Hey, I feel bad about it but I haven't updated here in forever, and Ink Splotches has turned into sort of a rotting bit of paper with self-hatred splattered all over it. Typical pre-NaNo. :)
I have a new blog called 'Poetry' (yes- I leap from blog to blog; I've got a rather goodly collection of them by now, including one Tumblr which I actually kept at for a while) in which I post poetry. I think I might just keep up with this one because I'll have constant material for updates.
Here's the URL: http://magicesipoetry.blogspot.com/
Isn't the background for it so lovely? I like the one for Ink Splotches too, though.
Ah- I'll miss you, old Ink Splotches.
Adieu-
magic*esi
Friday, December 23, 2011
Friday, October 28, 2011
The Awkwardness
So I just told my friends, randomly at the lunch table, that I have an account on Wattpad. This second-rate writing site I've been going on instead of Figment because MY SCHOOL BLOCKED FIGMENT.
But anyway, I just burst out with it at lunch because I honestly didn't think they knew. And they didn't. They actually saw my account but they didn't know it was me.
It's really awkward because I said it out of nowhere- hey, here's a script:
Peer no 1: So yeah. Writing's fun (or some other thing about writing)
Me: Oh, I have a poem up on Wattpad.
Peer no. 2: Totally! Writing, muses, writerly stuff.
Me: OK, you don't have to care.
Peer no. 3: What is it?
Me: Just...
(EVERYONE STARES AT ME, waiting for it to be over so they can get on with their lives)
Me: I got a poem up on Wattpad...
Me: And it's like... entered...
(AWKWARD SILENCE)
Me:... in a contest...
(STARING)
Me: ... so you could read it....
Peer no. 1: You have a Wattpad?
Me: Yeah
Peer no. 2: What is it?
Me: Magicesi
Peer no. 2: Magic what?
Me: Magic, E-S-I. But that's not how you pronounce it.
Peer no. 2: Magic E-S-I?
Me: Yeah.
Peer no. 1: Why didn't I see you?
Me: I posted on your account! You remember...
Peer no 1: Oh, magic sezzey?
Me: Yeah, Magic Esi.
Peer no. 1: That's so cool! I didn't know it was you!
Me: Yeah...
Peer no. 2: I commented on one of your stories! I didn't know, this is like the girl who sits across from me at lunch...
Me: Weird...
Peer no. 2: Now I'm actually going to care about your stories...
Me: Ha ha...
Peer no. 3: SO YEAH WHAT DO YOU THINK OF MY POEM? PAY ATTENTION TO ME NOW!!!
I'm just awkward, it's in my DNA.
I HAVE TO WORK ON MY BOOK, I swear. G-d, I keep coming up with excuses. First, awkward 'confessions'. Then, blog posts on my blog I haven't posted on in forever. Just now I was talking to some other guy, in gym (I got out for a few weeks because of my foot, mwahahahaha) and Peer no. 1 came over and there was even more awkwardness!
Peer no. 4: What are you doing?
Me: On my blog... but I should be working on my book...
Peer no. 4: I knew you were writing a book!
Me: Yeah, I need it done by November
Peer no. 4: Why do you need it done by November?
(Enter Peer no. 1)
Me: Well, because in November
(Start annoying little kid 'explaining voice' while staring up at ceiling)
I do this thing called NaNoWriMo, which is writing 50000 words of a book in a month, and I'm doing the third book in my series, a new book, and I have to finish the second book first-
Peer no. 1: Are my eyes red?
Peer no. 4: What?
Peer no. 1: My eyes, are they red?
Peer no. 4: Well, they're... pink, they look pink.
To quote myself: No, you don't have to care guys.
Sorry for the atrocious lack of punctuation, I MUST WORK ON THE OLD CITIES...
Magic*esi
keeping it awkward
But anyway, I just burst out with it at lunch because I honestly didn't think they knew. And they didn't. They actually saw my account but they didn't know it was me.
It's really awkward because I said it out of nowhere- hey, here's a script:
Peer no 1: So yeah. Writing's fun (or some other thing about writing)
Me: Oh, I have a poem up on Wattpad.
