I don't know if it's the same for everyone, but at the base of almost every passion I have is a person who first introduced me to that subject. In the case of my passion for writing, there is an author who particularly inspired me. "Writing allows me to feel deeper than I'd ever imagined was possible before I chose this career." Great right? For the sake of anonymity, I'll give her the pseudonym of Jane Doe. Jane was my idol, and before I started writing every new idea that came to me, I would visit her website and hear what she had to say to her readers.
May 12, 2009: "So stoked to finally publish the third book in my series! You guys will love it. Every character was carefully designed after those that are closest to me, with a little revision of course. :) I find that this makes it so I can be more invested in my story." This sparked my creativity. Evolving characters from strong characteristics in people I know was brilliant! With this solid foundation I began work on my first novel.
August 31, 2009: "Just started work on the fourth book in the series. You just can't have a slow paced life when you are a writer! Love what you do. Put everything you are into your work. It will lead to excellent success!" Advice taken! Summer had slowed me down but there would be no more slacking! I revisited my document and continued my work where I left off: chapter 3.
April 2, 2010: "Sorry I haven't updated my blog in a while; life's been crazy. I haven't really been motivated to blog...or write for that matter. Have any of you lost motivation in the middle of a story? It's not much fun. I hope I can beat this." Um...no. Jane doesn't say things like this. Why would she publicly announce such a bummer attitude toward writing? Not cool, even if it was temporary.
It wasn't. June 5, 2010: "Still unable to get past chapter 2! I wonder if writing is the career choice I should have picked. Maybe something like accounting would have been more appropriate. Once you run out of ideas, then what do you do?" Run out of ideas? Really Jane? That's not something that happens. Ever.
July 1, 2010: "Yep, still nothin'. Sorry to disappoint," was all she wrote. No, Jane, no. It's called writer's block. You get over it. Doesn't every writer know that? We all go through it, but we don't go complaining to our readers.
Months went by without a word from Jane. The blog was as silent as the grave, appropriate for the grave descriptions we had been left with after the recent posts. I, while disappointed, had still trudged along in my writing, and had managed to fill a few hundred pages with what I thought were creatively told tales of betrayal, adventure, and romance. I found myself a less frequent visitor of janedoe.blogspot.com, finding in myself reservoirs of inspiration and strength that I had previously relied on Jane for. As I successfully concluded the last page of my first draft with the beautiful words, "The End" my thoughts returned to that long forgotten blog, and I hesitantly typed in the web address.
February 14, 2011: "I hope all your guys' Valentine's Days are going great! I'm not sure I'm loving it, like I'm not sure I'm loving the book I just finished drafting. Oh well, I guess it'll do." I stopped reading and vowed not to ever compromise the integrity of anything I wrote like that. If I'm not satisfied, I'll rewrite, not cry about it on a blog that fans look to for advice. Idol's teach you lots of things about what you are passionate about, including the fact that the passion comes from inside you, not from borrowed inspiration.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Memory Cognition Expert (Prompt #34)
Kids are really good at coming up with arguments for anything, especially if they are in a battle of wits with their parents. I am hesitant to admit that this important skill has never really been one of my gifts, but it sure is one of my little sister's. She can argue her way out of everything, very eloquently, I might add. The best I can do is listen for the latest debate to start and make sure I get a front row seat. On tonight's episode: Tori tries to convince her parents that she is indeed capable of watching television while working diligently on her homework. Can the master on memory cognition accomplish her goal before she has her television privileges revoked?
Mom was giving her the look. The look that says, "start talking, you know I'm going to win this." The gauntlet has been thrown down and Tori begins her monologue.
"We've all had that experience where we are listening to a song when something happens, so that song will forever remind us of that experience." I nodded my consent from the audience. She was off to a good start. Mom just continued to stare. "When I watch TV the same effect occurs. I can remember what I was studying when I was watching a certain show." Excellent conclusion.
"I'm not convinced that giving something half of your attention could be better than giving it your full attention," Mom said, crossing her arms in disapproval.
"Let me explain it from a different angle. You like when I play the piano, right? I'm developing a talent. Well, they say that the knowledge of a musical instrument makes us smarter and helps us to be able to learn quicker. When I'm stuck on a math problem I go play the piano and let my brain process the information while I'm lost in the music."
Mom's countenance was lightening...the argument was taking hold in her brain. I was hanging on my sister's every word.
"Approaching a problem, working on it for a while, and then letting the information sit in our brains for a time while we are participating in a different activity, one such activity could be watching our favorite sitcom, can actually help us to be able to solve the problem more effectively and with greater understanding."
Bam! She was whipping out the "if A equals B and B equals C then A equals C" technique. I'd seen it done successfully only a few times. Those were big kid arguments, but she could handle them.
Mom paused for a second before sighing. "Fine. You can watch TV, but make sure all your homework gets done, understand?" With that she was gone. Tori had won the impossible argument. Another tally on the score board for the memory cognition expert.
