Okay, so I had a pretty emotional night internally and it involved words and my belief that they are sacred, most especially mine. I just wanted to spend some time with my keyboard and possibly a potential audience on the other side (i.e., you, the reader) in order to remind myself that words are and always be the bestest friends anyone can have. Reading the words of a friend is great, but it's something else to write them yourself.
I'm pretty protective about my writing, to the point where only a few trusted people get to read them and/or make comments and/or feedback. It's not that I hate receiving constructive criticism, no, it's not that at all. I appreciate feedback and make changes accordingly. It's more that I have a strong personal pride in my own ideas and my writing. Don't get me wrong, I am wrong and my writing sucks most of the time, but I'm willing to improve myself. I just like to make sure that my work is made up of my own words, not words that someone else has put in my mouth. I want to form my own opinions, say things the way I want to say them, organize my ideas so that they support my message, etc. and this simply cannot be possible if I hand over all of my drafts in a silver platter to someone else. In short, I like the ownership that I have with my writing. And having that taken away from a writer is possibly the worst thing that anyone can possible do.
I love words, have I mentioned that? Not oh-yeah-I-love-big-words, but OH-MY-GOD-jumping-up-and-down-and-giggling-nonstop love them. I like the feel of words in my mouth. I like tasting them, coloring them, kneading them and letting the sounds of each individual letter roll around on my tongue. Nothing else feels like that.
This teenage-portion of the blog ends here. Moving on...
Next week is a "short" week because it's finals week. I have two semester finals, but I'm not complaining or worried because I know some people have four. Or more. Which reminds me, Smalls should do something for these special people.
I have lots of "personal projects" going on! I didn't realize this until after 2011 NaNo, but I actually like having something to do other than school, extracurriculars, and home stuff. It breaks the repetitive cycle that always haunts my life and I've realized that I barely do anything for myself anymore. So, I have projects.
Project 1: This Purple World (Tumblr)
*NEW* I started a new blog just this month and it's called "This Purple World"--it's basically just that, a compilation of purple pictures. Purple clothes, flowers, beads, people, places, scenes, etc. It's a simple blog and it doesn't require much from me at all, but running it gives me something to do. And it's relaxing because of all the purple haze. I love purple because I think it's the color of dreams and fantasies, and I just wanted a blog in which I could convey that. Check it out at thispurpleworld.tumblr.com.
Project 2: some things only words can do (Tumblr)
This is yet another blog that I've made, but this one is older. I just haven't been posting at all for the past few months. It used to be "some things only songs can do" but I recently changed its title. It's dedicated to song lyrics, quotes, etc. and I mean to create everything that I post here, no reblogging whatsoever. I'm working on revamping everything and trying to get it back to active. Soon, hopefully. It's at somethingsonlywordscando.tumblr.com
Project 3: these hands of ours (Tumblr)
This is also an old blog and it's filled with pictures of hands. I've been very religious about posting (except for my NaNo November absence)--I have over 100 posts on queue! This one is really close to me. Sometimes I just love going back and looking at all the pictures I've already posted or the ones that are on my queue list. If you're feeling handsy: thesehandsofours.tumblr.com
Project 4: 29-Day Gift Challenge
*NEW* This one is actually something that both Kendall and I are doing for February. It's on The List and we'll be blogging about it EVERY DAY next month so get excited! We will both immerse ourselves in the spirit of giving and we'll be letting you know about it every step of the way. More info coming soon. Check out the website at 29gifts.org
Project 5: The 18th Year
My 18th is coming up and I wanted to do something special for myself. I didn't figure out what it would be until recently. 18 is supposed to be a threshold year, right? It's the first year of adulthood and I wanted to keep a record of it. So I'm doing it "old school." I will be keeping a handwritten daily journal of my thoughts, opinions, experiences, stories for the next year of my life. Plus, it'll be a good excuse for me to write everyday. I also plan to keep it and maybe I will give it as an 18th birthday present to my first child (yes, I know you're thinking that this is incredibly cheesy, but this is me we're talking about guys...).
Project 6: Dance With Me, Will You? (Blogspot, not Tumblr)
GAHH, I have been working on this blog for almost a year now and it's still not fully launched. I've been constantly pushing back the deadline for myself to get it up and ready but now I'm putting my foot down. My personal blog will be up and official by the time I start college, how's that?
Project 7: Happiness
This one is really small and simple, but I have a feeling it will make a big impact on me by the end of the year as small and simple things often do. My sister got for me The Happiness Project calendar and I've been writing little notes in the back of the pages that I rip off every day before I go to sleep. These little notes are often reflections about the advice/quotes/thoughts on happiness/etc. that show up for each day but, mostly, I write down what made me happy that day.
