Free Books!

Parts of this are true.  Can you spot the fictional parts?

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Just the other day I got a text message from a stranger: free books at my house.  As I was typing out my response, it occurred to me that clearly this person knew me...because this was the most perfect way to kidnap me.  But when I sent my response, it was: where do you live?

I hopped into the rickety gray mini van that my brother and I share, and I cruised around the block as I waited for an address.  It wasn't long before I got a response that sent me a couple blocks south of my home, and around the block to a garage sale.  It was the garage on the corner, and I figured I would just drive past and look to see if the books were any good because I didn't need to get out of the car and talk to the creeper who texted me.

When I drove past in the wheezing gray mini van, I took a good look at the garage, and at the people who were running the joint.

The garage was full of books.  I kid you not, I'm fairly certain that every inch of the shelving in that garage was covered in books.  And the people who were running the garage sale were this cute old couple, neither of whom were bent over a cell phone and texting like mad.  In fact, from that distance I could tell that this couple's thumbs were probably not quite nimble enough to text with the speed required to have gotten me here so soon.  I figured I was safe, so I parked the mini van around the corner and strolled up to the garage sale.

"Hi," I said, smiling timidly.  "I heard there were free books here?"

The man looked a little grumpy about this announcement, but the lady was cheerful as she smiled at me and gestured at the shelves stuffed with books.

"Of course, take as many as you'd like!" she said, the very picture of a grandmother presenting her grandchildren with a bowl full of fresh Halloween candy.

"Take 'em all," the man growled, crossing his arms over his chest like a toddler in time out.

"Just ignore him, he doesn't understand the romance of a good book," the lady said, waving her hand at her husband.  I nodded sagely and plunged into the garage in search of a good book.  Or five.

Now keep in mind that I had just gotten home from the library where I picked up three books that were on my list and one book because the title Alien Tango intrigued me in an absurd sort of way.  So I had plenty to read.  There was no reason for me to pick up a new couple of books.  But I kept finding books.  I had my arms full of books within fifteen minutes because I decided that my best tactic was to be picky.  I could probably have fit a garage full of books in the mini van, but the problem would be when I got all those books home.

Smirking that I hadn't fallen for the free books trap just to get kidnapped, I thanked the couple profusely and made my way back to the car where I examined my finds.  I was halfway through my stack when I found a book that I don't remember picking up.

"That's weird..." I mumbled, slumping in the backseat of the mini van and paging through the unrecognized book.  As I flipped through the pages, it felt like the pages were starting to stick to my fingers with a velcro kind of urgency.  By the time I got to the end of the book, I felt my fingers sticking to the pages, the very tips of my fingers disappearing into the paper.  "What the hell..."

And with a gigantic slurp, the book swallowed me whole.  It was in that moment that I realized that I had been kidnapped after all.

"Be awesome!  Be a book nut!"

- Dr. Seuss

A Letter to Tan Lines

Dear Tan Lines,

You know me.  We're pretty close.  I mean, you're attached to me, and I'm a little attached to you by virtue of your being branded into my skin.  But in case you're not familiar with my name, I'm Brianna.  Hey, how you doing?

Back in Florida, I noticed you existed because when I wore tank tops, you were there marking our the sleeves that I wore for my costume.  That costume was adorable, but the sleeves were just too darn long due to the unisex nature of those yellow and white striped button downs that we weren't allowed to roll up.  And then there were the tan lines that reminded me I had to wear socks that covered my ankles, leaving the knobs of my ankles down to my toes a pale Elmer's glue white.  Luckily you didn't mark out my skort because my thighs are always pale anyway.

Well.  I noticed you yesterday.  I thought you'd faded away completely and that I was back to my usual pale and fairly even self, but when I donned that tank top and went out into the sun yesterday, there you were.  Yes, you had faded during the winter months when I covered you up in sweater sleeves and long pants, but you're still there.  I could tell you were still there when I bared my shoulders to the sunlight yesterday afternoon.

And don't get me wrong, I'm really glad that I got tan rather than burned in Florida, but I'd really like the evidence of my shirtsleeves to go away.

So basically, I love you...but please leave.

Love,
Brianna

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Brianna Life Update:

The job search continues.

My internship has me doing a lot of things, and I'm still really excited about it.  A bunch of stuff that I wrote for the site has even been posted, and you can read all that here: www.heresthestory.org.

I'm still doing my Poem-A-Day Project, but for some reason I keep leapfrogging.  I keep forgetting to write a poem every other day, leading me to write two poems in a day...multiple days "in a row."  I don't know what's up with this, but it's something that I'm going to have to figure out before next month, because it just can't go on like this.

I'm still working on revising poems that I'm sending out to people as part of an artistic pay it forward type deal from Facebook.  I actually wanted to commit to doing that, because I know lots of people post those statuses, collect things from people, and then never actually send out art.  So...I'm doing that, but I'm having difficulty picking poems for people and making sure that they're pretty.  The only reason I'm posting this on my blog is because I'm fairly certain that the people I'm talking about have either forgotten that I owe them a poem or they don't read this blog.  So...I win.

I'm reading too many books at once.  Right now I have bookmarks in Act of Will and Wonder Boys, and on the almost immediate line up after those are The Handmaid's Tale and Beautiful Creatures, both of which I've borrowed from friends.  Though one of them I'm going to hold hostage, so go ahead and try to stop me!

I haven't been on any adventures recently, but I did buy new jeans (whoohoo!) the other day, and they look awesome.  Mostly because I'm wearing them, and I always look awesome, but also because they're super comfy.

And that's about it.  Happy Thursday!

"I think you are wrong to want a heart.  It makes most people unhappy.  If you only knew it, you are in luck not to have a heart."

- L. Frank Baum

What Do You Do?

I thought I had an idea for a post.  Actually, I'm fairly certain that I did have an idea, I just chose to dispense with that idea for now because I stumbled upon my friend, Susan's, blog and I was intrigued by her post today as part of Blog Every Day in May even though I'm not sure that I'll be taking that particular challenge.  I've already got one challenge with my Poem-A-Day Project, and then the whole "figure out your life, Brianna" challenge.

So, Brianna, if you couldn't answer with your job, what do you do?

I write.  Lots of things.  Most consistently, I write blog posts and daily poems.  I write scribbles in a notebook that I keep in my bag at all times.  Every now and again I write a character sketch or an idea for a scene.  Over the summers for the past five summers, I wrote stage adaptations of Grimm fairy tales.  In high school, I wrote one act plays.  My last semester of college, I wrote short stories.  I've written lyric essays, but I'm still not absolutely certain what that means.  I also write letters because when I get writer's block, it's a really great and constructive way to get my thoughts onto paper without forcing myself to write something pretty.  Plus then someone definitely gets to read it!

