Chapter 2
I felt stupid that I hadn’t anticipated the potential dangers of the Silvercourt Forest. Something in my head – the part that had grown up knowing the way of life on a farm where the only danger was the heat and the birds – had not made the connection that a forest of trees was far different from a forest of wheat, barley, corn, and beans, and that a forest of trees would actually be capable of growing tall enough and spaced out enough to hide things aside from me. The coward bit of my head wanted to turn back NOW, go home NOW, and make some lame excuse to Mum about having gone into town with a few coins to try and get some new seeds or something. I had actually turned around and had begun working on the seed story some more, and had exited the shade of the trees, when I heard a whisper.
It wasn’t a very loud whisper by any means; in fact, I wouldn’t have noticed it if a small shiver of energy hadn’t sped through the ground beneath my feet. It wasn’t as if the earth were about to split in two beneath my feet; in fact, it felt like the same sort of shiver of energy I felt when new seeds germinated – a tense, expectant sort of “HI! HERE I AM!” type of energy.
The whisper, I knew intuitively, had come from the trees. It had said, softly but firmly, “Stop.”
I halted. Nothing like this had every happened before, especially not with any wheat, barley, corn, or bean plants.
“What?” I murmured, surprised at what had just happened.
“Stay,” the trees rustled. I think, to anyone else, it would have appeared that the trees were being affected by a wind that the fields did not experience. “We’ve never met anyone like you in a long time.”
“You can… talk?” I asked, turning around.
“We have always been able to speak,” an oak said. She sounded about my age. I don’t know how I knew she was an oak; I wasn’t even sure I was looking at the right tree, but I was pretty sure she was the one with the knot on her left side, my right, that kind of looked like a face. “But it has been a long time since we have met someone with the power to Listen.”
“How long has it been, exactly?” I wondered.
“We cannot say,” a nearby, deep-voiced poplar replied. “Time does not pass for us the same way that it does for you.”
“We can guarantee that it has been a very long time indeed since we have been able to converse with a two-leg,” the oak said.
“We had nearly given up hope,” an ash said in a fast, frontal accent. Now, I realized, the three trees with which I was communicating stood in a rough semi-circle in front of me. It was rather bizarre to thing that I had never actually seen a real tree and now I was talking to three of them.
“We have nearly met the fate of the Forgotten Glen,” the Oak murmured sadly.
“What happened at the Forgotten Glen?” I wondered.
“Nothing,” The poplar rumbled. “That is the sad thing.”
“None of the two-legs who could Listen went there for centuries,” the Oak murmured. “That’s why we began calling it the Forgotten Glen, you see, because eventually, no two-leg went there. It is in one of the oldest parts of the forest where the roots run deep, and where, as the rumors have it, the darkest creatures creep. But now the trees there are quiet, and they cannot speak to anyone, not even to murmur amongst themselves. They have gone into a sleep that it is close to impossible to wake up from. You cannot speak. You cannot move. You cannot grow. You just sit there, like some basic garden plant.”
“It is happening slowly, all over the forest,” the Ash admitted wearily. “Lately, however, patches of the forest have fallen silent even though a group of two-legs went by recently. The forest is not dying, just falling silent. That is the sadder thing to watch.”
“Who is doing this?” I wondered. It felt like my motives for finding Sparraben – I didn’t know why I felt so strongly about it, I was just sure that I had to act. “And why?”
“It is a dark wizard,” rumbled the Poplar, “Sonru.”
The name hit a bell in my head. “Sonru?” I repeated. “Wasn’t he killed at the end of the Crystal Wars?”
“The Crystal Wars are far from over,” murmured the Ash. “They’ve only just begun. That was the first battle. The next, I fear, may be coming soon.”
“Sonru was not killed at the end of the first encounter,” the Poplar explained, “just dissipated. He is gaining strength, bit by bit. He has already found a new body, and he is now drawing energy from the wood to fuel his new army. He must be stopped. The fate of the wood depends on it.”
This news was slightly shocking. I didn’t even know that trees could talk, and now they were telling me that something had to be done about some crazy wizard guy that I’d thought had died. Surely Grampa hadn’t expected this.
Or maybe he had!
“Grampa knew,” I said aloud, the little pieces finally coming together in my head. “He knew which is why he told me I had to go to meet – and then bring her – and that’s why I had to know! Because he knew I could talk to you! And… and…” Excitement was rushing through my body, suddenly invigorating me and restoring the energy I hadn’t known I’d lost.
“Do you think this child has lost it?” the Ash wondered to the other two. “She looks a bit young to be losing it, for a two-leg. But you never know.”
“No, I haven’t lost it,” I assured him giddily. “I’ve only just realized what’s been going on! What can you tell me about Sparraben of Lianland?”
“Sparraben of Lianland?” the Oak scoffed. “He resides near here. Although he cannot Listen as you can, he can understand what many humans cannot. But he’s long gone.”
“What do you mean, he’s long gone?” I demanded. “He hasn’t left?”
“No, he’s still here,” the Oak said. “But he’s not right in the head.”
“In fact, he hasn’t gone anywhere in about ten of your years,” The Poplar offered. “Only leaves his hut to go find food. Then sits inside yet again and broods. Hasn’t spoken to anybody in years, I believe. He was a rather nice chap a few years back, right until the end of the First Crystal War. Always went around with a respect for the forest. He used our shadows and whispered thanks whenever he killed something, things like that. Now he just sits in his cabin and shoots a bit of game, picks a few berries. Never bothers to go out and smell the sap, these days. Sad, really.”
“Well, where does he live? Maybe I can talk to him,” I suggested.
“I doubt it,” the Oak replied. “He won’t talk to anyone. We’ve tried.”
“Do you think that might have anything to do with the fact that he probably can’t understand what you’re saying?”
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Monday, September 27, 2010
Star Wars Tidbits!
Okay, since I'm SUCH a nerd, I sometimes go onto Star Wars Actors' IMDB pages. Today I looked at Ian McDiarmid's, and this is what I found in his 'trivia' section:
In an odd twist of fate, he [Ian McDiarmid] played an elderly, disfigured Emperor Palpatine in Star Wars: Episode VI - Return of the Jedi (1983), and then went on to play a younger version of that character, some 20 years later, in the Star Wars prequels.
(the first of the prequels came out in 1999, and I THOUGHT he sounded the same as the original person who played Palpatine when I saw it a few weekends ago. Now I know why...)
Weirdness? Yes.
Extra levels of Awesomeness awarded to Ian McDiarmid? OF COURSE!
The weird thing is, though, I have been raised to appreciate Star Wars, and I'm only finding out this stuff NOW. I have GROWN UP with this stuff. "The Phantom Menace" came out when I was five, and the first time I remember seeing any of them was when I was about seven, with one of the originals. I remember the Yoda and Luke scene in the swamp of the Degobah system, but I more distinctly remember seeing the pod race at my uncle's house when I was around seven or eight. The only one I HAVEN'T seen is 'Revenge of the Sith.' It came out when I was around twelve, but I was kind of freaked out by the previews, and I just never got around to it.
And I also have to leave now.
Goodbye.
In an odd twist of fate, he [Ian McDiarmid] played an elderly, disfigured Emperor Palpatine in Star Wars: Episode VI - Return of the Jedi (1983), and then went on to play a younger version of that character, some 20 years later, in the Star Wars prequels.
(the first of the prequels came out in 1999, and I THOUGHT he sounded the same as the original person who played Palpatine when I saw it a few weekends ago. Now I know why...)
Weirdness? Yes.
Extra levels of Awesomeness awarded to Ian McDiarmid? OF COURSE!
The weird thing is, though, I have been raised to appreciate Star Wars, and I'm only finding out this stuff NOW. I have GROWN UP with this stuff. "The Phantom Menace" came out when I was five, and the first time I remember seeing any of them was when I was about seven, with one of the originals. I remember the Yoda and Luke scene in the swamp of the Degobah system, but I more distinctly remember seeing the pod race at my uncle's house when I was around seven or eight. The only one I HAVEN'T seen is 'Revenge of the Sith.' It came out when I was around twelve, but I was kind of freaked out by the previews, and I just never got around to it.
And I also have to leave now.
Goodbye.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Etsy and homework
I forgot to say this yesterday or Friday, but I FINALLY SET UP AN ETSY!!!! My Etsy name is knit8. The story behind that is that since I learned to KNIT when I was EIGHT, I can be knit8. Ha ha ha. Anyway, I only have one thing listed - the yellow scarf I mentioned earlier. It's posted as $20. You should check it out. More to come from the knits department. Just not yet. (it's got to be finished first.). YAY!!!
Anyway, in other news, I woke up early this morning to charge the video camera for this homeless walk this afternoon. And I still haven't done that. I probably should... Anyway, it's going to be a long day, which was why I was miserable all of Friday afternoon. I had to do a LONG film shoot on Friday (about 1:45 to around 5:30), which took up my only free block in which to do homework that afternoon, and since I was to spend ALL day at the Renn Fest yesterday, and since I would have all of NO time today, I had to do it all on Friday. Which sucked. But I also set up my Etsy. At ten pm. And that was really annoying.
BUT it's done. HOORAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Anyway, in other news, I woke up early this morning to charge the video camera for this homeless walk this afternoon. And I still haven't done that. I probably should... Anyway, it's going to be a long day, which was why I was miserable all of Friday afternoon. I had to do a LONG film shoot on Friday (about 1:45 to around 5:30), which took up my only free block in which to do homework that afternoon, and since I was to spend ALL day at the Renn Fest yesterday, and since I would have all of NO time today, I had to do it all on Friday. Which sucked. But I also set up my Etsy. At ten pm. And that was really annoying.
BUT it's done. HOORAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Another Story!!
My friend and I went to the Renn Fest today. It was a LOT of fun. Afterwards, we came home and had dinner, and then we sat down and finished writing this story, which we had started before dinner. It initially started as a sentence story, where I did a sentence and then she did a sentence, but then it sort of progressed to chunks of dialogue and the ensuing description of events. You'll see. But we sometimes tagged onto each other's quote with another sentence. Like, at one point, one guy's line is half her idea and half mine. So... yeah. Here it is! (it's supposed to be funny and we're probably not going to continue it after tonight, so don't be thinking you're going to see this again, because you probably won't.)