Mom was giving her the look. The look that says, "start talking, you know I'm going to win this." The gauntlet has been thrown down and Tori begins her monologue.
"We've all had that experience where we are listening to a song when something happens, so that song will forever remind us of that experience." I nodded my consent from the audience. She was off to a good start. Mom just continued to stare. "When I watch TV the same effect occurs. I can remember what I was studying when I was watching a certain show." Excellent conclusion.
"I'm not convinced that giving something half of your attention could be better than giving it your full attention," Mom said, crossing her arms in disapproval.
"Let me explain it from a different angle. You like when I play the piano, right? I'm developing a talent. Well, they say that the knowledge of a musical instrument makes us smarter and helps us to be able to learn quicker. When I'm stuck on a math problem I go play the piano and let my brain process the information while I'm lost in the music."
Mom's countenance was lightening...the argument was taking hold in her brain. I was hanging on my sister's every word.
"Approaching a problem, working on it for a while, and then letting the information sit in our brains for a time while we are participating in a different activity, one such activity could be watching our favorite sitcom, can actually help us to be able to solve the problem more effectively and with greater understanding."
Bam! She was whipping out the "if A equals B and B equals C then A equals C" technique. I'd seen it done successfully only a few times. Those were big kid arguments, but she could handle them.
Mom paused for a second before sighing. "Fine. You can watch TV, but make sure all your homework gets done, understand?" With that she was gone. Tori had won the impossible argument. Another tally on the score board for the memory cognition expert.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Lunch Time and the Anxious Consumer (Prompt #33)
The Doorway
Every time? Must this happen every single time you walk into a restaurant? It all starts at the door. It's that feeling you get when you are laughing loudly with a friend when you enter a silent library. It's that feeling you get when you walk onto a brightly lit stage and suddenly can't see the judgmental audience. It's that feeling you get when you are the last one laughing after a stupid joke. That's the feeling you get when you enter a restaurant. Every time.
It isn't quiet inside, like a library. The spotlight isn't on you, like it would be on a stage. Nobody told a joke, and nobody is laughing. So why on earth does it feel so uncomfortable?
The Decisions
This time it's one of those restaurants where you walk down a line and order food as you go. You don't sit down first and carefully examine a menu. You didn't even see the menu until two seconds ago. Now suddenly the overly peppy woman behind the counter is trying to ask you what you want on your sandwich. She isn't having much success, because you haven't even decided what kind of bread you want. Words stumble out of your mouth, she throws a sandwich together, and then pushes your tray down to the next station. You wonder what you told her to put on your sandwich, and resign to the fact that you will find out when you eat it.
Salads? But there's so many to chose from! They want to know now? "Give me just a second," you say, but the server is smiling with a hint of impatience behind her eyes. The person behind you in line is tapping their foot. Looking back you'll probably realize that they weren't, but in the moment it feels like you are holding up the process. Even though they would have probably been happy to have a moment more to decide, you break under the pressure and blurt out: "Macaroni salad sounds nice."
Exhausted now, you tell the man in charge of the cookies that chocolate chip is your choice, because it is the first one you see. This same man is running the cash register, and before he even tells you how much you owe you have shoved your credit card into his hand.
The Consumption Process
You have chosen the table in the middle of the room and take a seat. It isn't the most favorable place to sit, but most other tables are full. You pick up the sandwich on your plate and think "oh, I ordered a BLT." Good thing you like those. You begin eating, and as you chew you look around the room at the other people. Some call it people watching, but really you are just making sure you aren't the victim of others' people watching habits. Even if nobody is watching, you start to realize what it feels like to be a fish in a fish tank who just wants to eat in peace, but rarely gets the chance. You pick up the pace.
Across the room is a group of teenagers, laughing loudly every once in a while. Eating alone is always so awkward, because you feel like you are the loser with nobody to talk and laugh with. This loneliness increases your pace and before you know it you find yourself headed back out the door that started this all. All sensations of anxiety disappear as you enter the real world. This doesn't happen anywhere else. Ever. This is only in restaurants. You'll never understand why you, the extrovert, get so uncomfortable in this one situation. You are the anxious consumer--I understand. Every lunch time, I'm right there with you.
Every time? Must this happen every single time you walk into a restaurant? It all starts at the door. It's that feeling you get when you are laughing loudly with a friend when you enter a silent library. It's that feeling you get when you walk onto a brightly lit stage and suddenly can't see the judgmental audience. It's that feeling you get when you are the last one laughing after a stupid joke. That's the feeling you get when you enter a restaurant. Every time.
It isn't quiet inside, like a library. The spotlight isn't on you, like it would be on a stage. Nobody told a joke, and nobody is laughing. So why on earth does it feel so uncomfortable?