I read.  As a result of my reading, I also leave books lying around the house everywhere.  I read multiple books at the same time because I suspect I have an attention problem.  According to my Goodreads account, I'm reading a bunch of books that I had to return to the library a long time ago, and if I wanted to actually read them, I would probably have to restart them anyway.  So honestly, I'm currently reading The Friday Society, and I'm carrying around Wonder Boys in my bag with a bookmark shoved between the first couple pages.  I also read poetry, though I haven't been reading quite as much as I want to, apparently I'm getting distracted by novels.  Oh, and comics.  Because that's a thing now.

I watch movies.  Mostly because I adore movies.  The last movies that I fell in love with were probably Perks of Being a Wallflower and Ruby Sparks.  There was a time when I was working through all the Alfred Hitchcock movies that I could find at my local library, then there was the phase I had when I watched a handful of Marilyn Monroe movies, and then there was my F-in 80s movie marathon weekend which featured Fame, Footloose, and Flashdance.  Everybody loves a good theme, right?  I aspire to watch AFI's 100 Years 100 Movies, although I'm kinda leery about a couple of the movies on that list.  Let's face it, I just want to see all the movies.

I intern.  I know this is kinda like answering with my job, but there it is.  Too bad.  Plus now I can repeat things that I've probably already talked about.  I numbered my internships based on the order I got them.  So Internship #1 is at Here's the Story, I'm the Communications Assistant, which means that I do social media marketing, write things, and generally take on assignments from my blue-haired boss.  Internship #2 is at Chicago Kids Company, and I help out the box office manager by taking phone calls and making reservations for teachers who want to bring their classes to our shows for a field trip.

I knit.  There was a time when I got home from Florida when I went into a knitting frenzy.  I knit a Hufflepuff scarf and a failed Hufflepuff hat for my friend, Claire, I made myself arm warmers, I think I knit something else too, but it was insane.  I have a pattern for curled toe elf slippers that I really want to make, but I'm terrified of messing them up because they're not square and flat...those being the requirements for all the other things that I've knitted successfully.

What else?

I'm pretty sure that's it.  I also do other things like clean my room, occasionally, wash dishes or do laundry for the family when I notice that it could probably use doing.  I go to free events when I remember that they exist.  I go out for drinks or pie with friends, so I eat a lot of pie and drink more alcohol than is probably healthy for someone who spends time with one person at a time and doesn't go to bars very often.  I also spend an unhealthy amount of time texting and checking Facebook.   I also watch television shows via Hulu or my friend's itunes because there's no conceivable way that I could possibly remember to watch a weekly show without setting a phone alarm.  Because that's another thing I do: I forget things.  I also procrastinate.  And I guess I job hunt right now.

So...those are thing things I do.  What about you?

"We all want progress, but if you're on the wrong road, progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road; in that case, the man who turns back soonest is the most progressive."

- C.S. Lewis

A Very Potter Reflection

Yesterday I settled in front of my laptop with a mug of tea and donned a set of headphones to watch Team Starkid's A Very Potter Senior Year, the very last in the Harry Potter parody trilogy.  And I realized, it's the end of an era.

It's been a long time.  The Harry Potter craze.  But it felt like AVPSY was a salute to the end.  We're told that it's okay to let things go and move on.  And "okay" is definitely good enough.

Move on, eh?

Reflecting back on Harry Potter instead of moving on for the purposes of this post, I remember in maybe 4th grade, my elementary school librarian held up the book and gave us a concise summary while I thought to myself, "That looks weird..."  This coming from the only girl in her class who wore tights after the age of six.  It wasn't until one of my friends talked it up and lent me the first two books that I really got into it.  I remember reading Chamber of Secrets at night and shivering at the voice in the walls, and I remember asking for my own copies of the first three books for Christmas.  I didn't read the third one until I had my own copy.  I remember being at a birthday party when the fourth book came out and my dad and grandpa going at midnight to get me my copy.  Books 5 through 7 were delivered straight to my house through Amazon.  I never went to a release party, and looking back on it, I regret that.

But I think a big part of why I wanted to write when I was younger was because I was reading good books. I used to write about witches and magic all the time, and reading Harry Potter was fuel for that, I think.  At that time I wanted to write a book.  A novel.  Right now, I'm not so sure, the only thing I'm sure about is that I want to keep writing.

It's probably been said a ton, but I think the magic of Harry Potter is the effect it has on its readers.  That a series of young adult books could inspire a group of college kids to write a series of parody musicals, that a movement of poets and musicians are out there creating wizard rock, and that the Harry Potter Alliance is making love, not horcruxes.  It's amazing to me that I can look at all that a boy wizard and his friends have done for us and realize that Harry's part of the reason we knew "okay" was good enough.  So even though we're growing up and some of us are graduating college or adventuring off into the real world, we still carry Hogwarts with us.

I'm not really sure what I'm going to read next, and I'm not really sure that it'll have the same impact on me that Harry Potter did, but I'm kinda hoping that it does.  I'd hate to go through the rest of my life reading things that are any less than magical.

"I do not read for I have renounced life, I read because one life is just not enough for me."

- Abbas Al-Akkad

Living in the Library

Source: writingprompts.tumblr.com via Katie on Pinterest

There are definitely perks to living in each of these places.

Library  --  You get to read to your heart's content.  You can travel wherever and whenever you want through the power of the written word.  You can use the strips of paper and the golf pencils to write your own novel or leave notes in the stacks.  Sleeping in the children's section on a bean bag or curling up in the reference section because it's always quiet.  If you live in a neighborhood library, then there would be movies and music to entertain you as well, you would just have to find some place to play them.

Museum  --  There will always be a food court or some sort of snack-y place here, unlike the library.  You can sleep in the exhibits and explore and learn to your heart's content.  You can play with the ancient toys or musical instruments and you can compare yourself to the height of mummies because I swear they're smaller than contemporary humans.  You can leave notes and play around with the security guards.  Living in a museum reminds me of From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler.  If I were to live in a Chicago museum, I'm not sure which one I would pick, though I feel like it would probably be the Field Museum.

Zoo  --  Living at the zoo might be the most terrifying prospect if only because predators could eat you if you went exploring in the exhibits.  Then again, there would be an endless supply of food and you would be able to cuddle with the cuddly animals.  You could climb around with the monkeys and go swimming with the penguins (or the fishes), and then of course you could pet every single animal that looks so soft, but you're always separated by glass.

I would love to live in a library.  As it is, I spend a lot of time at my local library and the libraries of the surrounding suburbs because sometimes the suburban libraries just have a better selection.  Sorry, Chicago Public.  I could easily live in a library because I'm curious about so much, and I would love to read about everything.  I really want to learn more about just about everything with the exception of lots of the sciences because I'm bad at learning about them in the first place.  I know that living in a library probably wouldn't be the most social life because well, you have to be quiet in the library, but I can always invite friends over after hours and we could bask in the silence.  I can just imagine how cozy a library is in all its quiet.