The Sentence Story
By KnitterWriterBlogger and KnitterWriterBlogger's BFF
On September 25, 2010
After the Renn Fest.
Hooray!
(KnitterWriterBlogger was first.)
Once upon a time there was a girl named Enya. She met someone by the name of Willow at the Renaissance Festival. Willow and Enya worked in adjacent shops; Willow had a weaponry shop and Enya had a clothing shop. Willow met Enya while on their lunch break at the Steak on a Stake booth. Willow greatly respected any girl who could eat Steak on a Stake, and he respected Enya more because she managed it in a corset and that she ordered a non-diet soda. She found it to be funny how when he tried to eat his steak, half fell on part of his shirt because he was trying to play it too cool around her. Willow was very nervous around Enya, for she was very pretty, but he had no way of knowing that Enya disliked pickup lines of any sort, regardless of whether or not they had a medieval connotation.
So, this is what he said to her upon meeting her: “Oh fair maiden, doth thou knoweth where one might find a more becoming shirt?”
“Yes,” Enya told him, “But if you buy one from me it’ll still cost you thirty bucks.”
“Why’s that?”
“As far as I know there’s no employee discount, and I’m not favoring anybody,” Enya replied, adding in her head, regardless of how attractive they think they are.
“Well, that’s a bit mean…can’t I change your mind at all?”
“Does this mean you don’t have enough cash?”
“Nah, I just thought I’d try my luck – especially as my luck was good enough to bring me to you today.”
“Well, if your luck is good enough, then you’ll have a replica of Sting to trade for a clean shirt, and if it’s not, then may I suggest that you go to Firefly Fantasy?”
“Lucky for me, I do – however, it costs more than thirty bucks for the metal version.”
“Well, then, Firefly Fantasy is down by the Globe Theater, but I’m not sure they stock men’s sizes, come to think of it.”
“You hurt me deeply.”
“Because I don’t want my merch having more barbecue sauce on it than necessary?”
“Oh, well; I can make it through the day like this.”
“Good luck with that,” Enya said, “But a word of advice: work on your pickup lines.”
“I was trying nothing of the sort,” he said, pretending to be hurt, “But you are rather dazzling, by the way.”
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” Enya told him, turning back into her shop, “But Sting will get you a new shirt, and five bucks will get you some portable laundry detergent.”
“Fine, come with me and I’ll get you the sword.”
Ten minutes later, Enya had a replica of Sting, Frodo’s sword, on her belt, along with its scabbard, and Willow had a clean shirt (Enya had taken mercy on him and given him one of the less hideous ones.)
“So, what’s your name anyway?” Willow asked, leaning over the barrier between their booths a few minutes later while there was a lull in business.
“Enya,” she told him shortly, “And do you have a name, Armor Boy?”
“I like that name, just call me that, and I’ll be happy.”
“Yeah,” Enya said sarcastically, “When Grandma calls tonight and asks if I’ve made any friends here, I’ll say, ‘Yes, Grandma, my New Best Friend Turned Booth Mate’s name is Armor Boy.’”
“I’m sure she’ll be very impressed. It’s not every day that you meet someone as careful as to handle this stuff safely.”
“And it’s not every day that you meet someone whose name sounds like a Superhero Identity.”
“Yeah, I’m just cool like that.”
Just then, Willow’s assistant, Bob, came up and jabbed him in the ribs, whispering, “dude, your lunch break ended ten minutes ago. Stop flirting and get back to work – some dude out here wants to see the double knives.”
“Fine, fine, but could you tell her that my name is Armor Boy and to leave it at that while I take care of him?”
Bob relayed the message, to which Enya replied, “Yeah, right. And who are you? Chain Mail Man?”
“You know, I like that name more than anything, Sweetheart.”
“What is it with men and metal-related, sarcastically-implied nicknames?” Enya wondered aloud.
“Don’t know. I just don’t favor my real name too highly.”
“Maybe you should take your own advice,” Enya suggested. “Stop flirting and get back to work.”
“Sure. But – a little FYI – keep working on Armor Boy. He’ll come clean if you wear him down enough.”
Enya was relieved when she had to turn her back on ‘Chain Mail Man’ and answer a teenage girl’s question about prices. The teenage girl was persistent in trying to find something cheap, yet beautiful too, so she was distracted for over half an hour – which made Willow lonely, as his booth calmed down.
Eventually, Willow wandered over to Enya’s booth, where the teenage girl was inspecting the bodices with a critical eye and refusing to pull one that was above twenty dollars.
“May I be of any assistance, my ladies?”
Enya looked over at him with a slight smirk. “You think you can handle bodices, Armor Boy?”
“Sure. My younger sister surprisingly thought that I was good at this clothes selection thing.”
The girl turned around with a dark blue bodice with yellow brocade in her hand. “Willow, that was years ago,” she snapped. “And I think this one’s good,” she added to Enya. “Fifteen bucks?”
Before Enya could reply, Willow glared at his sister as he said, “Sakura, why are you so mean? Anyway, you know I don’t like that name. So stop calling me that!”
Enya hid a giggle behind her hand. “Sakura, that’s fifteen dollars, and please don’t have a row, it’s bad for business,” she said.
Sakura sighed. “Fine.” She turned and headed for the cash register with Enya. As they made the transaction and Willow left for the Weaponry Department, Sakura murmured to Enya, “Where’d he get Armor Boy? That’s a lot more embarrassing than Willy Whee.”
Willow spun around. “I heard that!” he called over. “Just call me Will, okay? Or Armor Boy…?”
“How old is he?” Enya asked Sakura. “One would think that a guy in his early twenties would object to superhero names.”
“Well, I haven’t ever known him to have a name like that, so I guess that he just must like you a lot. Either that, or he’s just thankful to have a nickname that he won’t be teased too much about – well, at least by most people aside from myself, of course.”
“Well, he only got the nickname today,” Enya said. “Long story with bad pickup lines.” She handed Sakura her change.
“Thanks, and yeah, there’s a reason why he hasn’t had a girlfriend yet, even though he’s twenty-three. But he’s getting better…I think…Bye!” She dashed off before Enya could reply…
As the booths were closing up for the night, Willow offered Enya a ride home – “You look like you could use a lift,” were his exact words.
“Hmm, I’ll tell you my decision when we get to the car park. By the way, it’s a shame that you aren’t better at pick-up lines, ‘cause you aren’t exactly ugly…”
“What’s with your aversion to guys, anyway?” Willow asked, falling into step beside Enya as they wound their way out of the fairground. “Bad relationship?”
“Something like that. Oh, and have you really never had a girlfriend before?”
“That’s irrelevant,” Willow said shortly. “So what about the ride?”
“Why not? It beats the bus. Just no trying anything romance-y or you will regret making that trade earlier,” Enya replied.
“Do I really take you as that kind of a guy?” he asked as he stopped in front of a dark blue SUV. “This is it.”
“Most dudes don’t wear skirts, dude,” Enya reminded him. “23rd and 4th, by the way,” she added as they got into the car.
“Hey – I lost a bet to Bob, okay…?”
“Chain Mail Man? He didn’t seem smart enough to think in big enough quantities for a bet.”
“Well, he’s actually pretty smart – for the most part. Anyway, you live with your grandmother?”
“I don’t live with my grandma, but she calls every other weekend. What was the bet?”
“The outcome of the Redskins game.”
“That’s not until tomorrow,” Enya said matter-of-factly. “What bet did you lose today?”
“You don’t want to know,” he said, blushing.
“It’s about lunch today, isn’t it?”
“Was I wearing a kilt then? Yes.”
“And you bet whether or not I’d talk to a guy in a kilt?”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
“So why won’t you tell me the bet, if it won’t affect me?”
“Cause, it didn’t turn out well for me even though I didn’t take the dare…”
“Oh, so you were betting who Sakura would berate first, is that it?”
“No…”
“You were betting whether I’d ask for Sting or the Orc Sword?”
“Didn’t we just go over this? It wasn’t to do with you.”
“Oh, was it whether the person at the Steak on a Stick place would correct you for wearing the kilt?”
“Just stop before you hurt yourself.”
“I thought it had nothing to do with me.”
He just glared at her. “Fine, I’ll tell you, but you’re not allowed to tell anybody, not even your Grandma,” Willow said shortly, and Enya nodded in agreement. “Okay, well, I said to Bob yesterday, ‘I bet you’d be too chicken to mess with our old football team’, when we saw them practicing yesterday. He said, ‘If I do, will you wear a kilt tomorrow?’ Like an idiot, I agreed.”
“So he went out on the field and…?” Enya prompted.
“Not even. He went into the changing rooms while as they were finishing up practice and grabbed all of their clothes. Before any of the jocks could put two and two together, he had tossed me the pile and the jocks mistook me for the prankster. Thus, I did a lot of running and begging for my life yesterday…”
“And so you’re wearing a kilt because Bob decided he’d be a jerk?” Enya asked. “’s not the end of the world.”
“I know. But the taunting and bruises weren’t exactly fun. Why do you think I was insisting on a black long-sleeved shirt earlier?”
“As I recall, getting a brand-new shirt of mine seemed to be better than having sauce all down your front for the rest of the day, OR going to Firefly Fantasy to get a little kid’s shirt instead.”
“Neither of those were my motivations. I just wanted to try and get to know you better – but my plan failed because I was a wimp,” he confessed.
“Well, this is sort of getting to know you better, isn’t it?” Enya said, finally starting to take to Willow. “And it’s quicker to take Elm Street to 23rd, by the way.”
“Danke shun,” he replied in German while trying to impress her, “And, yeah, so why don’t you tell me something about yourself?” He put on his turn signal and motioned for her to take the lead.
“Pelin pedi edhellen,” she said.
“Eh…? Sorry, I don’t believe they taught that language in my schools. But it sounds cool. Is it Gaelic?”
“It’s Sindarin,” Enya replied. “Common language of Tolkien’s elves. Based on old Finnish or old Welsh, I believe. I’ve studied it since high school.”
