Sorry

Really really bad day. To be honest I'm not in the mood to write anything. The world is not a beautiful place. In the end all people will do is disappoint you to the point where you'll lose faith in everything. Everything and everyone is broken, and that is all there is too life. Sorry existentialist  but it's true. Why else do you think the world is so fucked up?

I better stop before this becomes a big fat giant rant.

Good night.

Origin

You know what really started off my career to want to be a writer?

Fanfiction.

Oh know not the horrid realm of fanfiction with atrocious original character who somehow end up shipped with canon ones.

Also let’s not forget all those painfully and mind numbingly insufferable Mary Sues.

Oh the Mary Sues –cringes-

No this was during the tender age of Seven/Eight and Ten/Eleven when I decided to write something base on the ideas and things that I liked at the time.

I wrote a story about Lilo and Stich, and how I busted him out of jail with my awesome space ship. We then arrived back to earth where we had celebratory ice cream while surfing ten feet high waves.

I had sooooo much fun writing that silly little short story. Who know maybe I’ll even post some of my old stories and poems (as much as they make me want to weep) on here. Oh the pain.

But I digress. Anyways that sparked the interest of writing inside of me. This was during a time where my apraxia was really bad but I didn't notice or care so I just continued on.

Then I discovered the world of video games around the 4^th grade. Not just any video games either I mean RPG originally Japanese video games. One that was incredibly popular during that time was Kingdom Hearts. Oh how I loved that video game. Not only that I also had an obsession with dragons thanks to Eragon.

So of course I ended up writing a story involving specially designed Key blades where my character had her own pet dragon along with her best friend. Granted I’m not really sure you can call this traditionally fanfiction because I didn't use any of the canon characters, merely their awesome weapons and some of their worlds and ideas. God my eleven year old self was sooo pumped about this story. It was the first time I really wanted my stories to be descriptive instead of just writing what the characters were doing.

I even drew all of the keyblades in the story and characters that went with them. Drawing dragons were still a bit ambitious for me then. Even now that my drawing skills, although not amazing but I like to think just a bit admirable, have improved I still suck at drawing dragon.

Oh I was deadly serious about this story. Of course then my brother had to bring the world crashing on my head. Well at least that how it felt at the time. “Why would you write that you’re stealing people’s idea and you won’t ever be able to even publish it,” because on yes the publishing of my eleven year old works was so vital and important to me then.

Slowly I did stop writing the story, the wind completely taken out of my sail. Oh damn you practicality, crushing my eleven year old dreams.

If only I had known.

Still it fueled me on in my desire to write and I started to become more serious with the development of my stories and ideas. 

Oh The Pain

But seriously, looking back at my NaNoWriMo tidbits of writings is making it hard for me to not just delete the whole entire file and throw my hands up in the air and yell screw it. But then I look at my more recent writings, segments, and portions of the story not written during that month of scramble and it makes me feel just a smidgen better. NaNo allows you to suck I guess you can say.

Promised a double feature so I'm here to deliver but lets get some back story. Me and few of my other friends (I know, believe it or not I actually have a few) decided to do this 500 themes challenge. Of course I didn't even get past the first theme however I did sporadically start writing small, at most four paged (around 1500 words) scenes with my characters. Mainly my main ones of course but I think I might start to delve into a few of my other ones so they can become more rounded out (at least in my head anyway) So when I do start writing part two of the novel I can utilize them more. 

Originally I was just going to give you the scene where my characters first meet (the 1st theme of my fail attempted challenge) but I recently wrote this random scene of out of nowhere. I don't really know if it's really an interaction between my main characters.  In the scene it implies that one of them is innocent, yeah my characters may have good intentions but they are not innocent and in fact can be self destructive little bastards. Who knows; I might do something with it and I might not.

The heavy scented wall of an inebriate breath hit me as I carried his heavy weaving body across the messy bedroom floor to his bed. Sock and embarrassing undies scattered across the floor. His armed circled around my waists tugging me closer as his other hand reached for the nonexistent hair on my shoulders. A whined escaped his lips and the alcohol hit the air once again forcing me to fight the urge to give up this dutiful quest and go back to my own place and sleep. Carrying him had been a wary feat and my body was already shaking from the trying weight.  I trudged on a few more steps and placed his body toward the edge of the bed as he continued to awkwardly touch my hair and waist. Whispers of nonsense pouring out. I detangled myself from him and push him forward toward the bed before deciding to turn away and make my exit. But greedy hands surged forward onto my clothes and I let out a throaty growl before I was pulled into a drunken embrace.

Panic filled me, unsure how far he would go, what he would even attempt to do. Futile attempts were made to escaped but even in this weaker state he was still at least physically stronger than me.

