happy endings

Eek! Desperately scrambling to get the last issue of our school's zine, ARROW, out by tomorrow. The last week of school can be so crazy--and I don't even have to deal with big, scary, provincial exams this year.

In the meantime, I've been wondering about what I should bring with me to PenWriters this summer. It's a five day youth writing camp that my friend and I are going to in Penticton, BC. The guest speaker is Meg Tilly--my friend and I are going to watch Fame for some research material because, sadly, I am part of the ignorant 5% of our population that has yet to watch Fame.

Anyways, by what to bring I don't actually mean that clothes-wise. I'm more concerned with whether I should bring a book of poems, a rough first draft or a novel or a short story. I'm pretty much convinced that all of the other 13-18 years olds there will be wildly talented and otherwise genius, so, luckily, today I finished a short story without even realizing it. And I'm pretty proud of myself because finishing things has never been my forte.

In fact, endings in general are just plain suckish. Especially considering I usually give up on a story before I get to the ending, so I don't have to worry about flailing loose ends. An ending means it's over, though. And I've got to admit, I'm still a sucker for happily ever after :)

In other news, you should definitely check out theoatmeal.com and you should definitely take some of their quizzes. I have to admit that, for a dark period in the middle of the summer of grade seven, I spent countless hours hiding in my room, taking ridiculous personality quizzes. Those were more of the Which Harry Potter character is your soul mate? variety, though.

I'm overjoyed that theoatmeal.com has a quiz entitled, "How Many Justin Biebers Could You Take in a Fight?" Now I will finally know.

Love,
Erika

PS: The results are in: I could take 21 Biebers in a fight! Yes! I must say that, although in conception using torn off body parts as weapons might make sense, I'm not sure if I could go through with it in real life, so the total may border on fraudulent. Whatever. I'm on to discover, "Are Your Loved Ones Plotting to Eat You?"

forgiven

It's raining outside and I'm watching Mansfield Park while doing some homework. Huh, it almost sounds... poetic.

Wow, what a dreadful transition! Anyways, the poetry party last night was positively smashing. We had about 15 people show up and all but one read a poem. It was a much better turn out than we'd ever imagined, so right now I'm pretty happy :)

Here's the poem I read, unofficially titled "Walking Away":

The sun never really goes down
He tells me, glasses propped on hooked nose like a bird on a telephone wire
It’s just an illusion
Made by the earth turning.
I kick a rock across the street
And know I’m just passive aggressive
But that’s what he gets for being progressive.
What do you want me to do about it?
It’s not a threat
Just a threatening statement
And we clench our fists like warriors in some unspoken battle
Because the difference is too fine to spot.
I want you to know.
And I want you to know how hopeless you make me feel
Like every day is a new disaster.
If the sun never goes down
Then it never comes up
And that leaves us in this stupid in between
That makes me want to pull out my hair and
Curse every hour in the day and every letter in your name just so there can be an ending.
If we spin fast enough, could we turn the earth back on its axis?
He wonders out loud.
Could we buy ourselves an hour—a day?
Or, I interrupt, would we just make ourselves dizzy.
He turns on his heel, a perfect silhouette
Of someone I just haven’t met.
Gravel crunches under his feet—like fallen leaves or hardened snow—because, night or day,
Every season has a different sound for walking away.

So what do you think?

Another person at the Poetry Party was Janine, aka Ninemenonrocks. She's an amazing poet, and let's just say I'm glad I didn't have to follow her! She read "If You Are Innocent" and "Donnie, She's Gone".

It was an awesome night and I'm so glad that it went so well. Yay for happy endings--Fanny and Edmund are together at last (and we can all try to forget that they're cousins--yuck!).

Love,
Erika

zomg.

MY LINKS ARE PINK!

SQUEE!

<3

new look, same heart

soundtrack: Say it to Me Now by Glen Hansard (Once soundtrack)
word count: 11 726

Do you notice anything... different about me?

Oh, what could it be, Erika's blog? Did you get a hair cut?

Psh, no. I've recently discovered the infinite joys of customized templates! This pretty little number comes courtesy of Gisele Jaquenod and Birdie. If you're looking for your own template, Yummy Lolly also has some cool stuff. I apologize that both sites offer mostly cute, happy, in-some-cases dessert themed templates. You'll just have to learn to live with that, now won't you?

