Good Evening readers! I started my last post with a salutation, and it sounded so polite that I had to do the same tonight. No rhyme intended.
My memorial weekend was phenomenal, as a matter of fact. I read about six books all the way through (though in all fairness, they were all under 250 pages, and I had previously read five of them), sat in the sun, and generally lazed around the boat and the lake and the island. I also got my first sunburn of the season; it's an unfortunate one that outlines perfectly the shirt I was wearing.
I started writing a few minutes ago. A short story, I think. That is, I hope it will develop into a full-fledged short story. I got my inspiration for it in an interesting way, actually. I was standing at the refrigerator searching for raspberries (which were, it turns out, sitting on the counter behind me), when I suddenly got that strange feeling like someone was watching me. I looked behind the refrigerator door, and peered into the dim hallway to the left of me, but of course no one was there. It wasn't an eerie feeling, really, now that I think about it. It just felt like someone was watching me the way you watch a home video; looking for the people you know and smiling at things you barely remember.
Strange, huh? Good story material, huh?
I also watched the movie Big Chill earlier today. I've been listening to the soundtrack for ages; my mom has it, and it's a great compilation of everything I like about oldies music. Anyway, I finally got around to watching the actual movie. The verdict? It was fun to watch. It felt like all of the actors really were old friends reunited. And although it got slow at times, and my favorite part was still the music, it had a realism to it that I thought was really special.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Good Morning, Hank and John! It's Thursday, May 27th!
I've been reading my Mom's Oprah Magazine for years. When I first began, I would skim through it until I got to the O List; the section where Oprah selects a dozen or so items she "thinks are just great." I liked looking at the brightly colored shoes, pattered bags, and funky gadgets she chose.
Somewhere along the way, however, I stopped merely flipping through and started reading. I found myself enjoying all of the articles, whether they gave marriage advice or explained how to make the most out of a career. Even though I was a teenager reading a magazine written for grown women, I got something out of every page I read.
Now that I'm nineteen, I realize that O Magazine has made me consider the kind of person I want to be when I grow up, and how I can reflect that adult even now, though I'm still making my way through school. And while not all of the articles are relevant to me (I'm not quite worried about wrinkles or menopause), they seem to reflect the path ahead of me, and to reveal it as lined with strong women who have just as many struggles and triumphs as I have.
Somewhere along the way, however, I stopped merely flipping through and started reading. I found myself enjoying all of the articles, whether they gave marriage advice or explained how to make the most out of a career. Even though I was a teenager reading a magazine written for grown women, I got something out of every page I read.
Now that I'm nineteen, I realize that O Magazine has made me consider the kind of person I want to be when I grow up, and how I can reflect that adult even now, though I'm still making my way through school. And while not all of the articles are relevant to me (I'm not quite worried about wrinkles or menopause), they seem to reflect the path ahead of me, and to reveal it as lined with strong women who have just as many struggles and triumphs as I have.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Not Yo Granny's China
I would first like to mention that the colors of my blog are iffy right now. I'm not sure what exactly possessed me when I selected blue and white, but I assure you that I did not mean to steal your grandmother's china pattern.
Secondly, I've had a few interesting days, and while I'm not able to go into detail here in the public arena of blogging, I can safely say that the past few days were mildly shattering, slightly rainy, and all-around worth journaling about.
I think this is what I like about being a writer (if you'll allow me to call myself that): you can draw on real life experiences when you're writing. Anything that happens to you, good or bad, can be viewed as 'material.' And while maybe it's not entirely wholesome to think of life as one big, entertaining story that could possibly sell for millions in the future, it helps me a lot to see it as thus sometimes.
Thirdly, I have the first entry in "Holly's Best Ever." Here goes:
The best thing ever is drinking water straight out of the tap. Even though your mother tells you time and again not to, and even though in the back of your mind you know putting your mouth so close to the place where dirty hands, soiled dishes, and stinky sponges alike have convened is not entirely hygenic, once that water hits your gaping mouth, you feel completely and refreshingly justified.
Secondly, I've had a few interesting days, and while I'm not able to go into detail here in the public arena of blogging, I can safely say that the past few days were mildly shattering, slightly rainy, and all-around worth journaling about.