“Don’t worry” he stated with a drunken slur “you’re too good and…and pure to be touched like that.” He let out a large comedic sigh before wrapping his arms around me like a teddy bear and placing his face in the crook of my neck. “I’m sorry for touching” was his soft whisper into my skin. I bit my lip trying figure out a way out of  this mess.  “Too good” he mumbled once more before passing out his arms still clinging close and tight. 

I don't care

I don't care that the hour is 6 am and I'm pacing across my room like a madman, internal monologuing (not a real  word) ideas and thoughts to a unknown audience that actually gives a damn. I am a patron of the night, that being said the night is my day and the day is my time to be lazy and complacent and ignore all the things that I need to get done.

Well... at least until break ends anyways.

Yeah that's my excuse for not posting anything technically yesterday. But whatever this is just going to have to be a double feature. I know, I'm bursting just from the near excitement of it. To be fair I actually was going to write something at a reasonable time yesterday. But because of my recent vampiristic (again, not a real word) tendencies, I went to sleep without meaning to.

Besides when I'm on vacation my "day" doesn't officially until 12 pm, or if I'm being good 10 am so there.

Yeah yeah I know I'm a bum falling victim of one of the most deadliest of deadly sins.
Yep, here I am just slothing up my life when I should be one, scrambling for scholarships, two doing the AP Psych homework since I have a test when I get back, and three finishing the rest of my really really late Christmas gifts.
Well.. that's what i get for trying to thwart the commercialism of Christmas by trying to make all my gifts.
C'est la vie.

God why do I all of the sudden want to be apathetic when I should be scrambling to get all my ducks in a row.

Whatever.

Here you go, my random sleep lacking ramblings at 6 am. Sorry Bates, this is the last time I swear. In fact I am going to go as far as to post something with actually creativity to it to go with this double feature. Like a segment from my novel. Okay its not really a segment its more like a... oh whatever I'll go more into depth about it when I post it on here later today.

Good morning to all you actually functioning humans, and as for myself good night.
(God I really need to get my shit together if I'm going to get through my last semester of high school)

Long time no write.

Yada Yada I know I am a horrible insecure person who needs to get off her self pitting ass and start writing again. However just a quick cutesy update about that story I was revising? The one I had 14 pages for. Well bam! 136 pages of my hard blood, sweat, and two months of sickness. I embarked on an dangerous endeavor, NaNoWriMo, last year and hit my 50 K words. Also in the process I made myself ridiculously sick and wasn't able to resolve my story in 50,000 words. I thought with this year I could do NaNoWriMo, finish it, and then start on the second half of the story but that never happen. I only got to six thousands words.

The insecurities just keep rising and rising especially with the impending colleges and graduation looming over my head. The funny thing is though, I made it into my number one. The school I have been wanting to go to since I was in the seventh grade apparently wants me too. Of course not enough to ensure me some cash for the mounds of money I would have to throw at them to go. Isn't that proof enough that I'm special? That I'm not just a pretentious snob with no talent? Mediocre at best. Yup I'm still a debbie downer, sorry folks that seems like permanent trait on my wacky gemini personality.

I just feel like it was a fluke, and I don't deserve to go there.
Whatever

. Anyways my dearest Bates is doing a blog/diet thing for her New Years' resolution, and me, knowing how lovely those are, decided that if shes going to post something every day I might as well. Whether its me just bitching or actually posting something worth reading, well... who freaking knows. Anyways I just didn't want her to go through it alone so for about a month I will be posting something everyday.

So here's a taste (mostly my perpetually self bitching diary) of where I'm at with my writing as of late.

 Not for all of my life but for a great portion of it I’ve wanted to be a writer. It came so natural to me, not the elegance of words, no the apraxia made me stumble at simple compound sentence and syntaxs that actually made sense. It was a mindless activity which ideas flowed from, where I created characters and worlds that didn’t quite go all together. I was happy there. Not worried whether or not I was actually good at, just happy to carry on with my journals and write. Why can’t it go back to being that simple? Why must I over analyze every single god damn thing I put down. Just the idea of putting words together terrifies me and turns me into a contemplative sloth. My identifier has always been writer. Now I feel like I have to scratch that word out and replace it with loser or coward. One usually follows the other in my head. Why can’t I ever finish what I started? These are usually how my midnight musing go. I miss sleep.
12/10/2012

“What does that mean” I asked my faced press against the comforter in an uncomfortable position that result when three people try to share a single bed.
“Nothing” She responds not knowing the effect that those words would have as my heart skipped and a chill pierced through me, the net of incompetence entangling me in its snares forevermore.

Because I am nothing. An empty shell of wasted potential of false crocodile tears where no real emotions could ever be borne.

