG_0681.JPG" width="150" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>First:</b> put your skillet/frying pan onto a burner and put some oil and spices inside. Turn the burner on low. This, I find, helps your skillet/frying pan to have a more consistent heat once you start throwing stuff into it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaYWSnZPSrwg6UEOv1uw3-MGFWqz_Ycl4M6SWaYDuHLFfS4P5VuYMrlgmZZf92E-tqeN7-gh3eMkJIoQ5qMHNS9MBw4Ql3mPAP6EYhLIj3m3gGOZzCIDIfKq-tcu90mavZrWvpmzAhEq4/s1600/IMG_0658.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaYWSnZPSrwg6UEOv1uw3-MGFWqz_Ycl4M6SWaYDuHLFfS4P5VuYMrlgmZZf92E-tqeN7-gh3eMkJIoQ5qMHNS9MBw4Ql3mPAP6EYhLIj3m3gGOZzCIDIfKq-tcu90mavZrWvpmzAhEq4/s200/IMG_0658.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>Second:</b> cut up some onion (however much depends on how much onion you want - usually I use two slices) and throw onions into skillet/frying pan. Only. Not literally. Throwing food around can get messy. If you have really good aim, hey, go for it. If not: just slide the onions in gently.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Let the onions cook for a little bit. It depends on how not-crunchy you want them to be. The longer you let them cook, the less crunchy they will be.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheVjRQM-XnP2WoEoKAToOmTRDfrtGkoSJllb2PzoekiGTr21iPVJ3s1sccHHoiu0Om8a_XF07euMsLesIfY7KsIpvvDdv6Hd4B-6i00WS8qc9GqFVgUzBI21ATIXbobHlFBLow46hFoMs/s1600/IMG_0660.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheVjRQM-XnP2WoEoKAToOmTRDfrtGkoSJllb2PzoekiGTr21iPVJ3s1sccHHoiu0Om8a_XF07euMsLesIfY7KsIpvvDdv6Hd4B-6i00WS8qc9GqFVgUzBI21ATIXbobHlFBLow46hFoMs/s200/IMG_0660.JPG" width="150" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Third: </b> pour some sauce into the skillet/frying pan. If you aren't good at eyeballing pour in a half a cup or a cup of sauce, depending on your portion size, and see how that looks.</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY9c8IGygjkMgPgjjvMPco9Ib6_nbSiG5jWo_2wHEjUDqEj5bDkuR7KOyBxfkQiso36PFZ-GjB1x7MrGacJO6WNeWzsWsPis3hHB4x5M5RMUkdvbkPamZ1IzGv_G2T-DeCirZNctgODfA/s1600/IMG_0659.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY9c8IGygjkMgPgjjvMPco9Ib6_nbSiG5jWo_2wHEjUDqEj5bDkuR7KOyBxfkQiso36PFZ-GjB1x7MrGacJO6WNeWzsWsPis3hHB4x5M5RMUkdvbkPamZ1IzGv_G2T-DeCirZNctgODfA/s200/IMG_0659.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Fourth:</b> time for the pasta! If using angel hair/fettuccine I find it easier to break it up. Break it in half, and then break each half into half. This makes it easier to cook. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Fifth:</b> add in enough water so that the pasta is fully covered. Then cover with the lid and set the timer for about ten minutes.</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF2pD9n0CAVk_iBJR7V_n2LPXQkpDap63E_n0WhNCXO3esjK0TuFdMSjcudTnI5P7RAHAV_rTy4loPTooqJjiKtXe1-PatdypulRrtSuxXie9D_-fDoZofbze5qSbXB0-5pT_J5_SsgKE/s1600/IMG_0673.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoVpgQ7qgff_uvJGA8XPz-s_x69TrnStXgja5_9NAdckF1hQnKvDT_0KrIxVSqI0ln6uJ9Pq3aMkuV7Iv0ShXtMwOtEWWNW17PcHYsBtPddL072iMj84tGhRWiW50QsGfbjWl8qoo4gWc/s1600/IMG_0669.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoVpgQ7qgff_uvJGA8XPz-s_x69TrnStXgja5_9NAdckF1hQnKvDT_0KrIxVSqI0ln6uJ9Pq3aMkuV7Iv0ShXtMwOtEWWNW17PcHYsBtPddL072iMj84tGhRWiW50QsGfbjWl8qoo4gWc/s200/IMG_0669.JPG" width="200" /> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF2pD9n0CAVk_iBJR7V_n2LPXQkpDap63E_n0WhNCXO3esjK0TuFdMSjcudTnI5P7RAHAV_rTy4loPTooqJjiKtXe1-PatdypulRrtSuxXie9D_-fDoZofbze5qSbXB0-5pT_J5_SsgKE/s1600/IMG_0673.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF2pD9n0CAVk_iBJR7V_n2LPXQkpDap63E_n0WhNCXO3esjK0TuFdMSjcudTnI5P7RAHAV_rTy4loPTooqJjiKtXe1-PatdypulRrtSuxXie9D_-fDoZofbze5qSbXB0-5pT_J5_SsgKE/s200/IMG_0673.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmvvQkQBGfNMPCcYwLcpsDEbWQRPWzvlAoANPT-kIn6WItf12nutnGEP4RUchZtpXjisoKc6C_1enNKbXuyqdgI0daBxchN4j32Rlzm-_7yxksAE9YQgcslCU-b1USqtKMuV7QZfHrld0/s1600/IMG_0670.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmvvQkQBGfNMPCcYwLcpsDEbWQRPWzvlAoANPT-kIn6WItf12nutnGEP4RUchZtpXjisoKc6C_1enNKbXuyqdgI0daBxchN4j32Rlzm-_7yxksAE9YQgcslCU-b1USqtKMuV7QZfHrld0/s200/IMG_0670.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmvvQkQBGfNMPCcYwLcpsDEbWQRPWzvlAoANPT-kIn6WItf12nutnGEP4RUchZtpXjisoKc6C_1enNKbXuyqdgI0daBxchN4j32Rlzm-_7yxksAE9YQgcslCU-b1USqtKMuV7QZfHrld0/s1600/IMG_0670.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1bJ6eJjb6KXNmuv_Efx2QM7_qQJXHVPz0iKjkXMumb2zciqk32hrbwG1czOerqPKuQz7NwMjeql1-Oe8SwgFScMgpyqlbVcO7QZOSdrJb2agLdhjqJHsSV5F9Hezaquh2jAL8ZL7b5NQ/s1600/IMG_0676.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1bJ6eJjb6KXNmuv_Efx2QM7_qQJXHVPz0iKjkXMumb2zciqk32hrbwG1czOerqPKuQz7NwMjeql1-Oe8SwgFScMgpyqlbVcO7QZOSdrJb2agLdhjqJHsSV5F9Hezaquh2jAL8ZL7b5NQ/s200/IMG_0676.JPG" width="150" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Sixth:</b> when the pasta has cooked for about five minutes it's time to add the cheese! The image on the right will show you about how much goat cheese I use. For the mixed cheese I put in one or two handfuls (about half a cup?).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ESQIKsvaBHiMOIPoXwcpYAMPLI8WnfAXwlEuaRzsYPlMHqbFeeIA0Qc06A2LnfGlEeCAIeUTZLKr2-Ym-0J1kD0vsOYv_9dVifP6fgZXkx3RJCQQX3btsYVOmmblO5SciecjNDIABTQ/s1600/IMG_0661.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ESQIKsvaBHiMOIPoXwcpYAMPLI8WnfAXwlEuaRzsYPlMHqbFeeIA0Qc06A2LnfGlEeCAIeUTZLKr2-Ym-0J1kD0vsOYv_9dVifP6fgZXkx3RJCQQX3btsYVOmmblO5SciecjNDIABTQ/s200/IMG_0661.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZF152XJBFqJXfHsy4TTRiwciEMnTI9qhRKinniS4HWu6OerwKVYtrmhl9JNAC_dvA5RTW_1BBkJKdTSV9DAeaAITj7VenZL6VjMKNG_oLxA03fdQh7NEGCKKjhZYjVRfzyh_HfNUy16c/s1600/IMG_0678.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZF152XJBFqJXfHsy4TTRiwciEMnTI9qhRKinniS4HWu6OerwKVYtrmhl9JNAC_dvA5RTW_1BBkJKdTSV9DAeaAITj7VenZL6VjMKNG_oLxA03fdQh7NEGCKKjhZYjVRfzyh_HfNUy16c/s200/IMG_0678.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBV2PCWKtL2tg-s0CYCW8aD1F6pDcIsneFNQ6TSPjK_yNII8g72e9xJMtoyKCu3ChuddjWxg2oPiJ3B71LOCb1ZpHxeCLyJ9WmBbNHiCw_JsgjTW1iE_5JDcDI_0V76cgU-v433qspOss/s1600/IMG_0677.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBV2PCWKtL2tg-s0CYCW8aD1F6pDcIsneFNQ6TSPjK_yNII8g72e9xJMtoyKCu3ChuddjWxg2oPiJ3B71LOCb1ZpHxeCLyJ9WmBbNHiCw_JsgjTW1iE_5JDcDI_0V76cgU-v433qspOss/s200/IMG_0677.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> Stir until the cheese is fully melted. Put the lid back on an wait another five minutes. Make sure you uncover and stir every minute or so to make sure nothing is burning or sticking to the bottom of the pan. If the pasta is still uncooked after five minutes keep uncovered and stir sporadically until it's ready. When is ready? It honestly depends on how you like your pasta. Just keep testing the pasta until it tastes good to you. How high/low your heat is will affect how fast/slow the pasta cooks. Also, the angel hair will cook much faster than the fettuccine. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> This is about how it will look when it's done cooking.</span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8U6bDJI4ZrVN1pJJAFxT4ba296VB0SiZXTCoeOm5l4c0sMjOpTZiBa7J8dq4pkFvmvAys-hXTy02XHtc-SerSQFYu1BOvaPN0bV_hwDBeggCLbX5mX0dXC7rn2r6q25fmPn0lDj0isA0/s1600/IMG_0680.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8U6bDJI4ZrVN1pJJAFxT4ba296VB0SiZXTCoeOm5l4c0sMjOpTZiBa7J8dq4pkFvmvAys-hXTy02XHtc-SerSQFYu1BOvaPN0bV_hwDBeggCLbX5mX0dXC7rn2r6q25fmPn0lDj0isA0/s320/IMG_0680.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Seventh: </b>when the pasta is done pour into some sort of eating container. I use a spatula to make sure I get everything out of the pan. This also makes it easier to wash the skillet/frying pan</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Eighth: </b>wash your skillet/frying pan and wooden spoon and spatula (if you used one) and lid. Now, if you're in your own house/apartment, this is none of my business and whatever. Wash your dishes when you want to. This step is for college students. If you are sharing a kitchen with anyone, if the kitchen is not your private space, then wash your dishes. This is respectful to people (*cough* like me *cough cough*) who need to use the kitchen space and don't want to have to clean up your mess. Be an adult. Be a respectful person.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Ahem.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Ninth:</b> Eat your food! I won't go into details, because I'm pretty sure all of you (or at least most) know how to feed yourselves. If not, ask someone else for help. I can't help you with that.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhWf81CsDoxh8WXF4h0k_ugMuTaZNEZe_yLz-jyejplKx7yBOt8yqoqadkr11uCdvvN3H_Vxs8vkYJ41TBTkaWH-cSSjrOC95YUs6f8yx9OBT5CyMhiNvWZM6kQq_8TiBq9s1nO7jiSNE/s1600/IMG_0682.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhWf81CsDoxh8WXF4h0k_ugMuTaZNEZe_yLz-jyejplKx7yBOt8yqoqadkr11uCdvvN3H_Vxs8vkYJ41TBTkaWH-cSSjrOC95YUs6f8yx9OBT5CyMhiNvWZM6kQq_8TiBq9s1nO7jiSNE/s320/IMG_0682.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I add fresh basil to most of my dishes because<br />
