On rest

Recently I’ve noticed that I “go” from dawn to dusk... practically. I get up, go to school, either go work on some homework and then go directly to work or go directly to work from school. From work I come home (most of the time), exercise (most days) eat supper and work on homework until it’s time to go to bed.
I’ve discovered that I am generally more tired than I have been before.
This constant motion can be more exhausting than...
I’m starting to ramble and I’m not making much sense (perhaps that’s also because I’m writing this in class).
I will mention one more thing.
I got my first writing assignment back and to my utter dismay I received a C.
Yeah. I didn’t take too well to that.
I’m not the kind of person that likes to be “taught” how to write. I’m almost of a mind that it to a point, cannot be taught.
Just after the class I considered dropping it because of what I mentioned above and because that would make my load light and I wouldn’t have to deal with her.
Another part of me though is determined to stick it through, get a handle on the homework load and prove her wrong.
I don’t know if that’s possible though.
With God’s help...

On term papers

None of my classes actually uses the term "term papers" but most of the major papers that I have to write are just that.

Side note: Is it something about different educational cultures and using "term papers" to describe the huge project for the class? The term seems to be pretty popular in fiction use... such as for a character in college or high school or something. Just ruminating.

Back on track: Because most of my classes are upper level classes (400 or 500 level... most 500s can be slightly altered and used for grad credit aka add a paper or something) there are large projects.

Unfortunately, it doesn't feel that I've really gotten started on them. I feel like I'm falling behind but when I mentioned something of the sort to a friend of mine (a fellow history major, sophomore) she laughed and said something to the effect of 'we're not all like you'. Granted, that's true.

I would rather start working on the project as early as possible to get it out of the way so when the end of the semester rolls around I don't have the immense pressure on my shoulders to get things done. (Of course, that gives me the dilemna of feeling like I need to do something...lol)

Have I really started working on all of my major papers for the semester? Hah, no. I need to though. Most of my daily sort of homework is out of the way now and I will work a little bit on those other papers today. We'll see how far I get though.

Maybe something later I'll actually talk about writing and some realizations I've come to about some of my stories but for now school is my "master". :D

On Victoria Plame

This is the character sketch... post two revisions... enjoy.

Tomorrow I might talk about what it was like to write this.

Stray strands of hair brushed the woman’s face as she stood gazing. Occasionally her gloved hand rose to brush the strands away, but the wind simply pushed them back. She wore snow-white gloves on hands that burrowed out from her puffy coffee-colored jacket. A tuft of cotton wandered through a hole near her waist and another hole by her wrist. She smiled dreamily. Her mouth moved slightly as if she were speaking but the little girl beside her paid no attention faced the frozen lake. A snowball splattered against her jean-clad leg. She brushed the flakes off. A smile snuck threw the reproving glance she conveyed to the miscreant.

“Victoria! Victoria, can I play with them?” Victoria’s gaze followed the pointing finger of the little girl. “They’re building a fort! Look! They’re people your age there too. You can talk to them while we play.” The girl’s words tumbled forth.

A sadness filled Victoria’s eyes as she down. “No Libby, we don’t know them.” She spoke softly. I barely heard her.

“You never let me meet anyone new.” Libby moaned.

“Don’t whine.” Victoria pushed back her jacket sleeve. “Besides, we don’t have time. Your piano lesson starts in twenty minutes and it takes about fifteen to get there--“

“Five minutes please!”

Victoria’s laugh burbled like bubbles from a partially unstopped drain. She shook her head and leaned down to Libby. Their noses kissed. “No hon. You know what I always say.”

Libby’s shoulders slumped. “Don’t be late. Be early.”

Victoria laughed once more. “Something like that. Come on dear. Let’s get going so Mrs. Button doesn’t wonder where her pixie-child is.” She slid her gloved hand into Libby’s. She looked up at me and smiled before walking away with Libby.