Project 8: <3
So, Kristina Horner and Hayler G. Hoover announced that they are writing stories about long-lasting friendships and romantic relationships that have been formed and developed with the help of the Internet. And they're asking people for submissions so that they can compile everything into a book that they are going to call Less Than Three: Stories About Love, Like, and the Internet. Kendall and I are both writing stories for this and even if they don't take ours, it'll still be a fun experience. I have lots of ideas on this topic and I'm reluctant to mash them all up so I might end up submitting more than one.
Project 9: Forever the Name On Your Lips/Against All the Odds
This is my unfinished NaNo 2011 novel. Over the break, I found myself going back to this and writing more stuff whenever I needed a break from the college app essays. I guess it'll become a thing now. Speaking of which, I didn't posting stuff over the break so......this is the second to the last installment, I believe, for now. So I have one more in line after this part, until I write some more. I'm not particularly happy about the way Carson is in these couple of "chapters," especially with the one with him in the shower. I want to kill him when he's in the shower here but that's the way it turned out. I might change it in the future....
Risks taken: 11
Hugs: 0
Current food cravings/obsessions: ramen
Playlist(s) of the Week: "World, Thy Name is Beauty"
P.S. TFiOS is out in 3 days!!!!! SO EXCITED!!!!
P.P.S. I put the P.S. here because I don't expect you to read all the way through...
P.P.P.S. But now that I've said that, you will now...right?
P.S. TFiOS is out in 3 days!!!!! SO EXCITED!!!!
P.P.S. I put the P.S. here because I don't expect you to read all the way through...
P.P.P.S. But now that I've said that, you will now...right?
“All right, I’m going to tell you most of what I know now, straight up,” Dark had told me. “This is going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever done. You won’t be ready for it.
“What is it?” I
had asked.
Dark pursed his
lips. “That I can’t tell you,” he said slowly. “But I think you already know
that it has something to do with Nicole and her dreams.”
Nicole’s
dreams—no, Nicole’s nightmares—had gotten worse, to say the least. They were
already pretty bad when she first started getting them when we were seven, but
they had been increasingly getting worse since then. And when Mrs. Fields died
two years ago, Nicole almost made herself sick every night after that. Just
last week, I had stayed with her on the phone for hours because she was afraid
to fall back asleep.
Dark shook his
head, a little impatient. “When it comes, you’ll know and you’ll just have to
do it. You have to trust me.”
“That’s the
problem,” I had said. “I don’t.”
He sighed. He
had worn his hair down that time, his red locks flowing on his back. “You don’t
have a choice, Carson.”
I was eleven
then, two years after Mrs. Fields had died and after Dark had told Nic and me
about our 17th birthdays. I was perched on a tree branch that bore yellow
Shamwow towels, various Pillow Pets (PandeeB and Trevor!), and other As Seen on
TV products. Dark looked up at me from below, standing on the green candy grass
with his hands in his pockets. He was in my dream this time, not Nic’s, which
was a bit weird since I found out later that Dark had to stimulate negativity
in my mind first in order for my dream to turn into a nightmare, allowing him
to enter. That was the first time I had ever seen Dark outside of Nicole’s
dreams. He was in my dream when he told me about my “choice” that didn’t really
provide me with options.
I still
remember the first time I met him, the day after Nic had told me about seeing
him for the second time.
“He keeps
asking me silly questions in my dreams,” she had been complaining.
“Can I meet
him?” I challenged, not really believing her. I looked up from my homework. We
were in her room trying to finish our homework together so that we could play
outside later on until our parents called us for dinner. I was already working
on the reading assignment, but Nic was still working on the math worksheet I
had already finished. She kept doodling on the margins so she wasn’t really
concentrating. But I knew that once we got our worksheets back, Nic would have
a perfect score and I would come in second as always. I’m not bitter, though,
because I also knew that she would need my help on the English homework later.
If she didn’t finish her math worksheet any time soon, we wouldn’t have any
time to play at all.
But curiosity
got me anyway. “Can I?” I asked her again, my pencil hovering over the
comprehension questions.
“I don’t know.
How would that work?”
I shrugged,
satisfied with the fact that I was sure she was lying. “Beats me.”
I knew she
didn’t want to do homework so she kept on going. “Maybe if I dream about you,
you can meet him, too.”
“I don’t think
dreams work that way.”