"A library is a good place to go when you feel unhappy, for there, in a book, you may find encouragement and comfort.  A library is a good place to go when you feel bewildered or undecided, for there, in a book, you may have your question answered.  Books are good company, in sad times and happy times, for books are people - people who have managed to stay alive by hiding between the covers of a book."

- E.B. White

Turn the Page

Q:  Grab the book nearest to you and turn to page 18.  Find line 4.

A:  We have a winner!  It's The Oxford American Desk Dictionary and Thesaurus!  (This is what I get for writing this post in here instead of in my room!)

Page 18 and we're still in A.  And the 4th word on page 18?

"Ah - expressing surprise, pleasure, realization, etc."  Closely followed by "Aha."  There you have it, folks, the dictionary!

(pause for applause)

Q:  Hey, so, uh...remember how you said you were going to write a blog post every day of Lent?

A:  Yup.

Q:  So what's this supposed to be?

A:  A blog post.

Q:  Pretty sorry excuse for a blog post if you ask me.

A:  Oh yeah?  Well, imaginary questioning figment of my imagination, no one really did ask you in the first place, did they?  So I'm just going to call this blog post lame and done and carry on with my day.  Maybe I'll deign to post one of my poems from February up here.  Maybe.  One never knows what wonders they may discover here, and though I regret that this post is also a pointless post like yesterday's...it's just something I'm going to have to live with considering the time constraint I am currently under.  Well, what do you have to say to that?

Q:  ...

A:  That's what I thought.

"The struggle of literature is in fact a struggle to escape from the confines of language; it stretches out from the utmost limits of what can be said; what stirs literature is the call and attraction of what is not in the dictionary."

- Italo Calvino

The Teen Section

(BRIANNA enters her local library in search of a book that she's been trying to get her hands on for the past two weeks so she can participate in another library's book discussion.  All bundled up in her green army jacket, Doctor Who inspired scarf, gloves, and a purple knit cap, BRIANNA quickly locates the book she's looking for and tucks it under her arm for safe-keeping while she browses another section of the library.

When this scene begins we find BRIANNA standing in front of a short set of shelves with books in them.  Over the shelves is a banner that reads "TEEN SECTION.")

(BRIANNA is considering the books in front of her, thinking that she's getting one book already and she has another half a dozen at home, so what would be the point in getting more.  She's just replaced a book on the shelf when LIBRARIAN approaches her.)

LIBRARIAN:  Can I help you find something or are you just browsing?

BRIANNA:  (startled by the sudden appearance of LIBRARIAN)  Oh!  No thank you, I'm just browsing.

LIBRARIAN:  Okay, because you do know this is the teen section...

(BRIANNA is confused and opens her mouth to say something just as LIBRARIAN continues speaking.)

LIBRARIAN:  Oh, you must have a teen at home.

BRIANNA:  I--I'm only just recently "not a teen"...

LIBRARIAN:  Oh, you just like--you like reading...well, keep reading!  (she smiles cheerfully and turns away)

(BRIANNA, completely astounded by the interaction leaves the library at a brisk walk.)

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Yes.  I am 22 and I still read books that are shelved in the "teen section."  If someone out there in the world can give me a legitimate reason as to why this is a bad thing, then maybe I will consider stopping, but taking into account that the book I was holding I had retrieved from the adult fiction section, and also that I was not planning on getting another teen book this time around, I'm thinking that there should be some more slack cut here.  And it should also be noted that if I did indeed have a "teen at home," I'm pretty sure that they could pick out their own books so "Mommy" could go find books of her own in the middle of the day on a weekday.

Does age level matter when it comes to reading when truly good and meaningful books should be able to translate to multiple levels of readers and ages?  Should librarians monitor the people checking out books that are considered "teen books"?  If so, where does the monitoring stop, will parents be able to check out picture books for their younger children?  Why can't everyone just read what they want to read?!

"The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid."

- Jane Austen

Potter Noir

This morning, I dipped into my prompt box.  Once upon a very long time ago, I made myself a prompt box.  I think I needed time to forget what I had written on all the little strips of orange paper, because when I first attempted to use it, it didn't go so well because it seemed that I was looking for specific prompts.  I vetoed using "My saddest memory is..." for today though.  Mostly because I'm trying this new thing that involves my trying to be positive.  It's hard though, and I'm not even sure if I'm doing it right.

So today's prompt: Take a passage from a book, a favorite or a least favorite, and rewrite the passage in a different style such as noir, gothic romance, pulp fiction, or horror story.

I was so close to using Pride and Prejudice, but I think I've been watching too much of The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, and I don't want to be influenced by that.  So Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban it is!  We're going to give this a try with the scene where Snape catches Harry out of bed with the Marauder's Map and the Map commences to insult Snape.

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Professor Snape was a cold, hard-boiled man, his dark eyes flicking between shadows.  He knew Potter would turn up sooner or later, so he was just biding his time.  Leaning up against one of the cold stone walls, Snape tossed a silver Sickle into the air, catching the flipping coin as it descended.  He did all of this without looking because he had been practicing this routine in his bedroom since adolescence.

Sure enough, Potter slipped into the middle of the hallway, bold as brass.  With a lip curling sneer, Snape intercepted the teenaged Boy Who Lived.

"Caught red-handed.  Did you really think you would get away with it, Potter?" Snape asked.  His voice was barely a whisper, but since the portraits slumbered in their frames, Potter was certain to hear.

Potter shifted into a defiant posture, his spine loosening and his arms crossing over his chest.  He knew he was caught and there was no getting away from Snape this time.

"Gotta hand it to you, Potter, you really did give me the slip at the last Quidditch game, but the Dementors made sure you didn't get very far."

"What's it to you where I go?  You're not my mother," Potter sneered, clutching at the worn piece of parchment Snape had neglected to notice so far.  Or so it seemed.  But at the mention of Potter's mother, Snape's eyes glazed over momentarily.  Lily.  Snape shook himself out of the incoming flash of memory and grabbed onto Potter's arm.

"And what might that be?" he asked.

"Nothing.  Bit of parchment Ron got me from Hogsmeade," Potter said, nervously shifting in Snape's ironclad grip.

"Oh, and you're just so attached to it you carry it around when you're wandering the halls after hours?  I don't think so."

Snape flipped around and dragged Potter off to the dungeon.  His office.  The hallways were dark, in shades of gray and black, because that's how Snape saw the world.  Everything was in shades of gray.  Forty-nine.  Forty-nine shades of gray.  Once they reached Snape's office, he shoved Potter into a very uncomfortable chair on one side of his desk, tearing the scrap of parchment out of the boy's hands.