“Would you be willing to teach me?”
“Not right now,” Enya said. “My house is on the left. I’ll bring my Sindarin book tomorrow, though.”
“Cool,” he replied to the book comment, but when he parked and saw the house, his calm expression changed to one of awe. “This is where you live?” he exclaimed. “You aren’t suddenly going to tell me that you’re a Cullen by any chance?”
“No,” Enya sighed. “Grandma insisted I move in here. It was her house for most of her life, and she moved in to my parent’s house the same year I finished college. I rent out three rooms for some spare money. Working the Renn Fest circuit isn’t exactly profitable when it’s only for eight weeks.”
“Is it my imagination, or do you not sound like you like it here?”
“The Renn Fest circuit is fine. The town is fine. It’s the hugeness of the house that bugs me.”
“Can’t you do anything to make it more enjoyable for yourself? After all, home is where the heart is supposed to be, isn’t it?” He added in his thoughts, ‘though, my heart is drifting from my home to you…’
“That’s why I rent the rooms. It adds a bit of life to the house as well as some extra income.”
The Sentence Story
By KnitterWriterBlogger and KnitterWriterBlogger's BFF
On September 25, 2010
After the Renn Fest.
Hooray!
(KnitterWriterBlogger was first.)
Once upon a time there was a girl named Enya. She met someone by the name of Willow at the Renaissance Festival. Willow and Enya worked in adjacent shops; Willow had a weaponry shop and Enya had a clothing shop. Willow met Enya while on their lunch break at the Steak on a Stake booth. Willow greatly respected any girl who could eat Steak on a Stake, and he respected Enya more because she managed it in a corset and that she ordered a non-diet soda. She found it to be funny how when he tried to eat his steak, half fell on part of his shirt because he was trying to play it too cool around her. Willow was very nervous around Enya, for she was very pretty, but he had no way of knowing that Enya disliked pickup lines of any sort, regardless of whether or not they had a medieval connotation.
So, this is what he said to her upon meeting her: “Oh fair maiden, doth thou knoweth where one might find a more becoming shirt?”
“Yes,” Enya told him, “But if you buy one from me it’ll still cost you thirty bucks.”
“Why’s that?”
“As far as I know there’s no employee discount, and I’m not favoring anybody,” Enya replied, adding in her head, regardless of how attractive they think they are.
“Well, that’s a bit mean…can’t I change your mind at all?”
“Does this mean you don’t have enough cash?”
“Nah, I just thought I’d try my luck – especially as my luck was good enough to bring me to you today.”
“Well, if your luck is good enough, then you’ll have a replica of Sting to trade for a clean shirt, and if it’s not, then may I suggest that you go to Firefly Fantasy?”
“Lucky for me, I do – however, it costs more than thirty bucks for the metal version.”
“Well, then, Firefly Fantasy is down by the Globe Theater, but I’m not sure they stock men’s sizes, come to think of it.”
“You hurt me deeply.”
“Because I don’t want my merch having more barbecue sauce on it than necessary?”
“Oh, well; I can make it through the day like this.”
“Good luck with that,” Enya said, “But a word of advice: work on your pickup lines.”
“I was trying nothing of the sort,” he said, pretending to be hurt, “But you are rather dazzling, by the way.”
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” Enya told him, turning back into her shop, “But Sting will get you a new shirt, and five bucks will get you some portable laundry detergent.”
“Fine, come with me and I’ll get you the sword.”
Ten minutes later, Enya had a replica of Sting, Frodo’s sword, on her belt, along with its scabbard, and Willow had a clean shirt (Enya had taken mercy on him and given him one of the less hideous ones.)
“So, what’s your name anyway?” Willow asked, leaning over the barrier between their booths a few minutes later while there was a lull in business.
“Enya,” she told him shortly, “And do you have a name, Armor Boy?”
“I like that name, just call me that, and I’ll be happy.”
“Yeah,” Enya said sarcastically, “When Grandma calls tonight and asks if I’ve made any friends here, I’ll say, ‘Yes, Grandma, my New Best Friend Turned Booth Mate’s name is Armor Boy.’”
“I’m sure she’ll be very impressed. It’s not every day that you meet someone as careful as to handle this stuff safely.”
“And it’s not every day that you meet someone whose name sounds like a Superhero Identity.”
“Yeah, I’m just cool like that.”
Just then, Willow’s assistant, Bob, came up and jabbed him in the ribs, whispering, “dude, your lunch break ended ten minutes ago. Stop flirting and get back to work – some dude out here wants to see the double knives.”
“Fine, fine, but could you tell her that my name is Armor Boy and to leave it at that while I take care of him?”
Bob relayed the message, to which Enya replied, “Yeah, right. And who are you? Chain Mail Man?”
“You know, I like that name more than anything, Sweetheart.”
“What is it with men and metal-related, sarcastically-implied nicknames?” Enya wondered aloud.
“Don’t know. I just don’t favor my real name too highly.”
“Maybe you should take your own advice,” Enya suggested. “Stop flirting and get back to work.”
“Sure. But – a little FYI – keep working on Armor Boy. He’ll come clean if you wear him down enough.”
Enya was relieved when she had to turn her back on ‘Chain Mail Man’ and answer a teenage girl’s question about prices. The teenage girl was persistent in trying to find something cheap, yet beautiful too, so she was distracted for over half an hour – which made Willow lonely, as his booth calmed down.
Eventually, Willow wandered over to Enya’s booth, where the teenage girl was inspecting the bodices with a critical eye and refusing to pull one that was above twenty dollars.
“May I be of any assistance, my ladies?”
Enya looked over at him with a slight smirk. “You think you can handle bodices, Armor Boy?”
“Sure. My younger sister surprisingly thought that I was good at this clothes selection thing.”
The girl turned around with a dark blue bodice with yellow brocade in her hand. “Willow, that was years ago,” she snapped. “And I think this one’s good,” she added to Enya. “Fifteen bucks?”
Before Enya could reply, Willow glared at his sister as he said, “Sakura, why are you so mean? Anyway, you know I don’t like that name. So stop calling me that!”
Enya hid a giggle behind her hand. “Sakura, that’s fifteen dollars, and please don’t have a row, it’s bad for business,” she said.
Sakura sighed. “Fine.” She turned and headed for the cash register with Enya. As they made the transaction and Willow left for the Weaponry Department, Sakura murmured to Enya, “Where’d he get Armor Boy? That’s a lot more embarrassing than Willy Whee.”
Willow spun around. “I heard that!” he called over. “Just call me Will, okay? Or Armor Boy…?”
“How old is he?” Enya asked Sakura. “One would think that a guy in his early twenties would object to superhero names.”
“Well, I haven’t ever known him to have a name like that, so I guess that he just must like you a lot. Either that, or he’s just thankful to have a nickname that he won’t be teased too much about – well, at least by most people aside from myself, of course.”
“Well, he only got the nickname today,” Enya said. “Long story with bad pickup lines.” She handed Sakura her change.
“Thanks, and yeah, there’s a reason why he hasn’t had a girlfriend yet, even though he’s twenty-three. But he’s getting better…I think…Bye!” She dashed off before Enya could reply…
As the booths were closing up for the night, Willow offered Enya a ride home – “You look like you could use a lift,” were his exact words.
“Hmm, I’ll tell you my decision when we get to the car park. By the way, it’s a shame that you aren’t better at pick-up lines, ‘cause you aren’t exactly ugly…”
“What’s with your aversion to guys, anyway?” Willow asked, falling into step beside Enya as they wound their way out of the fairground. “Bad relationship?”
“Something like that. Oh, and have you really never had a girlfriend before?”
“That’s irrelevant,” Willow said shortly. “So what about the ride?”
“Why not? It beats the bus. Just no trying anything romance-y or you will regret making that trade earlier,” Enya replied.
“Do I really take you as that kind of a guy?” he asked as he stopped in front of a dark blue SUV. “This is it.”
“Most dudes don’t wear skirts, dude,” Enya reminded him. “23rd and 4th, by the way,” she added as they got into the car.
“Hey – I lost a bet to Bob, okay…?”
“Chain Mail Man? He didn’t seem smart enough to think in big enough quantities for a bet.”
“Well, he’s actually pretty smart – for the most part. Anyway, you live with your grandmother?”
“I don’t live with my grandma, but she calls every other weekend. What was the bet?”
“The outcome of the Redskins game.”
“That’s not until tomorrow,” Enya said matter-of-factly. “What bet did you lose today?”
“You don’t want to know,” he said, blushing.
“It’s about lunch today, isn’t it?”
“Was I wearing a kilt then? Yes.”
“And you bet whether or not I’d talk to a guy in a kilt?”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
“So why won’t you tell me the bet, if it won’t affect me?”
“Cause, it didn’t turn out well for me even though I didn’t take the dare…”
“Oh, so you were betting who Sakura would berate first, is that it?”
“No…”
“You were betting whether I’d ask for Sting or the Orc Sword?”
“Didn’t we just go over this? It wasn’t to do with you.”
“Oh, was it whether the person at the Steak on a Stick place would correct you for wearing the kilt?”
“Just stop before you hurt yourself.”
“I thought it had nothing to do with me.”
He just glared at her. “Fine, I’ll tell you, but you’re not allowed to tell anybody, not even your Grandma,” Willow said shortly, and Enya nodded in agreement. “Okay, well, I said to Bob yesterday, ‘I bet you’d be too chicken to mess with our old football team’, when we saw them practicing yesterday. He said, ‘If I do, will you wear a kilt tomorrow?’ Like an idiot, I agreed.”
“So he went out on the field and…?” Enya prompted.
“Not even. He went into the changing rooms while as they were finishing up practice and grabbed all of their clothes. Before any of the jocks could put two and two together, he had tossed me the pile and the jocks mistook me for the prankster. Thus, I did a lot of running and begging for my life yesterday…”
“And so you’re wearing a kilt because Bob decided he’d be a jerk?” Enya asked. “’s not the end of the world.”
“I know. But the taunting and bruises weren’t exactly fun. Why do you think I was insisting on a black long-sleeved shirt earlier?”