Peer no. 2: Totally! Writing, muses, writerly stuff.
Me: OK, you don't have to care.
Peer no. 3: What is it?
Me: Just...
(EVERYONE STARES AT ME, waiting for it to be over so they can get on with their lives)
Me: I got a poem up on Wattpad...
Me: And it's like... entered...
(AWKWARD SILENCE)
Me:... in a contest...
(STARING)
Me: ... so you could read it....
Peer no. 1: You have a Wattpad?
Me: Yeah
Peer no. 2: What is it?
Me: Magicesi
Peer no. 2: Magic what?
Me: Magic, E-S-I. But that's not how you pronounce it.
Peer no. 2: Magic E-S-I?
Me: Yeah.
Peer no. 1: Why didn't I see you?
Me: I posted on your account! You remember...
Peer no 1: Oh, magic sezzey?
Me: Yeah, Magic Esi.
Peer no. 1: That's so cool! I didn't know it was you!
Me: Yeah...
Peer no. 2: I commented on one of your stories! I didn't know, this is like the girl who sits across from me at lunch...
Me: Weird...
Peer no. 2: Now I'm actually going to care about your stories...
Me: Ha ha...
Peer no. 3: SO YEAH WHAT DO YOU THINK OF MY POEM? PAY ATTENTION TO ME NOW!!!
I'm just awkward, it's in my DNA.
I HAVE TO WORK ON MY BOOK, I swear. G-d, I keep coming up with excuses. First, awkward 'confessions'. Then, blog posts on my blog I haven't posted on in forever. Just now I was talking to some other guy, in gym (I got out for a few weeks because of my foot, mwahahahaha) and Peer no. 1 came over and there was even more awkwardness!
Peer no. 4: What are you doing?
Me: On my blog... but I should be working on my book...
Peer no. 4: I knew you were writing a book!
Me: Yeah, I need it done by November
Peer no. 4: Why do you need it done by November?
(Enter Peer no. 1)
Me: Well, because in November
(Start annoying little kid 'explaining voice' while staring up at ceiling)
I do this thing called NaNoWriMo, which is writing 50000 words of a book in a month, and I'm doing the third book in my series, a new book, and I have to finish the second book first-
Peer no. 1: Are my eyes red?
Peer no. 4: What?
Peer no. 1: My eyes, are they red?
Peer no. 4: Well, they're... pink, they look pink.
To quote myself: No, you don't have to care guys.
Sorry for the atrocious lack of punctuation, I MUST WORK ON THE OLD CITIES...
Magic*esi
keeping it awkward
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Rage, Fury, and also chocolate
It's not a very creative title, I know. And it is mostly going to be about me. Again.
Goal: Get ONE PERSON that is not me to read this blog. Ha ha, as if.
Anyway, I needed someplace to vent and my family's probably going to murder me if I try to start a For the Pursuit of Justice lecture again, and it doesn't really fit into my book, and eh, I wanted to put it on here.
All right. So you know how I mentioned NaNoWriMo in the last post? Well, YWP NaNo has recently launched. Now, what always pisses me off about YWP NaNo is how condescending they treat us. "Hey Young NaNoers! Hoping you can find an easy-peasy word count to fit your tiny little brains! You didn't accidentally sign up to the Real Writers website, now did you? That's only for grown-ups, silly geeses!"
OK, they don't say any of that. But I would like to imagine they do.
But I have a new bone to pick with the Office of Letters and Light, and this time it's about something that I'm usually not too fussy about: religion.
Now, as you may have guessed by my offhanded mentions of the High Holidays, I am Jewish.
GASP GASP GASP!!! "But- but," the reader says, stuttering. "But I'm a Nazi! That's just- that's just required on the Internet! How could this be? The writer of some obscure little blog no one readers is a- is a Jew?"
It's crazy, I know. The fact of the matter is that I'm Jewish and on the religious side of conservative Judaism and there is just nothing you can do about it.
Now, I understand that Jews make up, like, 1% or less of the world's population. I get that we're not exactly a huge mass of people. But- OK, just listen to the rant.
