Na na na na na NANOWRIMO!

So..close.. to being..finished..

Meh, we're reaching the home stretch of these blog posts, since I tend to double post every few weeks.

Which is good, because I need to have time for Nanowrimo.

Oh yeah, in case you didn't know...

NANOWRIMO IS TOMORROWWWWWW!

Ahem. Sorry for the outburst.

But really, I'm so excited for Nanowrimo. I had heard of it before but didn't really know that much about it before joining the Professional Writing major this year. And then I actually made the mistake of thinking that October was actually November.. yeah, I was a little confuzzled at the start of this semester.

But now it's really happening tomorrow and I am beyond excited, as I said. I've been wanting to flesh out my idea since I came up with it, and it's been so hard to resist. I just feel like writing, and I love that this gives me an excuse to do so and a deadline under which I can write consistently.

That's the best part, I think. Because I'm such a procrastinator (woah, was just about to write protagonist, can you tell I'm a little hyped up and ready for Nanowrimo yet?) I usually start projects and then just never get around to finishing them, because I have no pressure, no deadline to work under. Whereas with school work I can crack that junk out like it's nothing 'cause of all the deadlines. So this is just, like, awesome.

But as that is the case, my last couple blog posts might very well just be sections of my Nanowrimo novel. Because I've been wanting to post some original poems/fiction/creative nonfiction (aside from that one writing prompt post.. and I also think I posted one poem), so this fits quite nicely.

Also I wanted to mention that this week's assigned readings seem like they're going to be especially helpful in writing my Nanowrimo novel. Very interesting stuff. Especially the bit about Hikmet.. I never even knew this guy existed. His poems are just beautiful; I'd definitely recommend looking him up.

It's funny how I continue to find beauty and meaning and a sort of comfort in the poems and writings of great writers. Because they always seems to perfectly articulate what I'm feeling in words, where I fail in this pursuit. Gives me hope that I can one day inspire others as they've inspired me. Even if I can't quite articulate one emotion, I can still articulate others that perhaps other people cannot, and therefore can help them to better understand themselves, as I have come to better understand myself.

One can only hope.

~Dale B.

Sorry In Advanced. Heated Post.

Wow. Yeah.

So just as a warning, I feel as though this blog post is about to be a rant.

Although if you read my blog frequently, you would know that already, since it’s pretty rare that I post twice a week, let alone one day right after the other, and even more out of the ordinary, on a Wednesday night.

So consider yourself forewarned.

All I want to do is write, and write with my own voice. When I wrote for Voices, the section of the Reading Eagle Newspaper written exclusively by teens, I loved the kind of articles that I could write straight from my own thoughts, without needing to do any undesired research.

Don’t get me wrong, I like research a lot, except when I do it, I don’t really think of it as research. When I like research, it’s when I’m looking something up for the benefit of my own knowledge, because I am genuinely interested in the topic. So it’s more like fun than work.

Call me lazy if you want, that’s just how I like to write—no strings attached, no need to cite sources and add quotes.

So whenever I try to do that in college—write about a topic I like and don’t necessarily need research for beyond the little that might help me to understand myself and my thoughts a little better—I get screwed over. I always get a horrible grade on it.

I mean, ok. I can sort of see how in some situations, I could have fulfilled the assignment better with another topic, and more academic research. But the writing itself would not have been as good, as purely my voice and style. Now, the professor may be happy with what I’d write as long as it perfectly fits the parameters of the project, but I wouldn’t. I want to write, in every class, with my voice. I don’t want to write to conform, to just give them what they think fulfills the assignment. I want to give them something different.

I want to write along my stream of consciousness and be satisfied that I’ve gotten my point across at least to myself; every paper that I’ve written like this has helped me get to better know myself, and helped me to work through my problems by putting them on paper. I used the assignment to get myself to write down my thoughts, as I wouldn’t take it upon myself to just sit down and write them otherwise, because I simply just wouldn’t take the time out of my schedule.

Perhaps that’s why I’m so attached to these papers, so angry that others don’t see the value that I see in them; because they’ve helped me, not them. They just want me to do the assignment, while I want to be healed in my pain. I used this as an outlet for myself, rather than just doing what they wanted.

I guess I shouldn’t do this anymore. But I can’t help but take advantage of anything that enables me to be able to get out my pain, past transgressions, and errant thoughts and work through them.

It’s how I stay sane.

~Dale B.

**Revision:
Yeah, also. I really hate that I can't explain my reasons for various decisions in papers, as is often the case in my life with my decisions in general. I mean realistically I could talk to my professors about what I was trying to do with a certain word choice or metaphor, but I've done that in the past, and I know that I would argue every point. Everyone sees things differently. I don't want to be that girl who tries to explain and argue about why she made every little decision again; it's just makes me seem annoying, and I'm getting the impression that my professors already see me like that, despite my efforts. I don't need to be that girl.