“As I recall, getting a brand-new shirt of mine seemed to be better than having sauce all down your front for the rest of the day, OR going to Firefly Fantasy to get a little kid’s shirt instead.”
“Neither of those were my motivations. I just wanted to try and get to know you better – but my plan failed because I was a wimp,” he confessed.
“Well, this is sort of getting to know you better, isn’t it?” Enya said, finally starting to take to Willow. “And it’s quicker to take Elm Street to 23rd, by the way.”
“Danke shun,” he replied in German while trying to impress her, “And, yeah, so why don’t you tell me something about yourself?” He put on his turn signal and motioned for her to take the lead.
“Pelin pedi edhellen,” she said.
“Eh…? Sorry, I don’t believe they taught that language in my schools. But it sounds cool. Is it Gaelic?”
“It’s Sindarin,” Enya replied. “Common language of Tolkien’s elves. Based on old Finnish or old Welsh, I believe. I’ve studied it since high school.”
“Would you be willing to teach me?”
“Not right now,” Enya said. “My house is on the left. I’ll bring my Sindarin book tomorrow, though.”
“Cool,” he replied to the book comment, but when he parked and saw the house, his calm expression changed to one of awe. “This is where you live?” he exclaimed. “You aren’t suddenly going to tell me that you’re a Cullen by any chance?”
“No,” Enya sighed. “Grandma insisted I move in here. It was her house for most of her life, and she moved in to my parent’s house the same year I finished college. I rent out three rooms for some spare money. Working the Renn Fest circuit isn’t exactly profitable when it’s only for eight weeks.”
“Is it my imagination, or do you not sound like you like it here?”
“The Renn Fest circuit is fine. The town is fine. It’s the hugeness of the house that bugs me.”
“Can’t you do anything to make it more enjoyable for yourself? After all, home is where the heart is supposed to be, isn’t it?” He added in his thoughts, ‘though, my heart is drifting from my home to you…’
“That’s why I rent the rooms. It adds a bit of life to the house as well as some extra income.”
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
identification...
Blogger has recently added a new feature called Stats. As the name suggests, it tracks what type of systems and what type of Internet browser has visited in the last whatever - the last two hours, las day, last week, last month, or ever since June. (I guess that's the farthest back they can track... or that's the first time they can tell that anyone's actually read it, since I've had this blog since last February).
So, for example, I know that from the 19 people who have visited the blog in the last week, 10 were on Windows and nine were on Macs; six visited from Safari and six from Firefox, while five hits were from Internet Explorer and two were from Chrome. Cool, yes? The only problem is that it won't let me not track my own pageviews, so I account for at least some of the Windows hits. My only question is: who's on the Mac(s)? (if you are who I think you are... HI! If you aren't... HI ANYWAY!)
Anyhoo, in addition to my attempts to identify the Mystery Readers (whom I would like to know, by the way. *cough*comment*cough*), I also have found the time to be SUPER psyched that there's an early release tomorrow (which means I can get some legit writing done. It also means that my mom is making me get a haircut and that I have to finish my English project. But those aren't important. Okay, yeah they are.)
So, for example, I know that from the 19 people who have visited the blog in the last week, 10 were on Windows and nine were on Macs; six visited from Safari and six from Firefox, while five hits were from Internet Explorer and two were from Chrome. Cool, yes? The only problem is that it won't let me not track my own pageviews, so I account for at least some of the Windows hits. My only question is: who's on the Mac(s)? (if you are who I think you are... HI! If you aren't... HI ANYWAY!)
Anyhoo, in addition to my attempts to identify the Mystery Readers (whom I would like to know, by the way. *cough*comment*cough*), I also have found the time to be SUPER psyched that there's an early release tomorrow (which means I can get some legit writing done. It also means that my mom is making me get a haircut and that I have to finish my English project. But those aren't important. Okay, yeah they are.)
knits :D
I got my second-ever knitting commision yesterday! Hooray! I'm not sure whether to actually call it a commission because, since it's for a friend, I'm doing it for free. But I still consider it a commision because she asked for certain colors and width of the stripes and stuff. I'm making her a pair of black and white fingerless gloves. YAY!
For the record, yes, I'll knit you something if you ask me too. And yes, I'll probably end up living in a hole if I keep knitting stuff for free. (I don't know about you, but living in a hole doesn't sound that appealing.). But I'm EXTREMELY psyched for this because it's the second time ever that someone has asked me specifically to knit something for them. The other time was in 7th or 8th grade. Funnily enough, that time was for a pair of fingerless gloves as well. Strange how these things work out.
Anyway, still no news on the yellow scarf. I still have to set up the Etsy account, however. And figure out a good price for it. I've been asking around, and so far, two people have said they'd pay $20 and one person said they'd pay $5. And I'm saying I have to do homework.
For the record, yes, I'll knit you something if you ask me too. And yes, I'll probably end up living in a hole if I keep knitting stuff for free. (I don't know about you, but living in a hole doesn't sound that appealing.). But I'm EXTREMELY psyched for this because it's the second time ever that someone has asked me specifically to knit something for them. The other time was in 7th or 8th grade. Funnily enough, that time was for a pair of fingerless gloves as well. Strange how these things work out.
Anyway, still no news on the yellow scarf. I still have to set up the Etsy account, however. And figure out a good price for it. I've been asking around, and so far, two people have said they'd pay $20 and one person said they'd pay $5. And I'm saying I have to do homework.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
GLEE!!!!
There are two things that are going to bring me great happiness this week:
1. the fact that we are filming tomorrow morning for my film project, so the thing will be at least half done with filming by tomorrow (YAY!) and
2. SEASON TWO OF GLEE IS STARTING TONIGHT!!!
This makes me immensely happy. Can you tell? Anyway, I'm also going to (hopefully) go to the Renn Fest on Saturday. And I'm SUPER excited for that. If I can get some friends to go. Which will hopefully work. YAY!!!
I also had an impromptu audition this afternoon. It was for the high school play. And I did okay, but I'm not sure whether I want to get in - I have a lot of stuff going on, but I like auditioning for experience. I suck at auditioning, you see, so it helps to get experience so I don't completely kill everything the next time. I'd be cool with a small part. The musical is my big acting thing of the school year, but I sort of want to try out other shows. And it seems like a good show. So... yeah.
1. the fact that we are filming tomorrow morning for my film project, so the thing will be at least half done with filming by tomorrow (YAY!) and
2. SEASON TWO OF GLEE IS STARTING TONIGHT!!!
This makes me immensely happy. Can you tell? Anyway, I'm also going to (hopefully) go to the Renn Fest on Saturday. And I'm SUPER excited for that. If I can get some friends to go. Which will hopefully work. YAY!!!
I also had an impromptu audition this afternoon. It was for the high school play. And I did okay, but I'm not sure whether I want to get in - I have a lot of stuff going on, but I like auditioning for experience. I suck at auditioning, you see, so it helps to get experience so I don't completely kill everything the next time. I'd be cool with a small part. The musical is my big acting thing of the school year, but I sort of want to try out other shows. And it seems like a good show. So... yeah.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Nikita, Episode Two
Since I actually have deadlines I need to make for Creative Writing, this has been Super Epically Helpful in forcing me to go forward with the story I am currently working on. As I have to turn in 1200 words a week, it is IMMENSELY helpful in forcing me to write something for every story. (It also helps that last weekend I wrote 2100 words. I am currently at 2800 words. Now is the time when I actually have to start doing a lot more. Not that I mind. But still.) Anyhoo, here is the next set of (about) 1200 words. I DO have more stockpiled, but it's only about half a page, so don't get your hopes up until next week.
So here it is. Read it, comment on it, print it out and write all over it, whatever.
After my grandfather’s death, I knew that it was finally my time to have the adventure I’d always dreamed of. The only problem was getting Mum to understand that Grampa had asked me to, even after relaying every detail of our conversation to her.
“Nikita, you know better than to believe his stories,” Mum told me for what felt like the millionth time. I had tried and failed to get my mother to let me go on the mission while we chopped vegetables for dinner. “He was raving more and more as he got older and older.”
“You just don’t want to believe that I’m growing up, is that it?” I demanded.
“No, it’s because your grandfather had a very big imagination when he was younger, and as he got older, he began to confuse it with reality,” Mum shot back.
“But everyone knows that Shyasha Rinkari existed,” I insisted. “If she existed, why should Sparraben be a fragment of his imagination?”
“Because…” Mum’s voice faltered; the steady beat of her knife on the cutting board ceased abruptly. I looked up from my pile of parsnips. “I’ve heard stories of Sparraben,” Mum said quietly. “Beyond the ones your grandfather told, I mean. The man doesn’t sound like the most trustworthy of companions.”
“Everyone says that about Rangers,” I answered at once. Had I been around anyone else but my mother, I wouldn’t have the confidence to argue my point. Whenever I went into town, I would always accept insults and jokes without comment, and whenever I talked to anyone, be it the town crier or one of the farm hands, I would never state my own view and always agree with theirs, even if it differed radically from my own.
“Well, maybe it’s true,” Mum replied, returning to the carrots she was cutting. Mum’s opinion of Rangers was not uncommon – the rumors said they had dark magic and were really double agents against the rulers in Norasona, though Grampa said that was nonsense, and the Rangers just got a bad rap because they were a group who rarely took apprentices, lurked in dark shadows unseen, and had a greater knowledge of weaponry than most of the Royal Army combined.
“I still think it’s because you’re over protective,” I told her persistently. “I’m not a kid anymore, Mother. Grampa had been on loads of adventures by the time he was thirteen-”
“Grampa had nobody but your great-Uncle Valin to look after him from the time he was about five, so that’s irrelevant,” Mum interrupted.
“It would also be an insult to his memory to not try to heed his wishes, even if they turn out to be complete rubbish,” I added.
“I still don’t like the idea of you wandering around alone in the middle of Silvercourt Forest,” Mum said, taking a different tack. “There are dark creatures lurking in there.”
“Dark creatures lurk everywhere, Mum,” I sighed. “The trick is to find out which are the bad ones before they eat you.”
“You’re not going,” Mum snapped with a horribly irritating finality.
“Why?” I demanded; setting down my knife with more force than I thought was in my arms.