When the YWP site launched this whenever-it-was, I went to go check out the forums. Lo and behold, new forums- they're called the 'Extracurricular Activities' forums, because everything has to be related to school (all the young writers are doing this because their teacher made them- right? None of them are just doing it, you know, of their own accord?) and they basically are little 'clubs'- one for books, one for music, one for theatre, etc. Then I find one for 'Social Groups'. So I clicked on it, hoping to start my own group for Write It NaNoers (Write It's my other, main writing site. I might mention it some other time, perhaps.)
There's about twelve groups set up, and I attempt to post a new message when I realize that's not allowed. So I check it out- turns out the only person who can post new messages here is the moderator.
Fine, I think. Obviously she's in charge of just regurgitating the old groups here.
So I check out which groups she's set up- Tumblr, Bloggers, a group for fans of the moderator (ha ha ha), QUILTBAG (which, as I found out, was not a forum for fans of quilt-making, but a gay/straight alliance type of thing). And then I see the Christian Group.
All right, I figure. There's plenty of religious Christians on NaNo; I know that Figment's got about ten thousand 'Christian Groups' too.
I look around at the other groups, to see if perhaps there is a 'Jewish Group' or a 'Muslim Group' or, like, a 'Hindu Group'. But the only other remotely religious thing is the 'Atheist and Agnostics Group'.
I can just see it now- the moderator was struggling to come up with groups. She'd set up the Christian Group, and now she was figuring- all right, I basically covered all the religions on the freaking planet Earth, since there is no other religion but Christianity, so I'd better do something else... Is there anything else... Oh, right, I guess the other option is atheism. That's it. Just Christianity and atheism. There are no other options.
I know, it's a stupid thing to post a rant about. Which is why, despite the fact that it's technically not about me, I said the post was about me, because I think literally no one else gives a crap.
But still! I checked it out on the regular NaNo forums, went to the 'Spirituality and New Age' genre board, and the only type of religious book there is, is Christian. Really? So other religions don't count, do they? Nay, they do not even exist.
On a somewhat related note, I am REALLY pissed about something else and no one's going to read this blog anyway so, hell, why not rant about it. This Yom Kippur I had to run this thing, this stupid religious service for little kids, and I had to come up with a lesson plan. Looking back now, it was possibly THE, THE worst lesson plan to ever exist, in the history, in ALL TIME, in the HISTORY of the entire UNIVERSE.
That wasn't even proper grammar. You know I'm mad.
Anyway, I've been teaching this age group at my temple for three years, on Shabbat and the High Holidays, and I've been doing just fine until now. In fact, I've been fairly successful. Parents and kids and the other teachers have all told me I have unique lesson plans and I do a great job of teaching. Every single time I have had to teach a class, it's either been a success or a ok-fine-but-not-horrible class. This time, horrible.
Granted, it was probably stupid to take a class when I knew perfectly well that I was sick and also fasting, but oooohh no, I had to teach the damn class. I managed to last maybe forty five minutes before I began rambling, told the kids they could play their favorite game (Ninja), told one of my helper teachers I was sick, and went home.
The worst part was how I felt in front of that class- like I was falling apart at the seams. I have never felt like that in front of a class before. I mean, I'm not some sort of goddess of teaching or something, it's not like this is an utter failure of my dream in life, but... I'm just so embarrassed about it. I mean, I just left, because it was that horrid.
No- listen- I actually had this quote: "There was a time when Jews were not allowed to be Jews. OK- um um- there was a time when Jews were not allowed to be Jews. And, um, they had to be Christians. No, they had to pretend to be Christians. They had to go to church- to church- you know, instead of temple- Anyway, so on Yom Kippur, what holiday do you think- So they said the Shema out loud. I mean, the part after the Shema. Oh, whatever, you can play Ninja."
LITERAL. QUOTE. OF. MINE.
I'm already signed up to lead religious services for the next two Saturdays, and I can't just skive off my responsibilities, so I am going to teach those, but after that, I quit. I obviously can't teach to save my life. And I really don't need the bratty, demonic little kids in that class to see me again and shriek, "HA HA! You were the horrible teacher from Yom Kippur! Remember when you were horrible?"
