This is Homework. I have taken Sara as my hostage. Don't fear for her safety; she is in a secure location. And her injuries will heal easily enough. Trust me, I've done this before.
I will hold her against her will until she or someone on the outside presents me with: one 8-page paper on employee appreciation, one presentation for said paper, one 6-page paper on employee recognition and motivation, one presentation for said second paper, ten complete management quizzes, one portfolio of her professional achievements over the past 20 years, two article reviews, one report on Greek business etiquette, and 22 bottles of Black Cherry-Lime Vitamin Water.
Wait! No! Not the last one -- the last one was merely a typo inserted by the captive. Ignore that request.
*forces captive to return to her cell*
Help! Save me! SOMEONE GET ME OUT!
*throws #2 Pencil at captive*
I expect these things to be paid, in full, by the second week of June, lest the captive be subjected to all of these demands again.
Except for the Vitamin Water. Don't give her anymore Vitamin Water.
While on my path toward self-discovery (my god that sounds deep...), I've found a few things. My hardback copy of TREASURE ISLAND, for one. And that rebellious little blue ink pen that always seems to disappear exactly when I need a blue pen...
Oh, but I also found some stuff you'll care about. Unless you like TREASURE ISLAND. And let's face it, who doesn't?
Anyway.
So, whilst one is journeying toward self-discovery, I've found one of the most important things to do is to set your sights on who/what you want to be, and weed out any actions/activities that do not further your ultimate vision. Such as not doing things you want to/have the impulse to do if they do not put a brick in your soon-to-be-fully-constructed House of a Better You.
Ooo, I'm on a deep-streak tonight.
What does this have to do with writing? Well, lately I've been forcing myself to write. And read. And write some more. Because the Sara I want to end up as is a Sara who writes and reads and writes some more, even if the current Sara doesn't really want to or doesn't really have the motivation. I do these things because I want the vision I have in my head to become who I am, not merely a vision. And sitting around, hoping that vision magically pops into existence, didn't work for me. At all. In fact, I spent about a year hoping it would only to end up as the exact same person I was at the beginning of the year.
Basically, be who you want to be. Even if who you want to be isn't who you feel like at that moment. Some days it will be. And those days will be worth it.
Tissues Soap container Hair color 3 Strawberry-Kiwi Vitamin Waters 3 Black Cherry Lime Vitamin Waters 3 Orange-Orange Vitamin Waters 1 Grape-Blueberry Vitamin Water 1 Raspberry-Apple Vitamin Water 1 Berry-Berry Vitamin Water 12 Nestle Water Bottles
Register: *beep* *beep* *beep*
Cashier: 12 Nestle Water Bottles?
Me: *digs out money*
Cashier: 12 Vitamin Waters?
Me: *digs faster*
Cashier: *pause* Thirsty?
Me: THEY WERE A DOLLAR EACH. I'M A WRITER.
Cashier: *stunned*
Me: *grabs Vitamin Waters*
Cashier: Writing dehydrates you?
Me: Yes. No. I MUST BUY THINGS.
Cashier: Okay. Thanks for shopping with us.
Me: Hey, at least it's healthier than chocolate. DON'T JUDGE ME.
Cashier: I wasn't--
Me: VITAMIN WATER -- Nothing unhealthy about any of that. Do you hear that, writing gods? YOUR WRITING-IMPOSED CONSUMPTION ADDICTIONS CANNOT TOUCH ME! I WIN!
Cashier: Who are you talking to--
Me: VICTORY! Vitamin Water Victory!
Cashier: Leave. Now.
Me: *skips away, or skips as much as possible under the weight of 12 Vitamin Waters and 12 Nestle Bottled Waters*
You know you're writing again when the addictions take hold.
I wrote stuff today. WORDS. In a STORY. And not just words-that-I-added-as-I-aimlessly-went-back-through-"editing"-because-I-had-no-motivation-to-actually-write. REAL WORDS. An entirely new scene. And it SUCKED. Hugely and profusely and painfully, and no one will ever ever read it. But I wrote it and it was glorious, and after I closed my laptop and packed up all my random stuffs (I'd created quite the little cocoon in one of the lobbies at mi universidad), I was
*wait for it*
Happy.
Happy, for the first time in a long, long time. Truly and unabashedly content. I walked to class, and it was sunny and warm, and all I wanted to do was lie in the grass and soak it in. For the first time in two years, I felt legitimately happy with who I was. I'd forgotten what that was like. To write something, ANYTHING, and find such joy in just creating. It's beautiful.
