At least you're alive...

My Christmas wasn't that bad, not really. Not in comparison.

Last year my mom was sick. This got me thinking. She had a bad fight with a kidney stone and suffered from infection and sepsis. She has had blood poisoning in the past. A total of four times (once within her pregnancy with my half sister, then with me, then with two of her many kidney stones). Thinking about that, and the fact that the mortality rate is around 20%, puts me on edge, but it also makes me thankful. Alive. We're alive for another holiday.

Sure, there might be crying and screaming and more crying. Let me tell you, I had to put the broom down at one point this holiday. For sake of criminal charges, I won't explain that statement more than this: don't yell at someone and not expect me to interfere. I interfere--it would be best if the person making the offensive statements wasn't around me when I have a weapon. Anyhow...onward.

My point is, no matter the depressing state, there's always that one little thing that gives you an edge: you know you're alive. If you're reading this, you're alive. You're here, even if no one else is, even if your life is falling apart around you. Alive. And, likely, well. For the moment.

So be thankful and take advantage of that. I don't seize the day. I am the day. I lay on my Roman pallet and dine on dark chocolate. I think about life. I live. I live. I live.

So there.

I hope everyone had a great holiday! But if not. Well, you know.

Let Me Lie to Myself, Please!

So, I'm no longer feeling productive, just brain dead. Seriously, I spent about thirty minutes staring at the screen of my inbox, nodding my head to the rhythm spewing out of my head phones. I would love to say that my creative burst from Saturday carried on through Sunday, but it didn't. My Chaucer paper ended up a little late, but it was the best I could do. Or maybe it wasn't. Just let me lie to myself, please. Okay?

Good. We're going to get along splendidly.

I'm feeling a bit lost in my writing right now. I don't know what direction to go in or what story to finish. I suppose that's why I'm going back to my fanfiction. It really inspires me to get my writing act together. Plus, folks threatening to kill you if you don't update gets you moving.

I'm exagerating. Hunt down and beat up, yes. But no death threats. Not yet.

This week is exam week. What do I have left? Only two exams. Just two. Granted, one of them is for a class I'm very close to failing, so it's a big deal. Anyhow, at this very moment, I have enough free time to begin thinking about my Christmas holiday to-do list. It involves a lot of read and writing and cleaning. And then there's the shopping aspect. I feel awful, but I honestly don't have that many gifts for my family this year.

My friends have awesome gifts. And don't tell me to get my priorities straight, because, to me, my friends are my family. They're that important.

Let's phase out of that fluffy moment...

Regardless of the awesome gifts for my friends, I sure my family members want their damn stockings filled. So, yeah, that's at the top of my to-do.

Merry Beginning of the Pre Christmas Blogging extravaganza.

Much Love,
*Slinky*

Before Brunch

Tis the season for exams and crying.

My workload is about medium level hard for this week. Not so much that the result will be hair loss, just enough that I might cry (if I fail...especially if I fail editing). This weekend I have an eight page Chaucer paper due. Later this week, I have an art exam--don't laugh at me, it's harder than it sounds--that will involve talking the talk after I've walked the walk. Go figure. I also have the dreaded Tech Editing exam. However, as far as editing goes, I believe I've done almost all the damage I can do to my final grade by turning in my comprehensive edit last week. I can only go up from there. I hope.

So, I've been a bit dead lately.

I've missed my chance to talk about the abyss that was my Thanksgiving Holiday. The food was awesome (I used a recipe for a pumpkin cheesecake with a marshmallow/sour cream topping that everyone loved). A primal part of me even enjoyed Black Friday. What wasn't fun was getting my tuition and fees bill from the university. Happy Thanksgiving to you, too, UNA. It's so nice that I have to borrow and empty my account before Christmas. Really gives you the warm'n'fuzzies, doesn't it?