"Show yourself," Snape commanded the parchment, poking at it with his weapon.  Snape's weapon of choice was a wooden model, a stick of a wand as dark as his eyes.  The parchment lay on the desktop, doing nothing spectacular.  "That's an order, bub."  Nothing.  "Severus Snape, the law of this joint demands you give up your secrets."

The parchment remained motionless on the desktop, but words began to appear on its surface as if a typewriter were clicking out each letter.

Mr. Moony addresses his compliments to Severus Snape and expresses his complete bafflement that a goon like that could swindle Albus Dumbledore.

Mr. Padfoot concurs with Mr. Moony and would like to add that Snivellus Snape is an insufferable dog.

Mr. Prongs comments that Snape is a lowdown good-for-nothing greasepot that can't get a girlfriend.

Mr. Wormtail bids Mr. Snape good night and advises that he wash his hair, the slimeball.

Snape looked up at Harry Potter with murder in his eyes.

"As though an invisible hand were writing upon it, words appeared on the smooth surface of the map."

- J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Poetry Friday: Tooth Brush to the Bicycle Tire

In the spirit of the Valentine's Day season, I thought I would write about a love poem.  And I looked through the other poems that I looked at for Poetry Friday and realized, "Hey, I've done a lot of love poetry.  Is this a coincidence...?"  Probably not.  And then when I typed that sentence out and figured I should double check that I've indeed done "a lot" of love poetry, I realized that it was really just the last two poems that I wrote about that were love poems.  Now I feel dumb for making that wild generalization about myself.  I should be offended, but it would really suck if I got angry at myself at this point.

So here we have a poem by Sarah Kay, "Tooth Brush to the Bicycle Tire."

First off, it must be said that I think Sarah Kay and this poem are adorable.  I love watching videos of her performing because she never uses superfluous hand motions, and when she does use hand motions it looks like she's dancing.  Basically I think she's super graceful and I love her voice.  Not really something I can comment about with regards to the actual poem...but yeah.

Okay, I love this concept.  The idea of having inanimate objects speaking to each other is a beautiful one because we're surrounded by so much stuff, why not use it in our art?  It reminds me of Pablo Neruda's Odes to Common Things which I still haven't read all the way through, but "Ode to My Socks" sticks out.  I feel like we definitely don't appreciate the objects that we use daily, so giving them a voice or thanking them is something that I can appreciate.

"They said that you would tread all over me...that you were full of hot air...that it would be a vicious cycle..." Alright, so there are some puns here.  I love the puns.  So much love for the puns.  This sounds like typical advice that someone would get when it comes to loving someone from a "different world," and I think when this is contrasted with the language the tooth brush actually uses to express its love, it makes the declaration more meaningful.  We've got the "they" telling the toothbrush all these things, things that sound like they would be cliche but because it's about a bicycle tire...they're accidentally punning.  And the tooth brush seems to see the ridiculousness of it, and just nods, smiles, and goes on its merry way loving the bicycle tire.

There's a lot to be said about love poetry, and it can very easily slip into the realm of the cliche because there's just so much of it.  But I think that this poem with the tooth brush seeing "rough edges" and fitting "into any place you'll let me" is both sweet and true of loving someone.  Because everyone knows love is about seeing the whole picture and loving the flaws.

Love this poem, love the performance, love, love, love.

But I was really close to doing today's poem on Taylor Mali's How Falling in Love Is Like Owning a Dog.

PROMPTS:
1.  Make this concept your own.  Write your own love letter from one inanimate object to another.  How does the Toaster feel about the Lawn Mower?  And what about the Exercise Ball to the Dining Room Chair?  Is there a secret love triangle between the Whisk, the Waffle Iron, and the Lamp Shade?  Hm...
2.  So what's the bicycle tire's take on all this?  Does it return the tooth brush's love or is it stuck in a pair?
3.  Bring on the puns on cliched love advice.  It's gotta be there somewhere.
4.  What "places" do we fit in for the ones we love?
5.  What is it that "they" always say?  Do we take their advice?

"If loving you means getting dirty,

bring on the grime!"

- Sarah Kay, 'Tooth Brush to the Bicycle Tire'

Advice from Authors

When I was younger, I used to write letters to authors of the books that I read, asking for advice for beginning writers.  Sometimes I got responses back.  These are some of the responses I got:

Jane Yolen (author of Sword of the Rightful King) says, "I have three pieces of advice for young writers.  One: read, read, read!  You must read every day, and try to read a wide range of books.  Two: write, write, write!  Keep a journal, write letters, anything to keep the "writing muscles" in shape.  Three: don't let anyone stop you from writing.  Be persistent no matter what "naysayers" or critical editors have to say about your writing."

Dyan Sheldon (author of Planet Janet) says, "Okay, I've got two pieces of advice for a writer just starting out: 1. Read everything you can; 2. Write.  Even if all you write is fragments (I used to write stories that were about a paragraph long--certainly no more than a page.  I did that for years, until they started getting longer and longer.  Finally they got so long that I thought I might try writing a novel), it doesn't matter.  I've known lots of people who said they wanted to write, but never wrote anything."

Ann Brashares (author of The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants) says, "As far as your writing, take your time.  When you feel ready you can try and fit some of those story fragments together to make a whole story.  Have someone, like a trusted teacher, take a look at it and help you with the editing.  Then if you feel like it, you can submit it for publication in a magazine or journal.  You'll probably find many resources at your library about places to submit the type of story that you have written."

Kirsten Miller (author of Kiki Strike: Inside the Shadow City) says, "Well the best piece of advice I can offer is...rely on your butt power.  Don't laugh!  The secret is sitting still long enough to have great thoughts--and get them down on paper."

Lynne Rae Perkins (author of Criss Cross) says, "I think story fragments are a really good place to start.  I think it takes a long time for stories to gestate--at least it does for me.  Just keep coming back to them.  Set them aside, then come back and look at them with fresh eyes.  Over and over.  Also, have fun with them, and don't forget to live your (real) life."

Garth Nix (author of Mister Monday) says, "My only real writing advice is to just keep going and force yourself to finish."

Michael Hoeye (author of Time Stops for No Mouse) says, "As for advice about your writing, the best counsel I can offer is patience.  Most stories are very elusive creatures.  They don't like to make themselves known right away.  So enjoy exploring your story fragments.  At some point one of those stories will demand more of your attention.  And when it does, then my advice is to pay very, very close attention indeed.  Follow it where it leads and don't let go.  In the meantime you might try to keep this in mind: to write well one must be able to work and to play at the same time.  That is no mean trick.  So while you're pursuing the work of learning the craft of writing, don't forget to play.  That includes all sorts of time-wasting activities like reading, daydreaming, and just plain old wasting time."

