end of part one

Oooh, my head, it hurts. I came home early from work today because I was feeling dizzy and lightheaded. Now I'm lying on my couch, feeling like I should accomplish something with my new found, obligation-free hour.

I feel like the beginning of a book is a lot like the ending. Not just because you should tie back to the beginning themes to create a feeling of continuity, blah blah blah, but because the second you sit down and start typing/writing, one of your book's many lives is over. It will never be the perfect, beautiful, untouchable book of your imagination. Once it's out in the world, it's there for good.

Books go through many incarnations, from a messy, all-over-the-place first draft to a finely polished final copy. But they all have to start with an idea. At some point, all the books in the entire world were just ideas. I don't think you could find one book out there that reads the same as what the author originally imagined.

I know I should start my WIP, but I want to spend a few more days dreaming about it, picturing it in its untainted form. I don't want the beginning to be over quite yet.

there is so much

I think I'm going to go a bit crazy this summer. I can feel it coming on, like a cold or a bad hair day. I sense it.

I want to have one of those summers that people talk about for the rest of their lives. When I'm forty-three (like that'll happen), I can look back and say, "Wow, that summer of 2011 really was the summer of my life."

God, that's depressing. I hope I'm still having fun at forty-three.

I'm going to chop off my crazy curls, eat nothing but strawberry smoothies, and swing so high that the clouds reach out and pull me to them. Sunshine, sunshine, sky and stubble. If I could cast a spell on the world, I just might do it.

summer nights

I like evenings like tonight, when I've eaten just enough to feel full but not too much. When the sun is sinking lower on the horizon, tinting everything in golden hues. When my eyes are wide open and sparkling with excitement and good things.

I've decided to try and write another novel this summer. I hate how pretentious that sounds. Like, oh, in between reading some Faulkner and playing Sibelius's Finlandia on the oboe, I think I'll try to squeeze in my eighteenth novel.

Not so much. But I have written two novels. God, that sounds crazy. One in November for NaNoWriMo, and one in March/April this year because I wanted to prove I could. I love this stage, when you tentatively commit yourself to an exciting new idea. But I still have months to pick an idea, flesh out characters, find pictures for visual inspiration, plot out scenes... Honestly, the prewriting has to be my favorite part.

I don't mean outlining. Outlining... is more specific. What I like is scribbling my character's names in the margins of my homework, writing down scraps of information here and there, and seeing a person on the street only to do a double take when they look exactly like someone I'm writing about or someone I'd like to write about.

I like to spend about a month or two figuring it out. Thinking about it. Contemplating, if you will (again with the pretentiousness). What about you? What do you do to psych yourself up for a new project?

June is good. Summer is good. I think I could get used to days like this.

evolution

I was absolutely sure today would be sunny. So sure that I wore shorts--me! In shorts! It did get warm enough for people not to stare at my clothing choice like I was a complete idiot, but just a few minutes ago, it started raining. Not just raining, raining.

And then the sky started to growl.

I love thunderstorms. They're probably my favorite part of summer. Well, that and the raspberries.

I'm feeling a bit like the weather today. In transition. A few things that I thought either were or weren't important to me have been proving... different. I guess you never really know what's going to mean something to you. For instance, I thought I was over band. Sure, it's cool learning how to play an instrument, but the class can get stressful and tiring. But now? I don't know. I don't know anything anymore.

rapid fire

I. Am. Excited.

Know why? Because I am a teenager. I am 16 years old, and basically everything that happens to me has the ability to be a life-changing, earth-shattering, re-write-the-beating-of-my-heart experience. For example: prom.

Prom is one of those things, like grad or cosmic bowling (no? That one's just me?) that either make you excited, or make you pretend not to be. This year isn't technically my prom, just a year-end dance. I have the dress, the shoes, and plans for a big bonfire afterward. Sometimes I feel... like I am too much for my body to contain. I'm like a ball of energy and excitement. Like some dying galaxy that is collapsing in on itself, radiating heat and light and anger and love.

And sometimes, like now, I just want to quietly implode.

guess who's back

Hey guys!

So, um, I'm back. Yeah.

Sorry, let's try that one more time with a bit more hootzpuh: I'M BACK OH MY GOODNESS HEY!

All this time away has made me realize a couple things. For instance, if something doesn't make you happy, why keep it in your life? I know that's all lame and motivational-speaker-y, but really, why spend all your time on stuff that doesn't make you smile? For instance, right now I'm sitting on my couch, drinking a glass of water and typing this. Everything about this makes me feel A-okay.

Moving on... My grandparents are visiting this weekend. It's my brother's prom, followed by grad, which is crazy. He's going through all these life-affirming experiences, and here's me, still wearing a winter coat in May. I feel like I'm totally left behind.

I've also recently gotten into the habit of logging in on facebook, then just refreshing my home page every few minutes to see if anything interesting has happened. Nothing. Ever. Has.

Anyways, anyways, anyways. Maybe tomorrow I'll wear some shorts.

I'll miss you

Tomorrow, at the ungodly hour of 5 AM, I will be hopping on a soon-to-be smelly and disgusting hockey bus and beginning the seventeen hour drive to Music Fest Canada. Forgive me if my excitement is a little too palpable.

I get to spend my bus time with a bunch of people that I like, though. And despite the close quarters, icky food and lack of air conditioning, the bus ride is always one of my favorite parts of the band trip. So I'll see you in a week, dearest blog. Wish me luck :)

"Draw a crazy picture,
Write a nutty poem,
Sing a mumble-gumble song,
Whistle through your comb.
Do a loony-goony dance
'Cross the kitchen floor,
Put something silly in the world
That ain't been there before."

-Shel Silverstein