So besides the new look, I want to give a massive shout out to Absolute Write. The writers there are so inspirational, helpful, kind and welcoming. And hey, a few of them are even published. You can literally hang out in the forums, talking to published authors. Sorry, I'm such a geek that that is still blowing my mind.

I'm thinking it's in part--if not mostly--due to AW that I have six followers at this time. It's a crazy huge gigantic deal to me. Thank you (yes, YOU!) so much for reading my blog, following it, and not posting creepy comments about what will happen to me at 11:11 pm if I don't obey. It means a lot.

A few weeks ago, I made a "To Do Before I Graduate" list. It's like "To Do Before I Die" but a bit less morbid. One of the things on it, which I know I can't really control, is to have ten followers. Just wanted you to know how much you mean to me. Sixty percent capacity--alright! ;)

In other news, this totally made my day. I have to admit that I'm a little disappointed that a vampire of all things got the top spot. They're taking all the best ghoulish titles away from my kraken buddies.

The times they are a-changing. That's Bob Dylan, isn't it? We bought my dad a t-shirt that said that for his birthday last year. It feels particularly pertinent now, with just over a week of school left before summer break (whoop, whoop!).

Got any big summer plans? We could go to a beach so I can show off my pasty white, I-stay-inside-writing skin. Good plan, yes?

Love,
Erika

a penny for your petulance

Soundtrack: Jump in the Pool by Friendly Fires

My name's Erika, and I've written 13 pages. This is the part where you say, "Hi, Erika" so that I don't feel like such a weirdo. Anyways, I'm pretty happy with my word count for the past few days--even if it means falling seriously behind on my homework. Only 7 more days of school until the summer--long, luxurious days with nothing to do but do nothing... And write, of course ><

This post is about poetry--whoop! I always used to think of myself as a kind of poet, but in truth my version of "free verse" is more like fancy sounding word vomit.

One of my friends and I have teamed up to hold a Poetry Party this Friday. It's a tradition that our families and a few other people have been doing for years--meeting once every few months for a potluck dinner and sharing poetry. Everyone, regardless of age or talent is encouraged to read a poem (it can be something by Poe, of course, if you're so inclined, or anyone really). Everyone who reads gets a number, they're entered in a draw for gift certificates, it's tons of fun.

I've been doing poetry readings for as long as I can remember and reading my poems from about age five on, I think. So you'd think by now I'd have it down. Then again, in those days mumbling something about "A cat and a bat and a rat and, uh... did I say cat already?" was totally acceptable. Now that I'm fifteen, people like something a bit more coherent.

I'm stumped. A few of the people invited are legitimately amazing poets and writers whereas, sure, I can write a short story about people with claws for hands (or, I guess I could...?) but compressing my thoughts and emotions into something as finite as a poem--and then reading it in front of people? It's pretty intimidating.

So I've turned to the internet for inspiration. Some days I honestly wonder how I would've gotten by if I lived, say, forty years ago. Encyclopedias. Lots of 'em.

Any suggestions? Any?

Didn't think it would be that easy, though, did I? Maybe I can write a poem on meiosis, considering that's what I'm supposed to be studying right now. I could just splatter a few literary terms on a page--for instance, this post has no plot--but somehow I don't think that'll cut it.

Quite frankly, I think I just have to put my nose to the grindstone, or whatever it is people say, and get to work.

So what do you do when you're facing a particularly difficult writer-ly challenge? Do you tackle every scene head on, despite your fears? Do you devise a brilliant plan, plotting out every moment, or, in my case, every stanza, before logically working your way through whatever it is that's holding you back?

Good luck with whatever challenges you. Hey, maybe you'll go off and throw your own Poetry Party after reading this. And maybe you'll invite me...? Nope, wasn't counting on it :P

Love,
Erika

teaser tuesday

soundtrack: (If You're Wondering if I Want You to) I Want You To by Weezer

I stayed home sick from school today because I've been sleeping really badly and was so tired yesterday that I almost just called it quits while walking home from school yesterday. I kid you not, I was prepared to make camp on the side of the road. Now I have piles of homework awaiting me when I get back tomorrow, and massive bags under my eyes.