Over the holiday, I also found our Christmas tree out in the garage. It hasn't been used in a while, so it was hard to find under the glorious junk trove. I was happy just seeing the big green naked thing up. We didn't have a tree last year, since Mom was hospitalized. Actually, the holidays from Thanksgiving to New Years sort of didn't happen fully. I don't remember them; except, I do remember cooking for both and finding the chore way too much fun. That was it. This year there will be decorations. Just as Jigsaw has his blood, I will have my pinecones and nativity. So there.

My only problem is making sure my little chihuahua, Yoda, doesn't think that a tree means that he's outside and that it's time to drop a surprise. But let's face it, Yoda would drop a surprise on anything. Guarding the Christmas decorations from my lovable poop machine is a human sized Santa who dances and sings. Santa scared the hell out of Yoda. He also hit me in the mouth when he popped up out of his box on springs of steel. I seriously saw stars for a moment. My brother, Abe, was laughing his ass off. Then he got up to make sure I wasn't bleeding. Then he laughed his ass off again. It was all very funny. Note my enthusiasm.

A very primal part of me enjoyed Black Friday. Well, actually, it didn't. But I did go through the store with a smile on my face. I have this little devil that lives inside of me. We laugh at other people. How could you not laugh at grown adult who are fighting over vacuums and towels--seriously! I'm not kidding. I was laughing. People looked at me as if I were insane. Obviously, I should look bloodthristy, like them.

Funniest moments at Walmart came from Electronics. You know, over in the Groceries (oh, that the Powers That Be Walmart Employees could be any more mysterious). About fifteen minutes before the actual 5am kickoff, I, in Housewares, hear this insane sound. Apparently, everyone around me hears it as well. If you've ever seen a zombie movie (reference, Dawn of the Dead in front of the mall) where there's a huge mob of the undead groaning. That was the exact sound. I turn around to see the big screens in their cardboard boxes crowd surfing like rock stars over the heads of the zombies. Hilarious. Walmart employees were running from across the store, screaming that their purchases would be denied. Once again, hilarious. There was also the equivilent of a fist fight over X-Boxes that led to a major hold up in the actual Electronics section. Seriously, more people should have been laughing at themselves. Why behave like insane children in a candy shop when the sales aren't even that awesome? They act like golden apples were falling from the ceiling. Did everyone hear about the employee who was killed up in NY? Yup. Insane.

Anyhow, I rounded out the holiday by coming back to the dorms to finish up my NaNoWriMo. Because, apparently, one cannot be given time to write at their own home. I soooo look forward to writing over the X-mas holiday. I finished up with the NaNo word count goal but I really didn't get to reach a conclusion for the actual story. Maybe it will work out in the rewrite. In its present skeletal state, I really can't tell if it's going to be worth working extremely hard on or if I should post it online at FictionPress for a writing exercise.

I've invoked a pre-New Years wish to be able to update all of my fanfiction. As soon as that Chaucer paper is finish. I really, desperately want to finish some of those fictions. Believe it or not, I learn a lot about my original writing when I'm working on those works. I experiment with writing styles, flesh out characters, and play with action and setting that would take a long time to get around to in a novel sized story of my own. It's really an interesting process. And it renews my love for writing, most of all. Now that I know that, if set my mind to it, I can get around 10k written in a weekend, I also have no excuse for not updating those fanfictions.

I think that over the holidays I'll renew my love for angsty poetry. That's something to think about. I also plan on reading several books. It could happen.

Until next time,
Ariyana

The 2009 Pub Challenge

Patricia told me about this interesting challenge. I'll be taking part this year. It sounds like fun:

Thanks to those 2008 Pub challenge participants who made it a great success! I hope you’ll consider joining the 2009 Pub as well. For those who didn’t participate last year but want to read more 2009 releases, join us. New members are always welcome! The challenge lasts for all of 2009.

