I am still not used to this new-fangled Blogger site... Took me about 10 minutes of staring at the screen--the incredibly cluttered screen with all its buttons and menus--before I found the "new post" button. I seem to remember it being a lot easier to post in the past. "Compose" was the biggest square on the screen. Those were the good ol days.. Le sigh.
Anyway, here I am again: Writing. Which, apparently, is what I want to do with my life. It's what I went to school for. It's what I love. I like to think I'm good at it...
So on that note, here's my official blog post announcing my NaNoWriMo participation this year. Again. Yay! I know I've failed in the past. 4 times over. But this is a new year. And even though I never finish, each year my love for writing is renewed... it's my hatred of deadlines that kills me.
But I figure if I announce it here online for "the world" to see, it may help me continue and maybe actually finish this year. So feel free to comment and ask me about my progress. In fact, I'm begging you to do so.
Why should I do that? you ask. Well, my novel idea this year is spectacular! Duh.
I'll post excerpts throughout November. Probably work out some of the writing here. And of course, track my progress.
Here we go! (again)
.:~o*'Isianya'*o~:.
29.10.12
23.10.12
Your Best Move
Wow... There are so many things to go into this post. First, I feel I should mention that I had to change 4 email passwords and log into two separate Google accounts before realizing that the entire Blogger system had changed. I am not a fan. I also don't appreciate how my browser is forcing me to choose, modify, and link accounts with every new window. It's very frustrating. Hey Google, if I wanted to link accounts, I wouldn't have separate ones! Also, just because my alternate email account is another Google account, doesn't mean I want to have the password sent to that one for an email I'm not even using anymore. And since you won't let me change the account email, I guess I'm stuck in a cycle of Hotmail, Google, TigerMail, and then.. yet another Google. Okay /endrant
Secondly, once I finally do get into my Blogger account, I'm very disappointed to see that everything has changed. As I'm writing this, I find the staunch white composing screen a little off-putting. Definitely not good for late night writing. There's too many menus and toolbars condensed around the edges. I liked the old cluttered look. It made since to me. This.. Well, this will take some getting used to. Again, thank you Google.
So, here we are: My actual blog post.
I don't really have much to talk about. Only that I happened to stumble back into my friends' blogs recently which I thought were dead. But no, my friends have been writing. And writing often. Me, not so much. My friends are writing with such abandon and such honesty that I'm a little jealous. A lot jealous. I notice that I censor myself so much. Even as I'm writing this, I'm constantly backspacing, reading, re-reading, backspacing again... There's just this little voice inside of me saying "Are you sure that's what you want to say?" Is that the right word choice? The most varied sentence structure? How does it sound? Does anyone actually want to read this? More often than not, the answer is always a resounding NO.
A few years ago, I met a woman named Megan. Megan was a tutor at the middle school I was also tutoring at after school. She wasn't with my company, but her class was across the hall from mine. And our kids would ride the same bus, so we dismissed around the same time and monitored our kids after the tutoring together. It didn't take long before we discovered a bar around the corner from the school which we would go to religiously every Thursday for 1/2 half off margaritas and live music. Then one day Megan asked if I and another tutor in the same hallway wanted to go to her place for homemade wine and games. Anyone who knows me knows I don't turn down free wine. So I went.
Megan introduced me to a delicious pink wine she had made and even gave me a bottle to take home. Which my sister and I polished off in a few days. Megan and the other tutor, Freddie, were playing chess. Freddie had just made a move after much thought and consideration. But Megan stared up at him and asked, "Are you sure you want to make that move? Is that the best move you have?" Both me and Freddie looked at Megan in disbelief. Megan blushed and explained that her father was somewhat of a chess expert and taught her how to play. As a girl, Megan's dad would play with her and her brothers, encouraging them to make their best moves. He would stop the game, take back their play and tell them to try again. They would be told to make their "best" move. The most strategic one. The most clever one. Again, the best.
The point is: That story has always stuck with me. Make your best move. In chess. In life.
I have a story inside of me. A novel. A great teenage fantasy novel. (Or two) But I'm haunted by Megan's story. Is the best move I have? The best story I can write. And I don't have an answer.
My friends can write their blogs frequently and honestly. But me, I'm censored. I'm afraid. I can't make my best move. Maybe because I don't have a play to make...
Secondly, once I finally do get into my Blogger account, I'm very disappointed to see that everything has changed. As I'm writing this, I find the staunch white composing screen a little off-putting. Definitely not good for late night writing. There's too many menus and toolbars condensed around the edges. I liked the old cluttered look. It made since to me. This.. Well, this will take some getting used to. Again, thank you Google.
So, here we are: My actual blog post.
I don't really have much to talk about. Only that I happened to stumble back into my friends' blogs recently which I thought were dead. But no, my friends have been writing. And writing often. Me, not so much. My friends are writing with such abandon and such honesty that I'm a little jealous. A lot jealous. I notice that I censor myself so much. Even as I'm writing this, I'm constantly backspacing, reading, re-reading, backspacing again... There's just this little voice inside of me saying "Are you sure that's what you want to say?" Is that the right word choice? The most varied sentence structure? How does it sound? Does anyone actually want to read this? More often than not, the answer is always a resounding NO.