So I'm going to tell my mom, who as luck would have it runs the program (of teenagers teaching little kids), that I quit. The end. Especially on the High Holidays. It's not going to be easy, because she'll keep saying, "Oh, you can't feel bad about one bad lesson," but this was not one bad lesson. It was one atrocious lesson. In fact, if there was a video or something of that lesson, it would go down in history as the worst lesson ever. I mean, at least Socrates' thing where he committed suicide had meaning and all that. Mine didn't.
Long, ramble-y, post. And usually when I write about a horrible incident I feel better about it, but I do NOT feel better. I just want to vomit. I will not be able to- EVER- teach another class- EVER- again. In fact, I should probably just cancel the next two Saturdays. The temple president's daughter can take over. She'll love it- the adults will fawn over her and her magical teaching abilities, because of course, they would never insult the precious daughter of the president. Yeah, I should do that. I should tell my mom tomorrow about that.
Damn good thing nobody reads this blog. Ah well, not that I wrote anything I really don't want anybody to know. By now, all the parents of the kids in my class are probably talking about the 'unstable' teacher. I bet a few are beginning to whisper something about a petition, to get rid of me or something. "Probably horrible in school too," they'll say. "What was it again, little Johnny? Did she actually say something that stupid? I bet she has straight F's."
I bet she has straight F's too, little Johnny. And if, by chance, she took an AP exam (ha ha, she'd be too stupid to get into an AP class) a five would be the last grade she'd get. Oh no. Five! Out of the question! And no way in HELL would she be good in, say, art history! That would just be INSANE!
Anyway, chocolate was promised in the title so, uh, I ate brownies today. 'Cause I'm not fat enough, right?
I'm off to go to the bathroom and, I suspect, not work at all on The Old Cities (my book. If you forgot). I'm just so damn lazy, I'd never even think of working on my book.
Oh, wait, I forgot to reply for you. Here you go, the expected reply so you don't have to lift a finger to type up your nasty comment because I'm doing the work for you.
"Oh, sarcastic, droll laugh. It is quite transparent, my friend, what you're trying to do here. Get some sort of compliment, right? Somebody to say, 'Oh no, honey, you're a WONDERFUL teacher and they totally should have Jewish groups on YWP and you're the smartest person ever!' Well, I'm not falling for your trap, you dumb, stupid teenager! Insult yourself all you like, we ALL know your ego's so inflated you can't even get off the ground- or wait, is that your supposed fat? Do you really expect anyone to feel sorry for you? I almost DO feel sorry for you, that you think anyone will read this blog. It's pretty obvious from the fact that you keep saying that nobody reads this blog. Reverse psychology, right?
Well, it doesn't really matter because this is what you deserve to hear: Rot in hell, devil spawn!"
Good thing I wrote it for you, right guys? I mean, you'd practically get carpal tunnel writing out that comment, wouldn't you?
Hope your eyes aren't burned out from the horrible sin of paying attention to me,
From,
magic-esi
Goal: Get ONE PERSON that is not me to read this blog. Ha ha, as if.
Anyway, I needed someplace to vent and my family's probably going to murder me if I try to start a For the Pursuit of Justice lecture again, and it doesn't really fit into my book, and eh, I wanted to put it on here.
All right. So you know how I mentioned NaNoWriMo in the last post? Well, YWP NaNo has recently launched. Now, what always pisses me off about YWP NaNo is how condescending they treat us. "Hey Young NaNoers! Hoping you can find an easy-peasy word count to fit your tiny little brains! You didn't accidentally sign up to the Real Writers website, now did you? That's only for grown-ups, silly geeses!"
OK, they don't say any of that. But I would like to imagine they do.
But I have a new bone to pick with the Office of Letters and Light, and this time it's about something that I'm usually not too fussy about: religion.
Now, as you may have guessed by my offhanded mentions of the High Holidays, I am Jewish.
