Date: Friday, July 20th
Location: "earlyhanficsprints" via AIM
Time: 9PM to 11;30PM
I wrote my final exam of my university career today. I am now finished with my Bachelor's degree in English Literature.
The remainder of this week is packed solid with things to do. Tomorrow I pack. Saturday I move out of my apartment; my home for the past three years of my life.
Everything after that is kind of blurry. Like trying to see indoors after being out in the sun too long. There are big technicolor blobs in front of my eyes. I've planned to take a year off before going to Teachers college. If I get in.
But now I don't know. For the first time in my life my future isn't mapped out in front of me. Nothing is written in stone. There is a huge part of me that feels I should be scared by the notion of not knowing. Of not having my whole life etched out for me.
But there's an even bigger part of me that wants to relish in the fact that I have nothing. No expectations of me left to fight for. There isn't a top to kick and claw my way to anymore.
.... and failed. Miserably.
Missed, but not forgotten.
In idle hands your memory lies
like fog in bogs and valleys low.
Angels howl, wolves weep as
different pieces of different puzzles.
You speak to me, on gentle wind, yet say
nothing. Your silence, my silence,
Nearly forgotten, sorely missed.
See, my dad died 2 years ago March 26th, and my mom wants me to write a poem to put in the paper. But I think it might be a bit obscure for a small town paper. I already know what my mom will say. "But it doesn't rhyme!"
I may just stick with this poem. It went over okay in my poetry class...
At the bus stop,
someone lights a smoke
It smells just like yours.
I never thought I'd rejoice
at the scent of the thing that killed you.
These angels are thieving birds
Who have swooped down from their nests
in the heavens to take you from me.
Those angels were greedy, they took you too soon.
Perhaps this is how you visit me,
hidden in the intoxicating aroma
of misty smoke and the sweet caress
of nicotine that lingers like a memory
in hazy fog filled mornings.
The smell sickens me, makes me think of you.
And for that brief moment in time
I hate you.
For nearly a year, I have tried to write you.
tried to find the definitive words to
immortalize you forever. To
capture your life in lyric, but I fear.
I cannot do it. I do not know
if I shall ever do it
....actually kind of the same poem, no?
I actually bought myself a website!
I'm going to move all of my stories and poetry and hanfic all onto one site: http://foreverpoetic.com
of course, I've got a ton of work to do since I'm using a new program, but I've got some awesome people helping me out, and I hope to have it working by the weekend.... hopefully!
I'm also working on a new story called "Damaged". I'm a little worried because it's really autobiographical, but it's been getting good reviews so far....
Here's an excerpt from the third chapter: The very moment the bell rang signaling lunch, I made a direct beeline for my car. My grandmother had given me the keys to my late grandfather’s 1988 Oldsmobile. It ruby red with rust spots in practically every crevice, but I loved it none the less. It was big and bulky, guzzled gas and poured a whole lot of smoke out of the exhaust pipe, but to me it was perfection. Even though it was second hand, it still felt like mine. It had sat immobile in my grandmother’s garage for nearly five years, since she didn’t trust the thing to run and bought a new car for herself. This car felt like the one thing in the entire world that truly belonged to me.
I unlocked the door, threw my bag onto the seat and climbed inside. I rubbed my cold hands together briskly, hoping to gather myself. I rummaged through my messenger bag and produced the sandwich my grandmother had lovingly prepared for me. I was never a fan of lunch, and usually avoided it, but the peanut butter sandwich she had made me looked so tempting. She had even cut off the crusts and cut the bread diagonally; the way I like it when I was a child. I couldn’t hide the smile from my lips, even though now I kind of liked the crusts.
Keeping the sandwich on my lap, I reached across the front seat and into the glove compartment. I rummaged through the various papers until I found what I needed.
I removed a battered package of Marlboro Lights. Like I had witnessed so many times in my life, I pushed open the package, and removed one. I stuck it between my lips and pulled the lighter from the empty side of the package. Tentatively, I lit the cigarette and withdrew it from my lips without inhaling.
Letting the cigarette burn between my index and middle fingers, I sat back and closed my eyes.
I was interrupted by a loud knocking at my window. Using the old fashioned window crank, I rolled down the window, just far enough to see that Taylor was now standing next to my car. I rolled my eyes and suppressed a groan.
“Hey,” He said simply, leaning his arm on the roof of my car.
“Yeah?” I asked coldly, hoping he would take the hint.
“You aren’t really enjoying that cancer stick are you?” He asked, eying my cigarette with question.
“Yeah so? Maybe I am.” To emphasize my point, I lifted the cigarette to my lips and took a small drag. I resisted the urge to cough purely for his benefit.
To be honest, I wasn’t enjoying it at all. I was not a smoker.
When my father died of cancer he left my mother and I one thing that was not in his will. He had left us packages of cigarettes hidden around the house. During his last few months, he had been on a lot of pain killers. They made him different. A part of me felt like he had died months before his body did. The painkillers made him paranoid. He had been convinced we were trying to take his cigarettes away from him, and therefore stashed them throughout the house so he could always have one when needed.
The truth was, if we were going to take his cigarettes away from him, we would have done it long before we knew he wasn’t going to get any better. We would have taken them away before we knew he was going to die of lung cancer: when taking away his cigarettes would have actually mattered.
I despised smokers. I had seen first hand what cigarettes could do to a person. I had watched these filter-tip little cylinders take away the most important person in my life one puff at a time. I hated the fact that he was too stubborn to quit, and I hated the fact that if it weren’t for this stupid addiction, he would still be here. But I couldn’t deny the fact that when I found his cigarettes scattered throughout the house, they made me think of him.
When I closed my eyes and breathed in that familiar sweet scent of nicotine, I could pretend that he was truly still here with me. Like if I could wish hard enough, he would truly be sitting next to me, with his familiar scent of Marlboro lights.
“Hello? Earth to Emma!”
I shook away my clouded memories at the sound of that familiar and slightly obnoxious voice. I stared straight through the windshield in front of me, hoping that he wouldn’t notice the tears pooling around my eyes.
“What do you want? How did you know this was my car?” I demanded, struggling to keep my voice strong and unwavering.
50654 / 50000 words. 101% done!
I did it! I managed to pull it off!
50,000 words in 30 days! I feel so wonderful right now, its ridiculous. Story Here: Duplicate
Thanks to Brittany for being the coolest person in the world and hosting me!
I've changed sites, to a new server that is better, and some cool people at JSOR showed me how to use word press and I love the look of the site... of course the host is shitty and has been down almost since the day I created the thing... after all of that effort! I will post the link here, if I can get it to work.
40332 / 50000 words. 81% done!
Looks like I'm in the home stretch! We shall see if I come through victoriously.
NaNo Progress as of two minutes ago...
35391 / 50000 words. 71% done!
Just 14,609 words to go!
I was up all night making this graphic ^ then LJ says it's too big :(