Here are the 2009 rules:

1) Read a minimum of 9 books first published in 2009. You don’t have to buy these. Library books, unabridged audios, or ARCs are all acceptable. To qualify as being first published in 2009, it must be the first time that the book is published in your own country. For example, if a book was published in Australia, England, or Canada in 2008, and then published in the USA in 2009, it counts (if you live in the USA). Newly published trade paperbacks and mass market paperbacks do not count if there has been a hardcover/trade published before 2009. Any questions on what qualifies? Just leave a comment here, and I’ll respond with the answer.

2) No children’s/YA titles allowed, since we’re at the ‘pub.’

3) At least 5 titles must be fiction.

4) Crossovers with other challenges are allowed.

5) You can add your titles as you go, and they may be changed at any time.

6) Sign up here: http://1morechapter.com/pub/?p=1

Have fun reading your 2009 books!


I'll probably be borrowing Vampire Hunter D Volume 12: Pale Fallen Angels Part II, which is released sometime in March!

Let the blood drip from the forehead: NaNoWriMo Begins

I haven't quite sweated blood yet, though my character is feeling that level of stress at the moment. I'm having fun with it this year. I got to know my characters before I began, and it's really given me a boost. I reached 10,500 last night, and it was a great feeling, only three days into the game. Plus, my school work hasn't suffered yet, so that's an added bonus.

I'm very excited about this year's story, and I've been using a few methods to keep it going on track. I didnt' get a chance to outline, though I basically knew what I needed to write for my Prologue and first chapter. I've begun outlining as I write, only one chapter ahead, so that I don't ruin the future chapters for my over-excited self.

Tonight I'm planning to pass the 12,500 mark. Here's hoping.

I'm having fun, basically. Plus I washed the dishes. I'm feeling so very productive.

I'm also extremely happy that my friends are participating as well. You can smell the fiction in the air. I feel like M. Burns: Exxxcccccelllenttt.

Excellent, indeed, crazy old man. Excellent, indeed.

NaNoWriMo: All the Cool Kids are Doin' It

Well, I'm breaking in my blog for its first post of the NaNo season.

It's that time again. The coffee bags are sitting anxiously in my top drawer, candies await on my roomie's side of the live-in closet we call home, my laptop wallpaper is presenting a word count a day calendar for the month of November, OneNote is hosting a new folder with pre-NaNo notes...Yes, indeed, National Novel Writing Month approaches.

My project this year is an idea I had four or five years ago for a young adult novel, The Last Crusader. I'm excited. I could vomit. Character sketches, plot outlines, and writing soundtracks are all in the works this week as I prepare for a month of novel writing. I'm especially excited about this year. Not only do I have a solid idea for a story, I'm going to have several friends participating. That means the pressure to finish is on: a great thing for a struggling novelist.

So here's wishing my fellow novelists good luck. I won't promise, but I'm pretty sure the procrastinator inside will make me its whore this upcoming Nov.--which means several blog updates for my handful of readers. Actually, I'm pretty sure that handful will also be procrastinating by writing blogs about their novel writing process....

Well, happy reading...and writing, everyone

Alrighty. If you think that someone might be slightly peeved with you, calling them 15 times in two days will not make it better. Especially if you're going to meet said someone face to face by the end of the week. An old associate has been calling relentlessly to talk about important things in his life and is now complaining that the answering machine has a better relationship with him that we (my roomie and I) do. If it thinks that calling that often will make us sensitive to his needs, he obviously didn't have a good relationship with us in the first place.

Why won't the madness end.

Oh, I'm sorry, the phone's ringing...Gotta go.

Procrastination Booty Call

Writing under my level. I know I am. I've written better stuff. But when I try to write "good" my newest works just come off as boring. Exciting comes off as choppy. Romantic appears to be cheesy or nonexistent. I really need to get into it. Plan.

Damn. I need a new plan.

I feel like an uber villain with my failing plans. I should just spend my day as a plan writer. I could fax them to Lex Luthor with a "prepare to fail" postscript. I'd be like my own superhero, defeating villains by thinking of villainous plans. I have the touch of death for plans (and for lucky lotto tickets). This could seriously work. Anyone have the Joker's e-mail? Or for that matter Batman's? (I would so want him to pay me if I was doing his job--oops, there's my villainy peeking out again.)