Bbbbbad to the Bone...

Ah.

So I'm experiencing a bit of confuzzlement lately.

Well ok, not lately. As of the past two days or so.

And I have a bit of a discussion in mind.

The premise involves focusing (after the fact) on what bad things could possibly happen, and what good, fun things did happen.

It's kind of strange how after you do something "bad" with supposed consequences, your mind, after the initial like ecstasy of rebellion, decides to start considering everything that could potentially go wrong now that you've done the thing. Like, who could find out, if you'll be hurt or get in trouble later on down the line. And it just seems to grow worse as time goes back after the incident.

Is it worth considering these? On the one hand, you've already done the thing, so you can't really change it, so considering any potential consequences isn't really going to help them to not happen.

On the other hand, considering those consequences could help you to deal with them should they arise later. Or could prevent you from committing the same supposed bad thing at a later time.

On the other OTHER hand, you could potentially be stressing yourself out over nothing, and creating ill-effects on your health.

See what I mean? Too complex. Perhaps better to not think of it at all, except that would be making the decision to not think of it. Bleh.

Then there's the fact of considering the consequences before you take the action. And also how these considerations can potentially fly out the window in the moment, and if that is the fault of the person being distracted, or making some subconscious decision to just not consider the consequences in the moment. Can the person then be blamed for their actions? Have they still made a choice? (ah, all I could think of was Freewill when I wrote that)

So many ethical choices, in individual thoughts, decisions, considerations. As in writing, especially creative non-fiction. I'm noting this more and more as I gather interviews and worry about how I'm going to be portraying the people I know in writing. Even though I feel I know them, I know that my view is often very skewed, and that they may feel differently about themselves than I see them.

Jeez, creative non-fiction. How come you make me ask so many questions??

I only have so much time to think about these issues in one school week.

It's a shame, really.

~Dale B.

Life is like a..wah?

So for some reason I've been particularly philosophical lately.

It might be because I'm actually taking and enjoying classes for my major this semester.

It may be because I finally got really into studying and actually thinking about what I'm learning a few weeks ago.

It may be because I keep watching these movies where there are all these life or death scenarios.

It might even be because I finally stopped caring about what people think so much.

But mostly I think it's because of my biology class.

Yeah, seemingly the most insignificant of all those I listed, huh? I thought so too. Apparently I didn't think as much as I do now (or just didn't pay a lot of attention) when I took my high school bio class. Because everything I've been learning (after I started actually paying attention again, of course) is extremely fascinating. It occurred to me (in a wave of amazement) the other day that I was once something similar to the tiny cells that I can view under my microscope. Talk about revelations.

And strangely enough, it feels like in learning about evolution and the growth of cells, I'm questioning my religion or something. Like, as a Christian, my whole life there seemed to be this stigma like evolution is definitely not what happened, and God made everyone individual and special. But in learning about this stuff in college, I'm realizing that I never really understood evolution before…but it makes sense. (on the other hand, the creationist view also has some good points...but both also have some inconsistencies. Something to think about) Also, the whole cell development process, like there are an infinite number of ways we can turn out, but it's partially based on the chromosomes we inherit from our parents, so it's sort of predetermined at least partly how we'll turn out; which I guess could fit into Christianity’s beliefs of everyone being created uniquely but also that God knows how he wants you to be, so has made you the child of certain parents, etc...

^Woah, yeah, the above delving into discussion boggled my mind a bit… there are just too many discussion points. See what I mean? It's making me think so much. But I really don't even have time to think about any of it, which is just awful. Thank God for other soul-searching, knowledge seeking, caffeine-guzzling college students like me who can have midnight discussions like I had last Monday. Although the next day was kind of a struggle (i.e. zombie-caffeinated haze).

Yeah… where was I going with all that? Oh yeah, thinking philosophically. Yeah, I think that's the main reason, although the others certainly contributed as well. Like the whole movie thing, I actually sat down to watch Transformers 3 and midway started having these incredibly philosophical thoughts... which to be perfectly honest I can't even remember now. But it was deep. And it was spawned from a movie about transforming robots that end up saving to world. Go figure.

Also, I had a nightmare last night for the first time in like forever. It involved a guy who had robotic snake-like claws strongly resembling those that try to attack Carly in the car in Transformers 3. Also, I just made this connection now after writing about Transformers…

Hmm.

~Dale B.

Wait, what?

Kay, changing it up. We need to post our responses to a writing prompt. The prompt will follow what I wrote so that I don't give anything away...