I have an awesome basil plant that hasn't died yet.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What's nice about this kind of pasta is you can make all different kinds of skillet pasta. Just change up the cheese or vegetable or sauce. I will probably be sharing variances in the future.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Do you have any simple college-easy food recipes? Please share!</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222233412304660376noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-83376155322274900442013-02-28T12:41:00.000-05:002013-02-28T12:41:14.021-05:00This is a Picture of a Chair<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1eC86RR2XLL_lw6mzXFDNvIL_Ow-9WJhSlS8UjJ8CwrJHUMVrZOdpVMzf1RLmUFNMpyJRbhOL9aDEtLwXE6XVwdXS3HBDexfQ0LWCq2vWDUfuZLvuekzSQF7xbd7ABp0lfFBJUqGp4Ik/s1600/chair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1eC86RR2XLL_lw6mzXFDNvIL_Ow-9WJhSlS8UjJ8CwrJHUMVrZOdpVMzf1RLmUFNMpyJRbhOL9aDEtLwXE6XVwdXS3HBDexfQ0LWCq2vWDUfuZLvuekzSQF7xbd7ABp0lfFBJUqGp4Ik/s320/chair.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It's just sitting there.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And I keep thinking about consciousness and zombie toasters (zombie's according to Chalmers, that is) and the fact that we don't believe that inanimate objects have "consciousness" or individual identities or selves or an expressable "I."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And I think how unfair that is.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And I think of the book <i><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/brother-to-dragons-companion-to-owls-jane-lindskold/1100351348?ean=9780765314819">Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls</a></i>, where the main character can hear things like stuffed animals and doors and walls and people thinks she's crazy but she's not. Because she really can hear doors and walls and inanimate objects that we say do not have identities or any abilities to communicate.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And I want to know why.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And I want to push at philosophers and make them explain to me why this assumption is in place. Is it only because you cannot conceive of it? Cannot imagine it? Because I can. So many times I feel like a book is judging me, or a chair looks lonely, or a rock feels angry, or.... Is this merely me taking my own mental states and </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">attributing</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> them to inanimate objects? Am I just crazy? Am I just using language and feelings in ways that only writers use language and feelings?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I don't know.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But I wish philosophers would quit saying so forcefully that they <i>know</i> that chairs do not have identities or personalities or "consciousness" or anything at all they are just wood and cloth and little bits of metal nails.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Because we don't really know anything - now do we?</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222233412304660376noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-24193067001480040352013-02-27T12:31:00.001-05:002013-02-28T12:42:33.964-05:00Changes to the Blog & Growing Up<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Hey LamNams!</span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I thought I should let you know I'm making a bit of a change:</span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My blog is now: <a href="http://naomiruthwrites.blogspot.com/">naomiruthwrites</a></span></li>
<li><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My e-mail is now: naomirthompson(at)gmail(dot)com [more or less - I'm still in the midst of changing that nonsense]</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'm trying to grow up a little bit and:</span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Be a tad more professional</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Learn how to write better</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Learn how to represent myself better</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I shall keep you updated on any other changes! I'm looking forward to see what happens for the rest of this year. There's so many possibilities!</span><br />
<div>
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What about you? Any changes happening this year? Any new possibilities you're looking forward to?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Have a good week, LamNams.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222233412304660376noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-90727001984774677212013-02-26T18:55:00.001-05:002013-02-26T18:55:42.686-05:00WriteOnCon and Stuff I Learn About MyselfSo I've been running around <a href="http://writeoncon.com/">WriteOnCon </a>when I have time - because they are doing a PitchFest and it's super exciting. I'm working on my pitch for WhiteWashed.<br />
<br />
And I realized how much I miss being part of the writerly world and posting in here and all I could think of was, "Dude, why did I stop?" and I realized:<br />
<br />
Something happened. Something mysterious and I don't know what. BUT.<br />
<br />
I didn't think I had anything important to say. It's like someone took a vacuum hose and stuck it down my throat and sucked out all of my confidence and worth as an individual self.<br />
<br />
I don't even know. It's so not like me. I've always been fairly confident in who I am and that I have something important to say and share.<br />
<br />
But. Something happened and all of that disappeared and I would pull up this blog - you have NO IDEA how many times I pulled up this blog - and I would stare at the empty screen waiting for me to burp words up onto and I would just think: there is nothing I can say. Everything has already been said. People have BETTER things to say than I do.<br />
<br />
What is my life?<br />
<br />
What if I'm just an object interacting with other objects that have the power to produce within me the feelings of a personality and really this "I" does not refer to anything at all?<br />
<br />
But I have an amazing friend and she e-mailed me the other day and reminded me that: I can say things that are worth saying.<br />
<br />
So. Will I blog more? I have no idea. My laptop died and won't turn back on. I don't have a job. I have no idea what I'm doing this summer. I'm taking 22 credits part of which is writing a thesis part of which is a heavy book reading independent study... And you know what. I'll tell you more about that later. Because. I can do that.<br />
<br />
I can write in here when I want to about THINGS and about BORING THINGS and about EXCITING THINGS and I can have a sense of humor and I can not be depressed all of the time and I can not hold myself up to some weird kind of I don't know what that keeps me from doing anything and this has become one very long sentence of longness.<br />
<br />
Now.<br />
<br />
I'm going to go make pasta. I might tell you about it later. Because pasta is awesome.<br />
<br />
And life is awesome.<br />
<br />
And here is a picture of Norway:<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://sarainternationalenglish.blogspot.com/2011/12/living-in-norway.html"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXAKPhYpFBaYdXIHfOfrpuTOfd-rm0PYLanipizotxmKyAFL_FE097rhhra_MyNU8zVelQA-OQBxhALQQHV9R7lzIgdwHDGK3aR6NOZ2dBp3Ko0ofeVACF8cmQsc4HMaQm-QDnG8NqzsQ/s320/norway.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Let's go, guys.</i></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222233412304660376noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-30137925381599600882013-01-23T16:58:00.001-05:002013-01-23T16:58:46.765-05:00The Labels We HideI have a lot of crazy characters. And I'm not just saying that. I have a lot of mentally deranged, unstable, people. I have characters with emotional problems. I have characters that could be labeled all kinds of disorders.<br />
<br />
Why?<br />
<br />
Because one, I think they're interesting. But two, I think we hide our labels. We hide our instability. We pretend we're okay and we smile and we go to class. I have multiple friends who are depressed and on meds. And they don't tell people. I had a serious emotional/mental problem last semester with anxiety and panic and depression.<br />
<br />
But shh! Don't tell.<br />
<br />
Our society likes to cover up crazy. Take your pills and shut up and pretend. It makes the world uncomfortable. It makes us feel like we're no in control. It's messy and it hurts and we aren't going to talk about it.<br />
<br />
But who doesn't have some sort of problem some time?<br />
<br />
Why do we need to hide who we are all of the time? I hate it. It's something that I truly loathe. The hiding. The fearing judgement. The fact that people either ignore that you have a problem or they treat you differently.<br />
<br />
Why?<br />
<br />
We're just people. We're all just people.<br />
<br />
I haven't been blogging much. I blame it on the fact that I don't have time, or I don't have anything to blog about, or blah, blah, blah, excuse, excuse, excuse. The reason why I don't blog much, the reason why I don't read blogs like I used to, has nothing to do with that. The truth is sometimes I don't want to get out of bed in the morning. The truth is sometimes I sit all day and stare out of the window and look at trees. The truth is life is a struggle and it's hard and sometimes your brain explodes and you spiral out of control and you pick up the pieces and have to start setting up new patterns.<br />
<br />