The problem with plans is that they're almost like an army of Mary Sues (sorry, if I lost the non-fanficcy crowd with that reference). See plans are so damned perfect. Down to a T. And only I can ruin the plans. Or fate. Whatever. I screw up the plans with my laziness.

My procrastination.

Evil, evil dark sex-god procrastination! DAMN you, you villain. I cannot escape your sweet seduction. So here I am again, led astray into your bedroom we call blog. How could I resist you. Honestly it's too much for one woman. I might have to sleep with your brother, RPG, as well. Or at least give a booty call to your neighbor, Mr. Midnight Snack, or your drooling twin, TV.

Oh, procrastination. You're so afraid of commitment. I should really leave you for Plans and his nice I-keep-a-savings-account-and-a-running-car lifestyle. *Sigh.*

Wow. Family: explain to me how we can hate and desire a concept to such extremes.

Recently, I've had baby fever. Thoughts include, "My kid isn't going to behave that way" "My kid is going to learn to ready by age three" "My kid is going to eat health food and say please and thank you" "Unlike those other kids..." No--I don't want to get pregnant any time soon, and, no, I don't have a perspective sperm-donor. However, at twenty-one, a girl starts to see her former classmates and friends elevate to the level of Mommy/Daddyhood (yes, this is frequent at twenty in my neck o' the woods), and she can't help but think "what if that was me?" Said girl realizes she has baby fever when the "what if" suddenly become a "why not. . ." I think the best way to get rid of this disease is to make sure one of my close friends provides me with a remedy within the next few years. . .Any volunteers?

Over this Labor day weekend, an ice pack was put to this resistant fever, and it came back as a puddle. Let me begin. . .

Oh, the joys of family. In your intermediate family, you'll always have conflict, but if there's one thing that will always take this conflict to a new level, it's the visit of outside family--the kinfolk who owe money, flaunt goods, push off kids, and somehow lead to fights about other family members not even included in the visit. This Labor day weekend, my grandmother and grandfather on my dad's side came down from Illinois, giving a good three day notice in which we could book a hotel a few hours away from our home (this action most likely took away three rooms from hurricane refugees in need). Anyhow, along with my seventy-something gram and gramp are the kids: my adopted aunts ages 10, 11, 14, 17 and my middle-aged uncle (thankfully the rest of the family stayed properly spread across the country). Our little klan totaled to eleven, including my parents and my 16-year-old brother. Guess who was being pulled limb from limb as baby sitter? Right. The 21-year-old. Me. The same as when I was the 15-year-old.

Note the ice-pack mentioned earlier. Funny thing is, I didn't mind it. My parents were a bit annoyed that I was stuck with this duty (especially as they were somewhat out of touch with kids with these particular...mannerisms--my brother and I were different at these ages, by far). But I didn't care. I cared about my little "aunts" falling off the steep bluff at the state park while the other adults were half a mile away at a picnic table. I cared about my brother getting pulled down the mountain with them. I cared about paying attention to kids who either get too much or too little attention due to their number or the age of their adoptive parents. I wanted to spend more time taking care of them, in fact. Ice-pack deceased.

Judging from the worn out expressions on other faces, I was perhaps the only one still wanting to take care of them, to listen, by the end of their short trip. Apparently, I don't have baby fever. I have child-in-general-teen-included fever. Perhaps this is the result of being a sort of second mom to my brother instead of an ignoring big sister with her own life.

So, conclusion? There's no doubt about it. If I'm living, I'll have a kid in the next decade. Maybe a handful of handfuls. There's no turning back now. Birth, adoption, or foster, I want to raise a little life one day, with or without help. I've always known this. What I know now is that I don't care if they turn out perfect or if they turn out to be hyperactive, mood-swinging, whining, kingy, monkey-children with three eyes and green teeth. I just want them to be kids.

Goals Down the Toilet and Other Depressing Complaints with No Relevance in the REAL World.

