Words

Posting has become scarce lately, primarily because my love for words is hidden.
It's not diminished - I'm drinking words in, grasping onto them like they're my final meal before a forty-year fast. But I'm not to create them.
My mind is asking for a sabbatical. For me not to be in a world where I pour out the words and finish, feeling exhausted. Instead, I have been relishing listening to words. Hearing the accents, hearing poetry, hearing rhythms that exist in sentences and in paragraphs and that flow on to make me feel content. Those rhythms and nuances serve to remind me that there is more out there, and while it may make you scoff (because people don't usually find these reminders in sentences), it's what I do.
I find words.
I love these words.

When I returned home this year, I decided I would write that novel, the one I'd discarded when NaNoWriMo hit me like a bullet and I couldn't write. That, I think, is where I gave up. I couldn't write. I couldn't finish the assignment. I had no inspiration, and I thought at home the inspiration might begin again.
It hasn't, but in my head my characters are having an extended nap. Carmen is lying, in an uncoordinated and frankly strange-looking position across a bed; Cristian is seated next to her on the floor, asleep and head tilting back onto the mattress. And I have no doubt in my mind that these characters will wake up. One day I'll write those words. Maybe this November, I will write that novel. But for now, I'm learning again.

When I did my HSC, I pushed books aside. I loved them, but I worked in a bookstore, where Twilight ran rampant on the shirts of twelve year olds and in the headspaces of those who thought Wuthering Heights had been written because of Twilight.

And really, no, I'm not kidding about that, I did have someone say that to me and my only response was a facepalm.

I digress; that bookstore was excellent besides the Twilight fanaticism. But thanks to the idiocy of Meyer, all I see now are vampire books. And escapism for me was not to be with vampires on pages, swooning in a pale, lacklustre imitation of Dracula. I found it in DVDs, movies. Scrubs became my escape; if I'm honest, Scrubs kept that stupid HSC year in perspective.
Eight exams, and millions of people around the world were dying from illnesses? I had it fairly good. From Scrubs, I learnt that words were not just what I spat out onto a page, or hurled across the room to communicate with someone, but they were just as important in what they missed. That pause, that thought. The moment where I can describe a room, but not one aspect - where I can tell my reader that it's their job to piece in the gaps, because it's not my novel once it's in their hands. And it's odd, because in television you're shown the surrounds. But from what they didn't say, from watching a character do something rather than giving it anecdotally?
Somehow that made a difference.

This year, I have fallen in love with remakes and with Offspring.
Offspring, primarily because I sit there totally in awe at Nina's headspace and how it's so similar to my own.
Remakes, because it's all about perception. Joe Wright's Pride and Prejudice compared to that 1995 BBC one that everyone adores but I can't stand because Colin Firth makes me want to snarl; the newest Emma compared to that one with Gwyneth Paltrow. They all have their merits in some way, but I'm learning that I'll never appease everyone. But, and this builds on something I learned last year, if I write to appease myself, and make myself happy, that shines through.
When I had a consult with my tutor, Trent, about my first story in Short Story Intro, he said that the reason he loved it wasn't because it was about something complex, something that needed to be said to change the world. He loved it, because he said I wrote what I knew and what I wanted to write. And I can't write unless I feel the urge, unless the story takes hold of me and directs me. I wrote 2000 words before I got those words.

If I ever find that, I will post it.
I have a draft of it, but my old computer has died.
Likelihood is, I won't have it on there anymore.
When I find it, I will post it, because I doubt it'll be published.

One day, I'll get to my words again.
For now, I will absorb lyrics.

mood - contemplative. Confused. Slightly nervous, but an anticipatory nervous.
listening to - Heart That's Pounding, by Sally Seltmann. I usually don't like music like this, but I am charmed by the beauty of this one, and to steal what I said to Glen, it has crept under my skin and has set up comfortable residence there.

what i am reading - I am reading 2 Corinthians, Neruda, and Mother Tongue. For light reading, I've got Cathy Marie Hake sitting next to my bedside. I may pick up on Song of Solomon tonight. Who knows.

Happy Easter, all of you.

http://pqhobbit.wordpress.com/category/spiritual-life/
Thank you.
The image makes me sing. 

Hurrah!

Ah, today.
Today was a grand day indeed.