And it costs you. Having your brain malfunction and your mood go paddywack crazy costs you. You don't find internships on time. You don't have readership up on your blog. No one knows who you are. No one comments. And you think about how this makes you look, and you wonder what you can do, and there's all of these things that make you feel so alone in the world.<br />
<br />
But don't talk about it.<br />
<br />
Don't blog about it.<br />
<br />
Pretend you're okay, find a way around it, repress it and hide it and hope it goes away.<br />
<br />
I'm getting better. I'm making lists. I'm finishing books. I'm writing more regularly. I'm blogging a tiny bit more (not much). I'm getting back into the blog world (so slowly) and I'm preparing for my second to last semester and hoping I can still find an internship and work toward a life after graduation.<br />
<br />
So. My characters are going to be crazy. They are going to have mental problems. They are going to be psychotic, and abused, and sick, and sometimes maybe they won't be, but most of the time they will. Because that is what I am. That is what I know. And I'm tired of it being something that is not okay to talk about.<br />
<br />
Get over yourself, world. Face your imperfections and accept it and move on with your life.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222233412304660376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-17190734938623824062013-01-18T00:03:00.000-05:002013-01-18T00:03:38.230-05:00WhiteWashed, a Pitch Fest, and The Ooze Walk Into A BarMy brain hurts.<br />
<br />
I just finished an entire book run through of editing WhiteWashed. This is what my brain feels like:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMPtWqp_-GH_WBGjeo5bw_oyWIKsvtkIdhsgohIV69lTJixUG5BK2DHUN_aFW0Lg3fHcUjXvJ2rAd_lyPjhZFrARLwYsCVSyVU6Dz9ZpuWCxAwrgR35dKcaCU5uf_S2TkSFyYJJGTL0Po/s1600/lost+plane+crash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMPtWqp_-GH_WBGjeo5bw_oyWIKsvtkIdhsgohIV69lTJixUG5BK2DHUN_aFW0Lg3fHcUjXvJ2rAd_lyPjhZFrARLwYsCVSyVU6Dz9ZpuWCxAwrgR35dKcaCU5uf_S2TkSFyYJJGTL0Po/s1600/lost+plane+crash.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Like a LOST plane crash.<br />
<br />
I'm pretty sure it will all be ready for the <a href="http://writeoncon.com/forum/showthread.php?10672-Luck-O-The-Irish-PITCHER-FAQ">Writeoncon pitchfest</a>.<br />
<br />
Right now? This is how I feel about my MS:<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsT8ezAPqNsvspa54W-g_D3s91lFDOgv98Z-p96FcgWoNA_ViM8_sIJCCix7d1RvgWwMNHv5LA3-bSBKJVcyhndMTnlH9Vp8SHg9EOPtr_DXSuvI5eZZ3m6Myfe77nZUsgXqRGE3RDay8/s1600/Beautiful.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsT8ezAPqNsvspa54W-g_D3s91lFDOgv98Z-p96FcgWoNA_ViM8_sIJCCix7d1RvgWwMNHv5LA3-bSBKJVcyhndMTnlH9Vp8SHg9EOPtr_DXSuvI5eZZ3m6Myfe77nZUsgXqRGE3RDay8/s1600/Beautiful.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
It's just so pretty. There are wonderful phrases. It makes me laugh. There's some intense emotional scenes. It has poem/song things. It's so gorgeous.<br />
<br />
And I know tomorrow it won't be so beautiful anymore.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVDlxf70cwvZfkRcirY8t54yRon30HuZq9Df1P0a75Fsx0w-YxghQ6G6dqbKAhLunf5m_epx16nQh2yQ1B_g2McMj6TtJar2Rx9IxJtlDDbsIjhfcmPOdPe3xNTBTqNQlw5DceWoxakvM/s1600/Frollo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVDlxf70cwvZfkRcirY8t54yRon30HuZq9Df1P0a75Fsx0w-YxghQ6G6dqbKAhLunf5m_epx16nQh2yQ1B_g2McMj6TtJar2Rx9IxJtlDDbsIjhfcmPOdPe3xNTBTqNQlw5DceWoxakvM/s320/Frollo.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Instead I will be thinking: "What is this baby? This isn't mine." But then I'll learn to love it anyway, just like the Hunchback.<br />
<br />
And then eventually an agent will get their hands on it.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVpCZoWC0FoZDOuNJmvw_Cy8BBhKmNPbl5FZ1Q31DqllYdeiVs3WitgobNRttUqLpQ37fVblwpGOX9argUlgch2DISWvcvUVcds6N8Qxo8ArO1RCPcjBHfS8b4X9QN_MgkAhzbGZWd7bg/s1600/Nooo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVpCZoWC0FoZDOuNJmvw_Cy8BBhKmNPbl5FZ1Q31DqllYdeiVs3WitgobNRttUqLpQ37fVblwpGOX9argUlgch2DISWvcvUVcds6N8Qxo8ArO1RCPcjBHfS8b4X9QN_MgkAhzbGZWd7bg/s320/Nooo.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Noooooo!!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And then an editor will get their hands on it.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU_KkijyFMLatEVkhlbCugtReF4ME5g3AUOeiwI7dDxxSIa9arv3AOUeznZISxkz-jzqYJoTBmCJwqhTAbxxe_5YTQiavcuc1EL18-wcGCmpGTO0SZBFnZ1gSdb9M_Qdo4XvQh46YPWCc/s1600/Fainting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU_KkijyFMLatEVkhlbCugtReF4ME5g3AUOeiwI7dDxxSIa9arv3AOUeznZISxkz-jzqYJoTBmCJwqhTAbxxe_5YTQiavcuc1EL18-wcGCmpGTO0SZBFnZ1gSdb9M_Qdo4XvQh46YPWCc/s1600/Fainting.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Only, if I should ever faint, I hope some<br />creepy man doesn't appear out of nowhere.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But for now:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi3V5uDXt4utEVPRbv8tMLAJZVqIrl446s5PEDgSjNnkfninjEGrjFZ5RkDZ78BvHZJpA9MrQAmBSIIIhqzQxO22vCFqdPJmD4d2IwqqIbSKsRHS5mxBpQqos2-E1T1-vTX-z2_ntqKeo/s1600/Gollum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi3V5uDXt4utEVPRbv8tMLAJZVqIrl446s5PEDgSjNnkfninjEGrjFZ5RkDZ78BvHZJpA9MrQAmBSIIIhqzQxO22vCFqdPJmD4d2IwqqIbSKsRHS5mxBpQqos2-E1T1-vTX-z2_ntqKeo/s1600/Gollum.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"It's mine. My own. My Precious."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Now I just have to figure out the pitch part.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8I5ZpJliZqWivu5OUgBp9gLMV7C9QDIf01wBgagU2Wk1HSMLLOApFbp3ah9wbGaIILf38LJrP0E4kmd7rNNHl319pI_GEKR_gevJxZ2bRbE5ox_AFkjpcA-vpK9Tt5Du7ReCfYhbJzJ0/s1600/Ben.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8I5ZpJliZqWivu5OUgBp9gLMV7C9QDIf01wBgagU2Wk1HSMLLOApFbp3ah9wbGaIILf38LJrP0E4kmd7rNNHl319pI_GEKR_gevJxZ2bRbE5ox_AFkjpcA-vpK9Tt5Du7ReCfYhbJzJ0/s1600/Ben.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222233412304660376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-4108011166617236622013-01-15T22:46:00.000-05:002013-01-15T22:46:02.993-05:00Me and Animals and How Life Taunts MeMe: I don't really like animals.<br />
<br />
Life: Really? You really don't like animals?<br />
<br />
Me: Meh. Not really.<br />
<br />
Life: *laughing evilly* So you don't like this? *sticks a wombat in my face*<br />
<br />
Me: AWWWW. It's so cute! I want one!<br />
<br />
Life: *bunts the wombat back to Australia* No! Wombats are not domesticated. Wombats can dig through concrete. Wombats could eat your face off and tear you limb from limb. You cannot have a wombat.<br />
<br />
Me: Fine. I still don't like animalS. I just like A animal.<br />
<br />
Life: Really?<br />
<br />
Me: Yes.<br />
<br />
Life: *laughs evilly* *pulls a quokka from behind its back* What about this?<br />
<br />
Me: AWWWW. It's so cute I want one!<br />
<br />
Life: *laughs manically and bunts quokka back to Australia* No! You can't have one! They're not domesticated. They are dying off and being eaten by cats and dogs and those other animals you disregard. You cannot have a quokka!<br />
<br />
Me: *sobbing* Why Australia? Why? Why do you have such cute animals? I hate you forever!<br />
<br />
Life: *runs off laughing in nefarious glee*<br />
<br />
Me: *shakes fist* Oh, life, how I hate thee sometimes.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidqRhF3j-a3rBDlBF-S9mRsOdHdBxf2qZNw2JwNasnfrtKEp4b3xgNRhlOMi9qjHRN3-efIF2jvKfRfkQeqGDj54fH2rP-zceMquQjHA42TEWht6dnJXfK2_YIfan6L1udpajuLzb7IrI/s1600/Quokka.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidqRhF3j-a3rBDlBF-S9mRsOdHdBxf2qZNw2JwNasnfrtKEp4b3xgNRhlOMi9qjHRN3-efIF2jvKfRfkQeqGDj54fH2rP-zceMquQjHA42TEWht6dnJXfK2_YIfan6L1udpajuLzb7IrI/s1600/Quokka.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222233412304660376noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-78196490434847458022012-12-12T10:25:00.000-05:002012-12-12T10:25:00.102-05:00Two Sentence PostIt's not about what we want to do...<br />
<br />
It's about what we decide to do.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222233412304660376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-71176901368498778522012-12-11T10:24:00.005-05:002012-12-11T10:24:58.291-05:00Grief<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This story bit was
written after one of the professors, Dr. Murphy, passed away. He was a good
friend of my professor and when I was sitting in class my professor’s grief was
tangible. I wrote this scene about a person (I imagine her female because I am
female, but it could just as easily be male) who can only feel emotion through
other individuals. They are incapable of feeling emotion on their own, and must
live vicariously through others.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You think you know something about grief?” he laughed a dry
dusty old tome of a laugh.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Something, yes. Not personally, but I know something. I
know it’s a drop of bittersweet dark chocolate under the tongue that makes you
swallow, and swallow, and feel just a little bit like choking. I know it’s salt
tears burning your eyes red. A hollow gut spilling out of your skin in waves,
and waves. I know it’s the question why. That deep-seated child asking why were
they here and now they’re not?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s not grief,” he said. “That’s poetry.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Grief is poetry.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At first he said nothing and his eyes were nothing and his
arms were so still and his body was so rigid he became a little bit of nothing.