I had a plan. I really did. It was a good plan, solid, with a schedual and dates and times. Good plan.

It was my summer plan.

The first half was dominated by visiting a dear friend for her birthday and taking on a job as co-RA in charge of an army of teenage girls (talk about gathering dramatic material). This was in the plan. Check. Fin. Done deal.

The rest of the plan. . . Well, suffice to say, it did not work out. As planned. It was simple really. I would reach a certain writing goal, a certain art goal. I would read a certain number of books, clean the house, exercise, diet, train my little brother to be a half-way decent essay writer, plan out my future. . . You know, the usual. However, these plans came to a screeching hault after about a weeks time. I have read only a handful of books. The house is a disaster zone. I have been walking every day but my diet is somewhat lacking and has not resulted in anything significant. My brother has far more interest in video games. And my future. . . It's in the future.

So I had a new plan involving the last two weeks before dorm move-in. I was going to attempt twenty-thousand words. But, before this journey began, I was going to tack the tail end onto a few of my short stories.

The every evening that this was to begin my mother became very ill and had to be rushed to a doctor. Kidney stones. Again. This is still not resolved but the infection is being dealt with and she hasn't felt that sort of pain again. The next day nature decided to add to this by giving me a tooth infection. Thank you very much, Mr. Wisdom Tooth, for the ringing ears and locked jaw. Mr. Wisdom Tooth waves at the bright new world from a somewhat sideways position and should probably be extracted, but, alas, lack of money and insurance. A few antibiotics cleared up the infection, thankfully, and I can now open my mouth again and chew "big-people" food. And now, you ask? Now writers' block. Simple.

Fine, Nature, fine. But I will not give up my planning. So there!

Here goes the planning again. To hell with the 20,000. I'm going to finish those two pieces and clean my bedroom. I'm going to get through the three books I'm in the middle of. It's getting done. And my dorm things are getting repacked.

As soon as I finish procrastinating.

A Blog is a Blog is a. . .What's a Blog?

There are certain degrees of procrastination. There are also certain types of procrastinators. Some might believe that a "busy" procrastinator is one with a social life and no need to finish important deeds such as schoolwork. Not true. Busy Procrastinators are in a state of constant movement, procrastinating from one project to another. Eventually, they circle back to their first subjects of procrastination and complete them because the other tasks become anxiety-riddled messes.

Thus was born the blog.

See, the blog is essentially procrastination in a bottle. However, note the cycle of the busy procrastinator: B-Pro sighs at the oncoming research paper due in the next week. Her nature forces her to put it off to do more "research" on the paper subject. "Research" turns out to be as horrid as the paper. So she decides to be productive and write on her baby, her fiction. Well, we know where this leads. . .She decides to clean the house. "Oh, dear! Look at that mold!" She decides that she'll write a blog--"I've always wanted to write one, after all. . . " She sets up an account, and by then, the anxiety is back at critical. The nervousness she feels when setting up a blog pushes her back to the paper that's due in two days. She finishes the cycle. A task has been completed only because she procrastinated during all of her forms of procrastination. She's quite a busy procrastinator. An efficient procrastinator in her own way.

Thus was born this blog.

My account was set up about a year ago, and, from the lack of previous posts, I'm sure you get the moral of the story. But, eventually, I came back to begin anew. That's the fun part of putting something off. When you come back, you don't remember why you did what you did in the first place. It's almost like being reborn.

Fun stuff.

What does this have to do with my blog?

My fiction follows this cycle as well. Eventually, I come back to what I started. After all, a project's never really closed, is it? It's just waiting for its turn. Sometimes the hardest thing a writer can do is to deny it that turn, to write the dreaded HOLD across scribbled pages of notes. When a Busy Procrastinator is forced to make decisions to delete old works, she panics. Then she rants. Hence the purpose of this madness, the purpose of the blog.

Rant, complain. Work through the anxiety of saying goodbye and saying hello. Welcome to The Busy Procrastinator.