I think this is what I like about being a writer (if you'll allow me to call myself that): you can draw on real life experiences when you're writing. Anything that happens to you, good or bad, can be viewed as 'material.' And while maybe it's not entirely wholesome to think of life as one big, entertaining story that could possibly sell for millions in the future, it helps me a lot to see it as thus sometimes.
Thirdly, I have the first entry in "Holly's Best Ever." Here goes:
The best thing ever is drinking water straight out of the tap. Even though your mother tells you time and again not to, and even though in the back of your mind you know putting your mouth so close to the place where dirty hands, soiled dishes, and stinky sponges alike have convened is not entirely hygenic, once that water hits your gaping mouth, you feel completely and refreshingly justified.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
John Keats
"I have left no immortal work behind me — nothing to make my friends proud of my memory — but I have lov'd the principle of beauty in all things, and if I had had time I would have made myself remember'd."
John Keats wrote that to Fanny Brawne in a letter once. It's funny, isn't it? Because Keats has actually left quite a legacy. I hope he knows that now.
That's all I have to say, really. I've been writing drafts of posts for a few days now, but none of them have been special enough to publish. I think I'll wait to post again until I have something exciting or substantial to tell you.
P.S. I just realized that maybe the quote combined with my message sounds rather melancholy. It's not meant to. I was simply thinking about Keats today, and I stumbled upon the quote while reading his wikipedia page.
John Keats wrote that to Fanny Brawne in a letter once. It's funny, isn't it? Because Keats has actually left quite a legacy. I hope he knows that now.
That's all I have to say, really. I've been writing drafts of posts for a few days now, but none of them have been special enough to publish. I think I'll wait to post again until I have something exciting or substantial to tell you.
P.S. I just realized that maybe the quote combined with my message sounds rather melancholy. It's not meant to. I was simply thinking about Keats today, and I stumbled upon the quote while reading his wikipedia page.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Me Write Pretty Some Day
I'm well aware that my writing is not always what you might call 'polished.' People have told me so. And while I like to think that in my blog I write the way I talk, and that when I write papers and such I tread more gracefully, I want to give you a taste of my 'pretty' writing. Okay, okay, so this is mainly to prove to myself that I can do it. Actually, not even that. I know I can do it. I just want to do it here. So here goes (p.s. the repetition of the word 'here' was intentional). Now I sound arrogant. You know, maybe I should make use of the backspace key right about now. But no. All of this nonsense will help me prove my point. Here we go again (more 'here' repetition? Jeez, who does this kid think she is?):
There are few moments of intense clarity in our lives. All other moments, the ones we bathe in and swear in and try to work out impossible calculus problems in, are simply part of the muddle. I fancied myself in a rare moment this afternoon, when I went down to the dock to read.
I lay down gradually; I started out sitting with crossed legs, book propped against my ankles, and I slowly slumped until I was sprawled on my stomach. Turning to the side a bit, the cool metal against my cheek balanced out the sun blazing in my hair. It was a lovely day, and I wondered if anyone would happen to look out and grin with approval at the teenager improving her mind amongst nature.
I always liked the word grin. There was an entire image associated with it. For example, in order to really truly grin, you had to have your face to the wind. Your solid-colored t-shirt had to be blowing back against your chest. You had to be standing on either a hill or some sort of elevated object. You had to have your lips pressed flat to gums, and your teeth had to be glinting.
I pondered all of this while the swallows flitted by and gingerly dipped blue wings into blue water.
Every so often there would be a loud splash, and my head would lift in time to see two dragonflies (apparently attached somehow-this I didn't dwell on) buzzing away. How such small insects could create a splash equivalent to that of a small child doing a cannonball was beyond me.
I only went up when the dogs were whining so loudly in their kennel that the waves lapping against the shore seemed darker than usual.
I think, as I rest dirty legs against clean blankets on my bed, that the clarity has left me. I could go down to the dock again, I suppose. I could look out at the water and imagine myself very knowledgeable indeed. But it's too dark to see anything now; the swallows would peer down at me with sleep-heavy eyes and chuckle dreamily to themselves. Silly girl, she thinks she knows us.
Tomorrow they'll let me back, though. I'll sit there for hours, tanning arms around knees. I'll sit there until I can see straight to the bottom.
