Yes, kick me royally.

Sorry I have been so neglectful of my blog of late. I have been rather...preoccupied with rather fixating thoughts and, of course, the beginnings of a social life and---

WRITING!

Three cheers for me! I have officially written 200 pages in my novel. Plus, that number should be about 203 by the end of the day. If you don't count the Part 1/2 dividers it will really only be 201, but I disgress...

My cousins and I have an "Icelandic Mafia" going which, because we are supremely cool ourselves, is supremely cool. ;) Basically we hang out and do fun things and revel in our Icelandic-ness.

I really need to go keep writing, so I'm going now--but don't worry, I promise to start writing more!

Also, I would like to apologize if I deeply offended anyone with my Pope rant. The day I wrote it I had been fed up with listening to some girl at school go on and on about pretty much everything I pointed out in that post, and I didn't agree with any of it. Because she was being so self-righteous about it, I posted on the same topic, and came across as self-righteous myself. Go figure. I'm sorry, anyways. I hadn't thought about it all that much.

Well, thank you, dear readers, for sitting through another of my lovely ravings. I hope not to disappoint you in the future.

Don't have much to say today, except that I just discovered that Russell Crowe has a CD coming out soon.

Drool.

It's not that he sings especially well, but his voice is so gravelly and manly and it's the kind of voice that makes you like, melt. Mmm.

Plus I also came up with the idea today for having an e-zine, or online magazine, the later term being the one I prefer but---you must keep up with the lingo.

Or not.

So I suppose I will be purchasing a new domain for it, because my head right now is absolutely full of ideas and I'm so exciiittteeedd.... I'll tell you all more about it later when I get back from the source of my inspiration on Sunday.

Love (Or Something Like It),

Alyssa

Obligatory Thing I Learned Today: That sometimes the things you think are the most pointless can slap you in the face with a parallel to something you really care about.

Exhibit A: Algebra class, 1:00 pm. After I had mentally complained to myself that parabolas were stupid and that a one-dimensional graph with a bunch of squares and dots was never going to serve me in the oft-imagined "Real World," my teacher politely interrupted my silent grumbling to tell us that, according to Newton's Law of Gravity, gravity exerted upon an object is 32/something squared at any given time. That explains why, when you throw a ball on a straight vertical path, it will never fall in a straight vertical path. It forms an arc.

A parabola.

Amazing! All this time, when I thought I was working with boring, dry, bland numbers on a dusty, crusty grid and sketching parabolas with smudgy grey pencil lead, I was actually drawing and simulating a function that nature enacts every day! So thinking of that dumb parabola as a little boy's ball being thrown into the air, with the wind blowing softly through his hair--or as a frog leaping from one beaded lily-pad to the next, his little slimy feet submerging in the water which his weight lets onto his perch--once I began doing that, it felt like some miraculous thing had been switched on in my brain. It was like I was doing something RELEVANT, and it gave me something to write about. I even got out a notebook and wrote down all the little thoughts that popped into my head because my teacher accidentally enlightened me.

For the first time in my life--to the shock of all who know me, Miss President of the Math Abolitionists--though I am ashamed to admit the following words--

I. LOVE. ALGEBRA.

I will still likely complain about doing it, but the principle and the theories and the rules that aren't just the products of some bored genius's mind anymore, they're ancient laws of nature that hold true EVERY TIME--well, frankly, I'm just enthralled.

I'm off to read about Isaac Newton.

C'iao!

Alyssa

PS...I wonder if old Isaac ever thought about the effect his musings would have on people hundreds of years into his future. Did he think what he was doing was so profound?

....and I know it.

I realized today that when people are upset and crying, every time I am in this kind of situation I completely emotionally shut down, like go numb or detached or something. I feel like an artificial person, and I do kind of hate it. I can't really cry, and I'm almost incapable of being sorry.

Ah well. I suppose that's an interesting premise for a character. Perhaps I should write a short story about it...but I must finish the one I am currently neglecting because I promised my friend I would, so that she could workshop it for me. I do so enjoy her opinion. She is verifiably a genius.

I just talked to my best friend and it doesn't look like I'll be going over there tonight and I didn't see her this morning because she had a track meet. I suppose I'll live. ;) But she is incredibly funny. I got like an instant mood booster because she is so irrepressibly cheerful.

I AM STILL ON PAGE 188 IN MY NOVEL.

Why can I not move forward? Is it that I am just lazy, or as I'm tearing out my hair is it that my own emotional incapacity limits me?