The Decisions
This time it's one of those restaurants where you walk down a line and order food as you go. You don't sit down first and carefully examine a menu. You didn't even see the menu until two seconds ago. Now suddenly the overly peppy woman behind the counter is trying to ask you what you want on your sandwich. She isn't having much success, because you haven't even decided what kind of bread you want. Words stumble out of your mouth, she throws a sandwich together, and then pushes your tray down to the next station. You wonder what you told her to put on your sandwich, and resign to the fact that you will find out when you eat it.
Salads? But there's so many to chose from! They want to know now? "Give me just a second," you say, but the server is smiling with a hint of impatience behind her eyes. The person behind you in line is tapping their foot. Looking back you'll probably realize that they weren't, but in the moment it feels like you are holding up the process. Even though they would have probably been happy to have a moment more to decide, you break under the pressure and blurt out: "Macaroni salad sounds nice."
Exhausted now, you tell the man in charge of the cookies that chocolate chip is your choice, because it is the first one you see. This same man is running the cash register, and before he even tells you how much you owe you have shoved your credit card into his hand.
The Consumption Process
You have chosen the table in the middle of the room and take a seat. It isn't the most favorable place to sit, but most other tables are full. You pick up the sandwich on your plate and think "oh, I ordered a BLT." Good thing you like those. You begin eating, and as you chew you look around the room at the other people. Some call it people watching, but really you are just making sure you aren't the victim of others' people watching habits. Even if nobody is watching, you start to realize what it feels like to be a fish in a fish tank who just wants to eat in peace, but rarely gets the chance. You pick up the pace.
Across the room is a group of teenagers, laughing loudly every once in a while. Eating alone is always so awkward, because you feel like you are the loser with nobody to talk and laugh with. This loneliness increases your pace and before you know it you find yourself headed back out the door that started this all. All sensations of anxiety disappear as you enter the real world. This doesn't happen anywhere else. Ever. This is only in restaurants. You'll never understand why you, the extrovert, get so uncomfortable in this one situation. You are the anxious consumer--I understand. Every lunch time, I'm right there with you.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
A Thousand Words (Prompt #29-Third Person)
The tiny room that had been dedicated to the display of the new art exhibit had never seen so many people. It wasn't that it was packed, it was just that not many people could usually find the time in their day to come look at paintings. Even those who could didn't think it would be worth it. So this crowd, twenty or so people, was breathtaking in itself.
The paintings were placed around the room with about two feet of space in between them. There were at least twenty five paintings, so rarely were there more than two people at one painting at any given time. The group bustled around the room, glancing at subtitles whose phrases were often relied on to explain what was happening in the picture above. Motion was constant, and no one person stayed in one place for very long. That is, except, for one girl, who's large maroon hoodie, ripped jeans and worn vans wouldn't have suggested that she was an art scholar. However, her actions showed otherwise. At first she circled the room, still slower than the rest, and observed the pictures. But it wasn't long until she found one that she apparently liked and stopped. There she stood. People milled around her, exchanging trivial conversation in passing, but she didn't budge for the longest time.
"Hey, crazy! What up in yo head?" a boy asked, sneaking up behind her. She jumped a little, as if she had fallen asleep on her feet.
"Well, I was looking at this painting..."
"I noticed! You've been standing there for like, half an hour."
"There's a reason for that."
"Yeah? Which is?"
Like a kindergarten teacher showing her student how to write, she began teaching him about the painting, explaining that they should elicit emotions from their viewers. The boy was looking at the girl as if she was to him the same type of complex mystery that the painting was to the girl. Finally she let out a defeated laugh and gave up on him.
"Everyone's leaving soon to go to that pizza place down the street, you in?" he asked. She was obviously hard pressed to leave the painting that she so revered.
"Yeah sure, just give me a minute. I'll meet you out front."
After the boy left, she turned to find that the whole room had cleared out and she and the painting were alone. Looking back at the painting with a pleading look in her eye, she stood there for a few precious moments more before hesitantly leaving the room.
The paintings were placed around the room with about two feet of space in between them. There were at least twenty five paintings, so rarely were there more than two people at one painting at any given time. The group bustled around the room, glancing at subtitles whose phrases were often relied on to explain what was happening in the picture above. Motion was constant, and no one person stayed in one place for very long. That is, except, for one girl, who's large maroon hoodie, ripped jeans and worn vans wouldn't have suggested that she was an art scholar. However, her actions showed otherwise. At first she circled the room, still slower than the rest, and observed the pictures. But it wasn't long until she found one that she apparently liked and stopped. There she stood. People milled around her, exchanging trivial conversation in passing, but she didn't budge for the longest time.
"Hey, crazy! What up in yo head?" a boy asked, sneaking up behind her. She jumped a little, as if she had fallen asleep on her feet.
"Well, I was looking at this painting..."
"I noticed! You've been standing there for like, half an hour."
"There's a reason for that."
"Yeah? Which is?"
Like a kindergarten teacher showing her student how to write, she began teaching him about the painting, explaining that they should elicit emotions from their viewers. The boy was looking at the girl as if she was to him the same type of complex mystery that the painting was to the girl. Finally she let out a defeated laugh and gave up on him.