Michael O. Tunnell (author of Wishing Moon) says, "Sometimes a story isn't ready to be finished, as you say, until you've been through several drafts.  It's easy to be impatient with the process of writing, but one has to realize that first drafts are usually weak for most authors.  Everything improves as your rework the story over and over again.  This is the price you pay for something good eventually surfacing."

Holly Black (author of Valiant and Tithe) says, "The best advice I can give to a fellow writer is to make sure to write down all of your ideas as soon as they come to you--there's nothing worse than remembering that you had an idea but not being able to remember the idea itself."

L.A. Meyer (author of Bloody Jack) says, "All I can say is listen to your teachers--I was a high school teacher for seven years and sent two sons through public schools and never once met up with a bad English teacher--and write about what you know.  Keep a journal and put down the boring, everyday stuff as well as the exciting.  When you're reading a book you like, try to notice how the author gets from scene to scene, how he or she handles the dialogue, the descriptions, the speed and pace of the thing.  Above all, keep at it, but take it easy--you have a world of time before you...give yourself that time."

Cornelia Funke (author of The Thief Lord and Inkheart) says, "Read--and be curious.  And if somebody says to you "Things are this way.  You can't change it."--don't believe a word."

Eva Ibbotson (author of Island of the Aunts) says, "Just keep doing it--it's all about practice, getting better and sometimes even getting it right.  How you do it is individual to every writer in the world, but I wish you lots of luck."

Diana Wynne Jones (author of The Dark Lord of Derkholm) says, "Endings--yes, I know the feeling.  I always have trouble with endings too.  (But it is very important to know that you can finish a book you're writing.)  What our ending has to do is to collect everyone important together and explain exactly why the things in the rest of the book happened.  It helps if this is done in an exciting way, but it doesn't have to be wild.  And there are all sorts of ways to do this, from somebody getting there and explaining, the baddie threatening to plunge the main character in boiling oil--and telling him/her why he/she is doing this as our hero is lowered in (you need a rescue at this point of course)."

Gary Blackwood (author of Shakespeare Stealer) says, "I guess the best advice I can give you as a novice writer is spend lots of time planning your stories before you start writing.  Keep a notebook handy and jot down all your thoughts about the characters and what the story's about and where it's going and when you can't possibly bear to put it off any longer, then start writing.  I think you'll find that the story will go more smoothly and won't fizzle out somewhere in the middle.  Hope that helps."

It's really neat to look at the collection of letters that I've got because some of them are even handwritten notes on little cards.  I really appreciate the effort that these authors went to in writing back to me because I know how busy writers can be with their writing and re-writing and researching and the like.  Knowing that these authors made time to write back to me makes me want to do the same if I ever get letters or e-mails from people who admire my work.

Feeling Bookish?

Today I compiled a list of all the books in the house that are begging to be given away.  When I say they're "begging," I mean that they're piled up in separate little mounds of literature, attracting dust like magnets attract metal filings.  There are at least tree piles in the house.  There's the one in my room of all the books that I either forgot to sell back to school or had the mistaken impression that I would read them again when I wasn't being forced to.  There's the one in the front room of the family books, so that's a mix of books from my parents and a couple from my brother.  Finally, there's the tiny pile in the office which I had no idea about until about half an hour ago.

So I wrote up this list, organized it all pretty in alphabetical order (by author's last name), and posted the list on Facebook.

I have a point to this, I promise.

Giving away books to my friends who have been "dibs"-ing them got me to thinking about how I wanted to put together that cafe/book shop.  Honestly, that's why I took those business classes, because it would be good to have some basis for setting up a business.

I'm thinking that if I end up working in a book shop or running one, I'm going to put bookmarks in the books.  Just little things that I make.  I have a bunch of bookmarks that I made when I had extra paint-splattered-ness from my door decs last year, so I could use those.  Of course, there would be a method to the madness.  I would always put the bookmark on page 42.  Because of The Hitchhiker's Guide.  And because I like the number 42.  It might also be fun to put sheets of stickers or temporary tattoos between the pages.  I know when I get books from the library I always think it's neat if I can find things from people who had taken out the book before me.  So wouldn't it be fun if it could be something that sparked inspiration or made someone smile?  That's why I'm thinking tattoos or stickers.  Because it's a little silliness that would prompt a smile.

In my book shop, I would also cover a wall in Post-Its.  Maybe I could have book titles and reading recommendations on the Post-Its, and when a guest comes in, they have to take a Post-It off the wall.  They wouldn't necessarily have to go looking for the book, but if it ended up giving them a place to start, that would be really cool.

I would also have reviews for books or recommendations on the shelves.  Maybe I could even rig a treasure hunt of sorts to send guests on.  I'm not sure how that would work, but maybe it would send them from book to book, either based on title or knowledge of the book or location.  I would want to create some way for the guests to get involved with the books on the shelves, make them come alive somehow, even before you open their pages.

"The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid."

- Jane Austen

My Life as a Poet

So this morning I saw on my blog feed list thing that Poets United has a feature called "Life of a Poet."  Though this is an interview type feature, I decided that I should do something similar for my blog and talk about what I'd like my life to look like if I was just a poet.  Here goes some fictional imagining.

If I was a poet and nothing else, I would live in a city.  Probably Chicago because I don't think I could get myself to move to New York, just because it's a matter of principle that I should display disdain toward the "big apple."  I would live in a tiny apartment with one bedroom and a drippy ceiling in the kitchen.  My living room window would look out at a tree-lined one-way street.  I would have to sleep on a double bed because anything bigger wouldn't fit in my bedroom comfortably, and I would have an east facing window so the sun will slant over my face and wake me up when the heat gets uncomfortable over my eyelids.

In the morning I'll wake up and pull on whatever t-shirt and pants are within arm's reach.  I'll pull my hair up and off my face by twisting it up with a pen.  I'll wear my glasses, of course, and pull my beat up messenger bag that's already packed and walk out the door, taking to the sidewalk.  The walk will always be nice, even if it's raining because the people I'll pass will be friendly enough to smile and sometimes stop to chat, but not that weird middle ground where you just mumble "hi" and keep walking.  They'll all understand that when they ask "how are you?" I will answer honestly and sometimes at length.  And that I'll really care when I ask the same question back.

I'll go to my favorite little coffee shop where I'll eat a blueberry muffin and drink a mug of hot chocolate every morning, but sometimes I'll shake things up and drink chai or order a cinnomon roll or maybe a freshly baked croissant.  I'll sit at the same table every morning and all of the employees of the coffee shop will know who I am, even the owner will come over to say hello.  I'd have the same tattered notebook every morning, maybe it'll be leather bound or maybe it'll be a composition notebook that's frayed around the edges of the cardboard cover.  I would write with a Bic crystal pen because fancy pens would just get smashed in my bag.  Visitors to the coffee shop would muse about what I was writing, and they would even make up stories about what they thought I was writing, some of the regulars will know my name, but will be too bashful to talk to me.

