I’m an American…Is That A Good Thing?

30 01 2008

I am so tired of people telling me about what foreigners say about us.  Because, while it may be true, people love to use stereotypes and generalities.  My French teacher told us that as long as we tried to speak French while in France, we would be okay.  French people don’t expect much from us Americans, she told us. 

Do foreigners really think that?  Even if they do, is it the vast majority, or a small portion, the portion that really only matters to the European economy.

I may be lazy, but I am not so lazy that I sit on my ass all the time and eat.  I’m not obese.  I don’t care that the doctors all say that it’s 2/3 of Americans are overweight.  I am at a healthy, attractive weight if I do say so myself.  Just because I don’t wear a 0 or a 1 does not mean I am fat.  No one has a problem with my weight.  Why should I listen to people who deal in numbers? 

I lost my point there.  What I’m really trying to say is this: I may be American but I’m not anymore lazy than any other kid in this world.  Do kids in other countries sit about with a book and read for hours on end?  YES!!! (And if they don’t, I’m sad for them.  I would die if I didn’t read as much as I do.)  I make good  grades, I’m seriously trying to be fluent in French.  I just don’t want people to judge me based on the rest of the country.  I hate group punishment.   

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Silence

27 01 2008

“Why do we fall, Bruce?” 

I’ve reached some quiet time today when I was editing my story, so while I contemplate how to use it, I am going to post about what’s been going on.

Yesterday, I watched all of my comic book/sexy main men movies to occupy my whirling mind.  Van Helsing, Hellboy, Batman Begins.  I lost use of the tv because I had been watching movies from around 1:30 to 8:oo.  So, they told me I should do something else besides watch tv.  I was watching these movies to help my writing, though, so it was all for two good causes: to make me stop thinking, and to help my villains.  I need to work on my antagonists because I am so uninterested in them. 

My writing has officially begun to take on aspects of my current anger and anxiety and distress.  William has become really angry, and I don’t want to write him because I don’t know what he’ll do, and if he does the wrong thing…I’ll have to change the whole plot.  Rebecca has become somewhat weaker, becoming my softer side that I try not to admit having.  I’m in the quiet time of my edit, and she is elaborating on the freedom that I have just given her, and she has no idea what to do with it.  I have no idea what to do with it. 

I’ve been listening to Moulin Rouge soundtrack for the past two days while trying to recuperate.  I can’t sleep, and when I am, I have freaky dreams that usually end up with me disoriented and ready to cry at about three in the morning.  Not to mention I keep forgetting to turn my alarm clock off, so it’s like going off at 6:10 in the morning and I can’t go back to sleep.

I have resigned myself to the world of Rachel Morgan, Kim Harrison’s novels.  It’s my alternate reality, and I spend a lot of time there, because Rachel can always kick some ass to make me feel better.  But, unfortunately, I’m reading the saddest book, so by the time I get to the end, I’ll probably be crying, but hopefully by the time I get to the end, it won’t be as bad as the first and second time reading it.  It was awful.  I did cry.  I am getting a mourning arm band for the character that dies in this novel, and I’m excited.  I’ll put up a picture of it.  I’m also hopefully getting the toe tag that Rachel gets because they thought she died in a boat explosion in the third novel.  Good stuff.

Rachel Ramxpage and I were having a “people free weekend” but that’s becoming harder and harder.  I want to call her, but I know that’s she been really irritated with everyone lately, but I don’t know if I’m included in that everyone category.  She was very supportive though, and I know that she wasn’t irritated with me all day.

I should be editing my Students 2.0 submission, but Lindsay hasn’t contacted me yet–we’re going to do it through AIM.  I don’t know what the time difference is, either.  So, I’m waiting for that.   I need to do some writing–it may keep me from thinking.

“So we can learn to pick ourselves back up.”
-Thomas Wayne, Batman Begins





Heartache, Heartache

25 01 2008

I am getting really tired of guys.  In general.  Not fair to my guy friends, I know, but all the guys who are like, dating possibilities–or I thought they were–are  edging closer to tipping me into homicidal tendencies.  I kid you not.

The guys who know all the right things to say irritate me so much.  Daniel, is the prime example.  He says it to everyone.  Then, he expects me to believe him.  Or, he says he expects me to believe him.  I don’t know, he confuses me and I gave up a long time ago.

The guys who know that they are playing with a girl’s emotions and don’t even know irritate me much more than the previous group.  I can’t give you any examples, because I’m not revealing any more names. 

Then you have the guys who are just there and I hate them for being there.  I don’t know what my problem is.  I feel like Anakin Skywalker at the moment.  Angry all the time.

I will catch you later.  I might not be around for a few days.  I’m going to be working on my book.





The Chase

24 01 2008

We could hear them behind us, forcing us to run faster.  My legs seemed to have a mind of their own.  William was a little ahead in our race against the werewolves.  If someone should see us…I stopped the thought. I was no longer at the top of the social chain.  I needn’t worry about the little things.  William’s arm caught me about the waist and he flung me into the alley.  I stumbled but regained my footing.  I sprinted to catch William, edging the corner.  Brick cut my arm and I gasped at the sharp pain.

William turned to look at me, legs still taking him quickly away.  “Rebecca!” He shouted, stopping.  Why had he–

Something slammed into my back and I hit the ground with such force I was breathless and my whole body was pained.  A wolf, easily three times my weight, was pinning me to the ground.  The wolf was not looking at me.  It was looking at William.  Fear clamped my mouth shut and my body incapable of movement.  My breathing had stopped altogether and my lungs were begging for breath.  A small trail of breath slipped through my nose, drawing the wolf’s attention back to me.  William had not yet moved, and I was scared.

“Rebecca, do not move, whatever you do.  Do not be afraid.”  William’s voice was calm, but I could not see him, which did not help my panicked state.