“That’s not what grief is. Grief is not poetry.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Then what is it?” I demanded, a clawed monster of pain
awakening in my stomach and ripping, flailing, trying to find a way up my
throat, but its legs were stuck in my stomach and so it reached, and reached
behind my eyes and scratched away at my retinas.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’ll know when it comes,” he said quietly, and left. The
monster left with him, and the pain, and the regret, and the relief, and the
ever-present haunting that death left behind. I wrapped my arms around myself
and waited to feel again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
**Also: Sorry about my recent trend in writing horribly sad posts. I will have something a little more positive in a few days if all goes well. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222233412304660376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-61667982581193552692012-11-29T13:40:00.002-05:002012-11-29T13:40:37.632-05:00Car Trouble<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUncRXlIrnD5Wcip461U9vbC19FW5oLhEba5UyjD8gA6mrMiiCV0URUCBmO69pgWMMc_c4k_JohH_lVlg3vJcCVeP2YAmSBwTy9Bc-ihL6iEG17Y4sRLWyWFZ88rM-Zt-rhllZ_iIQWm8/s1600/Driving+a+Car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUncRXlIrnD5Wcip461U9vbC19FW5oLhEba5UyjD8gA6mrMiiCV0URUCBmO69pgWMMc_c4k_JohH_lVlg3vJcCVeP2YAmSBwTy9Bc-ihL6iEG17Y4sRLWyWFZ88rM-Zt-rhllZ_iIQWm8/s320/Driving+a+Car.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
She was drinking coffee. Bad idea. But she knew if she didn't she would go find alcohol - and for an alcohol intolerant person that was even worse of an idea. So the coffee worked as a distraction. For a few moments. Then it would all come back and she would reach for another marshmallow. The bag was almost half-empty already. She would eat one - or five - every time it came back. Every time she remembered.<br />
<br />
She kept telling herself it wasn't that bad. Nothing had actually happened. She was fine and she was safe. But that refrain kept coming into her head and parading like a demented mechanical chicken. <i>My car was on fire. I could have died.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
She had taken a long bath and had bought new clothes (well, they were used, but still, new to her) to put distance between herself and what had happened. Also, to get away from the burnt car smell that clung to her like a needy boyfriend.<br />
<br />
The car ride had started out well enough, except for the delay. She had taken a wrong turn and ended up in Pittsburgh. But she had pulled out her map and been able to find her way back to 79 South. It had been about an hour out of the way, but it could have been worse, and she had been able to figure it out all on her own without a GPS. Just an old beat up atlas.<br />
<br />
That's when her car started acting funny. She had gone to the nearest gas station, just to be sure. Everything looked fine. All fluids where they needed to be, no leaking, tires good.<br />
<br />
<i>I should have called my dad.</i> But she hadn't. It had driven without problem for about an hour. That's when the smoke started. And then the panic. She dialed home. No answer. Her dad. Still no answer. Mom? Yes. She was driving but would call back. She hung up.<br />
<br />
It smelled like smoke. Like a lot of smoke. She was just thinking of getting out of the car when someone pulled over in front of her. A small white car. A man jumped out and ran to her, so she rolled down her window.<br />
<br />
"Yours car is on fire. You need to get out."<br />
<br />
The panic. The waiting. The continual phone calls. Fire fighters pulling stuff out of the back of her car and tossing it aside while they tried to cool the car down. It was too hot. There was so much smoke. <i>This isn't real. This doesn't happen in real life.</i> But it was happening. Later, car dropped off at a shop, waiting for her dad to pick her up, she walked through the dollar store and felt nothing. She was walking. She was standing. Her eyes were open. But no sense data was coming through. There was nothing. Just a floating body of white noise. So she got a hotel room and took a bath and put on her new clothes and called her grandmother.<br />
<br />
That's when the shaking started. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if worse things had happened to her. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad it she knew she could afford a new car. Or if she wasn't alone in West Virginia.<br />
<br />
She took another sip of the coffee she wasn't supposed to be drinking and reached for another marshmallow. She waited for her dad to come and for the shaking to stop.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222233412304660376noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-76524838772294658062012-09-04T10:54:00.003-04:002012-09-04T10:54:48.455-04:00Second Time CharmsSO, a long time ago my sister taught me the basics of painting. This was over five years ago when I was in highschool and only wanted to write and was not really interested in any other types of artistic expression. Or. That's how I remember it. I could be wrong.<br />
<br />
BUT, so, my sister Rebecca of Awesomeness, taught me the basics of painting and we used watercolor. I dabbled around with some painting and drawing after that. (Heehee, dabble is a funny word.)<br />
<br />
And you know what. I lied. I was always interested in drawing. And music. I'm just forgetting my childhood. Forgive me.<br />
<br />
BUT a few years ago I sort of gave up on painting. I still drew stuff, mostly stick figures. I was obsessed with stick figures. I tried to figure out how legs would like while running, how to make stick figures squat or sit cross legged or hug. Arms and legs go all over the place while people hug, and when you just have sticks it can sometimes look ridiculous. BUT I had pretty much given up on the paint because I didn't think I was very good, and rather than failing, or investing time and money into something I wasn't going to be good at, I just hid my canvases and my easel that my parents bought me for Christmas and I quietly pretended that I wasn't interested.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE5S5HWkgCc7RRWF_wARH8LJrnylpZYmN3jGvxZyCleRdPOkNboOhz8LkhSjsQn8W9FcPqbvE7T9h94e3hySPoNIWcZ_19C0Xd36JzfJCuU2MjLp5d1f5tm9pyPvfioEGHD6J5h-smd3k/s1600/Earac+Lands+of.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE5S5HWkgCc7RRWF_wARH8LJrnylpZYmN3jGvxZyCleRdPOkNboOhz8LkhSjsQn8W9FcPqbvE7T9h94e3hySPoNIWcZ_19C0Xd36JzfJCuU2MjLp5d1f5tm9pyPvfioEGHD6J5h-smd3k/s320/Earac+Lands+of.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="289" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgByxw2kOP3w2mLkeObK4VFuGwXVHvUA-eqlD-ZeiY7IdWVy5mcOLW8crrFwtl0poxwled_BqfnwvI82RaZ1HqSuNziy6e_pUo_Hz8IF9vHhQcDdOqhzr9Ue1yoYWgHV3s03J-7xYk5u-Q/s1600/Earac+Beyond.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgByxw2kOP3w2mLkeObK4VFuGwXVHvUA-eqlD-ZeiY7IdWVy5mcOLW8crrFwtl0poxwled_BqfnwvI82RaZ1HqSuNziy6e_pUo_Hz8IF9vHhQcDdOqhzr9Ue1yoYWgHV3s03J-7xYk5u-Q/s320/Earac+Beyond.jpg" width="294" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">These were my first two paintings that I did on canvas. They're as "book covers" for the first book series I ever (seriously) wrote. I graduated early just to write these series. But I was younger, and I didn't know how hard the publishing world really is, and I was so full of hope and silliness. I am still planning on doing something with Lands of Earac on day. It will just be a little while. I still need to edit it and stuff. BUT, that's what these paintings were from. And then I quietly set them on my bookshelf and went on with my life, doodling and dreaming and writing and learning.<!--[endif]--></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">THEN... Last semester I had a new roommate. I have mentioned her before, and I will probably mention her quite often. You know how sometimes there's a turning point in your life and there's that one person who was there during that turning point and they helped you through and they were there for you and they changed you in a vats number of little tiny penetrable ways? That was my roommate. She painted. She was the catalyst that got me painting again.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">And, of course, I don't actually have a picture of that first painting that I did, BUT, it was a found art painting. It was my diagram of the universe using buttons and string and chains and shiny things. And I found something out. I really, really like painting. AND I could paint without having to be fancy or do people or animals or living things. I could be abstract and crazy because I am abstract and crazy. SO. I started making paintings for friends' weddings:</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhricgpbjrOv68XQLbhT4TZKad6fL8EjUBIlcHWMh6WmNq4OOVAVJfWAho8mF_MLSQz95UZnh3N82MPrY9iyYHI34aC2onTLl5hXyWfJOQnGuIH7fYtx7OmyM9MNK3PdQuQvyZ2zt1LBbM/s1600/DSCN4533.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhricgpbjrOv68XQLbhT4TZKad6fL8EjUBIlcHWMh6WmNq4OOVAVJfWAho8mF_MLSQz95UZnh3N82MPrY9iyYHI34aC2onTLl5hXyWfJOQnGuIH7fYtx7OmyM9MNK3PdQuQvyZ2zt1LBbM/s320/DSCN4533.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhraaiF_tYTrVy22LScv0C_06WAySz3obusvyM8jTAqC-F_n57mvgA7s-xHFCUPHm-Q3JyRYE761tzniziUDy4wUaroHHSugnQSwl1r9iP64jJDj2YV5BACovV27KL19Rs0dRl9P3AcIpc/s1600/DSCN4542.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhraaiF_tYTrVy22LScv0C_06WAySz3obusvyM8jTAqC-F_n57mvgA7s-xHFCUPHm-Q3JyRYE761tzniziUDy4wUaroHHSugnQSwl1r9iP64jJDj2YV5BACovV27KL19Rs0dRl9P3AcIpc/s320/DSCN4542.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
And then as gifts and then I realize... Hey. This is like mixing scrapbooking and painting together. AND my sister gets paid to scrapbook and my brother-in-law gets paid to paint SO, what if I could actually do this for fun, and as a small business? So I started gathering together paint and canvases.<br />
<br />
A few days later my mum and dad had to go to a birthday party and they were saying, "We don't know what to get as a present, because the kid has everything already." Kind of joking around I said, "Hey, you could pay me and I could make something. You would just have to gather random nominally flat objects from the party and I could make a commemorative painting."<br />
<br />
