Gryffindors!

Thank you, Google and J.K. Rowling!

Q: Would you consider yourself brave?

A: No. Absolutely not. I am no Gryffindor.

Q: Why not?

A: Because I'm a Hufflepuff, that's why.

Q: You're deflecting. Why don't you consider yourself brave?

A: Because there are so many things that scare me. Just last night, as I was laying in bed with my glasses off, I could see the shadows playing tag on my ceiling, and that fuzzy motion reflected in my mirror, making me think that there was something moving in my room. Other than the shadows. So I very nearly slept with my Christmas lights on, the ones that border my entire room, illuminating it in a warm and inviting glow...the ones that you could practically read under. It really would have been akin to turning my overhead light on and sleeping like that.

The other day Melbourne wanted to give blood for the first time, so she asked me if I would go with her for moral support. Though her exact words were, "I'm giving blood, will you hold my hand?" So I did. I sat in the waiting area listening to a mutual friend talk about how giving blood really wasn't all that bad and you just have to make sure you don't do anything strenuous afterwards because you could pass out, and I'm just sitting there innocently trying to read The Girl Who Played with Fire, and one of the ladies taking blood told me it was good, so I was extra interested (and I just wrote a run-on sentence without sense, and that's okay!). Once it was time for Melbourne to get all her stuff checked out to confirm that she could indeed donate blood, I got to read my book in peace. Of course, the beginning of The Girl Who Played with Fire was a little creepy, so I was on edge. Melbourne took her place on the big stretcher-like chair, and I took a seat right next to her. She prompted me to tell her a story so I told her about that time in first grade when I wanted to bring home a story I wrote to show my dad, but because it was in my in-class journal, I wasn't allowed. And about that other time when I spelled "Thanksgiving" "T-H-Q" during a Spelling Bee. I'm babbling on while she's the one being brave and getting a needle stuck in her arm so she can feed the vampires. So in comparison, I'm not brave in the least. But then she fainted. I never really thought that when they describe in books that the "color drained from her face" that there was any real life basis to that, but that day I witnessed it. Melbourne went ashen, and her lips were white, I kid you not. And what did I do? Well, Melbourne had just said that she was feeling dizzy and couldn't see straight, so I relayed that message to the blood-taker lady. In my normal voice. No urgency, because I was hoping that everything was fine. But when Melbourne went backwards from Oz to Kansas, I was completely paralyzed, still holding her hand. So I was terrified. Everything was fine, the blood-taker lady helped Melbourne regain consciousness, and it turns out that they didn't have enough blood to use, but she would be fine. And through this entire rescue procedure, I'm sitting on that rickety old chair, probably just as white as Melbourne was and just as shaky.

The Oxford English Dictionary tells me that "brave" is defined as "Of persons and their attributes: Courageous, daring, intrepid, stout-hearted (as a good quality)." With that situation, there were a number of things that I could have done that would have been a good deal more "stout-hearted" or "daring." For instance: I could have stood up and pointed at the blood-taker lady and shouted, "She's feeling dizzy and needs your help NOW!" But maybe that would have caused a scene. Or I could have leapt (don't you tell me that word is spelled wrong, Chrome, it's a word and I spelled it right!) into action and yanked the needle out of Melbourne's arm and whisked her off to the snack area.

Or I could have done nothing at all. Or I could have run away, making Brave Sir Robin of Monty Python and the Holy Grail proud. And that wouldn't even have had the semblance of bravery.

I'm not brave because I avoid things that frighten me instead of facing them. I'm not brave because I fear too much, or losing too much. I'm not brave because I don't fight, I run. (And that's why I'm a Hufflepuff. The end!)

"A true knight is fuller of bravery in the midst, than in the beginning of danger."

- Sir Philip Sidney

Poetry Friday -- Hate Poem

Despite Blogger's updates and hiatus yesterday, I decided to go on with Poetry Friday during which I will read a poem and reflect on it, write about it, or come up with ideas related to it for my writing. Simple as that!

Today I read "Hate Poem" by Julie Sheehan from a book titled Seriously Funny. It's an anthology from one of my classes last semester. When I first read it, I fell in love.

The beginning rhymes are really great as an introduction to the poem because it gets the reader used to the rhythm of the poem right away. But my favorite part about this poem is the concrete imagery. Well, semi-concrete. "The history of this keychain hates you" is just so completely brilliant, I want to write a line like that one of these days. With the history being abstract, but a history of a keychain evoking a thoughts of being attached to random house keys, backpack zipper pulls and all sorts of things. I also enjoy the line "A closed window is both a closed window and an obvious symbol of how I hate you." I love the meta-fictive strategy of bringing attention to the symbol being a symbol. And ending on an image is always classy.

Because this poem is about hate, a hopeless hate that might not actually be hate as shown by the "idealists in a broken submarine," write about love. Sure, it has the potential of being trite, but let's see:

I love you. I love you with all the running in fields of daisies, rose petals on the bedroom floor movie cliches that I can name. The callous on my right hand, middle finger, loves you. The backstory of this library DVD loves you. My voice, singsongy and teasing, loves you. With every autotuned note of contemporary music, I sing your virtues, from that cluster of freckles across your cheeks to the way your feet turn out at the toes when you walk. When the sprinklers are out in summer and I run barefoot through the soaked green carpet of grass, I love you. The empty fishbowl with the plastic flora loves you. This cup of pens, sixteen, loves you. This backpack zipper, teeth pulling apart, loves you. My hair in the morning: love. The way my voice cracks when I speak to you: love. That time when I sat a little too close to you and worried about if I should move over because maybe you might notice and be weirded out: love. I love you more than six year olds can spell and more than accountants can add. My heart beats with the tradition of making lemonade out of life's lemons. It sits as an empty glass next to the pitcher on a little girl's lemonade stand.