"Everyone's leaving soon to go to that pizza place down the street, you in?" he asked. She was obviously hard pressed to leave the painting that she so revered.
"Yeah sure, just give me a minute. I'll meet you out front."
After the boy left, she turned to find that the whole room had cleared out and she and the painting were alone. Looking back at the painting with a pleading look in her eye, she stood there for a few precious moments more before hesitantly leaving the room.
A Thousand Words (Prompt #29-First Person)
I've always been a word person. Writing is a hobby, reading is a pastime. Even the architecture itself of a simple letter is beautiful. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and interestingly enough, I have come to realize that by extension I have a deep love of paintings for this very reason. I didn't know they would have such a great impact on me until recently when i had the chance to experience some really beautiful paintings. I say "experience" because I'm not one to just look at paintings, the same way that I don't just read a book. I go all in. Breath the words, embrace the brush strokes. Intense? Perhaps. But for all the exhaustive effort provided by the artist, shouldn't the viewer contribute a part of them self as well?
I've looked at paintings before, and they have been beautiful, breathtaking, and skillfully done. But this, this display was spectacular. Never mind the setting, or even the subjects of the paintings. I myself wasn't even aware of the small room full of people that surrounded me. It was one to one, painting to observer. Finding myself entranced by every brush stroke, I could no longer hear the quiet whisperings around me, only the gentle hum of the colors spotlighted by the faintly glowing light above me and the portrait. People have stood motionless for hours in front of just one painting and I never understood how this could happen. Now, as my streams of thought were directed by the unexpected colors in unexpected places, I knew I was powerless to turn away. A painting's concepts can teach you about yourself, about life's ups and downs, about change. Clear up problems. Introduce questions. There is so much to learn, so much to explore. It is simply beautiful how the--
"Hey, crazy! What up in yo head?"
I turned. It was Levi, my pretend "gangsta" friend. "Well, I was looking at this painting..." I responded, slightly annoyed that he had torn me out of such a delicate moment.
"I noticed! You've been standing there for like, half an hour."
"There's a reason for that," I said, glancing back at the painting.
"Yeah? Which is?" He was talking so loud. It felt like yelling in a church meeting to be so irreverent.
I put my hands on my shoulders and angled him toward the painting, as if he couldn't do it himself. He was looking at my like I was crazy, so I pushed his chin and turned his head toward the painting. "Just look at it. Tell me what you see."
"Okay. The guy is looking at the kid in the front, and the two girls in the back are crying."
"Alright, now what do you feel?"
"Kayla, you are crazy."
"Come on! People feel things when they look at pictures. What do you feel?"
"Confused. Why are the girls crying when the kid looks so happy?"
I giggled a little. "It wouldn't be beautiful if we knew all the answers, would it?"
He looked at me, his eyebrow raised. I could see that he and I were definitely on different pages. Probably different books even. I smiled. "Forget it. It's not for everyone I guess!"
"Definitely not," he responded, sounding positively relieved to not have to enjoy sitting still and staring at a picture. "But you know what is for everyone? Pizza. Everyone's leaving soon to go to that pizza place down the street, you in?"
"Yeah sure, just give me a minute. I'll meet you out front."
"Cool." Levi walked away and I turned back to the painting. I scanned it, looking for the truth I had touched moments before I was interrupted, but it was like trying to reenter a dream that I had woken up from early. The art was still stunning, but the intensity of past moments would have to be attempted later when I had more time.
I've looked at paintings before, and they have been beautiful, breathtaking, and skillfully done. But this, this display was spectacular. Never mind the setting, or even the subjects of the paintings. I myself wasn't even aware of the small room full of people that surrounded me. It was one to one, painting to observer. Finding myself entranced by every brush stroke, I could no longer hear the quiet whisperings around me, only the gentle hum of the colors spotlighted by the faintly glowing light above me and the portrait. People have stood motionless for hours in front of just one painting and I never understood how this could happen. Now, as my streams of thought were directed by the unexpected colors in unexpected places, I knew I was powerless to turn away. A painting's concepts can teach you about yourself, about life's ups and downs, about change. Clear up problems. Introduce questions. There is so much to learn, so much to explore. It is simply beautiful how the--
"Hey, crazy! What up in yo head?"
I turned. It was Levi, my pretend "gangsta" friend. "Well, I was looking at this painting..." I responded, slightly annoyed that he had torn me out of such a delicate moment.
"I noticed! You've been standing there for like, half an hour."
"There's a reason for that," I said, glancing back at the painting.
"Yeah? Which is?" He was talking so loud. It felt like yelling in a church meeting to be so irreverent.
I put my hands on my shoulders and angled him toward the painting, as if he couldn't do it himself. He was looking at my like I was crazy, so I pushed his chin and turned his head toward the painting. "Just look at it. Tell me what you see."
"Okay. The guy is looking at the kid in the front, and the two girls in the back are crying."