Despite all of this, I've decided to go ahead with "Teaser Tuesday". I know it's not exactly original, but hey, it's gotta be used so much for a reason!

Below are the first two pages of a project that I've basically abandoned these days due to unruly characters and no idea what should happen next! Did I mention that my current WIP is up to 8200 words? I'm trying out the whole freakishly fast first draft method. Obviously I'll have to delete most of it come editing, but it's a great way to keep things fresh.

Growing up, Daniel and I were big into crossing our hearts and hoping to die. With us no secret could be told without a pinkie promise to back it up, and we definitely had some secrets to tell.

From the moment I was born, Daniel has always been there for me. We were born in the same year, on the same day, even at the same hour. The thing is, Daniel was born five minutes before me. He always seemed to be five minutes ahead and always had at least a five minute head start. If you listened to him, he would say he’s five minutes wiser, but that’s a load of bullshit unless you think it’s wise to run off in the middle of the night and not tell your best friend any more than, “I’ll be back soon, I swear.”

I didn’t want Daniel to be back soon. I wanted him to be safe and happy and crazy and mischievous and I wanted him to be all of those things right here in Baybridge Cove with me. It was two months ago today that he tapped our secret knock against my bedroom window. Daniel’s face was red from the cold and his hands felt like ice when I helped him in.

“Hey Brig,” he said. He sounded tired but there was something in his eye—something dangerous. I should have known right then and there that something was wrong with him, and I should’ve... I don’t know. If I could go back and talk him out of leaving, I don’t know what I would say. From the look in his eyes, as if staying in the city for even a second more would burn him alive, I doubt any rational argument would’ve worked. Maybe I could’ve locked him in my closet or told him I loved him, or something crazy like that.

“Hi,” I said. I was wearing a silky nightgown that my sister Claire gave me for Christmas. I was freezing my ass off but, to tell the truth, I wasn’t expecting Danny to come that night. I was expecting someone else.

The nightgown barely reached my thighs. Even though Daniel and I were friends literally since we were born (and had seen each other naked dozens of times, or so my mom has told me multiple times. Birthdays, Christmases, parent-teacher meetings, she never manages to miss an opportunity to completely embarrass me), the past few years a few things changed with us, or at least with me. For instance, I fully understand Danny has a penis and thanks to Claire’s need for ‘sisterly bonding,’ I know exactly what it's supposed to do, thanks to anatomy lessons using sadly inaccurate Barbie and Ken dolls.

I started to turn red and was looking for my bathrobe when Danny said, “You look...” I was practically holding my breath at this point.

“Thanks.”

I sat down on my bed and offered him a seat, but he shook his head and closed the window behind him. Danny was wearing full on winter gear, from the thick waterproof boots to the bright green scarf his mom knitted him every year, without fail.

“Where are you going?” I asked, noticing for the first time the bulging backpack draped over his shoulders.

He shrugged it off and said, “Nowhere, really. Just making the rounds to all my lovely ladies around town.”

“Funny, funny,” I rolled my eyes. “But honestly, Danny, what brings you here? I’m sure you have better things to do on a Friday night than sneak into my room.”

A few years ago, that wouldn’t have been true, but by then I could tell than he and I were drifting apart; five minutes can be a long time, when you think about it. There was something about Danny that drew people to him—just like there was something about me that scared them away.

He smiled a little but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re wrong, Brig. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Daniel was standing in front of my by then, still with the same look in his eye. I couldn’t quite place it but it definitely wasn’t the usual, easy-going Danny I grew up with. And then Danny leaned down until our faces were level I could count the gold flecks in his hazel eyes if I wanted to, but I didn’t. It was so hard to meet his gaze when he looked like that; so determined and full of the will to do anything, whether it was dangerous or stupid or scary.

The air was so stiflingly hot that I could hardly breathe. Staring at Daniel like I had all my life was like looking in a mirror. It was hard to believe that we were so different now. His dark hair was still damp from the snow.

“Brig...” Daniel said slowly. Whatever he might have said was cut off when he put a hand behind my head and pressed his lips against mine.

Daniel felt so cold. I wanted to throw my hands around his neck and kiss him until his temperature boiled over, and we could be feverish and silly together. At that moment I felt for this boy like I never had my whole life. All I wanted was Daniel.