I don't think that's the case. I have always been very good at getting deep inside the emotions of my characters, however that sounds. (And I'm not like, depressed or anything. On the contrary, I am the picture of spritely optimism.) I think that's why I have so much fun doing plays and skits and writing pieces of screenplays---because I can be characters. Maybe because I relish fictional emotions, and, like Dickens (hah! Dickens is untouchable. Like, above comparison), I get so involved in what I'm writing or reading that sometimes I get overworked.

That's why I can only read Prozac Nation in small doses. I was soooo depressed when I read that. But Elizabeth Wurtzel is brilliant, and I think something that can affect your mood that profoundly is truly a work of art.

But yes. :D I am in such a good mood and I really have no right to be. I suppose that's when to enjoy it the most, though.

I must work tomorrow.

Bless,

Alyssa

Well, it's been one of those days.

I realized that I am so out of shape it's not even funny, and I desperately need to run or something. I wanted to go to the PT section of the surgery center early tomorrow morning, but it turns out the whole work-out crew has decided to bike for 33 miles instead. I just wanted to use the elliptical machine, dude.

Oh well.

I did not write much yesterday, which kills me because I told myself I was going to. Apparently I'm not trustworthy to myself. (But I did get another page done!) My novel is a helpless, hopeless mess right now. It needs so much work on what's already there that I have no idea when I'm actually going to be able to move forward with the story. Finishing it is going to take so many paaagggggesss....

I did start reading The Great Gatsby, which is good, but I wish people would just friggin' leave me alone with F. Scott Fitzgerald and let me read. I mean, I know there's homework and chores and work and stuff, but really, this is too much...

Today at the library I did, however, get ANOTHER book even though F. Scott and I are not quite through. I am forcing myself to wait to read it, but it looks really good. It's about Edgar Allen Poe and his mistress. I'm not the world's biggest Poe fan, but I do like him and I find literary scandals so enthralling--it seems every great classic writer had one. There was Dickens and his 18-year old lover, Ellen Ternan; Poe and this Fanny woman; Oscar Wilde and...well, many men, but mostly Lord Alfred Douglas; James Joyce and the (cough) letters he and his wife wrote back and forth....

I wonder when I become part of the literati, am I required to have a scandal, too? I hope it's nothing too embarrasing. ;) Maybe...the world will discover my infamous addiction to...TATER TOTS. Dun dun dun...

Yeah, umm, I doubt it.

I am going to go clean the bathrooms because they are stupidly unclean, I suppose, and I would like to remind you all to pray for Jeff Ake. He needs it.

C'iao!

Alyssa

You've all heard of the contractor recently kidnapped in Iraq? He's from my little town, and he is the step-father of a girl that I've hung out with. (She's incredibly sweet, by the way, and we had like a four-hour conversation about LOTR.)

Please pray for him, you guys. That is the absolute only thing we can do at this point, because the guys who have him are absolutely insane. They are psychopathic extremists who do not show mercy, so we know from past experience that the governmet will not step in on their behalf. They can't. I'm afraid the best we can hope for is a miracle.

There really isn't any more I can say about this except to remind you to pray for his safety and his family's sanity. I can imagine they're going nuts.

Yeah, well, after I had typed this enormous, huge blog entry, I was a genius and accidentally pushed the "back" button. Well, my entry is gone now, so forgive me if I sound terse as I write it all *again.* Gah.

This kid named Adam told me, rather bemusedly, that he leaves his phone in his pants pocket all the time and it regularly gets washed. I was like, "Good job, how nice for you." And then he was like, "Yeah, all I do is recharge it and it's fine."

After informing him that I thought he was full of horse excrement, I secretly began to contemplate the plausibility of what he had just told me. Such a simple thing! Could it work?

Lo and behold, it did. Apparently seaweed, salt water, and sand aren't enough to kill my little trooper of a phone, which I have named "Lazarus" for his resurrecting abilities.

Yes, I like to personify things.

On a different note, I wrote last night! Cheers for me! Only a page (which is hard enough), but I did some editing as well. I ended up cutting a lot of unnecessary scenes which slowed the pace of the story so far, which brought me back DOWN [bawl] to 187 pages. But I did begin outlining the novel from where I am now to where I knew I wanted it to end, so I wouldn't end up with the train wreck--wait, SHIPwreck, ha!---that the rest of the book is. I'm on the 4th major rewrite with story changes, and I discovered that I like to start writing new scenes in the middle of prewritten ones and not finish them completely. Which leaves a lot of hanging points.