There are few moments of intense clarity in our lives. All other moments, the ones we bathe in and swear in and try to work out impossible calculus problems in, are simply part of the muddle. I fancied myself in a rare moment this afternoon, when I went down to the dock to read.
I lay down gradually; I started out sitting with crossed legs, book propped against my ankles, and I slowly slumped until I was sprawled on my stomach. Turning to the side a bit, the cool metal against my cheek balanced out the sun blazing in my hair. It was a lovely day, and I wondered if anyone would happen to look out and grin with approval at the teenager improving her mind amongst nature.
I always liked the word grin. There was an entire image associated with it. For example, in order to really truly grin, you had to have your face to the wind. Your solid-colored t-shirt had to be blowing back against your chest. You had to be standing on either a hill or some sort of elevated object. You had to have your lips pressed flat to gums, and your teeth had to be glinting.
I pondered all of this while the swallows flitted by and gingerly dipped blue wings into blue water.
Every so often there would be a loud splash, and my head would lift in time to see two dragonflies (apparently attached somehow-this I didn't dwell on) buzzing away. How such small insects could create a splash equivalent to that of a small child doing a cannonball was beyond me.
I only went up when the dogs were whining so loudly in their kennel that the waves lapping against the shore seemed darker than usual.
I think, as I rest dirty legs against clean blankets on my bed, that the clarity has left me. I could go down to the dock again, I suppose. I could look out at the water and imagine myself very knowledgeable indeed. But it's too dark to see anything now; the swallows would peer down at me with sleep-heavy eyes and chuckle dreamily to themselves. Silly girl, she thinks she knows us.
Tomorrow they'll let me back, though. I'll sit there for hours, tanning arms around knees. I'll sit there until I can see straight to the bottom.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
That Itchy Feeling
I'm having that feeling again. That itchy, late-night feeling that makes me want to run and sing and then sit down and write something wonderful.
Current problem: I don't know what to write about.
It seems like whenever I have a story idea I don't have anything to write on, and whenever I'm sitting in front of my computer, fingers poised, my mind is completely blank. Oh, the irony of inspiration.
Despite my lack of lightbulb in certain literary areas, I do have a few bits of good news to share with you...
1. I won the College Writing Essay Contest. When I got the congratulatory email from one of the English professors at UMM, all I could do was lay back on the floor of my room and laugh. It's been three months since I turned in that essay. By now, winning feels stale because I've thought about it for so long. I am grateful, however, and I intend to spend $15.00 of the prize money on an itunes card, just like I said I would from the beginning. Despite my excitement at the prospect of buying new music, I'm thinking that F. Scott didn't buy an itunes card when his stories won prizes at Princeton. In all fairness, though, he probably bought booze.
2. Second bit of happiness: I just checked my Spring Semester grades online, and so far I have an A- in both CMR and Physical Anthropology. While I was expecting an A in CMR (still don't understand how I went down), I expected a B+ at the highest in Anth. I must have done really well on that final! Here's hoping that when my Brit. Lit. and Crusades grades come in, they don't detract from my current happiness.
Well, that's about all the big news on the home front.
If you're really looking for details this fine evening, you may be interested to know that I am currently reading The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. I started it ages ago, got to page 200 and became tired of it. I'm just now picking it up again. It's not that it's a bad book; it won the Pulitzer, for heavens' sakes. I simply got distracted.
I also began Ivanhoe last night. I'm only on page 8, so I hate to judge, but so far things are moving rather slowly in the chivalric world of Walter Scott. Because he is Sir Walter Scott, however, I'm trying very hard to have faith.
Current problem: I don't know what to write about.
It seems like whenever I have a story idea I don't have anything to write on, and whenever I'm sitting in front of my computer, fingers poised, my mind is completely blank. Oh, the irony of inspiration.
Despite my lack of lightbulb in certain literary areas, I do have a few bits of good news to share with you...
1. I won the College Writing Essay Contest. When I got the congratulatory email from one of the English professors at UMM, all I could do was lay back on the floor of my room and laugh. It's been three months since I turned in that essay. By now, winning feels stale because I've thought about it for so long. I am grateful, however, and I intend to spend $15.00 of the prize money on an itunes card, just like I said I would from the beginning. Despite my excitement at the prospect of buying new music, I'm thinking that F. Scott didn't buy an itunes card when his stories won prizes at Princeton. In all fairness, though, he probably bought booze.