“Let’s try
anyway.”
She lay on her
bed and tried to go to sleep. I watched her from her chair. Eventually, we both
fell asleep. I found myself on a pirate ship’s mast. It was storming and I
struggled to keep my balance as the boat rocked back and forth. “Okay, just a
dream. You’re dreaming, Carson,” I told myself, grabbing my feathered pirate
hat as the wind threatened to blow it away.
“Cars!” I heard
Nic’s voice from afar. I looked up and saw the shoreline of a small island not
very far from where I was sailing. She waved at me.
“Oh look, I’m
dreaming about Nic,” I murmured. Then I realized that she was trying to say
something.
“Get your butt
over here!” she shouted.
That’s weird.
Dream-Nic is talking to me in my dream.
“Am I supposed
to drive this thing?” I yelled back.
“Yes!” she
nodded, jumping up and down.
That’s even
weirder. Dream-Nic is responding to me as if she were real. As if she could
read my thoughts, she yelled, “This is my dream, you dummy! Not yours!”
Well then.
I looked around
for some way to get down to the ship’s deck. “Can’t you control your dreams or
something?” I asked loudly. The rain drops pattered on my glasses.
“I’m trying to
bring you closer to shore!” she cupped her mouth and yelled through the rain.
“It’s not working!”
Great. I’m
stuck in a pirate ship in the middle of the ocean in my best friend’s crazy
dream and it’s storming. Just great. Giving up on looking for a rope or
something, I closed my eyes and jumped (I can’t get hurt while in a dream,
right?) and landed on the deck just fine. I spotted the steering wheel in the
front of the boat on the level right above the deck. I made my way toward the
bow, careful not to slip on the rainwater. Finally, I clambered up the steps
and gripped the steering wheel. It wouldn’t budge. I yanked and I pulled and I
pushed and still, it wouldn’t move. Giving up, I thought about how cool it
would be if the ship had wings. The sides of the ship suddenly jolted forward
and I caught sight of two new extensions on the sides of the ship. Wings. Dragon-like
wings. Then I knew what to do. I imagined soaring through the rain toward
shore. As easily as I thought of it, the ship glided smoothly toward Nic who
was standing in the sand, awestruck. As the ship touched down lightly next to
her, she started whooping and cheering.
“What did you
just do?!” she yelled loudly, excitement clear in her face.
“I don’t know,”
I said as I jumped over the side and landed on wet sand. “I just thought about
it and it happened!”
“That’s what I
do!” she smiled excitedly.
“That’s what
everyone does, Nic. Don’t get too excited.”
I turned and
saw someone dressed in all black. Although I found out later that he was
seventeen, he didn’t look it at first because he had an ancient feeling about
him. His hair was red like blood and his eyes reminded me of pure silver. He
started when he saw me but he caught himself and continued walking toward us,
his hands behind his back, as if nothing had happened. “So this is Carson?” he
asked before looking at Nic. Nic beamed and proudly announced, “He’s my best
friend.”
“My name is
Dark,” the young man said, his silver eyes met mine with great intensity.
“Pleased to meet you, Carson,” he continued. But he didn’t sound like he was.
----
P.P.P.P.S. Was I right?? That makes one time.
----
*NICOLE*
Even after years of trekking the rough path from our ubdivision to Mrs. Fields’ remote residence,
I don’t think I’ll ever refuse a hot shower immediately
after. I took a quick one first so I had a bit of extra time to think while I
was alone in the house’s third bedroom after I finished. I shifted around in my
sleeping bag as I listened to the water running across the hall. Carson has
been in there for almost an hour now. I tried to listen for Mrs. Fields’
breathing from next door, but I couldn’t hear anything. I had tiptoed to the
door earlier, meaning to say good night again, but she had already locked it
and the lights were off.
Do ghosts
sleep? Because that’s what she is, right? Mrs. Fields is dead, I know that.
She’s just here temporarily. So what does that make her? A ghost in a rented
human suit? A spirit in a temporary body? I shook my head. I felt myself
getting a headache. It doesn’t matter, anyway. What matters is that she’s here.
She’s here to guide us until we have to make our choices, she said. Which were
what? What does that mean?
I’ve never
particularly liked Dark, and his riddles made me hate him even more. Why can’t
he just say things the way they are? Why can’t people in general say what they
really feel, what they really mean?
“One will mean
certain death, two will save you, but three is what you really need. Three will
make everything possible,” he had told me. “Don’t tell Carson until the right
time comes. You’re smart so you can figure it all out in time. For Carson, he
will have to look a little bit harder. But he needs your help.”