I’m not going to lie to you, so I’m not going to stop there even though I wish I could. But if I don’t tell the truth then I might never see Danny again. Just please promise not to hate me by the time I’m done.

I pulled away, because it wasn’t right. It wasn’t right at all. “What the hell, Danny?” I sounded breathless and hated myself for it. The look on Danny’s face made me feel doubly guilty.

“I... I thought that maybe...”

“You thought what?” Remembering this makes me feel horrible; Daniel was pouring his heart out to me and I was acting like a petulant little kid. Just like when we were four years old and I pushed him off his bike because I wanted a turn. Our history was full of moments like that. But that night I was acting the way I was because I knew something Danny didn’t: I knew that Nick Beechman, my sometimes boyfriend, would be arriving any moment for the same reason that I was wearing that stupid nightgown. To have sex for the first time.

“You thought that after that past year when you’ve done nothing but ignore me you could just show up at my window like we’re in fifth grade and—”

“When have I ever ignored you?” Daniel asked and his green-brown eyes looked so honest I had to look away.

I opened my mouth to respond but another knock at the window interrupted me. The window was unlocked and Nick let himself in. He’s the opposite of Danny in so many ways. Nick’s blond, tall and has a lightness around him that’s almost angelic. Danny is dark and mischievous with a solid feel to him that has nothing to do with his looks.

I expected Nick to be angry that Daniel was there, but he just pushed past him. Nick put his arm around my waist and planted a quick kiss on the side of my lips. His kiss was hurried and forceful and it felt like he was claiming his territory.

“Hey Danny,” he nodded. “How’s it going?”

“Alright, thanks,” Danny said calmly enough but I could tell that he was furious. “Just hanging out in Brig’s bedroom—nothing weird about that.”

“Well, my girlfriend can be very hospitable,” Nick pulled me closer to him.

So, what did you think? Let me know in the comments--I want to know if Teaser Tuesday is worth doing? If blogging is worth doing? If life is worth doing. Now that's deep.

Love,
Erika

new month, new life

It's June! Where have I been all this time?

I've started a new story. Oh yes, it wouldn't be a new month without a new novel idea stewing around in my head. This one's about a girl who sees two boys jump off of a pier--and one of them is shot in mid air. When they get out of the water, though, they're both perfectly fine. Basically she can see the future and... No idea where it's heading, which drives me crazy! I need to know the ending--I refuse to simply cast off yet another project after I lose interest.

I have a goal.

Not so much a goal as it is a set-in-stone obligation. I have just under seven months to finish a manuscript because I am determined (DETERMINED!) to have a book finished by my sixteenth birthday.

Bear in mind, there are several loopholes to this. 1) It doesn't have to be finished well. I just want a first draft, something that I can edit the crap out of and make into something, well, mildly presentable? 2) It doesn't have to be long. I've been reading Hannah Moskowitz's (author of YA novel Break) blog and guess what? Her first drafts are only around 30k words and generally written in about a week's time. And I have seven months!

To me, that was a complete and utter shock. Books can be under 90k and still be books?! Who knew! Everyone always says, writing is rewriting. But so far I haven't finished a manuscript to the point where I can begin rewriting it. Very sad.In other news, I think this t-shirt is fucking awesome (link). Buuuuut, I have no money to even think about online shopping right now! I really need a job. Oh, woe is me to finally have to join the workforce. I was always more of the mentality that if money can't buy you love, why would you want to work in the first place. It may not be wise to get all of your wisdom from the Beatles, however. I still think I'm a walrus.

One last thing before I go! I was looking through a photography book (my other great love, next to writing and my imaginary blogoverse, of course) and I saw a picture of what may be the coolest animal alive. The three toed sloth.

Obviously I'm jealous of sloths, simply for their ability (and it is an ability--it's actually an evolutionary adaptation, though... I'm not sure why) to be so lazy. Did you know, though, that the 3 toed sloth only ways 10 to 15 pounds? And they look so cute!

PS: A lot of blogs I've been reading have specific weekly sections like 'Teaser Tuesday', 'WIP Wednesday', stuff like that. I think I might just have to try it out! Keep you eyes open for some very cheesy, week day themed posts. Then again, that means I might actually have to post more than once a week.

Love,
Erika

Soundtrack: Nighttiming by Coconut Records