"Alright, now what do you feel?"
"Kayla, you are crazy."
"Come on! People feel things when they look at pictures. What do you feel?"
"Confused. Why are the girls crying when the kid looks so happy?"
I giggled a little. "It wouldn't be beautiful if we knew all the answers, would it?"
He looked at me, his eyebrow raised. I could see that he and I were definitely on different pages. Probably different books even. I smiled. "Forget it. It's not for everyone I guess!"
"Definitely not," he responded, sounding positively relieved to not have to enjoy sitting still and staring at a picture. "But you know what is for everyone? Pizza. Everyone's leaving soon to go to that pizza place down the street, you in?"
"Yeah sure, just give me a minute. I'll meet you out front."
"Cool." Levi walked away and I turned back to the painting. I scanned it, looking for the truth I had touched moments before I was interrupted, but it was like trying to reenter a dream that I had woken up from early. The art was still stunning, but the intensity of past moments would have to be attempted later when I had more time.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Procrastination: The Art for You (Prompt #27)
No one would dare attack the arts of music composition, poetry, drawing, and painting. Why, then, is there such a vendetta against the art of procrastination? Although it is in a category unlike the previous forms, it should still be considered an art that is essential to our culture and life.
I'd like to thank those who oppose procrastination for the horrifying look I just had into their ideal world where it does not exist. You've seen those movies, I'm sure, where all the people are just droning on through their lives like robots, methodically fulfilling duties. Okay, maybe you haven't, but imagine that! Make sure everything you are thinking is in black and white, as all dull, monotonous things are. Slow down the pace of, well, everything. With no procrastination, there would be no hustle and bustle that our holiday songs sing joyfully about. There would be no purpose in the action of running, skipping, or talking really fast. These things are not just a happy addition to life, but crucial and healthy. If everything was done on time, if planning ahead was the only thing anyone knew how to do, there would be no thrill to be experienced in that last minute frantic rush to finish a term paper or report.
Not convinced? Maybe you are one of those people who dreams in slow motion and someday aspires to turn the world black and white. Understandable. I know a few of your kind. But before you root yourself in the campaign against procrastination, let me appeal to the weaknesses I know you have. You hate the sound of your alarm clock because it means you have to begin your tedious day all over again. Procrastination is your friend! You can't tell me you've never hit the snooze button before. In all honesty, you are that person that hits it three or four times every day and then rushes to get to school on time. There you go! You are already an expert procrastinator. That unpredictable rush, the thrill of, "will I make it on time?!" is just what you need to turn your day from tedious and depressing to upbeat and spunky.
"Now that I'm a more upbeat and spunky person, I have lots of friends. I want to spend time with them. Can procrastination help me do that?" That's what procrastination is best for! In fact, without procrastination, there would hardly be time for that at all. Put off those public speaking speeches and literary analysis papers and go socialize. I know it may be hard, after all, the anti-procrastination-ites have thoroughly brainwashed you to think that this is bad. But in the long run you will learn that this allows for the development of stronger relationships with people you will probably need for the rest of your life. Where do your priorities lie?
"But--" you argue, "If I procrastinate my homework, I won't be able to go do all the crazy things I want to over the weekend. My buddies and I wanted to go sky diving, and I can't miss that!" Sky diving, eh? Have you ever been cliff jumping? Driven too fast just to feel the rush? Oh, I know. On the weekends you like to watch action movies and get really into them. When the main character is running from the villain your heart pounds. Forget tragedy, action is your catharsis. I am labeling you: adrenaline junkie. So you of all people should like procrastination! Next time you come upon a red light, procrastinate braking until the last moment. See where that gets you, and then tell me you aren't an advocate of free exercise-procrastination.
Put off what you are doing and join us in the fight! Meetings will probably be held sometime next week at a location to be announced at a later date.
I'd like to thank those who oppose procrastination for the horrifying look I just had into their ideal world where it does not exist. You've seen those movies, I'm sure, where all the people are just droning on through their lives like robots, methodically fulfilling duties. Okay, maybe you haven't, but imagine that! Make sure everything you are thinking is in black and white, as all dull, monotonous things are. Slow down the pace of, well, everything. With no procrastination, there would be no hustle and bustle that our holiday songs sing joyfully about. There would be no purpose in the action of running, skipping, or talking really fast. These things are not just a happy addition to life, but crucial and healthy. If everything was done on time, if planning ahead was the only thing anyone knew how to do, there would be no thrill to be experienced in that last minute frantic rush to finish a term paper or report.
Not convinced? Maybe you are one of those people who dreams in slow motion and someday aspires to turn the world black and white. Understandable. I know a few of your kind. But before you root yourself in the campaign against procrastination, let me appeal to the weaknesses I know you have. You hate the sound of your alarm clock because it means you have to begin your tedious day all over again. Procrastination is your friend! You can't tell me you've never hit the snooze button before. In all honesty, you are that person that hits it three or four times every day and then rushes to get to school on time. There you go! You are already an expert procrastinator. That unpredictable rush, the thrill of, "will I make it on time?!" is just what you need to turn your day from tedious and depressing to upbeat and spunky.