Remind me to fix those.

I am also in the process of severe character beefing, because even my leads are limp as noodles. So---SPOILER ALERT, for those who care---

I have given my male lead neurological symptoms of syphillis, the acquisition of which was not his fault and, opportunely, fills in the mysteries behind his angy/difficult personality and which will also eventually lead to his downfall. I also thought it would be fun to give him a wicked case of opium addiction (I'm toying with cocaine, as well--leave me some comments and tell me what you think). Remember, for those of you who don't go to my site but come to my blog, that this novel is set in the 18th century Caribbean.

Ironically, I feel like I know my protagonist the least. I know, right? That alone spells disaster. But I have come too far and done too much and grown too in love with these characters to simply give up on them. Instead, I've created a questionnaire to fill out for each character with basic personality traits and the like, and scenarios to write out so I can get much more of a feel for them than I already have. It's amazing what knowing your character's favorite color can do for plot development and symbolism and how, that much more, it helps you get into the mind of your character.

Now that I have prattled on and bored you all to sleep, I am off to print some pictures of my vacation to scrapbook them, because it is known as Fun. I also have to go check on Lazarus and the horses.

Bonjour!

Alyssa

Well, being Monday, and this particular Monday being the day after Spring Break Festivities have ended, allow me to say only that--

this sucks.

I have to write ten poems for Wednesday, which may not be such a problem unless you consider that I must write them catering to certain poetic devices in which my Joke of an English Teacher revels. I can't write the way someone tells me to. Maybe I can find one in my cache of pre-written poems that fits the requirements. But seriously, ten poems? (I did not mention that I shall have this same English teacher next year, because she is moving up to AP juniors, and I think I might die.) I suppose I will have to do it....

There is this little black book, cheaply bound, crap-ola if you ask me, in which she is forcing us to write everything, or take a zero. They're really the extra Project XL books that no one used, but they're blank, black, and at her disposal and I imagine she just wants to get rid of them. But my brain, believe it or not, is more wired to a keyboard than a tiny, unlined black book piece of crap.

(Notice I keep saying "crap." I hate the word "shit." There is something very bestial about it; most uncouth.)

Plus, I got a job for Sundays and maybe Tuesdays once school is over. Ah, the joys of summer revelry! I work at the MotoX track in the industrial park, and I get paid in cash (no taxes!) and it sure as the hot place beats busing tables or some equally tedious job. Like shelving library books (haha to my friend, who is the only one who will understand this seemingly random reference). In actuality, I might like to shelve library books. Get a good look at the historical fiction and real LITERATURE, not the dumb x 5,000,000,000 crime novels and that particularly loathsome genre, "chick lit."

I will abstain from that particular soapbox.

But anyhow, with the job. Am I supposed to feel like I have crossed some kind of important adolescent milestone, the first job? I don't. I don't know if that is because my delusions of being above the typical hyped-teendom are correct or if it really doesn't "feel" like anything.

I will leave you to mull over that principle, and attend to my novel and the horses that will not feed themselves, because my riding instructor is in Sin City (no, not the recent B. Willis incarnation, you geek).

Ciao,

Alyssa

Well, I am back now.

Spring Break is a bitch.

It invites you to the warm sandy beaches and the swaying palm fronds, and begs you to spread your towel on the sand and go shopping with money you shouldn't really be spending, but...

Then, when you've had ever so much fun and felt like you had glimpsed heaven for five days, you come back. To Indiana. And suddenly you realize that school awaits you Monday, your new job awaits you Sunday, and while there is nothing I like so much as a good paycheck I find that life somewhat falls short of expectations as a teenager.

Perhaps it is best not to have expectations.

But now that I sit here, laboriously updating my website and lamenting the loss of my brand-new phone, I realize that Spring Break 05 has taught me many valuable lessons:

1. Nearly a week with Mom and Lil' Sis can be fun!
2. Sun+Me=/ melanin. It equals sunburn, right on the back of my legs.
3. Tourist shops are tacky. And fun.
4. Medieval Times can OWN ME, for as far as I'm concerned.
5. My legs are short and somewhat stumpy, though my abs look good in a bikini (if I flex).
6. My hair can survive five days without gel.
7. Cell phones cannot swim (I suspected this).
8. Cell phones drown immediately and become clogged with sand, therefore are unusable (I cringed at this.)
9. New Phones to replace the one that drowned are expensive (I, alas, knew this).

So I am darker, wiser, more relaxed, and more inspired to write in my damned novel now. Yay!