Then I got home that night to a cup full of birthday stuff and monies. *le gasp of happiness* SO I made this:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIlbZQI6uers28I90-lZOgiPXJvW7BgYi2_HxZYWRXzMo0gkBaGDNj1ZUH8jechoYdkqVVbjBIMPUBEPncL2S-oQ5Tl_pyx66SyPPMmMv93YnqCQysyNb7l4sbLKPDVUTKKVz0wB9qIYo/s1600/DSCN4553.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIlbZQI6uers28I90-lZOgiPXJvW7BgYi2_HxZYWRXzMo0gkBaGDNj1ZUH8jechoYdkqVVbjBIMPUBEPncL2S-oQ5Tl_pyx66SyPPMmMv93YnqCQysyNb7l4sbLKPDVUTKKVz0wB9qIYo/s320/DSCN4553.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJa5ccpju34dC6SLnRrcVFKAs5XmlzaMNdo5ZtnyCqF7O_fW3fLfunEqd7e80wVKxX2pGIx3uJvgVbu7cr00WMjkfQJfz5asenOZc2Yevvj0d0S4or7iBH6Q7fkMCcIl0h97ZrjXMWoHU/s1600/DSCN4552.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJa5ccpju34dC6SLnRrcVFKAs5XmlzaMNdo5ZtnyCqF7O_fW3fLfunEqd7e80wVKxX2pGIx3uJvgVbu7cr00WMjkfQJfz5asenOZc2Yevvj0d0S4or7iBH6Q7fkMCcIl0h97ZrjXMWoHU/s320/DSCN4552.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">SO now I'm thinking about calling it Second Time Charms, as per one of my friends suggestions. Eventually I'll be able to also make things like wind chimes out of bottle caps and painted boxes and things. BUT I like the idea because it's a tasteful and unique way to </span>preserve<span style="font-size: small;"> memories without taking up space and allowing easy access to look at it. You just have to put it on the wall. And I've also made ones as presents where I just use elements that remind me of that person. For my brother I made one with random rusty things, because, he likes random rusty things:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-size: small;">SO it's something that can be designed specifically for you for whatever you want. Birthday parties, graduations, weddings, bat mitzvahs, bar mitzvahs, or ramadan parties. Or Arbor Day parties. If you want it done as a memorial you just have to send me elements from the event. Invitations, candles, cut-off bits of tablecloth, centerpieces, whatever. OR, you just have to tell me that someone like nature and flowers and I'll work with that. I'm really hoping this is something I can do for reals, because I like doing it, and it's fun, and it not stressful, and I think it's something that isn't really out there right now. But I think it's something that could be nice for people to have.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">SO. That is Second Time Charms, by ELM. (That's my painting name.) If you have any suggestions just let me know :) I appreciate all y'all. Hope you're having a good beginning of September!</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222233412304660376noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-44932663924241822702012-08-25T12:13:00.000-04:002012-08-25T12:13:10.850-04:00Back to CollegeWell, hello my lovely LamNams. I have not been around in forever.<br />
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I do sometimes post over <a href="http://www.booksellerswithoutbordersny.com/">here</a> at Booksellers Without Borders NY. I'm supposed to be posting on Thursdays about Middle Grade books. I miss this past Thursday because I was in RA training all day. And all week. And I'm still in RA training. Fortunately we have the weekend off to kind of decompress and chill our faces off. It's been kinda' intense at times. Mostly just time-consuming.<br />
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SO, what have I been doing all of this time? I was working again at a small Playhouse (a musical theatre) in the Box Office. It was basically working in a shack in the middle of the woods while answering phone calls from old people. It was fun though. I worked like, 10-12 hr shifts though, so... I didn't really exist enough to be able to spend time over here.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is My Little Box I Lived in This Summer</td></tr>
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ALSO, I was trying to get together with ALL THE FRIENDS. I did get to run down and see my roommate (I think I will always call her that, even though she is transferring out to a state far away from mine, and we aren't technically roommates anymore because I am an RA and I have a room all to myself but... where was this thought going? I think I'm supposed to have stopped this parenthesis thought by now.) which was awesome.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Except the part where I got pulled over</td></tr>
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AND, we had our giant family birthday, since since about five of us all have birthdays between the end of July and mid September.<br />
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WHAT ELSE: I went to BEA (did I already tell you about that? I don't know.) and so have been trying to keep up on my reading of ARCs and so forth.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7VQUaIzXcDBwbc4mgBL1_XozhvhCr_avs_ND4p8YuUEdyQVrUM2RxJ7MlwrwU_OvVylFSM0QQg1KRoBlroUFJ3cfFcuXc0lwjeNO_bLM_dya0P_f8czA8oSsBuXmlh13j381V9WaRKKY/s1600/BEA+Books.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7VQUaIzXcDBwbc4mgBL1_XozhvhCr_avs_ND4p8YuUEdyQVrUM2RxJ7MlwrwU_OvVylFSM0QQg1KRoBlroUFJ3cfFcuXc0lwjeNO_bLM_dya0P_f8czA8oSsBuXmlh13j381V9WaRKKY/s320/BEA+Books.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is just a small portion... The ones I brought with me to school</td></tr>
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OH! I started painting again and I'm hoping to turn that into a small business, which I shall tell you about more at a later point.<br />
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SO FAR this is an extremely dull post but as I am - at times- and extremely dull person that is quite alright.<br />
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I AM going to be super busy this year with classes, and RAing (which means I am a resident assistant, and have to make sure all the Residents on my hall obey the rules and are taking care of themselves physically and emotionally, and whatnot.) annnnnd doing everything else that I always try to do.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkrFLCqWleQqK_O_UP5Fwn67YLbKPd4XrZdNrFCefU2hv1Y2l0UuarDVqkzl4oKWQsowAPlsufGpGEVp1No5KfxQJUK4GTy79Pr-9LbHbDH4szyILvbtyViRaZqxDcNMSOxFXYHV6sEOo/s1600/All+the+THings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkrFLCqWleQqK_O_UP5Fwn67YLbKPd4XrZdNrFCefU2hv1Y2l0UuarDVqkzl4oKWQsowAPlsufGpGEVp1No5KfxQJUK4GTy79Pr-9LbHbDH4szyILvbtyViRaZqxDcNMSOxFXYHV6sEOo/s1600/All+the+THings.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/06/this-is-why-ill-never-be-adult.html">From Hyperbole and a Half</a></td></tr>
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I WILL TRY and write a post every weekend (Friday, Saturday, or Sunday) just to try and keep in contact with this side of the world, because I KNOW I've been losing touch all over the place and that makes me sad inside.<br />
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I HOPE to be around more often, HOWEVER, I am realistic and realize that PROBABLY won't happen. Because I'm a bum.<br />
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ANYWAY, I hope y'all had a good summer, and continue to have a good rest of the summer, AND I hope to see you all soon. I give hugs to all of you, unless you are creepy, in which case I give you a friendly handshake instead.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji51CNTEZV6iIATcN9hmgMbQjk_5gzrMuoRVp7_84-BRo-7lc4BkBhgNjkE2hyphenhyphenu-8buTUixyPuPTkPwUgtXAeBL2PGYWP1XfX7t5-kYXCARUEsllQwXVGk9iAEwwn2AImIGjFCx4jHfGM/s1600/creepy+chicken+man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji51CNTEZV6iIATcN9hmgMbQjk_5gzrMuoRVp7_84-BRo-7lc4BkBhgNjkE2hyphenhyphenu-8buTUixyPuPTkPwUgtXAeBL2PGYWP1XfX7t5-kYXCARUEsllQwXVGk9iAEwwn2AImIGjFCx4jHfGM/s1600/creepy+chicken+man.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Only a Hand Shake for You. If That.</td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222233412304660376noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-67914378551446801122012-07-04T23:36:00.001-04:002012-07-04T23:36:19.964-04:00I'm Bored So I'm Writing ThisYou see, this summer I am working at a Playhouse in the middle of the woods.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHoG7Womq8_svMvH8xHbED6-kOStdRuMtOYCbwph-G674MYAgV6XeFw_1s0x2BGSqJ42q8HNgu02YmeIRCENY5NdW7guF1SATfdXpyff81VtfI3Xsxdtl-gtSQEraJvkK89a-CV3WALXE/s1600/house+in+woods.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHoG7Womq8_svMvH8xHbED6-kOStdRuMtOYCbwph-G674MYAgV6XeFw_1s0x2BGSqJ42q8HNgu02YmeIRCENY5NdW7guF1SATfdXpyff81VtfI3Xsxdtl-gtSQEraJvkK89a-CV3WALXE/s200/house+in+woods.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<i>Actually, yes. It kinda' looks like that.</i></div>
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And I work in the box office until late at night and I come home tired and hungry.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIVZTjDDlo-VGrkqP-oLbaRG9JC6L3rmOIPwJgRIi4XKSF-_isgIX5GdnbO1OaM7Sj2S-Zu1WxSNXEAFrQ0fWAkHb8PgMd2pJnI35Ft2UmqPFkwa9OJAzXylHvBQq2aUy__YheYhTqbBs/s1600/tired+cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIVZTjDDlo-VGrkqP-oLbaRG9JC6L3rmOIPwJgRIi4XKSF-_isgIX5GdnbO1OaM7Sj2S-Zu1WxSNXEAFrQ0fWAkHb8PgMd2pJnI35Ft2UmqPFkwa9OJAzXylHvBQq2aUy__YheYhTqbBs/s200/tired+cat.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<i>Kinda' like this cat</i></div>
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And so I came home and ate food and now I have to wait for my laundry to finish.</div>
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<i>Fortunately mine was not so bad</i></div>
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And that is why I am writing this epically boring, completely pointless, blog post.</div>
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Have a good night, my LamNams!!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV6VqDXCS_s-CD8Lp2fz4QKjnJN1NJ3Cy8Oe_I4bX5kZoYe6Ws9ba_TLARAyN6CaSJGMrEkeZLRS1XWWQzQazGL7irqv6vNSYsBv1bC76w-A1zDrRfSq4YBwH-39wuAOCyAyh4PEwgYCU/s1600/Good+night+bear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV6VqDXCS_s-CD8Lp2fz4QKjnJN1NJ3Cy8Oe_I4bX5kZoYe6Ws9ba_TLARAyN6CaSJGMrEkeZLRS1XWWQzQazGL7irqv6vNSYsBv1bC76w-A1zDrRfSq4YBwH-39wuAOCyAyh4PEwgYCU/s1600/Good+night+bear.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i>That is terrifying... Oh My Nightmares *faints*</i></div>
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<i>HE IS GOING TO EAT YOUR FACE OFF!!!</i></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222233412304660376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-55904986987978368782012-06-20T15:07:00.002-04:002012-06-20T15:07:14.732-04:00Happy Endings, Fairy Tale Re-Tellings, and a Non-Related ContestWell, I've sent off another query letter. It will probably come back as a no, but I need to keep trying or I'll stop completely. And I don't want to stop completely. Because I really like writing. And I really want to be able to share my stories with people. Mostly, because then people will know what I'm talking about when I make referewnces to my books, before remembering that no one has read them, and then I feel like a self-involved attic-hermit. Well. I do want to live in an attic someday and write books. Which is kinda' self-involved. Which. Hm.<br />
<br />
MOVING ON like a truck on the highway loaded up with sugar plum fairies:<br />
<br />
I have been writing a re-telling of the Little Mermaid and it is very annoying, because all the rest of the stories I've written in that world (Ferdanly) are all told in past tense, but this one wants to be written in present tense. Lame. Not that I have anything against present tense. I have used it for other series. BUT not this one. This one is supposed to be past. I'm letting my characters get away with it for now, but after the first draft we will have a long talk, I assure you.<br />
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It's been an interesting process, because the story keeps trying to be force its way into having a happy ending, and I'm having to work with all my might to make it only a nominally happy ending. It can't be entirely happy. That would ruin everything. Because 1) It messes up the whole process of the fact that fairytales are falling apart 2) It ruins what I'm going to do three books from now 3) I don't really like happy happy endings.<br />
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Fortunately, I have this character. Her name is Ionuin. She can get away with breaking whatever rules she wants. And, after some finagling, I was able to use her in order to get my books ending the place it needs to be: almost happy, but not quite.<br />