No, really. Why blog?

Blogging every day, there has to be a reason for that.

There is.

As a writer, I’m supposed to write (shocker, right?). Sometimes I do. A lot of times, I just avoid writing like I avoid small children. Either because I don’t have the time to sit down and balance pen on paper or I do have the time, and I find something else to do. Usually Facebook, refreshing the page until that little red flag goes up on my notification globe, alerting me to a “like” on my status or a comment on one of my posts. I live a thrilling life, really I do.

But why do I avoid writing if I’m a writer? That gets us to the juicy bit. It’s because I’m afraid. Simple as that. Afraid I’ll mess up, afraid the story’ll get away from me, afraid the characters’ll take over or just fall flat, afraid I won’t write the right words or punctuate correctly, you name it, I’m probably afraid of it. As I’ve come to realize, I’m a bit of a control freak with regards to my writing. I tend to latch onto an idea and plot it out, mapping out every little incident and then throwing my characters onto that map and expecting them to follow the path I made from them or else. And sometimes my characters don’t like that, leading to my story sounding wrong and the reaction of “It was a good idea, but…”. In an attempt to loosen up a little bit on my characters, plots, and general concepts this semester, I sat down at my computer the night before my story was due and typed. I didn’t let myself think and I didn’t stop to check if what I was writing was okay. I just wrote. And that was the story that my professor liked the most, running his hand over his long white hair and laughing in that crinkled-up smile sort of way and saying, “That’s the real Brianna!” Control freak Brianna responded by pounding her head on the nearest hard surface while the real Brianna did a happy dance amidst sparkly confetti. In an attempt to get back to that real Brianna without a drug-induced stupor, I’m going to write every day. No editing, not too much thought, just writing.

And then there’s writer’s block. I’m inclined to believe the advice that “writer’s block is merely a refusal to write.” With that said, I’m usually met by one of two reactions: 1) sullen acceptance and reluctant writing or 2) anger at myself because I’m not writing. Which can be very confusing. Today I have decided that I’m not going to let myself refuse to write, and I’m not going to let myself be plagued by writer’s block, a malady that I so often complain of. This is my attempt at being positive about my writing. So more often than not, I might be writing about writer’s block. Or writing, because sometimes that helps.

My plan. As of right now, I plan to have two themed days. Mondays and Fridays. On Mondays, I’ll write about wishes. Things that I wish happened, things I wish I had, places I wish I could be, etc. Hypothetical situations that I can explore, hopefully whimsical and fun. Fridays will be Poetry Fridays during which I will read a poem (not by me) via video and upload it to this blog. Because I flatter myself that someone might want to listen to me read poetry. The accompanying blog post will either be about that poem, ideas that spring from it, or something related to poetry. On the remaining days of the week (as of right now), I will be focusing on questions that prompt thought, reflection or just general musings.

You may have noticed that I actually started this blog a while ago. For now we’re going to ignore that, and pretend that for the purposes of this exercise that I’m starting anew in an attempt to actually maintain this blog with some structure and frequency.

“Happiness is like those palaces in fairy tales whose gates are guarded by dragons: we must fight in order to conquer it.”
- Alexandre Dumas Père

[something clever HERE]

Hello, my name is Brianna. I'm a 20 year old college student studying English Writing at a small liberal arts university, specializing in fiction and poetry, even though I hated poetry up until about a year ago. I have a little brother, who's actually taller than me, a mother and a father, as well as a dog that usually looks weird but we love her anyway. I enjoy using subject-verb construction of sentences only because that's all I can think of doing right now. If asked what music I listen to, I probably wouldn't be able to answer coherently because I am drawn to the radio. Okay, there's that. I listen to the radio.

What do you write, Brianna?
Well, Questioner, I write lots of things, but I specialize in story fragments, random poem bits, and character descriptions. The only writing that I have ever finished has been for school assignments, which might sound mildly pathetic, but hey. My favorite method of writing is in a notebook with a black Bic pen, sprawled out on the floor.

Well, why are you blogging, Brianna?
I'm blogging because there was a choice between starting a journal and writing every day or maintaining a blog and writing every day. I flatter myself that people might actually find something that I've written amusing, so here I am writing on a blog that anyone can see. Also because of a request that I write on a blog because it would be easier for James K. and Melbourne to read. Then there's also the argument that I would be saving paper by writing in a blog rather than in a journal, but that's the argument for e-readers, and don't get me started on those.

What is the answer to life, the universe and everything?
42.

Who do you find most attractive of celebrities who are present today?
Thank you for your question, Questioner. I must say that I am drawn to British men. David Tennant is my first answer, mostly because he's delicious as The Doctor, and I would love to watch the rest of "Hamlet" on youtube (but I keep forgetting about because procrastination points me in other directions). I also find Robert Downey Jr. very attractive, and must add the rest of his movies to my "must see" list.

Can I ask you a question? Can I ask you a question now? Least favorite holiday?
And many thanks for your question, Questioner. My least favorite holiday might be Labor Day. Because I have no idea what it's for, and I'm not sure why you shouldn't wear white after it (okay, that's a minor untruth, but who said I was a reliable narrator?).

Well. I give you my blog. Orange as it is, and fairly bland, here we are. Insert something clever HERE.

"It's not the urge to jump. It's deeper than that...it's the urge to fall."
- The Doctor

Absurdity

http://www.chicagoclout.com/weblog/archives/2010/08/mayor_daley_uses_child_labor_t.html

This is not only a horribly written blog post, it is also purely subjective without any concentration on fact. Thank you, Patrick McDonough, for proving that even the least educated people in the world know how to work a computer. It's true. Even a caveman can do it.