After breakfast, I would probably wander the streets looking around and window shopping.  I'll take a different route every morning.  Maybe I'll even ride the El all day one day.  I'll spend time in the museums, taking notes on things that I learn, and visiting some exhibits so often that I memorize what the little placards say.  I'll sit on a corner of State street and watch the shoppers, taking special note of who frequents which stores and following around the most interesting people.  I'll go to a tourist spot and observe non-Chicago-natives.  On nice days I'll even visit the beach and draw sketches of pigeons and waves and maybe some stick figure sun bathers.

I'll eat a proper lunch at a small sandwich shop or a diner that I pass on my wanderings.  It'll be a surprise every day, and I'll try whatever the man at the counter suggests even if it features sauer kraut because lunch should be spontaneous.  I'll sit in a park and eat whatever I bought and skip rocks in fountains.

In the afternoon I'll run errands.  Pick up dry cleaning if I have it, buy another gallon of milk because I finished off the last of it at midnight the night before, replenish my stock of honey sesame sticks because I always manage to run out at the least convenient times, and maybe meet up with a friend for coffee.  By this time I'll probably drink coffee because I'll be all grown up.  I'll listen to speakers and go to free events mostly because I won't have any money to spare, but also because I'll want to keep learning forever.

In the evening I'll read with a glass of wine under the glow of a single reading lamp.  The rest of the room will be hidden in shadow.  I'll eat dinner on my own and maybe dance a little while I'm making it.  And after watching a movie or a random television show on my TV that has a dysfunctional color tube or whatever, I'll settle into bed to cuddle and fall asleep.

"A poet looks at the world the way a man looks at a woman."

- Wallace Stevens

Writer's Block

This morning I couldn't decide what to write.  I still don't really know what to write (as shown by the title of this post).

I was going to write:
- about espresso and puppies, taking a prompt from a picture pinned to a board on my Pinterest, I had this short-lived plan to write about myself as a fictional character who gives a small child a shot of espresso and tries to figure out where to get a puppy so that she can live up to the promise on the sign, but that fizzled.  Maybe it'll happen later.
- about this list I read on Flavorwire: 10 of the Most Powerful Female Characters in Literature.  I was really excited about this article because Hermione Granger and Katniss Everdeen and Lisbeth Salander are on it, as well as Jane Eyre...and I know all of those characters.  I've even heard of the ones that I haven't actually read before.  The problem here being that I didn't know what to write outside of gushing at "Oh, the cleverness of me!"  And I didn't want to brag or anything.
- about another list I read on Flavorwire, something about the most divisive characters in literature, but then I realized that the character I would have argued about would be Bella Swan from Twilight, and that's been done about eight billion times already, so not going to go there today unless I can come up with something original to say.

Why I might not be inclined to write this morning or why I'm more indecisive than usual:
- I spent the morning finishing Scott Pilgrim vs. The World instead of reading Cymbeline for my Shakespeare class, and so maybe it's a little guilt factoring in here.
- In my only class today, I'm going to get my wretched story critiqued, and I'm terrified that my classmates will like it.  Because they really shouldn't.  Trust me.
- I have a meeting today.  And I don't wanna....
- It should be Spring Break.  Right now.  Because I really want to go home.  This break is the first time my break and my brother's overlap since we were in grade school, and I'm really excited to see him.  Plus I haven't been home since January 1st.  It's been a long time without family for Brianna, and it's starting to take a toll on her sanity.  Heh.
- I can't even decide what to write for Poem-a-Day March.  This morning I wrote a poem called "Cute When You're Angry."  I may have hit a new creative low.

And Pessimistic Brianna gets sent through snail mail to Alaska, leaving Semi-Cheery Brianna to go to class this morning.  Cheers!

"The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say."

- Anais Nin

Modern

This morning when I saw the prompt from Sunday Scribblings was "modern," the first thing I thought was of "Thoroughly Modern Millie," a musical set in 1922, an extremely modern age.

I really like this musical because it's so silly.  I've seen it twice, each time it was a high school production, and they were both fantastic.  I've never been in it, and I'm not really sure who I would play if I were in it...so it's probably better this way.

The dictionary tells me that "modern" has to do with present and recent time.  But another definition says that "modern" is everything after the Middle Ages.  I find this really amusing if only because sure, today is a time after the Middle Ages, but "everything after the Middle Ages" covers quite a bit of time, if I'm remembering correctly.  So that means that yes, Jane Austen is modern.

That means Shakespeare is modern too, right?  Hm.  I have a couple classmates who would argue differently because they don't understand what the man's trying to say in all that language dripping with imagery.  But my classmates would probably lose this argument because Shakespeare's English is actually considered "modern English."  Everyone who says that Shakespeare is "Old English" is not only wrong, but has never heard old English before and how not like today's English it sounds. I'm going to see if I can find a video recording of old English to illustrate my point...I tried to find a video that didn't have a creepy voice...I'm not sure I succeeded.  Heh.

So does that sound like English to you?  Heck, does that even sound like Shakespeare?  Does that sound like Hamlet?  What's kinda neat is that Middle English (as opposed to Old English) sounds a little bit more like modern English.  I know this because last spring I took a class on Geoffrey Chaucer and read a bunch of The Canterbury Tales in Middle English.  It was pretty awesome.  But Middle English has more of a melodic sound than modern English does, it reminds me of a mix of Gaelic with the musicality of the language and of French with the pronunciation of some of the words.

Point being, as much as people would like to think otherwise and it's crazy, but Shakespeare?  He's modern.

Thank you to Sunday Scribblings for the prompt: Modern

"Everything today is thoroughly modern,

check your personality,

everything today makes yesterday slow,

better face reality..."

- "Thoroughly Modern Millie"

Novel in a Month?

So this morning in my half-awake, half-asleep state, I started thinking about the possibility of my writing a "novel" or something of that magnitude over winter break.  Probably because Finals start today which means that I'm going to be spending a good amount of time pretending that it's not actually happening.

Denial is fun.

With this novel idea (ha ha...) what I'm trying to do is write it in the same way that NaNoWriMo works, but because it's going to be in December leaking into January (because that's when winter break is for Brianna...) I can't really call it NaNoWriMo.  But the idea is write a certain amount of words each day and end up with 50000 words at the end of the month, abracadabra, alakazam, you've got a novel!