“I’ve just told you why,” Mum growled. When she’s mad, she doesn’t yell, she just gets kind of dark and vicious.
“Because you’re scared I’m going to die because my supposedly lunatic grandfather gave me the name of an allegedly untrustworthy Ranger who lives in a location with dark creatures and told me that I might be able to save the world?”
“Because it’s a dangerous enterprise no matter which way you slice it, and that would be far too unsafe an endeavor for any thirteen-year-old to undertake.”
“Mum, there’s going to be danger anywhere I go,” I told her.
She was quiet after that, and I decided I shouldn’t argue my point further.
I didn’t know why I had such a strong urge to seek out Sparraben, but I knew that, whatever my mother said, I would be packing a bag right after dinner and be leaving before dawn, regardless of whether anyone tried to stop me. And that’s what happened.
When I returned to my room that evening, I immediately began putting items into my small satchel for the next morning. I didn’t pack much, but I knew it would save a lot of time later on. I put in my flint, a knife for defense, a few spare changes of clothing, what little money I had, and my boots for when the weather got cold – since it was the middle of the summer, I normally walked around barefoot. My plan was to steal some food from the pantry when I left, to avoid the risk of Mum or Jack waking up for a midnight snack and finding the food gone before I had left the house.
I didn’t sleep at all that night. I knew that I would need rest for my journey, but I spent the night in terror that someone would find out my plan and foil it. In truth, I could only sometimes stand up to my mother like I had before dinner. On the rare occasion that I did find my guts and use them to my advantage, my nerves spent the next few hours wondering if, when, and how badly she would retaliate.
When the horizon finally started to go pink, I rose from my cot and walked quietly over to the pantry, where I retrieved some fruits, vegetables, and a few muffins from the bakery – enough to last me through at least two days. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I crept out the door, walking through the grass of the yard so as to not leave footprints, and continued west, away from the sun. I don’t know why I was so sure that the Silvercourt Forest lay to the west; I was, however, completely certain of the fact that I was going to be walking for a long time, and that I did not want to have a headache from staring into the sun too long right after I’d succeeded in leaving home.
After walking away from the sun long enough to have the heat start moving from my back to the top of my head, I finally reached the outer edges of the Silvercourt Forest.
At home, my usual view of the world involved horizon and wheat to the north, south, and west, and wheat, the village, and our house to the east. During my long walk that morning, my view changed gradually – the house and eventually the walls of the village and, after a long while, our farm, vanished from view as I went farther and farther, occasionally snacking on bits of muffin. Over the last hour and a half, the Silvercourt Forest began looming over the horizon, growing steadily nearer and progressively darker and more intimidating.
Now that I’d reached the edge of the forest, I could see that the trees grew so close together that the roots were intertwined. The tangled roots gave the forest a look of old strength and deep, powerful magic. I could barely see past the first few trees, and a sudden thought struck me – anything could be lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike. Anything and everything in that dark mass of trees had the power to inflict pain if it wanted to, even the vegetation. That, more than anything, made me realize that there was more to this whole questing thing that a few stolen blueberry muffins and that I really should have packed a bigger knife.
So here it is. Read it, comment on it, print it out and write all over it, whatever.
After my grandfather’s death, I knew that it was finally my time to have the adventure I’d always dreamed of. The only problem was getting Mum to understand that Grampa had asked me to, even after relaying every detail of our conversation to her.
“Nikita, you know better than to believe his stories,” Mum told me for what felt like the millionth time. I had tried and failed to get my mother to let me go on the mission while we chopped vegetables for dinner. “He was raving more and more as he got older and older.”
“You just don’t want to believe that I’m growing up, is that it?” I demanded.
“No, it’s because your grandfather had a very big imagination when he was younger, and as he got older, he began to confuse it with reality,” Mum shot back.
“But everyone knows that Shyasha Rinkari existed,” I insisted. “If she existed, why should Sparraben be a fragment of his imagination?”
“Because…” Mum’s voice faltered; the steady beat of her knife on the cutting board ceased abruptly. I looked up from my pile of parsnips. “I’ve heard stories of Sparraben,” Mum said quietly. “Beyond the ones your grandfather told, I mean. The man doesn’t sound like the most trustworthy of companions.”
“Everyone says that about Rangers,” I answered at once. Had I been around anyone else but my mother, I wouldn’t have the confidence to argue my point. Whenever I went into town, I would always accept insults and jokes without comment, and whenever I talked to anyone, be it the town crier or one of the farm hands, I would never state my own view and always agree with theirs, even if it differed radically from my own.
“Well, maybe it’s true,” Mum replied, returning to the carrots she was cutting. Mum’s opinion of Rangers was not uncommon – the rumors said they had dark magic and were really double agents against the rulers in Norasona, though Grampa said that was nonsense, and the Rangers just got a bad rap because they were a group who rarely took apprentices, lurked in dark shadows unseen, and had a greater knowledge of weaponry than most of the Royal Army combined.
“I still think it’s because you’re over protective,” I told her persistently. “I’m not a kid anymore, Mother. Grampa had been on loads of adventures by the time he was thirteen-”
“Grampa had nobody but your great-Uncle Valin to look after him from the time he was about five, so that’s irrelevant,” Mum interrupted.
“It would also be an insult to his memory to not try to heed his wishes, even if they turn out to be complete rubbish,” I added.
“I still don’t like the idea of you wandering around alone in the middle of Silvercourt Forest,” Mum said, taking a different tack. “There are dark creatures lurking in there.”
“Dark creatures lurk everywhere, Mum,” I sighed. “The trick is to find out which are the bad ones before they eat you.”
“You’re not going,” Mum snapped with a horribly irritating finality.
“Why?” I demanded; setting down my knife with more force than I thought was in my arms.
“I’ve just told you why,” Mum growled. When she’s mad, she doesn’t yell, she just gets kind of dark and vicious.
“Because you’re scared I’m going to die because my supposedly lunatic grandfather gave me the name of an allegedly untrustworthy Ranger who lives in a location with dark creatures and told me that I might be able to save the world?”
“Because it’s a dangerous enterprise no matter which way you slice it, and that would be far too unsafe an endeavor for any thirteen-year-old to undertake.”
“Mum, there’s going to be danger anywhere I go,” I told her.
She was quiet after that, and I decided I shouldn’t argue my point further.
I didn’t know why I had such a strong urge to seek out Sparraben, but I knew that, whatever my mother said, I would be packing a bag right after dinner and be leaving before dawn, regardless of whether anyone tried to stop me. And that’s what happened.
When I returned to my room that evening, I immediately began putting items into my small satchel for the next morning. I didn’t pack much, but I knew it would save a lot of time later on. I put in my flint, a knife for defense, a few spare changes of clothing, what little money I had, and my boots for when the weather got cold – since it was the middle of the summer, I normally walked around barefoot. My plan was to steal some food from the pantry when I left, to avoid the risk of Mum or Jack waking up for a midnight snack and finding the food gone before I had left the house.
I didn’t sleep at all that night. I knew that I would need rest for my journey, but I spent the night in terror that someone would find out my plan and foil it. In truth, I could only sometimes stand up to my mother like I had before dinner. On the rare occasion that I did find my guts and use them to my advantage, my nerves spent the next few hours wondering if, when, and how badly she would retaliate.
When the horizon finally started to go pink, I rose from my cot and walked quietly over to the pantry, where I retrieved some fruits, vegetables, and a few muffins from the bakery – enough to last me through at least two days. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I crept out the door, walking through the grass of the yard so as to not leave footprints, and continued west, away from the sun. I don’t know why I was so sure that the Silvercourt Forest lay to the west; I was, however, completely certain of the fact that I was going to be walking for a long time, and that I did not want to have a headache from staring into the sun too long right after I’d succeeded in leaving home.
After walking away from the sun long enough to have the heat start moving from my back to the top of my head, I finally reached the outer edges of the Silvercourt Forest.
At home, my usual view of the world involved horizon and wheat to the north, south, and west, and wheat, the village, and our house to the east. During my long walk that morning, my view changed gradually – the house and eventually the walls of the village and, after a long while, our farm, vanished from view as I went farther and farther, occasionally snacking on bits of muffin. Over the last hour and a half, the Silvercourt Forest began looming over the horizon, growing steadily nearer and progressively darker and more intimidating.
Now that I’d reached the edge of the forest, I could see that the trees grew so close together that the roots were intertwined. The tangled roots gave the forest a look of old strength and deep, powerful magic. I could barely see past the first few trees, and a sudden thought struck me – anything could be lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike. Anything and everything in that dark mass of trees had the power to inflict pain if it wanted to, even the vegetation. That, more than anything, made me realize that there was more to this whole questing thing that a few stolen blueberry muffins and that I really should have packed a bigger knife.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
my pirate persona!
Look Who's A Pirate!
You Are:
Pirate Paige The Hideous
(formerly known as drillbit)
Aye, you love making landlubbers walk the plank, it's better than plundering or hacking off heads. Why, you're so brutal and vicious, even your pegleg is capped with a hook. It makes you look fearsome but gives you a lot of trouble when walking across shag carpets.
You Are:
Pirate Paige The Hideous
(formerly known as drillbit)
Aye, you love making landlubbers walk the plank, it's better than plundering or hacking off heads. Why, you're so brutal and vicious, even your pegleg is capped with a hook. It makes you look fearsome but gives you a lot of trouble when walking across shag carpets.
arr!
Greetin's mateys! I just recalled that 'tis speak like a scurvy pirate day this day 'n everywhere! 'Tis be me excuse fer why me grammer be so horrid right now! It be also th' reason that I be usin' "be" in me ramblin's this day!
Ye all be probably wonderin' whar i learned to shout such jolly scurvy pirate. I taught myself, if truth be told. however, if ye want to give a go' it fer ye-selves, ye be off to 'tis here tavern, if ye wish to learn me amazin' scurvy pirate speakin' ways. Go to this here tavern 'n put in whatever ye like 'n it gunna translate it fer ye. That be how I be currently doin' me translatin' ('n also how I be doin such good translatin' right off the bat. No, I did not teach meself. Okay, I taught meself a little bit.). 'tis be whar I did all 'o th' translatin' fer 'tis here message. so be off now, 'n don't murder anyone (includin' ye-selves) in th' process. jolly riddence to ye.
this be of good fun, yes?