A growl trickled from the wolf’s enormous muzzle, and a glob of saliva fell onto my neck.  I whimpered and William said, “Rebecca, hush.  It is all right.  You will be all right.”  By the tone in his voice, I did not know who he was trying to reassure–me or him.  Either way, I do not think he was very successful.

The wolf ran his long tongue over my face and gave a bark that left my ears ringing.  He then looked at William, and moved away, going back to the second werewolf.  Together, they turned and ran into the darkness.

My breath was coming in short gasps, and I was on the verge of tears.  Do not cry, I told myself.  You are weak if you cry!  At least cry in a private place.  I sat up, hissing at the burning sensation on my arm.  The cloth was ripped.  Blood stained as well.  My arm burned and the brick had cut a rather large, rather jagged, gash.  I stood up, my legs wobbling.  William caught me by my forearm, careful of the wound.

“Let’s get ourselves home, shall we?  We need to clean you up, and then I say we get some sleep.”  With that, he left me to catch up as he walked ahead.

William walked confidently, like he had nothing to fear on these streets–not even those enormous wolves.  Wolves.  Why was that word grating on the back of my mind?  Oh, sweet Jesus.  “William,” I whispered, trying to keep my breathing steady and not frantic.  He turned around to look at me, head tilted to the side in that adorable expression of confusion.  “Those were werewolves,” I told him, my eyes pinched in nervousness.

He walked closer to me.  “You catch on very quick, Rebeca Winter.  An admirable trait.  I did not realize you carried it,” he told me.

“That’s why they understood you, and why they left when you told them to, correct?” I turned around, looking behind me in fear.  “They would not come after us again, would they?  Not after they attacked us the first time?”

“Not tonight, Rebecca.” He took my arm in his warm hand.  “Not tonight.”





Excerpt from My Story

24 01 2008

Okay, you guys need to anticipate the first few excerpts of my story Tarot Cards and Black Roses.  I’ll give you a little synopsis.  I write fantasy, by the way.  My main character is Rebecca Winter and she has freedom issues.  It’s set in the 1800s, but I’m not sure exactly when.  I still have a little bit of research to do.  Rebecca’s my heroine, and William Leventhall is my hero.  I’m in love.  😀 He’s gorgeous and he’s my kind of guy. (Imagine that…) Anyway, he helps Rebecca with her freedom problems, because she ends up staying with him when she leaves home.  It’s really, really rough right now, because my rewrite’s not going to happen until after I finish it completely, so you guys are getting the raw materials.  The bad guy is named James, no last name, but he has a nasty little secret that occurs later.  William and James both have nasty little secrets, but all in good time.  Rebecca keeps her own secret–the fact that she’s a clairovoyant.  Y’all know what that means.  They have their own twisted little supernatural family.  Oh, and don’t forget Matthew!  He’s a werewolf.  Anyway, that’s pretty much all you need to know without me giving away everything and I will see you later!





The Lost Generation

24 01 2008

At my school, drugs and cigarettes are as common and as well known as text books.  In middle school, pot was like water to most of the guys that I knew.  Before kids learn how to manage their bank accounts, they learn how to roll a blunt or sneak drugs through school without getting caught.

Up until high school, I saw drugs and their users as a pretty big evil.  Now, I’m not so sure.  I’ve never done drugs, never want to.  I’ve had alcohol–not enough to get drunk, but I still wasn’t impressed.  I believe drugs are just someone’s way of dealing with what life throws at them.  Everyone deals with things differently, just as I use my blog and fiction writing to keep my head from going splodey.

A lot of my friends disapprove of the drug circle that I have been in for a long time.  I know they do drugs, but it’s not my job to help them. Most I don’t know well enough to call them a friend.  The ones I do call friends are…It would suffice to say that I’m there for them when they need me.

A few of my formerly disapproving friends now realize that somethings are grey.  After several of my lectures, they understand and I can tell you one phrase I have not heard from them since:
“He’s not good for you.  He does drugs.”  Several of my exes were druggies.  Actually, 95% of them were to be honest.

One thing about drugs bothers me.  The dealers.  A lot of the dealing is between students, but, there are adults somewhere involved in this.  You’re giving drugs to kids to make a living.  It really, really rubs me the wrong way.  I idolize many of the adults in my life.  They do the best they can to help kids, and behind the scenes you have other adults dealing to kids who don’t know what to do with their money.

My mom told me that drug use amongst my friends should bother me.  Before my best friend nearly died, it did bother me, but I never said anything, because I valued our friendship.  I’m glad I did, but I shouldn’t have.  She didn’t love me more than her boyfriend of two weeks, whom I hate.  After she almost died, I shut down all my opinions and at that point, nothing bothered me.  Nothing.

Half of my generation won’t last to graduation.  Dropouts, suicids, you name it, I’ve heard or witnessed almost all of them.

Just some food for thought.  I’ll talk to you later.





In Memoriam: Heath Ledger

23 01 2008

At 28 years old, one of my favorite actors is dead.  I did not want to believe my dad when he told me, but a quick trip to CNN, I found it was true.hr.jpg

As you know they found him dead in an apartment, naked with sleeping pills beside the bed.  Everyone is waiting for the autopsy, and then we’ll know.  It is all too reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe.

I had just been talking about him the day before, because he is playing The Joker in Batman: The Dark Knight which debuts this summer.  It felt odd, to talk about him one day and find out he’s dead the next.

Dying young has never been on my list of objectives, but when they put Heath’s age on the screen, it made me realize I’m not immortal.  I’ve always known that, but when someone dies so young its a cold slap in the face.  It says, “I’m coming for you.”

This is in memoriam for Heath Ledger, 28 years old.  Rest in peace, Heath.