"Now that I'm a more upbeat and spunky person, I have lots of friends. I want to spend time with them. Can procrastination help me do that?" That's what procrastination is best for! In fact, without procrastination, there would hardly be time for that at all. Put off those public speaking speeches and literary analysis papers and go socialize. I know it may be hard, after all, the anti-procrastination-ites have thoroughly brainwashed you to think that this is bad. But in the long run you will learn that this allows for the development of stronger relationships with people you will probably need for the rest of your life. Where do your priorities lie?
"But--" you argue, "If I procrastinate my homework, I won't be able to go do all the crazy things I want to over the weekend. My buddies and I wanted to go sky diving, and I can't miss that!" Sky diving, eh? Have you ever been cliff jumping? Driven too fast just to feel the rush? Oh, I know. On the weekends you like to watch action movies and get really into them. When the main character is running from the villain your heart pounds. Forget tragedy, action is your catharsis. I am labeling you: adrenaline junkie. So you of all people should like procrastination! Next time you come upon a red light, procrastinate braking until the last moment. See where that gets you, and then tell me you aren't an advocate of free exercise-procrastination.
Put off what you are doing and join us in the fight! Meetings will probably be held sometime next week at a location to be announced at a later date.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Mother Knows Best (Prompt #25)
"I hate her. I just hate her so much." Abby's cheeks were turning red with fury as she stared at the computer screen, a blank Facebook message up and ready to be written.
"She can't hurt you if you don't let her." Her mother sat across the room coolly working on a crossword puzzle and spouting out just the advice that she didn't want to hear.
"Mother, it's not that simple. All Katie ever does is say stupid things to tick me off."
"Looks like it's working."
"Duh it's working! She's the meanest most wretched girl in the ninth grade! She's skilled in her evil ways!"
"I'm telling you, if you just ignore her, she'll go away."
"Oh no she won't. That's not how she works. She'll annoy you until you die. She'll shred you into a million pieces until you do something about it!"
"What are you going to do about?"
"I'll rip her hair out!"
"Yeah?"
"Of course not. But I de-friended her on Facebook."
"Isn't that what started this whole fight?"
"No! Haven't you been listening? I only de-friended her because of the fight. One day she just turned into this total brat and decided to start a vendetta against me. Then of course it only got worse when I de-friended her--"
"Maybe that wasn't such a good idea..."
"--But I don't see why it matters because if she hates my guts, why does she still want to be friends on Facebook?"
"Has this conversation turned completely rhetorical?"
"No! Tell me what to write in this message! It needs to be mean and brutal. It needs to end Katie."
"I say you shouldn't write the message at all. Just let the situation blow over."
"That will never work! She'll just keep insulting me every time my back is turned."
"And if you send the message? How is that going to help?"
"I'm not sure yet, because I don't know what it is going to say. But if it's brutal enough..."
"It'll miraculously make her stop."
"Exactly."
"Teenagers."
"Excuse me?"
"It always has to be so complicated with you. Once you get to be my age--"
"Old?"
"Do you want my help or not?"
"Sorry."
"Once you get to be my age, you realize that retaliating on someone's spiteful actions never solves anything. You just need to ignore her and wait it out. Once she sees you aren't hurt by what she is doing, she'll stop."
"Whatever, I guess you are right. At least, I hope you are right. I won't send the message." Abby minimized the window on her computer and walked out of the room muttering under her breath as she passed her mom: "unless I think of something great to say."
Walking over to the computer and sitting down, Abby's mom opened the Facebook message and then closed it out completely. "Teenagers."
"She can't hurt you if you don't let her." Her mother sat across the room coolly working on a crossword puzzle and spouting out just the advice that she didn't want to hear.
"Mother, it's not that simple. All Katie ever does is say stupid things to tick me off."
"Looks like it's working."
"Duh it's working! She's the meanest most wretched girl in the ninth grade! She's skilled in her evil ways!"
"I'm telling you, if you just ignore her, she'll go away."
"Oh no she won't. That's not how she works. She'll annoy you until you die. She'll shred you into a million pieces until you do something about it!"
"What are you going to do about?"
"I'll rip her hair out!"
"Yeah?"
"Of course not. But I de-friended her on Facebook."
"Isn't that what started this whole fight?"
"No! Haven't you been listening? I only de-friended her because of the fight. One day she just turned into this total brat and decided to start a vendetta against me. Then of course it only got worse when I de-friended her--"
"Maybe that wasn't such a good idea..."
"--But I don't see why it matters because if she hates my guts, why does she still want to be friends on Facebook?"
"Has this conversation turned completely rhetorical?"
"No! Tell me what to write in this message! It needs to be mean and brutal. It needs to end Katie."