Speaking of beautiful: there's a movement going around that I find absolutely amazing. I channeled my new-found contentedness by spreading post-its all over my campus (sorry cleaning folks; but you're beautiful too!). It's strangely invigorating to leave mystery notes to people. So spread the happiness, yo! Keep the love flowin'.
Hey, I've been writing stuff. No, seriously! Stop chuckling! See? SEE? That word count on White Like Ashes doesn't lie. Nearly 12k! Gasp! I DID NOT MAKE IT UP. Gosh. Ye of little faith.
(I love having pretend arguments with myself. No idea why.)
I attribute my slight burst of normal writing methods to the abundance of sugary stuff I received for Easter. I do not attribute any of it to the abundance of emotional hooplah I've been going through that spurred a long, angry, scary scene in WLA at 2AM. Nope. Totally the sugar.
In THAT case, it's only fitting that I pay proper tribute to what I attribute my inspiration. (haha, tribute, attribute...moving on.) Most of the sugary goodness I received took the form of retro-type candy. As I reminisced over the memories of the days of yore, I got very nostalgic. Here are two of my most favoritest nostalgia moments:
Fun Dip!
The ultimate in sugar coma fun: a stick of compressed sugar that you dip in loose sugar. But they put SEKRIT magical ingredients in the compressed sugar stick that make it taste like SEKRIT magical vanilla-like compressed sugar. So, in essence, it is magical vanilla-flavored sugar mixed with multi-flavored-fruity sugars. We are the greatest country in the world.
Jelly Belly Jelly Beans!
The only candy you can eat a LOT of to make it taste like real food! My personal fave is mixing peanut butter and jelly. Or blueberry and buttered popcorn to make blueberry muffin. Though I must confess to gagging profusely upon consumption of just the buttered popcorn. No. Thank. You.
What are some of your favorite nostalgia-inducing candies?
Can we take a moment and just majorly flashback? Okay, here we go:
--My absolute favorite BSC book was Claudia and the Phantom Phone Calls. It was the first book I ever read that really freaked me out, and when it did, I KNEW it was good. It made me feel Claudia's fear. I think that may have influenced my own writing; I wanted to make people feel something like that book made me feel something.
--I desperately wanted BSC dolls, so I took what Barbies I had and assigned each of them rolls. I had a Kristy doll (one of Barbie's brown-haired girlfriends), a Stacey doll (Barbie), a Claudia doll (Pocahontas), a Dawn doll (Cinderella), a Mallory doll (Stacy, Barbie's little sister), a Mary Anne doll (Belle), a Jessie doll (an interracial Barbie) and even a Logan doll (Ken, of course). I used to line them all up while watching The Babysitters Club Movie and act out scenes. Why yes, I was super cool and innovative. Thanks for noticing.
Which leads me to:
--The BSC Movie! Oh me oh my, I can't even put into words how much this movie meant to me. Means to me. Watching it totally takes me back to being six-seven, sitting on the carpet in front of the TV with all my "BSC dolls", and planning how I was going to start my own club. Even though I REALLY hated babysitting. But those girls were so connected -- and that's what I wanted most of all. This connection:
Ann M. Martin did an incredible job creating that sense of belonging. Even if you didn't believe the characters or the setting or the story, you BELIEVED their friendship. You knew these girls would be friends forever. And knowing that made you believe it was possible to have that kind of connection.
Did you read the BSC books? Which was your favorite?
“Though my soul may set in darkness, It will rise in perfect light.
I have loved the stars too fondly To be fearful of the night”
-- Sarah Williams, The Old Astronomer to his Pupil
I saw this quote in a video someone made on YouTube. I'd never heard it before, but I can't stop reading it. Especially the second line.
I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.
Tell me I'm not the only one who gets shivers reading that? It's like a battle cry. Like MY battle cry. Like I have loved writing too much to be afraid of failure. Like I have loved creating stories too much to accept a life without it. Like I have loved living too much to surrender to sadness.
It's exhausting to keep fighting. All the time. And I feel like a broken record, what with all my blog posts being about the same thing, basically. Depression, healing, depression, healing, heartbreak, blah blah blah. Bear with me; this blog is one of my outlets, one of my desperately needed outlets, as I come to undo what the past two years has done. All your support and words of kindness -- I can't even begin to tell you how much it helps.