GASP GASP GASP!!! "But- but," the reader says, stuttering. "But I'm a Nazi! That's just- that's just required on the Internet! How could this be? The writer of some obscure little blog no one readers is a- is a Jew?"
It's crazy, I know. The fact of the matter is that I'm Jewish and on the religious side of conservative Judaism and there is just nothing you can do about it.
Now, I understand that Jews make up, like, 1% or less of the world's population. I get that we're not exactly a huge mass of people. But- OK, just listen to the rant.
When the YWP site launched this whenever-it-was, I went to go check out the forums. Lo and behold, new forums- they're called the 'Extracurricular Activities' forums, because everything has to be related to school (all the young writers are doing this because their teacher made them- right? None of them are just doing it, you know, of their own accord?) and they basically are little 'clubs'- one for books, one for music, one for theatre, etc. Then I find one for 'Social Groups'. So I clicked on it, hoping to start my own group for Write It NaNoers (Write It's my other, main writing site. I might mention it some other time, perhaps.)
There's about twelve groups set up, and I attempt to post a new message when I realize that's not allowed. So I check it out- turns out the only person who can post new messages here is the moderator.
Fine, I think. Obviously she's in charge of just regurgitating the old groups here.
So I check out which groups she's set up- Tumblr, Bloggers, a group for fans of the moderator (ha ha ha), QUILTBAG (which, as I found out, was not a forum for fans of quilt-making, but a gay/straight alliance type of thing). And then I see the Christian Group.
All right, I figure. There's plenty of religious Christians on NaNo; I know that Figment's got about ten thousand 'Christian Groups' too.
I look around at the other groups, to see if perhaps there is a 'Jewish Group' or a 'Muslim Group' or, like, a 'Hindu Group'. But the only other remotely religious thing is the 'Atheist and Agnostics Group'.
I can just see it now- the moderator was struggling to come up with groups. She'd set up the Christian Group, and now she was figuring- all right, I basically covered all the religions on the freaking planet Earth, since there is no other religion but Christianity, so I'd better do something else... Is there anything else... Oh, right, I guess the other option is atheism. That's it. Just Christianity and atheism. There are no other options.
I know, it's a stupid thing to post a rant about. Which is why, despite the fact that it's technically not about me, I said the post was about me, because I think literally no one else gives a crap.
But still! I checked it out on the regular NaNo forums, went to the 'Spirituality and New Age' genre board, and the only type of religious book there is, is Christian. Really? So other religions don't count, do they? Nay, they do not even exist.
On a somewhat related note, I am REALLY pissed about something else and no one's going to read this blog anyway so, hell, why not rant about it. This Yom Kippur I had to run this thing, this stupid religious service for little kids, and I had to come up with a lesson plan. Looking back now, it was possibly THE, THE worst lesson plan to ever exist, in the history, in ALL TIME, in the HISTORY of the entire UNIVERSE.
That wasn't even proper grammar. You know I'm mad.
Anyway, I've been teaching this age group at my temple for three years, on Shabbat and the High Holidays, and I've been doing just fine until now. In fact, I've been fairly successful. Parents and kids and the other teachers have all told me I have unique lesson plans and I do a great job of teaching. Every single time I have had to teach a class, it's either been a success or a ok-fine-but-not-horrible class. This time, horrible.
Granted, it was probably stupid to take a class when I knew perfectly well that I was sick and also fasting, but oooohh no, I had to teach the damn class. I managed to last maybe forty five minutes before I began rambling, told the kids they could play their favorite game (Ninja), told one of my helper teachers I was sick, and went home.
The worst part was how I felt in front of that class- like I was falling apart at the seams. I have never felt like that in front of a class before. I mean, I'm not some sort of goddess of teaching or something, it's not like this is an utter failure of my dream in life, but... I'm just so embarrassed about it. I mean, I just left, because it was that horrid.
No- listen- I actually had this quote: "There was a time when Jews were not allowed to be Jews. OK- um um- there was a time when Jews were not allowed to be Jews. And, um, they had to be Christians. No, they had to pretend to be Christians. They had to go to church- to church- you know, instead of temple- Anyway, so on Yom Kippur, what holiday do you think- So they said the Shema out loud. I mean, the part after the Shema. Oh, whatever, you can play Ninja."