Mondays usually begin with an alarm ripping through my sleep-cocoon at 6.30, and me blearily emerging with a variety of mutterings in my head - generally of an unsavoury variety.
Then I sloth my way down to IGA, where I get a deli case ready in four hours, then I sloth my way back home and try NOT to sleep.
Today was very different.
I woke up at 9am, pranced around the house like a loon, got a phone call from the illustrious Joshua (!) and scampered off to work, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
Why the change? you ask with an indulging smile, handing me a cookie.
Well, it's because today I was becoming a checkout chick of IGA rather than Deli Master (Mistress? Sounds kinda... suss) of Doom or Something. Ah, checkoutry. It's a gentle art, and surprisingly I didn't mess up too much. By that, I mean very little. Though I still stared longingly at my deli, I quite enjoyed working on checkouts. Learning new stuff is pretty fun and it makes work quite a bit of fun.

Hang on, Coldplay on TV. Must find out why.

Dad changed the channel. Will never find out why.

Anyway, tomorrow I get back on the checkouts by myself. BY. MY. SELF. They did this second day of deli to me and I vaguely did okay, so we'll hope for the best here.

Part two, phone calls.

Joshua rang today, after returning to Australia two nights ago. It was awesome to hear his voice - I'd missed him terribly, but of course after returning home I'd sort of resigned myself to my pre-Brisbane life. The whole lack of social life, few interactions with those I care about, that sort of thing. In the Northern Rivers, I'm absorbed into my family and I find myself telling my deepest secrets to two dogs (one of whom resembles - well, I'm not really sure what. She has a patch of shaved fur on her back). But this morning, Joshua rang as I was sitting on my bed reading.
After Sirius decided to destroy Bellatrix's music files (cousinly rivalry, methinks), I lost my usual ringtone. So rather than Such Great Heights playing, I was greeted by that generic iPhone ringtone and instantly thought, "...WHA?! Why is Trina's phone ringing in my - oh right."
I have missed hearing the voices of my friends something chronic. Dear pally pals, I love you dearly.

Part three, I think?
I have a second job. In a bookstore.
Yes, you may all gape.
I got this job based on my nerdness, by which I mean my new boss and I had awesome book discussions and I told her I'm YouTube mad, know a wee bit about Dr Who (which I'm intending on making a whole lot), am a self confessed Potter nerd (see phone/computer names) and am completely obsessed with historical dramas on the ABC.
Seeing as it's an ABC store, I think my nerdness came in handy.
Anyway, I start Saturday. Any good wishes are appreciated; your bad ones may be swallowed along with some pie.

And part 4.
Trina is leaving for Sydney in a few weeks. I'm v. sad about this, as are all our friends. So faretheewell parties are being held, where we'll gallivant like loons and eat cake and see people! I'm excited for the party. If we could have this party without Trina leaving, it'd be great. Unfortunately we cannot. I'm thinking of finding Trina a giftygift for her farewell, but I'll not mention it here because I'm not really sure if Trina does read this blog, or any other blog, and I'm not taking my chances.

I have a sulky puppy (actually, a 11 year old dog, but whatever) outside barking crossly. To investigate.

"Who is this Criminal Mastermind? Where did they come from? And why do they look so good in their Wizard's Robes?"

Stalking Joshua's Facebook page (well, if you must know, I was actually sending him a link to a tee), I came across this link, Darksites.com Evil Guide Plan.
I'm not sure about the rest of the site. But this made me laugh. Purely because of my plan, and also because this is so quintessentially Joshua that there is nothing else can I do.

So, if I were to Dr Horrible my life, it would go as thus:

Your objective is simple: world domination.

Your motive is a little bit more complex: love (yes, it works)

Stage One

To begin your plan, you must first seduce a rich and powerful CEO. This will cause the world to sit up and take notice, amazed by your arrival. Who is this Criminal Mastermind? Where did they come from? And why do they look so good in their Wizard's Robes?

Stage Two

Next, you must vaporize the White House. This will all be done from a floating fortress, a mysterious place of unrivaled dark glory. Upon seeing this, the world will tremble, as countless hordes of ninjas hasten to do your every bidding.

Stage Three

Finally, you must send forth your needlessly big weather machine, bringing about an end to sanity. Your name shall become synonymous with this insanity, and no man will ever again dare point and laugh. Everyone will bow before your dashing good looks, and the world will have no choice but to give you control of the planet.

As you can see, I had a fair bit of fun with this. Links provided above.
Gah, I've become such a YouTube vlog-supporter that all I want to say is doobly-doo.
BLOGGER! MAKE A DOOBLY-DOO!

Anyway, 2am, should probably go to sleep... work tomorrow, que funsehs.

Another update in the same day, wha?!

Okay, so, I'm updating again. Why?

I got a LETTER!

But not just ANY letter.

A letter from Italy!