You – you’re always there for me. Always have been, always will be. You are that one thing I can’t let go of, shouldn’t let go of, probably won’t ever let go of. I could probably let you go if I needed to, though. If I just never saw you again, if someone took you away and I had no way of getting you back—yeah, that’s probably the only way I’d ever let you go. You’re irreplaceable.

I’ve got friends that look like you, but they’re not the same. They’re not quite that same shade of snowy white, they aren’t there for me whenever I need them like you. They aren’t the one I ache for when I’m away from you for even just one day.

You are the one that brings me pleasant dreams in the night; without you by my side, I’m not home, I’m not safe or secure. You are home; you are comfort and my strength.

Your touch is like the wind, like a rabbit’s whiskers against my own cheek. You’re as light as the wind, too, and smell as sweet. Oh, your scent—like the seasons changing, like the shift from sunlight to rain, like I’m encompassed in sweetness. That’s what pulls me in, what makes me want to stay, what gives me the strength to leave so that I can come back to you again. That scent is the jolt I need when I’m sleep-deprived, the freshness when I’m overwhelmed, the handkerchief to catch my unattributed tears.

When She hurt you, I couldn’t stand it. She digs her claws into anyone and anything She can get at. I tried to stop her, but I couldn’t. She just continued, oblivious to my frantic attempts to save you. When I finally managed to pull Her away, to yank Her from your still self, She still didn’t let go. Your flesh is stretched and ripped, torn in Her attempt to hold on, to keep control of you, to keep her prize. You are marred, riddled with holes, disfigured. You’re translucent; I can practically see through you. I do look right through you, at that traitorous one who made you this way. Poor you. Poor, poor you.

But I still love you. I rationalize that you’re ok, and you’ll make it through. I tend to your wounds, fixing them as best I can, and ignoring the ones I can’t make better. Are you in pain, do your scars hurt? You make me feel so much better when I’m hurting, yet I can’t return the favor.

You’re getting older now, but you still look the same to me. Probably because I’ve know you my whole life. Looking back, I remember when you were young and new. Free of scars, with a beautiful, shiny white ribbon around your neck. It was like you were a snowflake—alighting on my window, fighting off my fears. Then you lost your ribbon. No, not lost—it was cut right from your neck. They rationalized that it was falling off anyway, that I could keep it for you once it was off—but they lied.

You were my comfort in the storm, still are. You were my escape route if danger should ever find me. Now I’ve grown, but you’ve stayed mostly the same. I have new comfort, new escapes, a new life. I don’t need you, but I still want you. I promise I’ll always be there for you, if you promise the same for me.

I love you, Blankie.

Ah. And now I am experiencing slight embarrassment. Anyway, here is the prompt:

Write a love letter to an inanimate object that you cannot live without. Do NOT identify it by name right away - if you must, save the ID for the end of the letter - let the suspense about what "it" is build. Be specific, detailed, and include a story about why this object is so important to you and how it has changed your life (if that is the case). Feel free to be funny. :)

Well, funny I was not. Sappy? Very much so. Eh, hope it was enjoyable to read anyway.

~Dale B.

Tag, You're It!

I wonder if anyone actually enjoys these blogs or not.

When I sit down to the write them, I usually don't have more than a slight idea of what I want to talk about; I just follow my stream of consciousness where ever it goes, because it, first of all, fills space, second, is easy to write, and third, is a good writing practice, at least in my opinion. So basically, it makes for an easy-to-write blog.

Just wanted to explain that as much to myself as anyone who is actually following this blog. Because apparently some other people in my class use their blogs to flesh out their in-class writing assignments and are super-creative and well structured, whereas I'm just like, eh, lemme just blog the way I think a blog is supposed to be.

Anyway, just wanted to mix things up slightly and talk about the novel I'd like to write for Nanowrimo, since October is supposed to be the planning month. By the way, Nanowrimo stands for National Novel Writing Month--it takes places during the month of November, and the idea is to try and write a 50,000 word novel within the month. Kay, here goes:

So my idea is essentially a giant game of tag. Props to Will Houlette for sparking this idea when he tagged me in class and the following recollected conversation took place:

Will: Tag, you're it. No tag-backs.

Me: Well that's not fair, now it's going to be awkward for me to tag anybody.

Will: No it won't. Everybody knows how to play tag.

*cue cogs turning*

So I started to think about what an excellent novel that would make--every chapter would take place from a different person's point of view, the point of view of the person who has been tagged. As soon as they tagged someone else, a new chapter would start and the view would shift to the new person who has been tagged.