A few years ago, I met a woman named Megan. Megan was a tutor at the middle school I was also tutoring at after school. She wasn't with my company, but her class was across the hall from mine. And our kids would ride the same bus, so we dismissed around the same time and monitored our kids after the tutoring together. It didn't take long before we discovered a bar around the corner from the school which we would go to religiously every Thursday for 1/2 half off margaritas and live music. Then one day Megan asked if I and another tutor in the same hallway wanted to go to her place for homemade wine and games. Anyone who knows me knows I don't turn down free wine. So I went.
Megan introduced me to a delicious pink wine she had made and even gave me a bottle to take home. Which my sister and I polished off in a few days. Megan and the other tutor, Freddie, were playing chess. Freddie had just made a move after much thought and consideration. But Megan stared up at him and asked, "Are you sure you want to make that move? Is that the best move you have?" Both me and Freddie looked at Megan in disbelief. Megan blushed and explained that her father was somewhat of a chess expert and taught her how to play. As a girl, Megan's dad would play with her and her brothers, encouraging them to make their best moves. He would stop the game, take back their play and tell them to try again. They would be told to make their "best" move. The most strategic one. The most clever one. Again, the best.
The point is: That story has always stuck with me. Make your best move. In chess. In life.
I have a story inside of me. A novel. A great teenage fantasy novel. (Or two) But I'm haunted by Megan's story. Is the best move I have? The best story I can write. And I don't have an answer.
My friends can write their blogs frequently and honestly. But me, I'm censored. I'm afraid. I can't make my best move. Maybe because I don't have a play to make...
28.3.12
Hello Old Friend
Wow. Two posts in one month! There was a time when I would have considered that unacceptable. Now, I'm actually impressed with myself for taking time to write again. I've been so busy. I've been so tired. I've been.. highly unmotivated. I know that's not an excuse. I can't say I want to pursue a career in writing one day and then neglect something as easy as freewritng for myself. There's no excuse. I don't have to churn out something spectacular each time. I just have to try.
God, I hate my job so much. Really, I do. At first, I was excited about the prospect of having that big, post-graduate, 9a-5p job. But this is nothing more than a temp assignment that's driving me insane. The stress is more than I'm accustomed to dealing with. More than I think I can handle. I'm crying more, sleeping less and drinking... Well, let's just say there's only liquor and water in fridge at home. I know my health is suffering because of this job. I wake up tired, I don't sleep well at night, and I'm having more and trouble focusing throughout the day. On the drive to work, there's this billboard that reads: "1 in 3 people will die of heart disease this year." I pass that sign everyday on the way to work and think, I'll probably be one of those three. I'll probably have a heart attack at 27. Or develop some stress-related heart condition as a result of this job. And for what? I have nothing to show for it other than the amazing people I work with. But everyone is looking for another job. It's odd. I feel like I've been tricked.
On top of that, I feel like I'm failing in my personal relationships as well. I don't communicate well, if at all. I have trouble opening up. I build walls. I reinforce them. I reinforce the reinforcements. So I have all these things building inside of me with no hope of release. I drink myself into a numbness nearly every night and start over in a few hours. It's like a reset button. Although, it's not really a clean slate each morning. The problems are still there. It's more like a save button. I just clear off whatever's bothering me and store it somewhere else. It's not healthy, or so I've been told. But it's all I know. It's how I've learned to deal. There's nothing worse than being "that girl". The one who always wants to talk about fer feelings. The one who's too insecure to function.
I may be that girl, but I don't want to be known as that girl.
I need a vacation. From life.
.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.
God, I hate my job so much. Really, I do. At first, I was excited about the prospect of having that big, post-graduate, 9a-5p job. But this is nothing more than a temp assignment that's driving me insane. The stress is more than I'm accustomed to dealing with. More than I think I can handle. I'm crying more, sleeping less and drinking... Well, let's just say there's only liquor and water in fridge at home. I know my health is suffering because of this job. I wake up tired, I don't sleep well at night, and I'm having more and trouble focusing throughout the day. On the drive to work, there's this billboard that reads: "1 in 3 people will die of heart disease this year." I pass that sign everyday on the way to work and think, I'll probably be one of those three. I'll probably have a heart attack at 27. Or develop some stress-related heart condition as a result of this job. And for what? I have nothing to show for it other than the amazing people I work with. But everyone is looking for another job. It's odd. I feel like I've been tricked.
On top of that, I feel like I'm failing in my personal relationships as well. I don't communicate well, if at all. I have trouble opening up. I build walls. I reinforce them. I reinforce the reinforcements. So I have all these things building inside of me with no hope of release. I drink myself into a numbness nearly every night and start over in a few hours. It's like a reset button. Although, it's not really a clean slate each morning. The problems are still there. It's more like a save button. I just clear off whatever's bothering me and store it somewhere else. It's not healthy, or so I've been told. But it's all I know. It's how I've learned to deal. There's nothing worse than being "that girl". The one who always wants to talk about fer feelings. The one who's too insecure to function.
I may be that girl, but I don't want to be known as that girl.
I need a vacation. From life.
.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.
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