On routine

I know that as a writer I shouldn't really like routine. Common notion would put a writer as a person who loves adventure and never doing the same thing twice in order to add to the mental ammuntion.

You know what I say to that? Hah!

I don't know if this goes for all writers but I love routine. My sister would probably say that I love it (and am driven by my schedule) a little too much. Be that as it may... the beginning of a new semester is difficult for me because I have to settle into a new routine and of all the semester to semester changes that I've had... this one is the biggest.

I brought up the topic though because I do believe that I have settled into a routine of sorts. I still have to give it a week or two more so that I can fit in a couple of new things (observation for Spanish Linguistics and an Easter production at my church) and get into the research and writing part of all of mhy papers.

I have a set way of doing things when I get home such as putting my bag down so that I can hang my jacket up right away and then close the blinds and etc. (I won't bore you with all of the pesky little details :D)

I think that having a routine helps me to remember little pesky mundane things that I would otherwise forget.

Now that I've said that I have to go and get started on my homework (specifically my character sketch).

On settling in

Have you ever noticed how you can fit a lot more of something when it's filled in the crevices and settled in? (I'm thinking something akin to Tetris here.)

Well, that's how I feel right now.

I've reached the end of my first full week of the semester and I think things are beginnning to settle in. Yes, I will be very busy this semester but I don't think it's an unheard of busy. Of course, I haven't started working on my papers yet but if I judge how much time will be used up by my papers based on the amount of "free" time I have today and the fact that I *shocker* let myself watch TV all Thursday and some last night (lol) then I think I won't have anything to worry about.

I feel like I should be working though. Heh.

I'm trying to make it so that Sundays really are a Sabbath for me, in the true sense of the word. I would love to be able to maintain throughout the semester the "policy" of no homework on Sundays. Of course there may be times somewhere in the middle of the semester where I'm forced to change that but I'm really looking forward tomorrow.

I've been working on my homework so much in order to get it away that I don't really have anything that I have to do tomorrow. (In addition I get a pretty long break between services because I don't have nursery duty tomorrow and I don't have to go to Vespers :D)

This creative writing class is going to be harder than I thought. I've never been graded on my writing ability before. Then there's the fact that I don't think I always agree with the teacher (I won't give the name because the teacher is a pretty well known author in the CBA market) on what is good writing.

Here's an example. On the first day of class she gave us a sheet of paper that had several pictures printed on it. In order to get a sample of our writing she told us to pick one and write what was inspired by that picture.

The next class period she read a couple of those in class. She happened to read one that used the same picture I did. Was it bad? No. Did it make me want to read more of the same? No.

The other example she read referenced a picture with three older ladies on the beach. The author took an interesting perspective but to me it seemed... I don't know. It just didn't jive as completely believeable.

Anyway. Our first graded writing assignment is coming up on Thursday. A character sketch. I used the picture for this week's vingette for mine. It took me forever to get going. A lot of times when I'm fleshing out a character I like to get into their head and figure out their thoughts. I couldn't do that in this assignment. She wanted us to give an objective portrayal of the character without giving too much exposition. *blows hair off forehead* :D

It took me forever to figure out what two traits I wanted to portray in her and the corresponding complexity and then how to go about portraying those limited to the space that I had. I suppose that it was a good exercise for me but... *le sigh*

We'll see how this semester goes. I just hope that she's not one of those teachers that likes the kind of writing that she uses but no other. You know what I mean. (I suppose it might be helpful for me to actually read one of her books. lol)

On pushing forward

I didn't feel much like writing a post today but I need to keep up this daily exercise in writing (and it's something else I can cross off my to do list :D)

I reached a point today...brought on by a headache probably... that made me realize that without God real life sucks. Yup. I don't normally use that word but it fits the situation.

With my new job (and the commute that it requires) a good twenty hours a week are spent working when before with my minimal job at Streetside I spent on average six to ten hours working with a five minute commute.