Ye all be probably wonderin' whar i learned to shout such jolly scurvy pirate. I taught myself, if truth be told. however, if ye want to give a go' it fer ye-selves, ye be off to 'tis here tavern, if ye wish to learn me amazin' scurvy pirate speakin' ways. Go to this here tavern 'n put in whatever ye like 'n it gunna translate it fer ye. That be how I be currently doin' me translatin' ('n also how I be doin such good translatin' right off the bat. No, I did not teach meself. Okay, I taught meself a little bit.). 'tis be whar I did all 'o th' translatin' fer 'tis here message. so be off now, 'n don't murder anyone (includin' ye-selves) in th' process. jolly riddence to ye.
this be of good fun, yes?
Friday, September 17, 2010
scarves and salaries
Well, I've finally finished the scarf I have been working on for about a week. If you condensed all the time it took (as I did) it only took about six hours to make. (I was writing all the times down because I want to sell it on Etsy. That would involve getting an Etsy account. But more on that another day.) The scarf is about 65 inches long and is butter yellow (I love that term.).
It's probably not the coolest scarf I've ever done (in fact, it's probably the most bland, if truth be told. I've never done a scarf that was just one color all the way through, and now I have.), but it'll probably be warm. I wouldn't know. I haven't tried it yet. If I sold it on Etsy, I don't think anyone would buy it if I listed the price by what minimum wage is in relation to how long I worked on it. (If I did that, it would cost almost 50 bucks. I don't think anyone would pay $50 for a plain, yellow, garter stitch scarf, however warm and long it is. Garter stitch is the easiest stitch there is.)
Anyhow, at least it's done, and I will be able to post it online... maybe... once I get the whole account thing running... yeah. But whatever.
But general poll: how much would you pay for a plain yellow scarf that was 65 inches long (five feet five inches, just for reference)?
The end for now.
Will write more later.
Maybe.
If I have something to say.
It's probably not the coolest scarf I've ever done (in fact, it's probably the most bland, if truth be told. I've never done a scarf that was just one color all the way through, and now I have.), but it'll probably be warm. I wouldn't know. I haven't tried it yet. If I sold it on Etsy, I don't think anyone would buy it if I listed the price by what minimum wage is in relation to how long I worked on it. (If I did that, it would cost almost 50 bucks. I don't think anyone would pay $50 for a plain, yellow, garter stitch scarf, however warm and long it is. Garter stitch is the easiest stitch there is.)
Anyhow, at least it's done, and I will be able to post it online... maybe... once I get the whole account thing running... yeah. But whatever.
But general poll: how much would you pay for a plain yellow scarf that was 65 inches long (five feet five inches, just for reference)?
The end for now.
Will write more later.
Maybe.
If I have something to say.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
News And Stuff
Okay, in addition to all the (super fun) stuff I did on Sunday, last night I sent in a summary of what we did for the Unity Walk. There are also some pictures on the IYAG blog. They all can be found here. It was a lot of fun, and WE MET A NUN! (It was very exciting.)
I know my reporting skills aren't all that good yet, but that's because I did my first interview for journalism an hour ago. It was really cool meeting the new teacher, because she went to my school and had a lot of teachers that I've had. For example, my photo teacher in eighth grade, my English teacher last year, my Algebra 1 teacher, my first Spanish teacher, AND the teachers that I currently have for AP US and Physics. That was really cool. I still have to do the actual article, but it isn't due until Monday. (which means I'm going to be doing it tomorrow, along with my really hard Physics assignment and some stuff for Film.)
In other news, I have finally figured out what sort of thing I'm going to do for NaNoWriMo. And you will have to email me to get it. I'm not telling you my email because that's sketcy and most of you know me anyway, and are my friend on facebook.
So... yeah. And now, my friends, I must go and write my AP essay. Which I loathe with a burning, firey passion. And which sucks, even though I'm only 1.25 paragraphs into it.
Goodbye for now.
I know my reporting skills aren't all that good yet, but that's because I did my first interview for journalism an hour ago. It was really cool meeting the new teacher, because she went to my school and had a lot of teachers that I've had. For example, my photo teacher in eighth grade, my English teacher last year, my Algebra 1 teacher, my first Spanish teacher, AND the teachers that I currently have for AP US and Physics. That was really cool. I still have to do the actual article, but it isn't due until Monday. (which means I'm going to be doing it tomorrow, along with my really hard Physics assignment and some stuff for Film.)
In other news, I have finally figured out what sort of thing I'm going to do for NaNoWriMo. And you will have to email me to get it. I'm not telling you my email because that's sketcy and most of you know me anyway, and are my friend on facebook.
So... yeah. And now, my friends, I must go and write my AP essay. Which I loathe with a burning, firey passion. And which sucks, even though I'm only 1.25 paragraphs into it.
Goodbye for now.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Hey Luke's Sister
Alrighie, so here's the deal: a while back, whilst mi amiga and I were having a movie marathon and watching the original Star Wars Trilogy back-to-back, we consistently put links on each other's Facebook walls about Star Wars during the few hours we were apart this weekend. This is one I found when I put "Star Wars Hey Soul Sister" into YouTube. It's a parody of 'Hey Soul Sister' by Train (and sung by a girl in the voice-over) that's supposed to be sung by Han Solo to Leia (at least in his head.) Anyhoo, you can watch the video here. I suggest you do that. It's a very funny video and the singer's really good. But here's the lyrics anyway.
Hey hey hey
You're dead on aim
Shooting troopers like a Nintendo game
Look I ain't in this for you
I'm trying not to think of you at all
A guy like me
Deserves a girl with spirit
But I'm in this for the money
I knew that when I met you
No reward is worth what I've been through
Your worshipfulness
Hey Luke's sister
You kissed the wrong mister
I will tell you though
He's your bro
Incest's not okay you know
Hey Luke's sister
I'm either gonna kill ya
Or I'm starting to like you
Tonight
Leia Leia Leia
Just in time
You're so glad I
Showed up unexpectedly
Sometimes I amaze myself
Don't put me on a shelf
You can't deny
You're so obsessed
You can't keep your hands off
My rugged untrimmed chest
I believe that you
Just can't bear to let a gorgeous
Guy like me out of your sight
Your worshipfulness
Hey Luke's sister
You kissed the wrong mister
I will tell you though
He's your bro
Incest's not okay you know
Hey Luke's sister
I'm either gonna kill ya
Or I'm starting to like you tonight
Excited by just a hug
No need to act so smug with me
No gangster
I'm no thug
I'm just the guy
You're dreaming of you see
There's a lot of scoundrel in me
In fact you like it just maybe
I can be so nice occasionally
Hey Luke's sister
You kissed the wrong mister
I will tell you though
He's your bro
Incest's not okay you know
Hey Luke's sister
I'm either gonna kill ya
Or I'm starting to like you
Hey Luke's sister
I'm either gonna kill ya
Or I'm starting to like you tonight
Leia Leia Leia
Tonight
Leia Leia Leia
Hey hey hey
You're dead on aim
Shooting troopers like a Nintendo game
Look I ain't in this for you
I'm trying not to think of you at all
A guy like me
Deserves a girl with spirit
But I'm in this for the money
I knew that when I met you
No reward is worth what I've been through
Your worshipfulness
Hey Luke's sister
You kissed the wrong mister
I will tell you though
He's your bro
Incest's not okay you know
Hey Luke's sister
I'm either gonna kill ya
Or I'm starting to like you
Tonight
Leia Leia Leia
Just in time
You're so glad I
Showed up unexpectedly
Sometimes I amaze myself
Don't put me on a shelf
You can't deny
You're so obsessed
You can't keep your hands off
My rugged untrimmed chest
I believe that you
Just can't bear to let a gorgeous
Guy like me out of your sight
Your worshipfulness
Hey Luke's sister
You kissed the wrong mister
I will tell you though
He's your bro
Incest's not okay you know
Hey Luke's sister
I'm either gonna kill ya
Or I'm starting to like you tonight
Excited by just a hug
No need to act so smug with me
No gangster
I'm no thug
I'm just the guy
You're dreaming of you see
There's a lot of scoundrel in me
In fact you like it just maybe
I can be so nice occasionally
Hey Luke's sister
You kissed the wrong mister
I will tell you though
He's your bro
Incest's not okay you know
Hey Luke's sister
I'm either gonna kill ya
Or I'm starting to like you
Hey Luke's sister
I'm either gonna kill ya
Or I'm starting to like you tonight
Leia Leia Leia
Tonight
Leia Leia Leia
Monday, September 13, 2010
part of the story!!
Okay, as I'm very bored and I have nothing better to do, here's the first bit of the creative writing story. I'm going to post as often as I turn it in (aka once a week), and as I'll probably be turning it in tomorrow or Wednesday, it makes sense.
I do have more, I'm just not posting it. Yet.
It will come, though.
Prologue
All my life, I’ve heard stories of Shyasha Rinkari. She was a legend in her day; she’s still spoken of in plenty of places. The Lazy Dog, the pub in town, boasts that it was the location of the Crystal Quests’ beginning, where Shyasha Rinkari first met up with Faug and Valin Hyatha of Anana, and thus commenced the journey that would change our world.
Of course, it’s been a few generations since then. Although the land has not fallen into complete disarray, it’s not as good as it once was, according to Grampa. He says that Telsiel, the King, is starting to lose it. It would be rather hard for Grampa to judge whether King Telsiel was losing it or not, because we live on a farm in possibly the most boring part of Illindara in existence. Mum says that it’s Grampa who’s losing it, not Telsiel, but I like hearing his opinions, and I love it when he tells the stories of the Crystal Quest. Mum says most of them are made up, but I choose not to believe that. Why would he tell them if they weren’t true?
Grampa says Shyasha Rinkari has died; that she was killed when he was about twelve and he saw it happen. He also says, however, that she could come back to stay, just once, when the world had desperate need of her. Mum says that that’s the biggest pile of Goblin droppings that she’s heard yet, but I secretly wondered if the legendary Ranger could be brought back, and what kind of person it would take to do it. I often hoped that I could be the one who brought around her return, but I knew that was impossible. Mum would never let me go.