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Because life doesn't work out perfect happy happy. There's some happy and there's some not so happy, and that's the way I want my books to be. Some happy. Some not so happy. And some maiming and killing and fighting and brawling and using long ridiculous words that most people have not heard of: like concatenate.<br />
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ALSO I went to BEA and have been reading like mad crazy, and I will be writing reviews every Thursday for the 12 Down Unders, like for middle grade, and chapter books, and picture books over at BWOB: Booksellers Without Borders (follow the link thing HERE<a href="http://www.booksellerswithoutbordersny.com/">http://www.booksellerswithoutbordersny.com/</a>). AND I will be having a contest tomorrow to give away two books by RL Stine SO, feel free to drop by there tomorrow.<br />
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AND If you could have any fairy tale re-done, which one would that be? Are there any that you think have been over-done? Or never done? Do you have a favorite folk tale that no one ever talks aboiut sufficiently?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222233412304660376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-88229173186044540402012-05-06T21:12:00.001-04:002012-05-06T21:12:31.387-04:00Finals, What are Those?I am studiously ignoring my finals, and my final papers, and everything that is due this week. This is a much practiced skill.<br />
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Side note: Why isn't practiced spelled with an s? Practised. It makes more sense.<br />
<br />
This is not just procrastinating. This is studious. I have a list. It totally makes the whole process legit and everything.<br />
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1) I go around telling everyone that English grammar was greatly influenced by Cornish, despite the fact that people argue against this.<br />
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2) I write Akkadian on my arm and try to memorize the Code of Hammurabi in original Sumerian/Akkadian in its original symbols. Because they have exciting triangles and stick things.<br />
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3) I go around on walks, explaining the differences between Kant, Hume, Locke, Berkeley, Descartes, and Leibniz. I also talk about how much I hate all of them (except for Kant and Berkeley) and I explain how I am going to time travel and make them eat horrible fungus things, like mushrooms.<br />
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4) I educate people on the fact that there are some squirrels that are really baby elephants. Like caterpillars turning into butterflies, and tadpoles turning into frogs. So do certain squirrels turn into baby elephants.<br />
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5) I try to create my own cult that worships the Khabrananairirsa. He is a purple-tailed lizard who eats cheese.<br />
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6) I write musicals and go around singing the songs all day. I also play on the piano and guitar.<br />
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7) I write blogs. And lists.<br />
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And because I am so busy doing these incredibly important seven things, I don't even remember I have homework or finals. It is quite a successful list, if I do say so myself.<br />
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How do you studiously ignore things? My roommate makes me or buys me delicious food.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222233412304660376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-70158583139283013042012-05-02T15:17:00.000-04:002012-05-02T15:17:19.766-04:00School Helping with Real Life, What?I'm a Classical Studies major, and as such this semester I have been taking a class about Pompeii & Herculaneum, and for my final project I've been working on a children's series that connects historical information with fantastical elements. It's aimed at middle graders (which I have been wanting to write one of those for a long time) and it's about a boy (boys have been seriously under written). It has been hugely difficult for two reasons:<br />
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I've never had to do actual real research with citations and keeping track of information while writing a book. Holy Cow what? I just write things. But when putting it in Modern day Erculano and ancient Herculaneum suddenly, you have to be sure the artwork is accurate and that the people's names are accurate and ohmygoodness what. What are they wearing? What does water taste like? What did they eat? AND YOU KNOW WHAT. No one cares about the middle class freedmen who didn't make loads of money. So much of my research is so much difficult because people only care about the upper class. And well, only the upper class could really write things that were written in papyri and saved for forever and a day. But phooey to them. I want to write about a freedman, who lost his wife, who takes a boy under his wing, and that boy is going to be a mythologically real creature that doesn't know it.<br />
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And this boy's name is Caecilius, and he is unburied in ancient Herculaneum by a Dr. Lazarus - alive. And Caecilius tells his story about life in ancient Pompeii.<br />
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And today I had to read my story aloud to class. AHHHHHHHH! Nerve-wracking. Because of the second reason:<br />
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I've had a really difficult writing lately. I'm supposed to be editing WhiteWashed. I'm supposed to be querying. I'm supposed to be getting published and at least working for it, but I haven't been. It's just easy to get frustrated because I don't feel like I know what I'm doing, and most of the time I just feel adequate.<br />
<br />
You know. When you read a book and you're response is ".................." Nothing bad to say, but nothing to jump over either. And that's what I've been thinking. What if I'm not a good writer? What if I'm just adequate? There must be something I'm doing wrong. A part of it is I'm convinced I'm writing crappy query letters, though that's my fault. But what if what I've written is... just okay.<br />
<br />
So today having to read stuff to a bunch of people thinking, hey, what if I'm just adequate? is not a fun thing to do. And, a blessing and a curse, the one girl brought her kids in. Kids that are the age range I'm writing my books for. Plus: the professor knows like EVERYTHING there is to know about Pompeii and Herculaneum. If I get ANYTHING wrong she will know. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Nerve-wracking.<br />
<br />
On a side note: wrack is a weird word. Why are my nerves being wracked? That's just weird. Carrying on:<br />
<br />
BUT I finished and there was that moment of silence, you know? when someone's reading aloud a good book, not an adequate book, a good one, and after the author stops reading everyone is waiting for me and taking it in... That was the silence I got.<br />
<br />
Did you ever know silence can be an incredible gift?<br />
<br />
And one of the girls said, "when you publish that book, let me know, so I can read it, and find out what happens." And my professor asked: "So, did you learn anything from her book?" and she said, "I learned that she can write really well." And my professor said, "Yes, we did." She's my advisor and ohmygoodness I was so nervous and AHHHHHHHH.<br />
<br />
And the mother came up after me and said, "No, seriously, keep writing those books. The world needs that series."<br />
<br />
Can I go cry now? No? I have to write a philosophy paper about Kant?<br />
<br />
Well. Why knows. Maybe this paper will also help me in real life. Because there's this strange thing that happens when you just go through life and live it: awesome things happen.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222233412304660376noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-49485431423032841632012-03-26T23:01:00.005-04:002012-03-26T23:17:18.321-04:00I Was Going to Write a Post and Then Forgot<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left; "><span style="font-size: 100%;">So, I as writing my post for over in </span></span><a href="http://booksellerswithoutborders.blogspot.com/" style="text-align: left; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; ">BWOB</a><span style="text-align: left; "><span style="font-size: 100%;"> (my Booksellers Without Borders thing that I do; although BWOB is significantly more fun to say), I was thinking: HEY! DUDES! I should write a post over at my other blog.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">And then promptly forgot what on earth I was going to say.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">So this post in increasingly pointless which I love increasingly much. Muchly?</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">I am taking a Latin class and randomly think of words in Latin now. LIKE tot and tam and tandem and what is with all the q words? There's like, a thousand or something. I have decided that Romans just liked going around saying "qw" all of the time.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">ALSO.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">I forget the other thing I was going to say. It was going to be full of excitement I assure you.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">There is a cemetery on my campus. I didn't know that when I applied here. If I had known, I probably would have applied sooner. It should definitely be something that put in the pamphlet. Sometimes when I take a break from studying I go and lay on top of Charles (it's one of those fancy flat grave-stone-box-things) (thing in Latin is rem). It is fantastic. There is a bush in the middle of the cemetery and my roommate likes to hide in it. She is also fantastic.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">AND! There are randomly random things.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">ALSO: I have decided that I don't like John Locke or Descartes. I'm glad they're dead or I'd have to find them and kill them, and killing people goes against my moral code, and the moral code of the Sumerians. I think. I don't know. I've only memorized the first law in the code of Hammurrabi so far. Or however you spell his name.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">He looked like this:</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMIUDijS3ftsNJ9cb4BZqO3BKvAfpkY3ZQnFli7ZateBx0aVcuGeMssQfVWG12P7elKQpcnC5k1P9GcGEG0skk2Q7BVHgcbsmc3NeTNt38VmiisHfIdJmG9_F6YsZwyIZ2fZUyPbeGdiE/s1600/Hammurabi.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMIUDijS3ftsNJ9cb4BZqO3BKvAfpkY3ZQnFli7ZateBx0aVcuGeMssQfVWG12P7elKQpcnC5k1P9GcGEG0skk2Q7BVHgcbsmc3NeTNt38VmiisHfIdJmG9_F6YsZwyIZ2fZUyPbeGdiE/s320/Hammurabi.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724409625009604498" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 274px; height: 320px; " /></a>EXACTLY like this. People back then used to be built of stone. Flesh is actually a more recent human thing.