2. Second bit of happiness: I just checked my Spring Semester grades online, and so far I have an A- in both CMR and Physical Anthropology. While I was expecting an A in CMR (still don't understand how I went down), I expected a B+ at the highest in Anth. I must have done really well on that final! Here's hoping that when my Brit. Lit. and Crusades grades come in, they don't detract from my current happiness.
Well, that's about all the big news on the home front.
If you're really looking for details this fine evening, you may be interested to know that I am currently reading The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. I started it ages ago, got to page 200 and became tired of it. I'm just now picking it up again. It's not that it's a bad book; it won the Pulitzer, for heavens' sakes. I simply got distracted.
I also began Ivanhoe last night. I'm only on page 8, so I hate to judge, but so far things are moving rather slowly in the chivalric world of Walter Scott. Because he is Sir Walter Scott, however, I'm trying very hard to have faith.
Friday, May 14, 2010
The Times, They Are A'Changin
What can I say?
I've been busy unpacking my stuff since Wednesday night.
When I take a break I lie back on my bed and it seems that for the first time, the four turquoise walls of my bedroom form a box.
Despite new additions over the years, my room is trapped in high school, with smatterings of middle and elementary throughout.
And I'm trapped with it.
How is it that you can live away from home for a year, see different things, meet different people, do something entirely new every day, and then come back home and fall into the same pattern you've lived in your whole life?
Now, I'm not saying that it's not nice to be home, or that I've grown tired of my family, or anything like that.
I'm just saying that now that I've broken out into the world a bit, I want to keep drilling at that hole until I can step right through.
I have orientation for my new job at Target this Tuesday. Once I begin work, I'm hoping I'll feel less restless. It will be interesting to work at night, I think. And while stocking shelves is not exactly my dream job, I do love to put things in order. Heck, for $9.00 an hour, I'd do just about anything. This is study abroad money I'm earning, and I don't intend to shirk until I have a nice long stint in Europe under my belt.
Finished rereading The Diary of Anne Frank last night. What an amazing, amazing young woman. It's at the same time wondrous and terribly sad to think about all that she could have done in the world had she lived. Though I suppose that by writing such a beautiful diary, she did do a lot in the world. Someday I'd like to visit Amsterdam (besides the airport), and see the Anne Frank House.
As of right now, I'll settle for watching the movie based on her diary.
P.S. In case you were wondering, I don't know what I'll read next. I have my bookshelf organized perfectly; all 450 of my books are layered based on genre, reading level, and whether or not I've read them before. The books I haven't read are stacked enticingly in front. Now I just have to pick one.
I've been busy unpacking my stuff since Wednesday night.
When I take a break I lie back on my bed and it seems that for the first time, the four turquoise walls of my bedroom form a box.
Despite new additions over the years, my room is trapped in high school, with smatterings of middle and elementary throughout.
And I'm trapped with it.
How is it that you can live away from home for a year, see different things, meet different people, do something entirely new every day, and then come back home and fall into the same pattern you've lived in your whole life?
Now, I'm not saying that it's not nice to be home, or that I've grown tired of my family, or anything like that.
I'm just saying that now that I've broken out into the world a bit, I want to keep drilling at that hole until I can step right through.
I have orientation for my new job at Target this Tuesday. Once I begin work, I'm hoping I'll feel less restless. It will be interesting to work at night, I think. And while stocking shelves is not exactly my dream job, I do love to put things in order. Heck, for $9.00 an hour, I'd do just about anything. This is study abroad money I'm earning, and I don't intend to shirk until I have a nice long stint in Europe under my belt.
Finished rereading The Diary of Anne Frank last night. What an amazing, amazing young woman. It's at the same time wondrous and terribly sad to think about all that she could have done in the world had she lived. Though I suppose that by writing such a beautiful diary, she did do a lot in the world. Someday I'd like to visit Amsterdam (besides the airport), and see the Anne Frank House.
As of right now, I'll settle for watching the movie based on her diary.
P.S. In case you were wondering, I don't know what I'll read next. I have my bookshelf organized perfectly; all 450 of my books are layered based on genre, reading level, and whether or not I've read them before. The books I haven't read are stacked enticingly in front. Now I just have to pick one.
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