My thoughts are that I need to practice my fiction.  I've been spending a lot of time on my poetry (as evidenced by Brianna's Poem-a-Day project), and I feel disgustingly uneven.  Plus if I'm going to take a fiction class next semester I should probably practice some over the break or I'll be just as rusty with my fiction as I was last spring, and then I'll run into the "let the Real Brianna write" dilemma all over again, and that would just be a nightmare.  And really depressing.  Point being, practice is needed.

My only concern is that I'm not going to come up with an idea that's remotely close to novel-worthy.  Not that I don't think that my idea would be worth writing a novel about, I'm talking bout the length.  What if my idea stops and resolves itself before I can get anywhere near a sufficient word count?  Bright side, I will have finished something and that would be new in and of itself.  (I don't finish things.  Writing things.)  Because let's face it, I'm not really worried about people not wanting to read it mostly because I probably won't try sharing it with people.  And that's mostly because it would be a rough draft and take me about an eternity to re-write and re-work the material.

I'm not even concerned about the time I would be investing, because I plan on continuing my Poem-a-Day project over the break (even though I won't have a Poem Keeper this month due to break) and I also plan on reading just about every piece of literature in sight, preferably the kind that has absolutely zero literary merit and if I try to analyze it that it falls apart in my hands.  That would be so nice.

I should make a book list.  Like now.

And then I remember Finals.  Oh right.  I have two tomorrow.  My book list can be made on Thursday.  Maybe.

---------------------------------------------------

On a slightly different note, in my Poem-a-Day project I've had people requesting that I write poems for them.  Which is flattering and nerve-wracking all at the same time.  Because once I've given someone a poem, I have to acknowledge that that version of it is done.  I can't revise it after I've given it as a gift.  Well, I can't revise that specifically printed and sent version.

Also, I'm never sure what to write.  Do they want a poem written about them?  Because that's a lot more difficult for me than one might assume...mostly because I find it difficult to write about people I know.  I always write them too perfect and then they're not really themselves but just a paper cut out version of themselves, and that's just silly.  And defeats the point of writing about them because it's not exactly a faithful representation.

So sure, I'll write a poem for you if you request it, but it may or may not send me into a bout of apprehensions based on the "roughness" of the draft or the fact that I'm writing about something that I know entirely too well.  What I'm saying is, if you're interested in getting a poem from me...topics are helpful!

"Writing is like prostitution.  First you do it for love, and then for a few close friends, and then for money."

- Moliere

Senior Moment

Q:  So you're a senior, eh?

A:  Yeah, what's it to you?

Q:  So that means you have to do all sorts of senior-y things?

A:  A tad more specific than that, but yeah.

So I have to write a paper for my Senior Seminar class.  This paper has to be about 18-20 pages long.  And I've never written a paper that long before.  So that would be hurdle number one.  I'm also writing about Margaret Atwood's Lady Oracle.  For a professor that I've written really horrible papers for in past classes I've been in.  And when I say those papers were horrible, I'm not kidding.  I'm so totally not kidding.  Lots of not kidding-ness.

I wrote about 10 pages for my rough draft.  I got that back a little while ago, and it's sat in my backpack for about a week, maybe more.  It took forever to write originally.  Anyway, I took a clean copy of it and went through it on my own and marked it up and then added in the marks from my professor.  So now I have a master copy with all the edits that I need to make.  All my comments are in happy orange and my professor's are in pink, so it's a really happy draft.  But that doesn't really matter.  Because despite all the pretty colors, there's a LOT of them.  (I know that sentence didn't make sense, we're just going to leave that alone for now.)  There are a LOT of pretty colors all bleeding on my paper, and this creates the problem for a lot of work for Brianna.  A lot of work for Brianna during a weekend when she's going to have a friend staying with her.  And Brianna's going to want to hang out.

So that leaves Brianna here.  Blogging instead of writing her paper.  Because that's definitely the smartest thing to do at this precise moment.  Yup.  Awesome.

My paper file is open on my desktop, it's right there.  Draft 1.  Yup, there it is.  It's staring at me.

Omen

"That's a good omen."

"It must be an omen."

"Bad omen."

Omens.  Based on the Oxford English Dictionary, and the random quotes that I put above, I've learned that "omen," is a really sort of ambiguous word.  It can mean whatever you need it to mean.  Okay, you probably couldn't replace "kerfuffle" with "omen," but you know what I mean.  When something has "prophetic significance," it can be an omen.  Which is interesting.  How many other words have that fluidity?  Sure, you can have a good dog and you can have a bad dog, but it doesn't hold the same sort of significance that "omen" does.  We know that an omen is something that happens that is supposed to predict good or evil happening, but the word has to be modified by an adjective.  Otherwise, it's just a "I'm not really sure if this is a good or bad thing" omen.  Which works too.

It's probably a matter of interpretation.

I also learned a little bit about "omen-animals," which is to say that I learned that they exist.  They're animals whose behavior or body parts are used in methods of divination.  Which is pretty cool.  And then there's also a specific entry for "omen-birds" which are probably different from regular omen-animals in some way, though I'm not really sure.  [This calls for more research.]

Thanks Google!  Oh Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchet...surely a rock star pairing!

OH!  And this reminds me that I have Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett's book, Good Omens, sitting on my bookshelf at school.  There it will sit until I move out.  I know it.  I've never read it, but it's on one of my immediate "READ ME" lists because of the fact that I own it.  [Actually, funny (not really funny) story, I went to Borders with a gift card that I discovered randomly in one of my purses, and I was all ready to spend this $15 I thought I had.  I bought Good Omens and Witch and Wizard because they were random, cheap, and I needed to own some Neil Gaiman.  I get to the register and the gift card only has a couple cents on it, and Borders hadn't started their "going out of business" sales.  Paid for them out of my birthday money.]  I'm really excited about reading it though because I have a friend who enjoyed it and was going to attend the Printer's Ball as a character from it...but that fell through.

So omens.  Definitely something that I could think more about.  Poetically?

Thank you to Sunday Scribblings for the prompt: Omen.

"There is no such thing as an omen.  Destiny does not send us heralds.  She is too wise or too cruel for that."

- Oscar Wilde

Poetry Friday -- Pole Dancer

This Poetry Friday I’m going to be looking at Andrea Gibson’s “Pole Dancer.”  Mostly because it was suggested that I look up Andrea Gibson’s poetry, and also because I feel like listening to poems rather than reading them today.  Strangely enough, after listening to a couple of Gibson’s poems, I realized that I had heard them before.  Which was silly because I’ve never seen Andrea Gibson perform, I’m pretty sure I would remember.  And then I realized that it’s because some of her poems are in this book of slam poetry I have called Junkyard Ghost Revival.  So it’s the best of both worlds today because I get to listen to “Pole Dancer” and also refer to it in this book.  Occasionally I’m clever like that.