"I say you shouldn't write the message at all. Just let the situation blow over."
"That will never work! She'll just keep insulting me every time my back is turned."
"And if you send the message? How is that going to help?"
"I'm not sure yet, because I don't know what it is going to say. But if it's brutal enough..."
"It'll miraculously make her stop."
"Exactly."
"Teenagers."
"Excuse me?"
"It always has to be so complicated with you. Once you get to be my age--"
"Old?"
"Do you want my help or not?"
"Sorry."
"Once you get to be my age, you realize that retaliating on someone's spiteful actions never solves anything. You just need to ignore her and wait it out. Once she sees you aren't hurt by what she is doing, she'll stop."
"Whatever, I guess you are right. At least, I hope you are right. I won't send the message." Abby minimized the window on her computer and walked out of the room muttering under her breath as she passed her mom: "unless I think of something great to say."
Walking over to the computer and sitting down, Abby's mom opened the Facebook message and then closed it out completely. "Teenagers."
Internet "Love" (Prompt #22)
When she left for college, I knew we would grow apart a little, but this was too much. I knew I'd change, and I knew she'd change, but this was too much. I knew I wouldn't always be the one she turned to for advice, but I hadn't even seen this coming; this was too much. Wasn't it against that unwritten girl code we had sworn on over chocolate ice cream to have kept such a huge secret from me?
Maybe I should chill for a second. Breathe in, and let's back it up. I was now on the phone with Zoey, who had finally decided to tell me about her secret boyfriend. I was listening intently as she slowly approached the subject.
"I was scared to tell you," she said. "I was afraid you wouldn't approve..."
"I'm your friend, Zoey. I'm going to support you in whatever you decide. Tell me about him!"
That seemed to be what she needed to hear, because on the other end of the line I could hear her start to giggle. Then came the most startling explanation, one I could not have prepared for even if I had been given more than a few seconds to respond.
"I met him online!"
That wasn't my preference, but to each his own. "That's nice, have you met up in person yet?"
"No, but he says he wants to someday..."
Someday. What a non-commital word. "Well, how long have you been...dating?" Is it even called that?
"Six months."
Shock made me incapable of responding. I had spoken too soon. I was not prepared to be supportive of this. Six months and they hadn't even met yet.
"He's really sweet! He tells me every day that he misses me--"
How can someone miss someone they've technically never met?
"--And he's always so funny and charming--"
As far as you can tell through email.
"--And even though sometimes he doesn't talk to me for a while--"
Red flag.
"--He still really cares. He always makes me feel so special."
"Zoey...I don't think this is healthy for you."
"What do you mean?"
"I think you need a good, stable relationship with real interaction."
"But we do interact!"
"Through email."
"Hey, don't be rude." Her tone was changing quickly. She was hurt now.
"I don't mean to be mean, I just have to wonder: what if he's a jerk? What if someday you do meet him and he is a horrible, ugly, lying, cheating--"
"SHUT UP!" I was silent. "He's none of those things! He's a good person!"
Quietly I asked, "Have you ever talked to him on the phone or through skype or anything?"
"No." Her voice was short and low.
"I guess it hasn't been too long..."
"No."
"And he hasn't given you any reason to believe he is a bad guy?"
"No."
"Maybe you two will find a way to make it work."
Silence.
"I wish you two the best."
"Thanks. I'll talk to you later, to keep you posted."
"I'd appreciate that. Good luck Zoey."
She hung up. That could have gone better, but at least now I knew what was going on. As hard as it was going to be to carry on being supportive, that's what friends do, and I could do that. Maybe they can be happy with a relationship like that...
Maybe I should chill for a second. Breathe in, and let's back it up. I was now on the phone with Zoey, who had finally decided to tell me about her secret boyfriend. I was listening intently as she slowly approached the subject.
"I was scared to tell you," she said. "I was afraid you wouldn't approve..."
"I'm your friend, Zoey. I'm going to support you in whatever you decide. Tell me about him!"
That seemed to be what she needed to hear, because on the other end of the line I could hear her start to giggle. Then came the most startling explanation, one I could not have prepared for even if I had been given more than a few seconds to respond.
"I met him online!"
That wasn't my preference, but to each his own. "That's nice, have you met up in person yet?"
"No, but he says he wants to someday..."
Someday. What a non-commital word. "Well, how long have you been...dating?" Is it even called that?
"Six months."
Shock made me incapable of responding. I had spoken too soon. I was not prepared to be supportive of this. Six months and they hadn't even met yet.
"He's really sweet! He tells me every day that he misses me--"
How can someone miss someone they've technically never met?
"--And he's always so funny and charming--"
As far as you can tell through email.
"--And even though sometimes he doesn't talk to me for a while--"
Red flag.
"--He still really cares. He always makes me feel so special."
"Zoey...I don't think this is healthy for you."
"What do you mean?"
"I think you need a good, stable relationship with real interaction."
"But we do interact!"