So then I started thinking about what kind of characters I could have, and since I'm taking this creative nonfiction class, I kind of really wanted to use my actual friends (and not-quite friends) as characters. I want to flesh out their characters as I have observed them and I think I could make for some really excellent points of view. My notes on characters (with their original names changed, obviously) and who they tag/are tagged by are as follows:

Ina tagged originally by Will.

Kailyn tags Liam

Liam tags Kendra

Russo tags Lena over facebook, gets tagged by

Winston

Nona tags Cloud

Luke tags Nona

Jude

Lena gets tagged over facebook by Russo, tags Luke

Kendra Russo

And it just occurred to me that I forget which names I assigned to which actual people, because I failed to make a list, once again trusting my memory only to have it utterly fail me. Ugh, and I also forget the details of the tagging that I wanted. Same thing happened with a previous story I tried to write.. I had the details in my mind, then failed to write them down, trusting my memory, then left the subject for a while, only to forget my brainstorming. Gah.

Anyway. My only concern is that I'm going to try and present my characters as honestly as possible as I see them, and unfortunately I am an extremely critical and analytical person so I see all their flaws and faults, I want to present those--but I'm afraid that they'll see this novel at some point or ask to read it, and then hate me forever for presenting them in such an honest light; because I do know that many of things I intend to highlight are things that these people choose to ignore or hide.

I guess a solution to this might be to let them read what I've written before adding it to the novel and see what they think, maybe gaining some of their trust in the process rather than just having them randomly stumble upon it someday and get offended. Suggestions are very much appreciated as to how to deal with this situation.

Additional notes: Some chapters will be long, and others may be a paragraph short. Some characters may be people I've made up, or composite characters. This is going to be a mix of creative nonfiction and fiction (isn't most fiction like that at least in some way?). I'm also going to be a character, if I can do it objectively enough. The game will start (well not really start, as I'm going to propose that this is really a never-ending game, with no beginning or end -- this is just where my characters happened to come into the game, and spread it among their friends. Funnily enough, this plays into how my own friends, although from different backgrounds and social groups, are all interconnected in one way or another) with Will, and end with Nona's tagging of Cloud. The game will span across distances, through the internet and via traveling from one place to the next, through chance encounters and long relationships, through light taps and vigorous punches. Oh, and there are no tag-backs.

That's all I've got for now. I'm kind of hesitant to post this onto the web, because I don't really want anyone to steal my idea. But I'll go ahead and trust the World Wide Web for now.

Can't wait for 12:01 on November 1!

~Dale B. 

Life, As I Now Know It

This class, like all my English classes, has inevitably made me think.

And for that matter, changed my thinking.

For some reason, it seems that I keep reading or hearing in my classes that in order to be a good writer, one has to keep their eyes and ears wide open and keep themselves open. I think that, without really thinking about it, I have done this.

I mean, in the past I've tried to keep my mind open to things, to observe the beauty in life, but it seems like it's coming more naturally now. I used to be jealous of the kids in "Bridge to Terabithia" who could imagine so well that the creatures that only existed in their minds came to life. It occurred to me that I would never be able to have such an imagination, as I could not see past what was right in front of me.

That's changed, apparently. And it's been such an amazing change that it has resolved my previously biggest issue. I stopped being numb, stopped being trapped, and became open anew.

I don't want to be stupid and vapid. I don't want to be a certain way or act in a certain manner just because it will please someone or make them potentially like me more. I don't want to catch myself agreeing with something I don't really agree with, without even thinking about it.

I don't want to love something or someone that is bad for me, that is killing me because I can’t help but think that there still could be a future there.

And I don't anymore. It's so weird, this different frame of mind. Before I just wanted to do certain things that would allow me to grow closer to my issue, strengthen it and make it burn me even more. Now I want to task risks, enjoy life, push the limits of life. I don't care to consult my issue for making my own decisions, and my decisions aren't influenced by whether it would bring me even closer to my issue.

It's so strange that I can look at my issue now and think about how much easier life is without it, how much better life is and how much more open I am. I went from being cautious and close-minded, regretful and overly-analytical, unable to get away from the question of "what if?" and constant "someday..."'s, and now I see that "someday" will happen if it happens, but I'm not waiting around until then. I'm going to seek life out and see how far I can push it.

It’s also unusual, this newfound appreciation of life, and also the unquenchable need to push it to its limits. I'm so unafraid to die, or get hurt that it's strange. Yet I love my life and everything that constitutes it. Weird.

Maybe because before this issue, I wasn't really living for anything, just living. Then my issue became my life--I was living for it, to interact with it, to see it grow. And now that I've finally let it go, maybe I don't want to go back to just living. I want to go beyond living, and find something else that's worth living for, or die trying.

Maybe that’s it.

~Dale B.