We were sitting
on the edge of a high cliff, facing the horizon as the sun was setting. The sky
was a strange mix of purple and red, bloody and beautiful at the same time. Two
seagulls flew overhead, making noise as they headed toward the west and chasing
after flying pigs. I hadn’t wanted to interrupt Dark. I was too busy trying to
remember everything he was saying, clinging to every word. He kept his eyes on
the horizon, his palms digging into the soft caramel that was supposed to be
soil at his sides. I hugged my knees closer as I felt the first cold breezes of
dusk.
“As time goes
by, your head will harden and your sense of self-worth will increase.” He
looked at me this time. It was the only time I had ever seen him with his hair
down, red locks cascading down his back. “You are meant to do so many things,
but you can’t do half of them if you cannot see anything for yourself. Open
your eyes, Nicole. Then help Carson see the same thing. He won’t unless you do.
Or else, it’ll be the death of you. Of both of you.”
I was eleven
then, two years after Mrs. Fields had died. That was also two years after Dark
made that “prediction” about our 17th birthdays. He had come back more
frequently along with the nightmares.
“Nightmares are
my haunts,” he had explained when I had first met him. He had been munching on
a red apple as he explained. “You have special dreams,” he had said. I found
that out for myself a couple of days after that when Carson had appeared in one
of them on a pirate ship. That was the first time Dark had ever met Carson.
As he chewed,
he waved the apple in his hand, hoping to achieve some kind of effect, no
doubt. “I exist wherever nightmares exist. I enjoy people’s nightmares.” He
took another bite of his apple. Like I said, I’ve never particularly liked
Dark.
----------------------------------
*CARS*
I let the warm
water run as I kept my head down and my eyes closed, letting the water beat the
back of my neck. I sighed inwardly. I’m so stupid. Why can’t I act nonchalantly
whenever anyone brought up the whole couple thing? Nic can always make these kinds
of situations not awkward, laughing it off like it’s nothing, like it’s all a
joke. Which it is, I told myself, gritting my teeth. It’s because she doesn’t
think of you like that.
I sighed again
but kept my eyes closed, tired of having to remind myself every single time.
But I gave myself the same speech anyway, over and over again, knowing that the
water would muffle my mumblings. “You’re at a good place right now, Cars. Don’t
ruin things. This is a good thing, a great thing, that you have here with Nic.
It’s a wonderful thing. It’s the best thing ever. Stop wishing for more.”
Satisfied with
myself, I finally shut off the water, straining to listen if Nic was still
awake. Silence. Quickly, I dried off and got dressed before turning off the
lights. The third bedroom was right across the hallway. As I closed the
bathroom door and turned to open the third bedroom’s door, my head, bent
downward with my eyes on the floor, hit something. A pair of dress shoes shone
in the dark and I backed away, looking up and searching for a face in front of
me. But the lack of light hid everything save for a mane of bright red hair.
“Dark?” I
whispered. I opened the bathroom door and quickly flipped the light switch on.
The hallway was suddenly illuminated with light but no one was there. Just
carpet, walls and the door. I swear Dark had been standing right in front of
it, blocking my way, just a couple of seconds ago.
“Dark?” I
whispered again. But how could he be here? I know I’m not dreaming. I know I’m
not in one of Nic’s dreams either.
Nothing
happened, so I turned to witch the lights off in the bathroom again, only to
have Dark standing right behind me, a goofy smile on his face. “Boo!” he
whispered and I jumped, hitting the wooden door of the closet inside the
bathroom with a loud bang.
“What the, DARK
YOU FUGG--!”
Nic must have
heard the loud bang because the next thing I know, she was at my shoulder, her
fall blanket around her shoulders and a tennis racket in her right hand. Dark
stood in the middle of the bathroom, arms folded, a triumphant smirk on his
soft face.
“You should
have seen your face,” he smiled.
“Dark?” Nic
asked as she lowered her tennis racket. I rolled my eyes and walked over to
Dark in the black suit that was crouched in the middle of the bathroom. I
thumped him on the back of the head, hard, and he immediately frowned, his hand
reaching for my neck but he thought twice about it and stopped, settling
instead to give me a deadly glare. I shook my head without a word before
storming off toward the bedroom door.
“I’m confused,”
I heard Nic say behind me.
“Allow me to
explain.” Dark followed us into the bedroom, closing the door behind him after
glancing cautiously at Mrs. Fields’ door. No sound came from her bedroom, just
silence.
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