From the Pit--Nano Correspondence I

National Novel Writing Month is kicking my [apples]. Five thousand and ninety words. That's about half of what I'm supposed to have. I must remind myself:

• Good writing = bad for me
• Decent writing = bad for me
• "That Perfect Word" will remain elusive and I will satisfy myself with "suspiciously."
• Quality = bad for me
• QUANTITY IS KING.

Anyone have any strategies to suggest as far as beefing up my word count goes? Word-eaters, such as extremely detailed physical descriptions, lengthy expositions, etc.?

Also, Chase Bradford Lowell's superpower is officially time management. But none of us in the Compass community are surprised.

[On a less related-to-the-header note, Constantine is officially fixed. His harddrive at itself, but we got him a new one, and now he has a spankin' new appendicitis story to impress the ladies and regale small children with. Furthermore he has Windows 7 which means: Mahjong Titans. Oh happy day.]

The Verdict--Doomed

So I'm in.

Now...to figure out what to write.

National Novel Writing Month--THIS AUTHOR WANTS YOUR INPUT

So, here's the deal, the 411, the conundrum, the poop, as they say:

November is National Novel Writing Month. Hypothetically speaking, I could sign up, which would hypothetically mean that I would need to write a hypothetical novel of at least 50,000 hypothetical words, hypothetically completely original (meaning not part of any story I have worked on before), all by my hypothetical lonesome. The deadline is November 30.

I admit, I really like this idea. I'm all a-tremble with hypothetical excitement. I don't get any hypothetical prizes save for a hypothetical fuzzy feeling of deep accomplishment in the hypothetical cockles of my heart.

THE CONS:

• I have no ideas. The last time I undertook writing an actual novel was when I was fifteen. Some of you have read the results--it's not pretty. I'm not really good at it. Finishing things is an issue.
• Melissa's wedding, Mich's wedding (more important), and Thanksgiving all happen in November. That might just get in the way a tad. 
• I really should probably focus on schoolwork. This is little because it's not really an issue I care about.
• I'll probably eat way more than I should during this process.

THE PROS:

• IT WILL MAKE ME WRITE. Hopefully. Or it could go in the opposite direction and become a con...
• The aforementioned warm fuzzy feeling of accomplishment.
• Tea. Lots and lots of tea.

Of course there are most likely many more pros and cons. At the moment my mind is a jumble.

Also Master Lowell has already challenged me to do it.

THIS IS THE PART WHERE AUDIENCE PARTICIPATION COMES IN. And you can't complain about it because you haven't done anything for me to write this blog that you read, therefore it's just a fair that you do something for me as I do something for you (assuming one counts writing a blog as "something"...."good").

What do you think? Do you think I should do it? If so, give your reasons. If not, give your reasons. In short, convince me.

(You'll have to work hard, because I can argue against either quite adamently)

If you're interested: It's a Scrivener's Ball!

Ahem--Nervous Shuffle

Oh my. It has been a long time.

Highlights:

Twenty-fifth anniversary celebration--happy birthday Covenant Fellowship Church. Oh the nostalgia. I say we toss out all these newfangled countrified flimflangled Sovereign Grace songs and go back to our roots in the eighties and nineties. At the very least, let us please start singing "Ancient of Days" again. Hear, hear!

Outlet shopping. Got my dress for Mich's wedding. Purchased it at the Banana outlet in Limerick. It's black (obviously) with a sort of fifties cut and a swishy skirt. I love it so. I'd show you a picture but they don't have it up online. Also, Sock it to Me--a store only for socks and co. I got three pairs of stripy knee-highs for fifteen dollars. Whoever invented that store was a raving genius, and deserves the Nobel Prize for sheer brilliance.

Not gonna talk about the Nobel Peace Prize.

Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs equals very funny plus not at all dirty. Always a plus in "children's" comedy. Also, Mr. T does a voice; so really, you need to go watch it. Right now.

Fall Break was glorious. What can beat starting out one's break with a Psych-watching-pineapple-eating date that turns into a tidy little Psych-watching-pineapple-eating party? And how can one end one's break better than  baking for/attending a CCF harvest party?

I'm getting a new phone; it should be coming today. Samsung Intensity in "Flamingo Red." It's basically gorgeous. I shall let you know, dear reader, what his/her name is. I'm perversely excited to be replacing Burton. To sum, God has really blessed me in working out The Phone Situation.

So new dress(es--Mom let me get two. Oh ecstasy), new socks, new phone. It's been an exciting month.

Til next time, dear readers!

October!--Waxing of the Poetical Variety

Happy first of October! Oh the joy of the greatest month of the year.

Why October is the paramount, incomparable, indisputably best month of the year:

• It's Fall. Wholly, totally, unadulterated Autumn. No other month of the year can say that. September is the beginning of the story, November is the denouement, but October is the climax.
  
• The Foliage. The leaves are well into the changing, but haven't yet almost completely disappeared. Everything is on fire. Beautiful.
• The weather. There is no other weather more pleasant than what can be defined as "nippy." There are very few things in life that bring more contentment that trotting through leaf-scatter paths surrounded by gold and orange and red, huddled in your favorite jacket while your just cold enough to feel the blood spreading through your body; and then getting to come inside to the warm, and put on a sweatshirt and slippers (sweater-slippers! Everyone should have some!), brew some spicy tea, and curl up to read a book in the golden splash of an early sunset. Oh, bliss.
  