You see, my grandmother was an Elemental – a being that channels the rhythms of the earth, water, wind, fire, and ice, and can use those rhythms to their disposal. She was one of the last ones left, and she knew that it was going be a big risk in choosing mortality and marrying Grampa. But as she was an elemental, she could pass down her powers to her children – her oldest son was my father, who had an affinity for earth and water. He passed those traits to me and my younger brother, Jack.
Dad died when I was little, a short while after Jack was born. I’ve had to do practically all of the labor on the farm ever since. I love working with the land (I got the Earth affinity), but I hate the fact that I’m stuck here, barely literate and wholly uneducated, and this is where I’m supposed to stay, because Mum and Jack need me to help work the land and make the crops grow better.
Although I love the crops, I want to see the rest of the world, to actually learn something and have an adventure. By the time Grampa was my age he had escaped a dragon, fought off orcs, and met my grandmother. Although Mum insists that all of it is tosh, when she gets to be his age, she won’t have any stories for her daughter-in-law to call ‘tosh.’ I don’t want that to happen to me, and yet it was supposed to be my fate.
I think Fate has a way of fooling you, though, so it threw me a surprise on a sad day and changed everything.
Chapter 1
Usually it was either Jack or Mum who looked after Grampa while I worked in the fields, getting browned and freckled by the sun. Every few months, I could be aided by a young man who needed a job, even though we could barely afford to pay him anything.
On my thirteenth birthday, which is in the middle of summer, I was out working in the fields with Mum when Jack came running out from our small hut, looking absolutely terrified.
“What is it, Jack?” Mum asked at once.
“It’s… Grampa…” he panted, clutching the stitch in his side from running all the way across the field to reach us.
“What about him?” Mum demanded, looking nervous. I was listening intently as well – Grampa had had a cough for quite some time, and he was getting to the age where a simple head cold could easily turn into the Blue Fever, and every day I worried that it would be his last.
“He’s… he’s…” Jack stuttered. “He’s going…” was all my brother could manage. My gut translated that into only one thing: death was coming for Grampa at last. My heart pounding, I started sprinting at once towards the cabin, outrunning my mother and brother easily due to the long stride I’d inherited from my father; my bare feet kicked up dark soil as I dashed across the field.
When I arrived in the hut, I had to pause for a moment to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. Grampa was slouched over in his usual chair near the fire pit, but he looked worse than normal.
“Grampa?” I said hesitantly. He looked up at the sound of my voice.
“Nikita,” he grumbled in his deep voice, “come here.”
I obeyed at once. “What is it, Grampa?” I asked.
“All the stories I have told you are true,” he said, as if every word was costing him a lot. “It is your turn now.”
“My turn for what?” I breathed.
“Your turn for an adventure,” he told me, coughing several times. “Shyasha Rinkari will need to be woken again. I have a feeling…” his voice trailed off.
“Grampa?” my voice caught in my throat. He couldn’t be dead… not yet…
“Nikita, seek out Sparraben of Lianland,” Grampa said with a few more coughs that sounded like he was going to put out his stomach soon.
“Sparraben of Lianland,” I repeated. The name sounded familiar. “You mean… the one who trained Shyasha Rinkari?”
“He lives in the eastern end of the Silvercourt Forest. Tell him Faug sent you in the name of the Scarred Princess.”
“You knew Shyasha Rinkari?”
“Yes, girl, how did you think I learned about Sparraben?” Grampa snapped with a bite in his voice. “Shyasha Rinkari held him in the highest regard. He even gave Rhyda a bit of Ranger training…” Rhyda was the grandmother that had been an Elemental, and had been married to Grampa.
“Seek out Sparraben,” I prompted, nervous that I would miss something important, though I didn’t know what that might be. “And then what?”
“Tell him you need his help bringing Shyasha Rinkari back. He will help you from there. It is of the upmost importance that you do this. I fear the world will have need of a hero soon.”
“Faug, you can’t be telling Nikita things like this with your last breaths,” Mum snapped. I was so focused on remembering Grampa’s instructions that I hadn’t heard her and Jack enter the room.
“She needs to know, Leanna,” Grampa said. “Nikita, find Sparraben.”
“I will, Grampa,” I promised.
“Leanna, don’t stifle her so much,” Grampa told her, coughing again hard enough to actually pull out his stomach or some other vital organ. “Nor Jack. Jack, work hard, all right, my boy?”
“All right, Grampa,” Jack said.
Soon after Jack had made his promise, Grampa had a very hard coughing fit, and when it was over...
Grampa had expired.
I bowed my head so Jack and Mum wouldn’t see my tears.
I do have more, I'm just not posting it. Yet.
It will come, though.
Prologue
All my life, I’ve heard stories of Shyasha Rinkari. She was a legend in her day; she’s still spoken of in plenty of places. The Lazy Dog, the pub in town, boasts that it was the location of the Crystal Quests’ beginning, where Shyasha Rinkari first met up with Faug and Valin Hyatha of Anana, and thus commenced the journey that would change our world.
Of course, it’s been a few generations since then. Although the land has not fallen into complete disarray, it’s not as good as it once was, according to Grampa. He says that Telsiel, the King, is starting to lose it. It would be rather hard for Grampa to judge whether King Telsiel was losing it or not, because we live on a farm in possibly the most boring part of Illindara in existence. Mum says that it’s Grampa who’s losing it, not Telsiel, but I like hearing his opinions, and I love it when he tells the stories of the Crystal Quest. Mum says most of them are made up, but I choose not to believe that. Why would he tell them if they weren’t true?
Grampa says Shyasha Rinkari has died; that she was killed when he was about twelve and he saw it happen. He also says, however, that she could come back to stay, just once, when the world had desperate need of her. Mum says that that’s the biggest pile of Goblin droppings that she’s heard yet, but I secretly wondered if the legendary Ranger could be brought back, and what kind of person it would take to do it. I often hoped that I could be the one who brought around her return, but I knew that was impossible. Mum would never let me go.
You see, my grandmother was an Elemental – a being that channels the rhythms of the earth, water, wind, fire, and ice, and can use those rhythms to their disposal. She was one of the last ones left, and she knew that it was going be a big risk in choosing mortality and marrying Grampa. But as she was an elemental, she could pass down her powers to her children – her oldest son was my father, who had an affinity for earth and water. He passed those traits to me and my younger brother, Jack.
Dad died when I was little, a short while after Jack was born. I’ve had to do practically all of the labor on the farm ever since. I love working with the land (I got the Earth affinity), but I hate the fact that I’m stuck here, barely literate and wholly uneducated, and this is where I’m supposed to stay, because Mum and Jack need me to help work the land and make the crops grow better.
Although I love the crops, I want to see the rest of the world, to actually learn something and have an adventure. By the time Grampa was my age he had escaped a dragon, fought off orcs, and met my grandmother. Although Mum insists that all of it is tosh, when she gets to be his age, she won’t have any stories for her daughter-in-law to call ‘tosh.’ I don’t want that to happen to me, and yet it was supposed to be my fate.
I think Fate has a way of fooling you, though, so it threw me a surprise on a sad day and changed everything.
Chapter 1
Usually it was either Jack or Mum who looked after Grampa while I worked in the fields, getting browned and freckled by the sun. Every few months, I could be aided by a young man who needed a job, even though we could barely afford to pay him anything.
On my thirteenth birthday, which is in the middle of summer, I was out working in the fields with Mum when Jack came running out from our small hut, looking absolutely terrified.
“What is it, Jack?” Mum asked at once.
“It’s… Grampa…” he panted, clutching the stitch in his side from running all the way across the field to reach us.
“What about him?” Mum demanded, looking nervous. I was listening intently as well – Grampa had had a cough for quite some time, and he was getting to the age where a simple head cold could easily turn into the Blue Fever, and every day I worried that it would be his last.
“He’s… he’s…” Jack stuttered. “He’s going…” was all my brother could manage. My gut translated that into only one thing: death was coming for Grampa at last. My heart pounding, I started sprinting at once towards the cabin, outrunning my mother and brother easily due to the long stride I’d inherited from my father; my bare feet kicked up dark soil as I dashed across the field.
When I arrived in the hut, I had to pause for a moment to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. Grampa was slouched over in his usual chair near the fire pit, but he looked worse than normal.
“Grampa?” I said hesitantly. He looked up at the sound of my voice.
“Nikita,” he grumbled in his deep voice, “come here.”
I obeyed at once. “What is it, Grampa?” I asked.
“All the stories I have told you are true,” he said, as if every word was costing him a lot. “It is your turn now.”
“My turn for what?” I breathed.
“Your turn for an adventure,” he told me, coughing several times. “Shyasha Rinkari will need to be woken again. I have a feeling…” his voice trailed off.
“Grampa?” my voice caught in my throat. He couldn’t be dead… not yet…
“Nikita, seek out Sparraben of Lianland,” Grampa said with a few more coughs that sounded like he was going to put out his stomach soon.
“Sparraben of Lianland,” I repeated. The name sounded familiar. “You mean… the one who trained Shyasha Rinkari?”
“He lives in the eastern end of the Silvercourt Forest. Tell him Faug sent you in the name of the Scarred Princess.”
“You knew Shyasha Rinkari?”
“Yes, girl, how did you think I learned about Sparraben?” Grampa snapped with a bite in his voice. “Shyasha Rinkari held him in the highest regard. He even gave Rhyda a bit of Ranger training…” Rhyda was the grandmother that had been an Elemental, and had been married to Grampa.
“Seek out Sparraben,” I prompted, nervous that I would miss something important, though I didn’t know what that might be. “And then what?”
“Tell him you need his help bringing Shyasha Rinkari back. He will help you from there. It is of the upmost importance that you do this. I fear the world will have need of a hero soon.”
“Faug, you can’t be telling Nikita things like this with your last breaths,” Mum snapped. I was so focused on remembering Grampa’s instructions that I hadn’t heard her and Jack enter the room.