From Stanfield!

Anyway, the letter is awesome. The envelope also radiates win.

Here, for your amusement, is the letter:

It's dark, and that light behind me isn't my window. It's my bathroom. 

I had no blinds open and I resemble a hobo.

But I'm okay with it.

BECAUSE I'M HAPPY!

I've never gotten an overseas letter before, let alone one from ITALY. So this is new.

If I get one this little, people are just going to think I'm gay.

Scrubs quoting, heck yes.
Onto other matters. The lovely Emily made reference to my writings, which is awesome, because she is awesome, and you can't help feeling a sense of glee at being referenced. Or, at least, I can't.
Emily writes about important things, I feel. In contrast to what I write, which is:

• The Occasional Rant, at time periods, people, lack of spelling ability.
• Pure And Utter Idiocy At 1am Where I Can Barely Think Let Alone Write, which has actually dwindled down in recent weeks. I'm going to put this down to getting a job.
• The OhmygoshPURTY Post, where I make reference to things that have inspired me. Such as the Sexing the Cherry post.
• Seemingly Pointless Updates And/Or Memories In My Life, which are generally embarrassing in nature.

Anyway, Emily writes about things such as politics, happiness, and les plaisirs de l'hiver, which I know what it means, and you may too.

Next part.

So the extremely strange post I had going on was, yes, definitely personal. Not in regards to my everyday behaviour. The thing about Tashes, we put up guards, but we also do let people know - a lot - if we're upset/growling at the world. We operate on extremes. Psychotic way to live much? you say, scornfully, and sounding like Blair Waldorf. Au contraire, mes amis, it's a fantastic way to live. Gives you the ability to write characters so much better.

If you're not a writer/in the creative industries, I'm not sure how this would really benefit you, but I'm sure it would.

Anyway, the blog post was in reference to someone close to me dying. I really despise that word, dying, and I equally despise the words passing away. Dying is more honest. So, yes, a person whom I consider a family member died on Sunday morning, 5am.

I was woken up with the phone call, at about 9 (so sue me, I sleep a lot), and immediately called Kathryn, because that seems to be my reaction to most things. Mum's in hospital? Call Kathryn. Family member dies? Call Kathryn. Excitement over certain things? Call Kathryn, unless they can wait til I can attack Kathryn's MSN. Kathryn came over, gave me hugs while I sobbed, and then took me to the city.

She also took me to see Courtney's puppies, which I needed. I used to sit all the time with my dogs when I was sad, and Courtney's dogs were a nice substitute.

At the time I had written the post, it was 12.10am, as you can see. I was in a strange mood where I had cried to Kathryn, cried to Mum, been distracted all day then gotten home and felt strangely numb. That was the culmination of the day's emotion, because I have never experienced death before.

Positives to the situation, because I am attempting to do this more?

• He was in that so much pain, it's now ended. Thank goodness.
• Although it's under really depressing circumstances, I get to see my godmother and her family. 
• I then also get roadtrips with my father, which are always awesome.

Part 3.

Uni has been going spectacularly well, although the assignment thing's getting a little annoying. I'm at a stage where I can't think of ideas. This unnerves me. For non-fiction, I can; fiction, I cannot. Something tells me that this is God going, "HEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY, herein lies your career path."

Who knows?

Anyway, so. Yesterday my Lit. Studies tutor, henceforth referred to as Viv, reminded us of an impending assignment. We could either do a creative option, culminating in a short story that evoked issues of certain readings one could apply to a space, or an essay option, which explored these in a far easier way.

The assignment was, to find a physical site - e.g. cemetery, garden, house, dressing room - and explore different ways the site is read.

Sitting in the back corner of the room, I'm listening to Viv explain the assignment, and rave about the Gendered Bathrooms essay which we have as an example on Blackboard. One of the girls in the room asks about an idea she's got; I can't remember Viv's reaction because at this stage I've picked up a pen and started drawing. 

I decide to choose a bridal couture shop for various reasons, and after the tutorial, I toddle over to Viv. "For my piece," I say hesitantly, "would a high-end bridal store be okay? One where the dresses are about $7000 each?"

Viv burbles about how brilliant this idea is for quite some time, and as we part ways, she says how excited she is to read it when it comes in.

I don't know, really, life's ups and downs are balancing out recently. Keeping me in perspective. I have better ideas of what I should be doing in my life, and God's giving me a path and reminding me what life's about. I'm excited for what life is giving me. Sad, in some regards, of course, but positives are in all situations.

Anyway, I just got paid. I need food. Stat.