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">ALSO: he wrote like this:</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSPgI9cCiCWvgUAn5bMwuByT342OIdjHY3cbXJKVmvgbT98qfVh5d1hpa3qBJbLJkIoLuWxdOIN4UyVlzcLSfceJZwneW0FN_34cF1M1GON4lW3Jlifh1Qww5mK-RFbw__RGjLuoOk9Bk/s320/code-of-hammurabi-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724409813642766962" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " />It is beautiful. I have Akkadian written on my mirror, and I painted it on my roommates one painting (with her permission, of course - actually, more with her threatening me then with her giving me permission) and I carry flashcards around with me for when I'm bored. *drool* I love this stuff. It's SO HARD! But one day I will know it all and no one will no why. Do you want to know why? Ha! But then I couldn't say no one would know, because you are a someone and you would know. Right? Right. However, I trust you, oh internet crawlers, and blog readers, and lamnams of awesome: I am one day going to time travel to Sumer and die of some sort of bug plague and it will be the best way to die ever, because I will be able to hug a Sumerian. And hugging a Sumerian obviously brings completion to one's life.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">Good night my Lamnams. Fare thee well.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222233412304660376noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-31638364974450007792012-03-04T23:31:00.003-05:002012-03-04T23:36:42.406-05:00I am Going to Travel Everywhere All of the TimeOkay. Well. Not right away because of college, and then debt after college, but after all that nonsense I will rock the world to pieces.<div><br /></div><div>I had to do this Travel Plan to Campania for this classics class I'm taking. I'm taking a Classics class because *gasp!* I'm a Classics major and that's what we do.</div><div><br /></div><div>ANYWAY.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I was given 3500 imaginary US Dollars. And I used about 65% of it. It is awesome.</div><div><br /></div><div>All I need is between 2200 - 3000 USD and I can go travel. Which. Once I have debt under control and have a job I will totally do.</div><div><br /></div><div>I WANT TO GO EVERYWHERE.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I will.</div><div><br /></div><div>Watch out people, I'm going to travel to all the places. ALL THE PLACES!</div><div><br /></div><div>*passes out from excitement*</div><div><br /></div><div>SO. If you could travel anywhere RIGHT THIS MINUTE where would you go?</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222233412304660376noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-78540872412268953072012-02-24T17:09:00.004-05:002012-02-24T17:14:34.569-05:00Random Thing! I Want to be a Philosophy MinorI want to minor in philosophy! I am taking two classes and now deconstruct everything everyone says. It highly amuses me.<div><br /></div><div>Here is a random thing I wrote the other day:</div><div><br /></div><div>"A joke is understood between the two parties involved. If only one side understands it as a joke, can it truly be a joke? Is a joke's reality dependent upon the understanding of both intended parties? If the one side does not understand it as a joke is that the fault of the offending party, the offended party's fault, or is the fault found within the joke itself?"</div><div><br /></div><div>:D</div><div><br /></div><div>Later I will show you my ridiculous conversation with my friend concerning sweet potatoes.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am going to be an annoying person and it will be wonderful.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222233412304660376noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-13523028834480328582012-01-24T19:25:00.003-05:002012-01-24T19:56:20.289-05:00The World Keeps Going On and On<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; text-align: left; ">And I keep trying to think of things to post about</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">And I keep thinking about how much I miss you all. So many of you.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">And I keep trying to involve myself in other projects.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">And I forget why I started this blog in the first place</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "> (Why did I start this blog in the first place?)</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">And I met someone who keeps saying that I will be published, and I realize</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>How much I started to believe</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>That wasn't possible</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">And I realized</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>How much I don't want a back up plan</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">I don't want to have to create a career based on the fact that I might not succeed and I might be a failure and I might not get published and I might not be okay and I might have to work in awful retail jobs for the next ten years of my life because of the college debt I'm in</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">And the fact is</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I don't care if I have to work in retail for the next twenty years of my life</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I don't care if I have to struggle and if it's awful</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">Because I know I want to be an author</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>That's why I've been writing since I was able to hold a crayon</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Why I've been telling stories since I was able to string syllables together into coherent sounds</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">The World keeps going around and around and I'm going to keep spinning with it but I don't want to have to have a back-up plan anymore. If I decide to go into the publishing world I want to do it because I love it, not because I need a safety net.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">This college thing... Being here, in a different state away from home for really the first time. My first try at college doesn't count, since I went home on the weekends. Being in a completely different environment. I'm learning a whole lot about myself, and I've been so busy figuring out who I am, it's been hard to figure out who my characters are, and my writing life had been precarious at best, and my absence here has been out of necessity, but I don't want to stay here. I want to write more this year. Edit more. Actually be the person I'm realizing I am.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">Because I miss you.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">I miss the world of writing.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">I miss my characters.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">I even miss creeping on agents a little bit. Finding out which agents publish which books, which publishing houses publish which of my favorite authors. I miss that whole world.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">I don't really know how to end this so...</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQzvUN5A5RnSvHSN5DxSPQx4RgcRrKJ4D3tavntI1uGfcDLh9EZODwph2K78h882Fc6nWfiq_FxDgpieqrPMukFDgQfc_-Mn1QcllDTyHw5Q_dkdENcy8rjXAylfGfcxwTv_SD4EUN9dw/s1600/End+Begin.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQzvUN5A5RnSvHSN5DxSPQx4RgcRrKJ4D3tavntI1uGfcDLh9EZODwph2K78h882Fc6nWfiq_FxDgpieqrPMukFDgQfc_-Mn1QcllDTyHw5Q_dkdENcy8rjXAylfGfcxwTv_SD4EUN9dw/s320/End+Begin.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5701366294040113538" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 294px; " /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222233412304660376noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-42203412246039387252011-12-31T23:59:00.000-05:002011-12-31T23:59:00.762-05:00Reminisces for the New Year<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left; ">Sometimes.</span></div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes life doesn't go quite as you thought it would.</div><div><br /></div><div>Or quite as you planned.</div><div><br /></div><div>I had originally planned to go to college near where I lived, graduate as an English major, maybe find a godly man along the way and get married, though that was never a necessity. Hopefully get published and live happily ever after.</div><div><br /></div><div>This year hasn't exactly followed that plan. There's been a whole lot of... Disruptings going on.</div><div><br /></div><div>You see, life is kind of like a Choose Your Own Adventure Book.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL0u2J0MW3u2v6wVVbQW8YcS8LHGSGkn7SsnZNDA0io1devHBfoB_YXSzsKyQCAyT0hpC194tVhT-S9uRX9epmy4YJz3vaWfVN1SaOfFq8F2L23r_VkM8fpo15uyyAHtP_pxXkJA_qn5U/s1600/Lost+choose+your+own+adventure.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL0u2J0MW3u2v6wVVbQW8YcS8LHGSGkn7SsnZNDA0io1devHBfoB_YXSzsKyQCAyT0hpC194tVhT-S9uRX9epmy4YJz3vaWfVN1SaOfFq8F2L23r_VkM8fpo15uyyAHtP_pxXkJA_qn5U/s320/Lost+choose+your+own+adventure.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692418587412459458" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 172px; height: 293px; " /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I wish this were a real book</i></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I would totes read it</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><a href="http://laughingsquid.com/lost-choose-your-own-adventure-book/">(laughingsquid)</a></i></div><div><br /></div><div>All the chapters are there. All of the possibilities. So sometimes you can choose between two pages. Each page will lead you somewhere else, to a different ending, to different beginnings.</div><div><br /></div><div>1) Instead of going to a college near my home I moved 8 hours away to a completely different state.</div><div><br /></div><div>2) Instead of being an English major I'm currently a Classics Major, learning about Latin, amphoras, and Roman mosaics (and Italian pastiglias - which are gorgeous but torturous to write about)</div><div><br /></div><div>3) Instead of being single I ended up in a relationship a little while ago</div><div><br /></div><div>4) Instead of being friendless like I feared I would be, I ended up with a group of friends I love. We support each other, and encourage each other, and debate with each other. We also watch Disney movies together, which is an absolute must. Disney movies are great things to bond over, I so declare.</div><div><br /></div><div>5) Instead of doing horrible in my classes like I feared I would, I got good grades and learned to respect different teaching styles. I ended up with wonderful professors that I am proud of to have as my teachers.</div><div><br /></div><div>6) Instead of only ever being in one relationship like I had hoped, I ended up breaking up with someone. And I was fine. But he wasn't.</div><div><br /></div><div>7) Instead of losing touch with my friends and family back home, I ended up closer than ever with them. Thanks not only to Skype but Facebook, and cell phones, and all kinds of wonders of technology</div><div><br /></div><div>8) Instead of living quietly in a dorm, I ended up friends with almost my entire hall. And though my roommate and I didn't work out, the rest of my hall and I did. So. It ended up being okay.</div><div><br /></div><div>8) Instead of getting published I learned more about the industry, and was able to go to BEA again, and I understand more about the craft, and I'm getting over my fear of failure.