“She needs to know, Leanna,” Grampa said. “Nikita, find Sparraben.”
“I will, Grampa,” I promised.
“Leanna, don’t stifle her so much,” Grampa told her, coughing again hard enough to actually pull out his stomach or some other vital organ. “Nor Jack. Jack, work hard, all right, my boy?”
“All right, Grampa,” Jack said.
Soon after Jack had made his promise, Grampa had a very hard coughing fit, and when it was over...
Grampa had expired.
I bowed my head so Jack and Mum wouldn’t see my tears.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
The Most Words
Well, I've officially set my record for Number Of Words Written Creatively In One Sitting (well, at least the record since I started counting. Which was the last time I was writing anything creatively. At which point the record was set. But that's beside the point.): 1222 words. HOORAY!! (Well, subtracting the words 'prologue' and 'Chapter 1', it's really only 1219, but still...) Anyway, the point is, it's a lot. And I don't think I've done that many words in quite a while. And I'll show the story to you. Once I get more than 2 or 3 pages in. Which'll be soon. Hopefully. I have to turn it in to my creative writing teacher first, though... (I'm using it for credit this week. You actually have to prove you're making progress on something in her class...) So... yeah. IT WILL BE UP SOON, I SWEAR!!
In other news, why didn't I see more of you at the 9/11 Unity Walk today? (Not that I actually know who reads the blog because nobody COMMENTS...) But anyway, it was a really good turnout, aside from the confusion at the beginning where I ended up with no shoes on and my scarf on my head INSIDE the Gurdwara (spelling?) instead of with my shoes on and with the scarf not on my head OUTSIDE, which was where we were doing our shindig.
Also, at the end, one of my amigas did a speech. And it was amazing. Because she's freaking BRILLIANT at public speaking, as I learned today. (YAY FOR HER!!!).
Anyhoo, I'm leaving now. I have nothing more to say.
In other news, why didn't I see more of you at the 9/11 Unity Walk today? (Not that I actually know who reads the blog because nobody COMMENTS...) But anyway, it was a really good turnout, aside from the confusion at the beginning where I ended up with no shoes on and my scarf on my head INSIDE the Gurdwara (spelling?) instead of with my shoes on and with the scarf not on my head OUTSIDE, which was where we were doing our shindig.
Also, at the end, one of my amigas did a speech. And it was amazing. Because she's freaking BRILLIANT at public speaking, as I learned today. (YAY FOR HER!!!).
Anyhoo, I'm leaving now. I have nothing more to say.
Friday, September 10, 2010
WOOHOO!!!
I'm EXTREMELY excited right now, simply because of the fact that IT'S FRIDAY! Seriously, you have no idea how excited I am right now by the prospect of not having to wake up at seven tomorrow morning, and also to get some serious knitting done. And I get to go on the roof! (it's gutter-cleaning season, you see.) Also, I have WRITTEN MATERIAL that I will show you. Later. Which means it's probably not going to show up for a month, or at least until I have around five pages. Which is three pages away from what I have now. And... yeah.
Anyway, I'm also EXTREMELY excited because on SUNDAY is an event which you ALL should attend because I SAID SO! It's the 9/11 Unity Walk, and this group that I'm in is doing a fundraiser for Miriam's Kitchen (I think there's a link in an earlier post), to which you should all bring travel sized shampoo, unopened deoderant, and men's socks, and go along and feel one with other people.
YAY!
Anyway, I'm also EXTREMELY excited because on SUNDAY is an event which you ALL should attend because I SAID SO! It's the 9/11 Unity Walk, and this group that I'm in is doing a fundraiser for Miriam's Kitchen (I think there's a link in an earlier post), to which you should all bring travel sized shampoo, unopened deoderant, and men's socks, and go along and feel one with other people.
YAY!
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
school again
We started to do actual stuff in school today, and it turns out that 11th grade probably won't be as stressful as I thought. On the other hand, I didn't have AP US or Physics today, so there's probably a connection...
However, I DID do a five paragraph essay in English (which was my first class, by the way), got hugged in chorus (long story), and, best of all, wrote about a cat attacking something without the usage of the words 'pounce,' 'claws,' 'scratch,' or 'hiss.' There was one other Forbidden Word, but I forget what it was. Some people read theirs, including the teacher. It was hilarious, by the way. I think it was supposed to be funny, and it worked. It was in first person and was a scene where the cat attacked those little sparkly balls (that's what she said), and it was probably one of the funniest pieces I've heard. Mine wasn't as good simply because I'm really bad at doing lighthearted written things. Not sure why.
Anyhow, I think I might actually be sort of glad to be back at school. I'm weird, I know.
But I think I'm actually sort of psyched... maybe?
However, I DID do a five paragraph essay in English (which was my first class, by the way), got hugged in chorus (long story), and, best of all, wrote about a cat attacking something without the usage of the words 'pounce,' 'claws,' 'scratch,' or 'hiss.' There was one other Forbidden Word, but I forget what it was. Some people read theirs, including the teacher. It was hilarious, by the way. I think it was supposed to be funny, and it worked. It was in first person and was a scene where the cat attacked those little sparkly balls (that's what she said), and it was probably one of the funniest pieces I've heard. Mine wasn't as good simply because I'm really bad at doing lighthearted written things. Not sure why.
Anyhow, I think I might actually be sort of glad to be back at school. I'm weird, I know.
But I think I'm actually sort of psyched... maybe?
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
argh!
Well, today was the first day of junior year, and now I know the rumors are true - it's going to be THE HARDEST year ever. It's not only going to be because of the fact that I'm going to have about a million pounds of homework, or the fact that the junior girls are the Senior Play Joke (almost every year, it's the same thing: 'Hey, that was easy!' 'but not as easy as THE JUNIOR BOYS/ GIRLS!!' (this year it's the girls, and it's not really true. Just saying...)). It's going to be hard because in creative writing, we're doing NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month, during November.) That isn't the bad part, though. The bad part is the fact that, although we're going to have to be pushing our writing comfort zones during NaNoWriMo, my friend double dog dared me to do a romance novel, and I said I would. I DO care about romance in my stories; it can be a very good plot point. HOWEVER, I don't think I'm capable of writing 10000 - 15000 words on the matter, much less do it in a MONTH.
Great. Just great. :P
Great. Just great. :P
Friday, September 3, 2010
before the weekend starts...
Okay, the reason I won't be posting tomorrow and maybe Sunday is because I'm going to be out of town for perhaps the most exciting weekend EVER (or at least the weekend I look forward to the most every year). It's with my church (yes, my church, again), and it always happens Labor Day Weekend. The one difference this year is that, once again, I'll be accompanied by Fred. The new thing this year is that I'll also be accompanied by George. Yes, I happen to have named the video camera and my digital camera after the Weasley Twins. BUT THE POINT IS, I'll be documenting the experience, and I'll hopefully get the video (after doing some editing and condensing an hour or two of film into the space of about ten minutes, and accompanying it with music) up here, once I finish it and figure out how to upload videos onto the blog. HOORAY!
Anyway, in other news, driving has become less traumatizing, and I should be going now, depending on when my mother finishes watering the plants. (Strictly speaking we should have left an hour ago, but that's beside the point.) Anyhoo, I'll try to get some sort of literature aside from rants up here when I get back. That's assuming, of course, that I can think of anything to write while running around with a video camera, but you never know.
Okay, going now.
If anyone is reading this, please comment on it. So far, nobody has, and it makes me very sad. :(
Anyway, in other news, driving has become less traumatizing, and I should be going now, depending on when my mother finishes watering the plants. (Strictly speaking we should have left an hour ago, but that's beside the point.) Anyhoo, I'll try to get some sort of literature aside from rants up here when I get back. That's assuming, of course, that I can think of anything to write while running around with a video camera, but you never know.
Okay, going now.
If anyone is reading this, please comment on it. So far, nobody has, and it makes me very sad. :(
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
IYAG and awesomeness :D
Well, as we're 11 days from the service project, and it's the next service project I'm doing, and I need to do publicity, and because I feel like posting, I'll tell you this: COME TO THE 9/11 UNITY WALK ON SEPTEMBER 12th, 2010! It'll be awesome. According to the website, it's from 1:30 to 4:30. You should also bring toiletries, hygene products, unopened hotel/ travel-size shampoo, and male socks, and drop them off at the Miriam's Kitchen station by the Gurdwara, because my IYAG group will be there, and we'll be collecting it all and donating it to Miriam's Kitchen, and it'll be amazing. And you should all come and walk, regardless of your faith (even if your faith is that you don't have one), because nobody wants another 9/11-type event. Because that would really, really, REALLY suck. And I don't think anyone wants it. Unless you hate the US. And if you do, come anyway.
YAY PEACE!
YAY PEACE!
Ah sweet mystery of... SEPTEMBER?!?!
I can't BELIEVE it's September already. That means I have a mere six days (counting today) of freedom from school. I still have to finish my AP summer work, even if it turns out I didn't get into the AP class. If I didn't do the work and got into the class, I would die at the hands of several people (namely my mom). If I don't do the work and don't get into the class, then all is well. But if I do the work and don't get into the class... that would just be annoying.
So what am I doing with the last six days of freedom, you may ask? I'll tell you: Preparing for school. I'm not kidding. I still have to get some notebooks and stuff (I already have enough pencils), and I still have to get all the new clothes that my mom will force me to buy, but the main thing I'm doing is prep for my gold award and SAT prep. I know the month between now and the test will probably fly by, but still... does having to do SAT prep in August seem like overkill to anybody else?
Honestly, I don't know what to think of junior year, aside from this: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I'M A JUNIOR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
*runs and hides behind something large*
So what am I doing with the last six days of freedom, you may ask? I'll tell you: Preparing for school. I'm not kidding. I still have to get some notebooks and stuff (I already have enough pencils), and I still have to get all the new clothes that my mom will force me to buy, but the main thing I'm doing is prep for my gold award and SAT prep. I know the month between now and the test will probably fly by, but still... does having to do SAT prep in August seem like overkill to anybody else?
Honestly, I don't know what to think of junior year, aside from this: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I'M A JUNIOR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
*runs and hides behind something large*
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)