LITERAL. QUOTE. OF. MINE.
I'm already signed up to lead religious services for the next two Saturdays, and I can't just skive off my responsibilities, so I am going to teach those, but after that, I quit. I obviously can't teach to save my life. And I really don't need the bratty, demonic little kids in that class to see me again and shriek, "HA HA! You were the horrible teacher from Yom Kippur! Remember when you were horrible?"
So I'm going to tell my mom, who as luck would have it runs the program (of teenagers teaching little kids), that I quit. The end. Especially on the High Holidays. It's not going to be easy, because she'll keep saying, "Oh, you can't feel bad about one bad lesson," but this was not one bad lesson. It was one atrocious lesson. In fact, if there was a video or something of that lesson, it would go down in history as the worst lesson ever. I mean, at least Socrates' thing where he committed suicide had meaning and all that. Mine didn't.
Long, ramble-y, post. And usually when I write about a horrible incident I feel better about it, but I do NOT feel better. I just want to vomit. I will not be able to- EVER- teach another class- EVER- again. In fact, I should probably just cancel the next two Saturdays. The temple president's daughter can take over. She'll love it- the adults will fawn over her and her magical teaching abilities, because of course, they would never insult the precious daughter of the president. Yeah, I should do that. I should tell my mom tomorrow about that.
Damn good thing nobody reads this blog. Ah well, not that I wrote anything I really don't want anybody to know. By now, all the parents of the kids in my class are probably talking about the 'unstable' teacher. I bet a few are beginning to whisper something about a petition, to get rid of me or something. "Probably horrible in school too," they'll say. "What was it again, little Johnny? Did she actually say something that stupid? I bet she has straight F's."
I bet she has straight F's too, little Johnny. And if, by chance, she took an AP exam (ha ha, she'd be too stupid to get into an AP class) a five would be the last grade she'd get. Oh no. Five! Out of the question! And no way in HELL would she be good in, say, art history! That would just be INSANE!
Anyway, chocolate was promised in the title so, uh, I ate brownies today. 'Cause I'm not fat enough, right?
I'm off to go to the bathroom and, I suspect, not work at all on The Old Cities (my book. If you forgot). I'm just so damn lazy, I'd never even think of working on my book.
Oh, wait, I forgot to reply for you. Here you go, the expected reply so you don't have to lift a finger to type up your nasty comment because I'm doing the work for you.
"Oh, sarcastic, droll laugh. It is quite transparent, my friend, what you're trying to do here. Get some sort of compliment, right? Somebody to say, 'Oh no, honey, you're a WONDERFUL teacher and they totally should have Jewish groups on YWP and you're the smartest person ever!' Well, I'm not falling for your trap, you dumb, stupid teenager! Insult yourself all you like, we ALL know your ego's so inflated you can't even get off the ground- or wait, is that your supposed fat? Do you really expect anyone to feel sorry for you? I almost DO feel sorry for you, that you think anyone will read this blog. It's pretty obvious from the fact that you keep saying that nobody reads this blog. Reverse psychology, right?
Well, it doesn't really matter because this is what you deserve to hear: Rot in hell, devil spawn!"
Good thing I wrote it for you, right guys? I mean, you'd practically get carpal tunnel writing out that comment, wouldn't you?
Hope your eyes aren't burned out from the horrible sin of paying attention to me,
From,
magic-esi
Thursday, October 6, 2011
NaNoWriMo Checklist!!!
OK... The last three posts were all about me, so I'll make the next three posts stuff that is not entirely about me!
Exciting, isn't it?
All right, so judging by the fact that you're on a tiny, unknown little blog called 'Ink Splotches', which claims to be about writing, you probably like writing, or are a robot that can flip through every web page in existence in the blink of an eye. And you know which one of those is cooler.
The writer, obviously.
So, if you ARE a writer, and it is the month of October, you probably know what's coming up next month: NANOWRIMO!!! And, oh yeah, it IS the month of October.