A week or so ago, I applied for an internship with To Write Love On Her Arms. For the application, a video was required. I did mine in the form of a slam-poem. It's not as eloquent as those lines from Sarah Williams' poem, but I was still pretty proud of it:
I’m in a prison cell. But the worst thing of all is that I deserve to be in here.
I deserve it.
Each thought that crosses my mind, each word, each action, each breath, each whispered plea, each tear, each desire that urges my limbs to move condemns me.
Sometimes the door opens and light filters in, blinds me.
For a moment I am free to breathe and laugh and smile, remembering what warmth feels like.
But then, just as easily, the door closes.
I am reminded in those moments what I am capable of, what great darkness sleeps inside me.
Self-destruction can never be removed; it sits, haunting and waiting, just waiting, to close the door.
“We’ll get you help,” my parents said. “Tell us what’s wrong. Trust us.”
That conversation resonates in my mind and draws lines across my heart,
They offered me a way out of the darkness in a few simple words.
But how can I trust them, or her, or him, when I can’t even trust myself?
How can I believe they won’t turn on me, just as easily as I can turn on myself?
No word of warning or whisper of caution; just awakening.
Just a sweep of darkness and the door closes, and I’m trapped inside myself.
Be strong, be hard, fight it, fight, fight, for the love of God keep fighting.
It’s all I know how to do.
Fight, defend yourself, fight the pain, fight the door closing, fight the darkness, don’t let the door close, dear God don’t let the door close–
It does close.
And it does open.
In those moments when it is open, when the light makes me forget the darkness that still sits around me, I can tell myself it was nothing.
I can tell myself to just breathe in and out, and everything will be okay.
We are taught to believe everything will be okay.
But – it wasn’t okay.
When the door closed, it was the darkest sort of “not okay” anyone could experience.
Yet, when the light shines down on me, the pain I felt becomes utterly childish.
I feel foolish for being embraced by such a hateful darkness.
I feel – everything.
Shame, for not being strong enough to fight it.
Regret, for letting myself become so weak.
Fear, of my weakness being discovered.
Pain, because I know if I let anyone in when the door is closed they would hurt me.
Or hurt for me.
And you want me to be vulnerable? To let you in when the door is closed, let you see the darkness that sleeps in me, let you hear my cries and taste my tears and feel my rage as I break?
Yes. Yes. Yes.
Such a simple thing.
My friends, my family, my loves,
They keep fighting to get inside. They keep pushing against the door, screaming for me,
Calling my name against the darkness.
Community doesn’t give up.
Community is one pain in many bodies, one joy in many bodies, one life in many bodies.
And they fight for me.
Keep trying, sweet God, keep trying.
Don’t give up on me too.
I will put up walls and kick and scream and beat against everything you try to give me; but inside that prison cell,
deep inside the cold, dank darkness,
is a terrified little girl.
She’s covered her ears against the screaming, closed her eyes against the ominous dark.
It’s that little girl I fight for.
That little girl inside every big girl,
That little boy inside every big boy,
Who still remembers what sun feels like, who can still taste the taste of melting ice cream cones and who still wants to have Disney bandaids on their bicycle injuries.
That little girl who still believes in things.
That is my passion. That is my love.
Urging that little girl to come out, please, come out. Don’t worry, we won’t hurt you.
Don’t worry, we won’t leave you.
Help. Help. Help.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
This is me. I am here.
Because they fought for me.
So I will fight for them.
I will fight for them, struggle for them, protect them.
I will write love on their arms.
I just have to keep being that. Healed, not hurt. Strong, not scared. Whole, not halved. Because I have loved the Saragirl Seed too fondly to be fearful of being her again.
Grand Finale: New Favorite Song -- The Freshmen by The Verve Pipe
People offer a lot of advice post-break-up. One of the best pieces I've found is the much-debated-over rebound relationship. The one that reminds you of all those other fishes in the sea. The one that spells out just how grateful you should be to no longer be with the dreaded ex.
Let me tell ya; nothing quite heals a broken heart like diving right into another relationship. Especially an exclusive, understanding, creatively-charged character relationship. I mean, his plot is so INTENSE. And I totally swoon every time he goes on one of his emotional, take-charge-of-life spiels.
Oh, Maxie. Be still my heart.
I know some of you thought I was spending time with Evan instead. And I was -- until I reopened Discovery and reminded myself of how much I love, love, love, and adore Maxence Pate. And I need a little reminder of how good men can be in my life.
So I'm off to world-build and figure out what exactly Max is going to discover. He's so modest and noble and stuff. God he's cute.
Hi.