</div><div><br /></div><div>9) Instead of staying with Borders, my favorite job I have ever had, I had to leave and watch the company break down. But I was part of a family of co-workers that I will treasure forever (In fact, a group of us have banded together to start up a <a href="http://booksellerswithoutborders.blogspot.com/">blog about books</a>, also something I hadn't expected)</div><div><br /></div><div>10) Instead of only reading YA and middle grade I learned how to red non-fiction, and learned how to love non-fiction, and I discovered an increasing love for children's picture books</div><div><br /></div><div>11) Instead of letting life happen around me, I'm starting to learn how to wake up and be a part of this magnificent world. To hold onto the relationships that will last. To try things even if it may not work out, and even if I will fail, and even if I may end up looking stupid.</div><div><br /></div><div>12) Instead of being who I've always been, I'm discovering things about myself I never knew before. Some good, some... Not so much. But at least I understand more about who I am, and who I could possibly be some day.</div><div><br /></div><div>So instead of starting this New Year with a shrug and a desperate need for sleep, I hope to start this New Year on a new page of my Choose My Own Adventure, with a blank page, and a ready pen in my hand. Prepared for the fact that I don't know where the pages will take me, but confident that the God I believe in, trust in, and place hope in, will bring me to a new chapter that will defy my expectations. And some of that will be good, and some not so much, but that's okay. Because I have awesome friends, and because I have an awesome family, and because I really love the taste of ravioli. And even if random parts of the South do not have round ravioli, they still have square ones, so life will be okay in the end. Because of ravioli. ;)</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDanMwFW1O_HsjuPJ_LwIqRyuVMoJE93vjKSGoZaDo7SdpUsalUYpFXpNPruHE5mVJ_nhVejywnD_bIseQJBiqnZL72nsauDBY9zR5xd4ZVrWwX13YIt-_fgNeeqfNGmsmIEqpreldL9I/s1600/Ravioli.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDanMwFW1O_HsjuPJ_LwIqRyuVMoJE93vjKSGoZaDo7SdpUsalUYpFXpNPruHE5mVJ_nhVejywnD_bIseQJBiqnZL72nsauDBY9zR5xd4ZVrWwX13YIt-_fgNeeqfNGmsmIEqpreldL9I/s320/Ravioli.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692419371853574898" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 180px; " /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Mmmmm...</i></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Have a good New Year's my lamnams. I pray your last year had it's beautiful moments that you will be able to cherish forever. And I hope you had moments to laugh, because I know I did (Corrugated sighs! <-- Don't ask)</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqSzos_fP1yP1LbamDk00UMykfZvF462B9D5UwcztGeKnb_8PcmQgvYZZBZHaCWYomh35hYXu8AR8ZdqHzpxrhNaMAWt_W79xdeEarxFW7MkykGG04rmLf-KZh-ZmIYJ615GL1H7wWPkw/s1600/Sandra+Brown.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqSzos_fP1yP1LbamDk00UMykfZvF462B9D5UwcztGeKnb_8PcmQgvYZZBZHaCWYomh35hYXu8AR8ZdqHzpxrhNaMAWt_W79xdeEarxFW7MkykGG04rmLf-KZh-ZmIYJ615GL1H7wWPkw/s320/Sandra+Brown.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692420146277723858" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 175px; height: 289px; " /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The Seduction of a Wall</i></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Vale. (<-- Latin for farewell. Not like an English vale)</div><div><br /></div><div>This:</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf65R66UlsU5fipI6xKQljTgACH6wUGv3mSFX7_kwHtiBfz4A1iQmlK57GWb_mDIroAJnDtruJlJ8Kd5_728ovatq2TUTXuLHSwprBFWyONb1dfD6XM0dbzVRQ7xM5_c8acX8B6QrfvYI/s1600/Good+bye.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf65R66UlsU5fipI6xKQljTgACH6wUGv3mSFX7_kwHtiBfz4A1iQmlK57GWb_mDIroAJnDtruJlJ8Kd5_728ovatq2TUTXuLHSwprBFWyONb1dfD6XM0dbzVRQ7xM5_c8acX8B6QrfvYI/s320/Good+bye.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692420357573728114" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 194px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Not This:</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr2pkXaANPtoyHkpDPyCRPFndiP92bCrT1tIIlVRNN07-bakZw9_AC-LhB_xjEV2_6L5GUmMSae6xGIclN0SC4wW9qpnyzwLP8RYcoPoY5ztE99f0Xekrvlr67jn0QHR5lIfdGdCTELmY/s1600/vale.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr2pkXaANPtoyHkpDPyCRPFndiP92bCrT1tIIlVRNN07-bakZw9_AC-LhB_xjEV2_6L5GUmMSae6xGIclN0SC4wW9qpnyzwLP8RYcoPoY5ztE99f0Xekrvlr67jn0QHR5lIfdGdCTELmY/s320/vale.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692420412118500738" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 316px; height: 159px; " /></a><br class="Apple-interchange-newline"></div><div>Happy New Year!! :)</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222233412304660376noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-7692498711271950082011-12-17T15:44:00.006-05:002011-12-17T15:58:37.766-05:00The Threads and Bubbles of RealityAs a writer of fantasy I believe in the possibility of multiple realities. And because I have an insane imagination sometimes it seriously feels like a reality threaded next to this one is getting really close - like having two bubbles come up side by side, and either they will merge or pop - and it makes me wonder...<br /><br />What would that be like? How would that affect us? Would it even affect us at all?<br /><br />Say our bubble of reality sidles up alongside another bubble of reality:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdneGwkqSO-lIsZ4TPIfK1hUL1J4E-8gTieWIFpH1OzW6cWTjXdAwZ84iWBAgSUI3Ta5c6lBIHt4Dr2FIKkNYg5EADWh0onOHMRkaWnVzoBUwE8voSX58IOdh8MoiM_BB7zmiR0DxTboQ/s1600/bubble3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 317px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdneGwkqSO-lIsZ4TPIfK1hUL1J4E-8gTieWIFpH1OzW6cWTjXdAwZ84iWBAgSUI3Ta5c6lBIHt4Dr2FIKkNYg5EADWh0onOHMRkaWnVzoBUwE8voSX58IOdh8MoiM_BB7zmiR0DxTboQ/s320/bubble3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687202115006993650" border="0" /></a>Would it cause the bubble to pop?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHiZ87EpfmElpNTOjVxWQMKvvhHZmIyEAxH6bgfM1yRQBvV6qYYVBDa4qy1PvJRbbtE4fROmiSe6S-e9zafFTdRx-pswmzVAWdjha-5E_9aXIZbtJxL7VAbji0vNQjQZkCC1V0Ti2G_cY/s1600/Popped+Bubble.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 262px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHiZ87EpfmElpNTOjVxWQMKvvhHZmIyEAxH6bgfM1yRQBvV6qYYVBDa4qy1PvJRbbtE4fROmiSe6S-e9zafFTdRx-pswmzVAWdjha-5E_9aXIZbtJxL7VAbji0vNQjQZkCC1V0Ti2G_cY/s320/Popped+Bubble.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687202871416477618" border="0" /></a>Or would it cause the bubble to become just a smaller add on to our bubble world:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGgN4UNfSuh2tkqc9xo_kQM-9rXeieaWWYjguqo2ZJjXWplOZG_D3RrrDc3yZXOZ86h5j9EKz0azwNaA7PIAAtzhlCGyskECgFp3bSGboj1v7kGJ2K6Iuj2Guq2O5nSXg_auPrdyUFwHE/s1600/bubblewith+world.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 220px; height: 218px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGgN4UNfSuh2tkqc9xo_kQM-9rXeieaWWYjguqo2ZJjXWplOZG_D3RrrDc3yZXOZ86h5j9EKz0azwNaA7PIAAtzhlCGyskECgFp3bSGboj1v7kGJ2K6Iuj2Guq2O5nSXg_auPrdyUFwHE/s320/bubblewith+world.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687203124542736722" border="0" /></a><br />If our bubble of reality pops a next door neighbor bubble, what happens to that reality? Does it no longer exist? Does it pop up and exist elsewhere? What if it gets downsized and become nothing but an add on bubble, like in the above picture? Will reality just become a fragment of what it was, like a shard of glass that used to be part of a larger whole, but is now just a piece of its formal self?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg92RYpaqFqMRRYZwWSezzdM-JVcANECtEiwsYs81rryhOQFWQbPzfrssV_4flh-L5n0F5Hew_7BP8JM9wrHfyB6w2SgdSgU9GawQvSXOJDHqmjj2kVfQHX4LBSTufWqChVRmJFp5hGkYI/s1600/Broken_glass.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg92RYpaqFqMRRYZwWSezzdM-JVcANECtEiwsYs81rryhOQFWQbPzfrssV_4flh-L5n0F5Hew_7BP8JM9wrHfyB6w2SgdSgU9GawQvSXOJDHqmjj2kVfQHX4LBSTufWqChVRmJFp5hGkYI/s320/Broken_glass.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687203878512477234" border="0" /></a><br />Can you imagine if our choices affected the movement of our bubble of reality? That would be crazy. Unlikely, probably not true at all, but it is interesting to think about. Most of my stories concern reality and its duplicates, or the bending of reality, or the fluidity of reality, at least in some manner.<br /><br />What about you? Do you think about reality? Do you think reality is just one bubble out of many, or do you think of reality more like a cinder block, solid and unmoving and singular?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222233412304660376noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437645392949660696.post-63350318394067093172011-10-24T16:03:00.008-04:002011-10-24T16:36:32.804-04:00Save the Kilowatts!I have a pet peeve. He is cute and purple and his name is Steve. He looks like this:<br /><br /><div><br /><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667152991530353330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqUZpST3YYBmHZrOPTOyn-Unve3zoPF-x9J5o65vDuso644BD75bcZUbFHdzujizEk9TC_xognWNvev3P-7ZReek9YUjzuZrmj_mTuoKPeLZCu5EFON7oRDAZHMPwVYUlIOkSXJKAVI80/s320/Steve.png" />Steve is a kind and caring peeve. He is adorable and I am very sad when people upset him. You see, Steve is very concious of kilowatts. It's not his fault. He self-actualized because of something I learned from my father.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>You see, I grew up with a wonderful father who has the same kind of imagination I do. Only... I beat him in the insane department. But anyway. When either I or one of my siblings left lights on unnecessarily in the house my dad would cry: <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667155051667375826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOkO7bkN75QRgWJDrcZu5ADZhX33XiEEfr2-r2BriI1Bh6pTI0nI0xsJx1fkkWLuWOBFtID1OYa98ZpmykezRsdCVltPglSprac5t9WsllPkdVCcTa7uVkTD6u4bTY_cg9RwAk7jW6gU8/s320/Father.png" /><br />And so forth. I would look up into the flourescent light and it hurt my eyes, so I stopped and looked down at the non-flourescent tile floor instead, and imagined the light in my head. Then I would imagine the microscopic insides of a lightbulb:<br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667156817579674994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjevItM6hi_74_wUbB1flcwZSQMMROs_uCAd7UpAMzDUfVYOx-byQVnjv2-HCciyyhAihyHtkkhE2RdGYohO0tiloySg4Av8TlEEUorMRN1aHRlOcgdrAhm1cQGoydJrBTxYKril60Fz8c/s320/Killowatts.png" />I thought killowatts were like blue shining amoebas. I'm pretty sure that is not the case, sadly, but whatever. I don't have to be defined by reality. And that's not the point. The point is Steve Peeve is disstressed when people go around killing them all of the time. That's actually one of the things I like about the college I am attending. They have little signs at all the lights reminding people to turn them off when they are not being used. And it makes Steve Peeve happy. And he dances. And has a party. And drinks glasses of sparkling water through an orange straw, because Steve Peeve is just that cool. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667158376136925634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR9R894jTS8jUjBPqDgLQSdlV9ES3OZDn_jMEdgwTzQhHNMqTHrCk-eYL5woQtY2PAeM2Jx8FcDt_3qSKH1y9RAfxf8pyg707n9W4-kSZ2QiI2X6kutJ_oP8yoXGpaqLlXkwqW1tNHWag/s320/Steve+Water.png" /> So think of Steve. Don't kill the killowatts. Have a party with sparkling water and epic orange straws instead, because that is much more awesome.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222233412304660376noreply@blogger.com3