First thing I’d like to compliment about this poem is the voice.  Andrea Gibson has the unique ability to combine contemporary imagery with meaningful sentiment and humor.  It’s truly amazing how Gibson manages to say so much and mean even more in this poem.

I LOVE the stanza about crocheting a scarf and pinning a note to it, mostly because of Andrea’s spot on delivery.  You could not add more humor to that collection of lines if you tried.

Her use of story is interesting because she tells little snippets rather than plowing right through a single storyline.  She explains about crocheting the scarf, counting freckles, and now that I look at it, those are the only two snapshots that I can find, but both focus on the body in a truly romantic way.  Plus both are laden with Gibson’s spectacular imagery.

Gibson also uses triples to her advantage.  Not always for comedic effect, but most of the time to emphasize or round out imagery that would be strange if there was only one part to them.  The one that sticks out most to me is the triple that includes comparisons to “popcorn at a drive-in movie,” “Batman and Robin,” and “Pac man in the eighties.”  I especially appreciate the pop culture references, and how can I say no to popcorn?  So great.

Closer to the end, she says “Lover, this is not just another poem” which I love because 1) it’s borderline metafictional, 2) it’s direct address, and 3) because she uses the word “lover” with such power, it hits me like a block of cement to the sternum.  This is just one example of how Gibson uses words.  Yeah, that’s right, I made that observation.  Gibson is a poet who doesn’t just build up her poem, she makes every single word count.  EVERY word in this poem is imbued with the strength of the poet and enhances the overall poem.  Just wow.

Favorite image that I just found again:  “I have been painting the night sky upon the inside of doorframes / so only moonshine will fall on your head in the earthquake.”  AH!  Okay, not only am I a sucker for imagery that takes the night sky into consideration, but the night sky has such a danger of turning cliché, but by grounding the image in the doorframe, Gibson allows the night sky to become something more solid, something that’s within reach.  Plus I love an image that makes me think “Wow, that’s really cool” and this is one of those.  I can just imagine Gibson painting little pinprick stars around every side of the doorframe and then sending her lover to stand there in an earthquake.  And the house that holds it has fallen, but the doorframe stays standing, beaming moonshine.  AH, so good.

I also enjoy the multiple uses of the word “break,” but that’s just a sidenote.

Finally, wow, ending image/comment.  Just wow.  “…how they never speak guardrail, / how they only say fall.”  Just wow.  I’m leaving it there.

PROMPTS:
1. Use the night sky.  Don’t let it be cliché.  If you’re going to use a flowery description of stars and romanticize about how far the cosmos is from your fingertips, please skip this prompt.

2. Write a pop culture triple.  Because you know you want to.

3. Tell a story in snapshots.  Or tell snippets of a life.

4. Write a poem.  Go back and cut all superfluous words.  Use words sparingly and inject them with your own unique power.

5. Write a poem to be performed.  And go out and do it!

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On a note slightly (okay, maybe very) related to poetry, I was walking home from a meeting with my friend...


Katie: Have you heard about that challenge where you write a poem a day for a month?
Brianna: Yeah, that sounds crazy.
Katie: Yeah.
Brianna: It's September 1st...wanna do it?
Katie: Yeah!  We can exchange poems and then we'll have mail every day!
(and this is the point in this script where if this were a movie we would jump into the air and high five)


I'm REALLY excited about this project because I've been feeling really poetic lately, and if I commit to writing a poem every day, then maybe I'll actually get things written.  I've already spent my last couple of business classes scribbling out lines of poetry, and though it's not a habit I should be encouraging in myself, it feels good to write some poetry for once.  And of course I'm super out of practice so I would have to apologize for any poem I ever wrote...but we're dispensing with apologies for now because they're drafts.  All drafts.  And by the end of this month, I'll have drafts of 30 poems to show for it.  Let's do this.

A Letter to the Class Suck-Up

Dear Class Suck-Up,

Hi.  Hello.  I'm Brianna.  You probably don't know me because I'm sitting kitty-corner from you in the circle in that one class we had together.  We had another couple classes together during our college career, but I choose to forget those parts of my life because you were far too prominent in them.

So you like our professor.  I understand.  She's a nice lady.  I like her too.  She's my adviser, so I better like her.
So you've learned active listening.  Me too.  It's a good skill to have.  Especially when you're an RA like me.  I'm glad you possess the skill too.
That does NOT mean that you have to VERBALLY respond to EVERYTHING our professor says!  Non-verbal active listening yes.  Random comments and "oh yeahs" at everything?  Completely useless for the rest of us!  Spare us, please.  I beg of you.

I'm concerned that you enjoy the sound of your own voice.  I'm sure it sounds great to you when you're speaking and offering up commentary on every rhetorical question our professor provides.  Get that?  RHETORICAL!  Please do us all a favor and shut up.  For one class, I would like to write my notes in peace without having to hear you sharing jokes with our professor mid-sentence.  She was in the middle of saying something really important, and you laughed all of a sudden!  Unnecessary!  Please for the love of Shakespeare, close your mouth.  Please.

You know how professors tell us to have our personal conversations elsewhere?  I'm pretty sure that counts when it concerns having personal conversations with the PROFESSOR in the middle of class time!

And the accent?  I understand you just got back from studying abroad.  And I understand that you must have worked really hard to perfect that FAKE accent of yours, but please don't use it in class.  It's fake.  We all know it.  You know it.  Give it up.  If you have a desire to flaunt your pretensions in front of us, you can do it without a fake accent.  Please.  Have mercy on us.  Sure, it's even a good accent, I'm not disputing that, I'm just asking you to leave your study abroad vocabulary at the door.  I'm glad you learned something, I really am, but really?  You're really going to do that.  In the middle of class, you're going to whip out that accent like it's nothing.  No.  Not okay.

PLEASE.  For one whole class, if you can be quiet, I will buy you a pony.  I will personally walk this pony to your house and set it up in its very own heated stable.  It'll be a really happy pony, one that you can have all for your own.  Oh wait.  You already have a pony.

Sincerely,
The Girl Who Just Wants to Learn Without Your Commentary

Door Decs

So I feel like I should have promised to share my door decs with all of my adoring fans.  Because they're pretty much amazing.

All I did was take foam rectangles and cut out the shield outline.  With the scraps I could make the top bit where the house name goes and with the scrap from the other color, I could make the bit where the RA's name goes.  I used puffy/fabric paint to write the names of the houses and the RAs.  And I got the badger, eagle, lion, and snake heads from wallpapers that I found here: http://ibuki-san.deviantart.com/gallery/?offset=24.  I basically printed them out, laminated them, and glued them to the foam pieces that I had already duct taped together.

Simple as that!

This is me!  Hufflepuff for the win!

Gryffindor rawr!

Slytherin, hissssss!

Ravenclaw, CAW!

"You might belong in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart..."

- The Sorting Hat