I think as a child life infuses you with some much emotion of pain and wonder that it threatens to overtake your body and tear you apart and then once you intake that first breath you die. Those powerful emotions that push your will to live and create the faux delusion that you are actually something special, significant, that you actually matter will like glass, shatter. Something that might have once been beautiful and unique ends up being rubble and trash discarded across the floor in millions of pieces.

Nothing.

“It’s just like when people say ///// is being ////”

“No that just usually mean I’m being weird”

 Yes a weird and beautiful creature set free from the throes of mediocrity while most of the world will descend to living unremarkable lives. And I will be one of them. My life oblivion itself. Because without knowing it, she was right.
I am Nothing.
 12/28/2012

Of Course Math Angst

Math
Too Long have I been trapped
 a midst the intangible throes of mathematical expression.
 My stifle cries, run over
by linear equations.
 Damn your practicality against the dreamers and uncertainties.
 So afraid of the unknown.

 Just Angst itself, hopeful angst, but angst all the same

 Unfinished

Okay I’ll admit it. I am nothing more but a whimpering coward. I fear failure, so I fail to live, to brush past the insecurities pouring into my soul and corrupting every desire, every secret hope that I posses. That I am more than just average, a cliche, common occurrence entangled in the mold of mediocrity. I am a writer, and I say such utterance with no fear but perhaps a tinge of doubt. But isn't this what I love? So damn the thoughts of all other who think differently. And yet… because this is what I love so dearly it makes it that much harder to break out of these self prescribed shackles. There lies in the reaches of my computer a book, filled with so much promise and love left unfinished. Characters still trapped in dungeons and lovers left searching blindingly. I can not forego this any longer. I have to stop being afraid.

 Me contemplating conforming to society. This one actually got some likes on Tumblr
Conform?
I kind of feel like I’m just wandering around, stumbling on my feet with no sense of direction. No aim or real goal. I just want my life to have purpose again. I just want to write like I use to, with no hesitation or doubt just full speed ahead. But I can’t do that anymore. It’s going to take time, and I’m not exactly the most patient person in the world, and yet this is what I love to do. I want to be that lady struggling in a cramped apartment with cats hanging out in her jammies and writing fantasy, poems, short stories, my excuse to runaway with imaginary friends. I can’t see myself shut up somewhere in a cold office and yet everyone else seems to envision that future for me. no that’s not the kind of life I want to have, but as with the flappers of the 20’s and the romantics during the Enlightenment, people expect me to go through my phrase of passion and defiance and crumble down into a conformist. I want to say that, that will never be me, but now I’m not so sure. Those eccentrics probably thought it would never be them either.

Aren't I just a bucket of sunshine?

Here we are again

Well doesn't this all feel familiar. I guess this is the place where I put up pointless resolutions and make promises that I'll only end up not keeping. Say how from here on out I'll write more and finally get over the sadness that's been clinging onto my skin for the past what? 6 years of my life. Yeah i could do that, but then again I would only be lying to myself so whats the point really of any of this?

Well there I go, being all depressed and broody all over again, just like last year. But I've gotten to the point where I'm too worn out and tried to give a damn and I can feel an apathetic nature starting to take over my heart. Hell I'm only 17 so what the hell do I have to be so tired for, i can hear those older then me saying, as if I have no right to be already exhausted from life.

Is it really my fault that my childhood got snatch away from me at a young age? Is it my fault that every adult in my life, people I'm suppose to look up to and honor has abandon me and force the mantle of adulthood upon my shoulders while they flocked away like careless teenagers? I never got to hold on to 16.

God here it comes the big 18, soon I'll be a legal adult and childhood will be gone for good.

I really don't know what to expect next year or that if things will get better; I've been praying for that for years. So I'm just going to try to take each day slowly and fight to get my faith back, fight for my childhood before it finally leaves me.

But...

I'm so tired and all of those things sound so nice but they've been said too many times with no results, with only more disappointment, but if I don't believe I guess that will finally be the end of me. I'll just be another soul barely even existing. God please help me because if i try to do this on my own I'm only going to fail once more.

So here we go again.
'

Disappointment

5 years past, and now it feels like everything is coming into a full circle. The three still standing once again eating McDonalds, fridge empty, pantry empty, sleeping away most of the day staying in bed just to forget about the hunger. But this time there won’t be the nosy, judgmental, generous and considerate cluster of people giving us a month supply of casseroles dishes of frozen lasagna. Instead we receive the judgment, and nosy stares that accompany those who have adulterate and the looks of pity granted to those effect by the selfishness of the adulterer. We stay hungry. The anger doesn't go away instead it just increases with each grumble to my stomach reminding me to do something I have no power of doing. That feeling of powerlessness, but not from God instead from your so called hero, God is perfect, and selfless. He wouldn't leave us with this empty feeling in out stomachs. He wouldn't have caused it. I’m eleven again.