• To piggyback on the above, the clothes you get to wear are the utmost in comfortability and aesthetics. Jackets, fuzzy boots, slippers (sweater slippers!), sweaters, scarves (that are functional!), gloves (hobo gloves! Note: buy hobo gloves), hats...all designed to not only look fantastic but to keep you so very comfortable and warm.
  
• Something Wicked This Way Comes. I've already mentioned this; but it's one of my favorite books, and it's just perfect for reading in October. I think every month should have a Perfect Book (although that might be hard to manage what with such middling months as February, November, and June existing).

Autumn is violins, old memories, phoenix fire, warm embraces. I shudder to think of living in such places as only have two seasons. Horrors.

P.S. Constantine is suffering from some sort of stroke. This entry was written on the very tiny keyboard of my mother's computer (so blame any typos on that).

Back in the Groove--A Quiet Moment that Will Perhaps Persist Long Enough for Me to Blog More this Week

I have officially determined that none of my followers/readers/lurkers hang off the edges of their seats waiting for me to post. While this does bruise my ego a bit, and make me sigh over the laborious process I went through in writing an allegorical tale, I shall rally and recover, I'm sure. To do anything otherwise would be too typical teenager for my taste; furthermore it would beg the question: do I blog for comments or do I blog for myself? Thus far the answer has been myself, and I'd really hate for it to change so something of a more indulgent nature.

Watched an excellent documentary on the censorship of the Intelligent Design Theory in scientific academia...but am paying for it today. I see a nap on the third floor in my future. Lacking that there will definitely be a nap in my Psychology of Sports Injuries class. I'd rather avoid drooling in front of people.

Official sounds of autumn (IT IS HERE):










A Thousand Shark's Teeth, My Brightest Diamond









Anything by Andrew Bird, especially Armchair Apocrypha and Noble Beast/Useless Creatures










Beauty and the Beast official motion picture soundtrack












The Blue Notebooks, Max Richter










"My Legionnaire" from Fresh Pair of Eyes, Brooke Waggoner











"One Year, Six Months" from Ocean Avenue, Yellowcard











"Such Great Heights" from Such Great Heights, Iron and Wine












The Crane Wife, The Decemberists


(First ever blog post with pictures. Mark this historical event on your calenders for posterity's sake.)

The Tale of a Confused Artist--Metaphorically Speaking

Once upon a time, there lived an architect.

She was not very famous, nor was her work very special. But she loved building things. Since she was a little girl, her favorite thing to do was to take a new, sharp pencil and crisp, clean paper and break through the white monotony with bold lines, curving swirls, and huge arches.

More than anything, she loved making her structures beautiful. Her designs probably weren't the best, or the most unique, but it made her happy to carefully bend metal railings into swooping shapes, or send red and blue flowers rioting over a wall with a paintbrush.

One day, whilst she was working feverishly on a little bridge in her backyard, a man came to visit her. He watched her squiggle her paint brush back and forth for a little bit, then cleared his throat in an important sort of way.

"Ahem," he said. "What are you doing?"

The architect, who didn't know that anyone had been behind her, jumped. The bumblebee springing from the end of her brush suddenly became much more quizzical looking. She turned around to look up at the man, smearing her cheek with yellow.

"....Wut?" She said eloquently.

The man pointed at the bridge in an accusing sort of way. "Why are you building a bridge in the middle of the grass? You're being extremely wasteful.That bridge won't help anyone sitting where it is. And it's much too small. That's very irresponsible. You should be using your talent to help the world. You're being a bad citizen."

The architect was very troubled by this; she really strove to be a good citizen.

"Don't worry," continued the man in a placating sort of way. "Come with me. I'll show you where your talents can be used to better the world.

He took the architect to a large river. "Build a bridge over this river, so that people can visit their grandparents." Patting her back in an encouraging sort of way, he left.

The architect didddled for some time, enjoying the soft sound of the grass and the white noise of the river. Finally, after sketching a bit, she set to work. She worked for a day and a night, humming contentedly. She carved frolicking groundhogs and storks on the railing, and painted them blue and yellow. When she was nearly finished, and feeling very pleased, the man came back to visit.

He frowned and harrumphed in a disappointed sort of way. "This is just silly!" he exclaimed. "No one is going to take this bridge seriously, and it couldn't possibly withstand the wear and traffic of so many cars and people. You must rebuild it. Use this." Thrusting precise blueprints in her hands, he left in a huffy sort of way--but not before sending a crowd of big, burly men to tear down the first bridge.

The architect shed a few bitter tears, but she was still very anxious to be useful to her community, so she set to work on the bridge the man had designed for her. She worked a day and a night, and a day and another night, and part of the next day, and then fell asleep, and worked another day and a night, and finally finished.

She stood back and surveyed her work. The bridge was grey and square, spatting between the two banks and casting a dark shadow over the river. The supports spiked to the sky and dug into either side, and there were no frolicking animals, or painted colors.

The architect blew a giant raspberry, went back to her house, and finished her little bumblebee bridge.


Dear readers, this is how I feel sitting in my English theory class. The primary focus of the class is studying essays on theory, and the key-term is "exigency": which basically means "a problem that we are writing about in an effort to spur people into fixing it." We are always asked to find the exigency of each piece, and make sure we have exigency of our own in our writing.

And during all my lectures, I'm thinking: "Geeze....I gotta have a reason for everything?"

Ironically, the above story is exactly what I just complained about...

I await with great longing the day I start creative writing courses. If I was wondering about what to minor in, I'm sure now.

Naptime!