"Through email."
"Hey, don't be rude." Her tone was changing quickly. She was hurt now.
"I don't mean to be mean, I just have to wonder: what if he's a jerk? What if someday you do meet him and he is a horrible, ugly, lying, cheating--"
"SHUT UP!" I was silent. "He's none of those things! He's a good person!"
Quietly I asked, "Have you ever talked to him on the phone or through skype or anything?"
"No." Her voice was short and low.
"I guess it hasn't been too long..."
"No."
"And he hasn't given you any reason to believe he is a bad guy?"
"No."
"Maybe you two will find a way to make it work."
Silence.
"I wish you two the best."
"Thanks. I'll talk to you later, to keep you posted."
"I'd appreciate that. Good luck Zoey."
She hung up. That could have gone better, but at least now I knew what was going on. As hard as it was going to be to carry on being supportive, that's what friends do, and I could do that. Maybe they can be happy with a relationship like that...
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Tangible Awkwardness (Prompt #21)
I held DJ's hand a lot tighter, just to counteract the tangible awkwardness flowing from the couple across the table from us at In-n-Out Burger. I couldn't decide if I sympathized more with Mike or Kaci, but it didn't matter either way. Whoever's fault it was, it was awkward. After all, it was their first date, and Mike had been trying to put his arm around Kaci the whole night. She was obviously not interested, but he obviously couldn't tell.
DJ held my hand a lot tighter, just to stop himself from laughing. We had just come from mini-golfing, and Mike had proven to us all that baseball wasn't the only sport you can strike out in. Strike one: trying to hold Kaci's hand on the way from hole 8 to hole 9. Strike two: throwing out pick up lines one after another, consequently failing every time. Strike three: trying to "count shoulders" (put his arm around her) after the game. Yes, that just happened. And DJ and I stood as horrified bystanders, helpless.
As Kaci struggled to cram herself into the corner of the booth farthest away from Mike, everyone but Mike could see that the date was spiraling downhill quickly. As a last ditch attempt to save his friend, DJ suggested we go to a party he knew of at a "pretty sick mansion." Kaci jumped up in agreement before any of us could answer and was practically out the door before we stood. Mike trailed after her, and all we could do was follow.
We arrived just after Mike and Kaci, and realized instantly that the party was the worst thing that could have happened to their date. Mike was awkwardly moving around the dance floor while Kaci sat on the couch in the living room talking to another boy. We rushed to Mike's aid.
"It's okay, man," DJ said. "It's a party. There are tons of other girls."
"Yeah no worries!" Mike said. "I'm not even torn up about it. If she's not interested, she's not interested."
I got the feeling that he was probably feeling a little worse than he was letting on, but I didn't know Mike very well. There wasn't much I could have added to this pep talk, even if Mike had stuck around long enough for the conversation to continue. But he bailed on the party really quickly after Kaci told him brutally: "Don't worry about me, I got another ride home."
We sat down on the couch, feeling like we had just been hit by a truck or thrown out of a tornado. Tonight we had watched, horrified, as our friends fell off a cliff, our hands tied behind our back so we couldn't save them. After the pitiful, shocked silence wore off, all we could do was laugh.
DJ held my hand a lot tighter, just to stop himself from laughing. We had just come from mini-golfing, and Mike had proven to us all that baseball wasn't the only sport you can strike out in. Strike one: trying to hold Kaci's hand on the way from hole 8 to hole 9. Strike two: throwing out pick up lines one after another, consequently failing every time. Strike three: trying to "count shoulders" (put his arm around her) after the game. Yes, that just happened. And DJ and I stood as horrified bystanders, helpless.
As Kaci struggled to cram herself into the corner of the booth farthest away from Mike, everyone but Mike could see that the date was spiraling downhill quickly. As a last ditch attempt to save his friend, DJ suggested we go to a party he knew of at a "pretty sick mansion." Kaci jumped up in agreement before any of us could answer and was practically out the door before we stood. Mike trailed after her, and all we could do was follow.
We arrived just after Mike and Kaci, and realized instantly that the party was the worst thing that could have happened to their date. Mike was awkwardly moving around the dance floor while Kaci sat on the couch in the living room talking to another boy. We rushed to Mike's aid.
"It's okay, man," DJ said. "It's a party. There are tons of other girls."
"Yeah no worries!" Mike said. "I'm not even torn up about it. If she's not interested, she's not interested."
I got the feeling that he was probably feeling a little worse than he was letting on, but I didn't know Mike very well. There wasn't much I could have added to this pep talk, even if Mike had stuck around long enough for the conversation to continue. But he bailed on the party really quickly after Kaci told him brutally: "Don't worry about me, I got another ride home."
We sat down on the couch, feeling like we had just been hit by a truck or thrown out of a tornado. Tonight we had watched, horrified, as our friends fell off a cliff, our hands tied behind our back so we couldn't save them. After the pitiful, shocked silence wore off, all we could do was laugh.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)