It's not that I don't like my job or learning or being busy. I actually love all of those. I love my jobs and the kids (even though they can be wild and extremely disobedient). The commute is fine (I don't love that but I listen to books on tape while I drive... right now it's Robinson Crusoe). I really do love being busy and having a to do list which I can cross off things with my lovely red clickable sharpie.

I'm rambling though. I don't have any really point to make. I'm just rambling to take up a post. Expect more of these to come in the future weeks. I consider them still relevant to my craft simply because when I write these posts I'm exercising my skills in the craft.

On feeling overwhelmed

I mean that to say that I have a lot to do this semester.
List: (:D)
Linguistics Paper
Spanish Lit Paper
Creative Writing pieces (poem, short story and etc)
History of Africa Paper
Early National Era Paper
Weekly lesson plan
Bi-weekly club lesson plan
Work Monday through Friday
Fifteen hours of school
Normal homework for above
Breathing... no j/k

As one can see... writing (for my own purposes) is no longer on this list. I simply don't have that much free time to devote to it so it has become a "if time" thing rather than a must do.

I don't feel worried. Contrary to how I've felt in the past I feel quite calm. I know this is what God wants for me. The more I become immersed in this afterschool program the more I realize that I love teaching (just not elementary school... too many subjects) but I also love reading, writing, seeing new things and etc.

Hmm... maybe I should have titled this "On balance"

On time

No. Don't expect anything profound. I'm not going to talk or muse on time in general. My intention is to deliberate over how I use my time and allow other things besides my writing to take priority in my time use.

On Thursday school starts up again (with a different schedule than I planned but I won't get into that). Tomorrow I start my new job. Suffice it to say starting tomorrow I have much less time to devote to the things I've gotten into the habit of doing over the break...almost a full month.

I don't honestly have a plan for how I'm going to integrate these new ideas and exercises into my schedule with school (and eighteen credit hours of it) and my new work.

I want to throw myself one hundred percent into everything. I don't have to do that for school. I could get straight Cs in all of my classes and still graduate with honors but at the same time I knew that going into last semester and the idea of getting a B (even though I could) just seemed distasteful to me so I worked as hard as I could. I want to throw myself one hundred percent into my job because I know that it is going to be a lot of work and that this line of work is what I want to be doing after I finish all of my schooling. It's just going to take a chunk of time.

Then there's the thing that I know that I need to do (and do it one hundred percent) but don't always feel like doing and that's eating right and exercising. I know I'm not fat but I also know that I'm not fit and I don't like that. (I'm digressing).

I don't know.

That pretty much sums up what I'm feeling right about now. I don't know how the next four months are going to play out. I don't know how the next year is going to play out. I'm not really sure of anything. Lovely place to be in, isn't it? I say that with a bit of sarcasm but when I take a step back and look at it I know that I really do mean it. This is a lovely position to be in. Because I know very clearly that I don't have the answers or know what I need to do in order to accomplish my responsibilities and goals, I also know that God does and that He will provide those things to me in His timing just like He denied me the job at church in order to give me the job I now have.

If God wants me to succeed at my writing. I will. He will create the time. He will give me the words to write and the knowledge to correct. This really is the best place to be.

On the rain

As I sit here listening to music through my computer I can hear the rain pound the ground outside.

I've always loved the rain, a good downpour. It feel so romantic (in the literary sense of the word). Whenever I hear it my mind conjours up an image of a cozy dim room, perhaps in a log cabin, with the rain pounding away outside and a fire roaring in the stone fireplace. I sit on the couch with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, a good book in my hand and a cup of delicious coffee in the other. I always feel the sudden impulse to sit and write as I did just now.

This is just a fanciful image though. Besides my grandparent's house I have never lived in a house with a fireplace and the fireplace in their house hasn't been lit for years.

Of course, the romantic scene works best when the clouds are obscuring the sun outside while I'm thinking about it. Right now the sun has found a hole and is pouring in through the window over the sink... just to my right.

Oh well. This image never lasts long enough. The heavy downpour lasts for a minute or two and then dwindles down to random spurts... the kind of weather I care for the least.

One final note on the rain. Even though I absolutely love the rain, the heavy downpour, I really can't stand the little spurts that drag on for hours. All that water does is make puddles and get the hem of my pants (or skirt) wet and a little dirty. We can't have everything can we.

On Mark Twain

When I approached this set my view was "tainted". In comparison, I have not studied H. G. Wells but I have studied Mark Twain. No decent American Literature class would be complete without at least a brief survey of Mark Twain.

In addition, I own "A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court" in a separate volume. In the preface or on the back cover (I can't remember), the editor tells the reader that though "Connecticut Yankee" is not as dark as pessimistic as the works Twain published towards the end of his life, hints can be seen.

So when I approached this combined volume I kept that fact in mind and actively looked for these differences.

I think even without this knowledge the difference between "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer" and "Puddin'head Wilson" would jump out.

In Tom Sawyer there seems to be not a hint of actual serious thought on the part of Tom, a carefree, careless, young, rambunctious (I know that's misspelled). The stories told by Twain are also lighthearted. Take the whitewashing of the fence for instance.

In "Puddin'head Wilson" only a trifle remains of the previous humor. The story revolves around the travesty of slavery and the no-good nature of "Tom Driscoll" (aka... ah, I don't remember the other name). There's stealing, dueling and murder.

"Puddin'head Wilson" is nowhere near as dark as all of the works of H. G. Wells, but still, a strain of pessimism and "darkness" is detectable.

This series of posts may seem boring (I think they are boring to me as well) but I consider them a stretching exercise (not just the analization but also the reading itself). Analyzing another author is never easy for me but it can be a very useful tool to see how other authors convey certain qualities. Hopefully though, I will finish London and Dickens soon and be able to move onto other "lighter" fiction.

On H. G. Wells

For the first post of the new year the topic is rather distasteful. I will explain that later.

For the past year or so I have been steadily increasing the size of my collection of classics. For a person who loves to read as much as I do I found my lack disturbing. :D A great aid to increasing my collection has been Barnes and Nobles Classics collection.

Unbeknownst to me B&N has recently published an "Essential Writers" series which contain the entire collective writing of authors such as H. G. Wells, Dickens, Austen and many others. This past Christmas my father purchased four such books for me.

This morning I picked up the "smallest" of the four and determined to read it. Four hours later I have accomplished my purpose and my brain is reeling.

I am obviously familiar with Wells' Time Traveler, War of the Worlds and to a brief extent, The Invisible Man. The other stories were new to me and all filled with an oppressive depressing air.

Strains of degressive evolution, man's stupidity, and hopelessness fill the pages. When I read nine hundred of these pages I come away feeling both a little depressed but at the same time extremely thankful for the hope that I have in God. What kind of life led Wells to brood like this and come to the conclusion that the human race was doomed?

I imagine that his life must have been depressing. Perhaps he was spurned by a woman or some other tragic event. I don't know although I could easily look up the information on google or wikipedia. Finding out what a person's life is like through that manner doesn't feel nearly as intriguing or rewarding.

Reading Wells makes me wonder just how much of oneself an author imparts to a novel. Can a truly depressed and hopeless person ever write something to make another smile? Can a person filled with the Spirit of God and a joy that cannot be quenched ever write something that would send another into a depressive spiral?

I really don't know where I'm going with these musings. I suppose that this is an outlet for my brain after being cooped up in the heavy air of Wells' Britain.

Today I am not going to attempt to read any of the other three--Dickens, Twain or London--but instead express my own thoughts for a little while and read slightly lighter fare.

Perhaps as I read the others I will muse on what made that man tick. Why is it that all of the seemingly "great" authors write such heavy fare?