If you don't know what NaNoWriMo is, here's a link: NaNoWriMo.
And if you're a young writer, or a wimp who can't write 50,000 words: YWP NaNoWriMo
Basically, the idea is that you write 50,000 words in one month, and that month is November. The 50,000 words, however, cannot be scattered all over the place; you have to focus them on one novel. If you don't want to write the whole 50K, you can go on the Young Writers Program and set your own word count. But you're pretty much only allowed to go on there if you're under 18.
ANYWAY.
So now that you know what NaNoWriMo is, I am going to post a checklist of stuff you need to get done before NaNo starts. I'm assuming you're participating in NaNoWriMo, because why wouldn't you?
1. Finish writing the novel that comes before your NaNovel in the series you are writing. (Mostly applies to me).
2. Prepare a writerly Halloween costume. (Fictional characters do not count unless they are from a book over 50 years old and/or are Harry Potter characters).
3. Fill out the cute little workbooks they have on the YWP NaNoWriMo site. It helps if you pretend you're an elementary school student doing this with her class.
4. Fill up on chocolate. Be sure to leave room in your house for Halloween candy.
5. Outline your NaNo book. You'll have an easier time of it if you do.
6. Set up bribes and blackmail all over your family so that you are more convinced to reach your word-count goal. Ex: If you reach 50,000 they will buy you a chocolate cake. If you're not at 30,000 by the third week, you will empty the dishwasher for the rest of the month. That sort of thing.
7. Download a bunch of old NaNo pep talks and read them for inspiration.
8. Get a head start on any school projects due in November so that you don't have to worry about that instead of your novel.
9. Possibly research anything if you made the stupid mistake of deciding to write a historical fiction book. (Note: Do not write a historical fiction book for NaNoWriMo).
10. Set up a little nest of things to help you write and stay up until midnight on Halloween to herald in the new month.
Anyway, most of that stuff was me just trying to fill in 10 things on a checklist, but I hope you enjoyed it! Unless you're an adult, in which case your list is probably, "Do work stuff and then clean the house and prepare Thanksgiving dinner!"
HA HA HA HA HAAAAA!!!!!
I'll write more some other time. I have to work on The Old Cities, which is the book in the series directly before The Gold Door which I'm doing for NaNoWriMo. And The Old Cities still isn't done!
-Ariel (magic-esi)
Exciting, isn't it?
All right, so judging by the fact that you're on a tiny, unknown little blog called 'Ink Splotches', which claims to be about writing, you probably like writing, or are a robot that can flip through every web page in existence in the blink of an eye. And you know which one of those is cooler.
The writer, obviously.
So, if you ARE a writer, and it is the month of October, you probably know what's coming up next month: NANOWRIMO!!! And, oh yeah, it IS the month of October.
If you don't know what NaNoWriMo is, here's a link: NaNoWriMo.
And if you're a young writer, or a wimp who can't write 50,000 words: YWP NaNoWriMo
Basically, the idea is that you write 50,000 words in one month, and that month is November. The 50,000 words, however, cannot be scattered all over the place; you have to focus them on one novel. If you don't want to write the whole 50K, you can go on the Young Writers Program and set your own word count. But you're pretty much only allowed to go on there if you're under 18.
ANYWAY.
So now that you know what NaNoWriMo is, I am going to post a checklist of stuff you need to get done before NaNo starts. I'm assuming you're participating in NaNoWriMo, because why wouldn't you?
1. Finish writing the novel that comes before your NaNovel in the series you are writing. (Mostly applies to me).
2. Prepare a writerly Halloween costume. (Fictional characters do not count unless they are from a book over 50 years old and/or are Harry Potter characters).
3. Fill out the cute little workbooks they have on the YWP NaNoWriMo site. It helps if you pretend you're an elementary school student doing this with her class.
4. Fill up on chocolate. Be sure to leave room in your house for Halloween candy.
5. Outline your NaNo book. You'll have an easier time of it if you do.
6. Set up bribes and blackmail all over your family so that you are more convinced to reach your word-count goal. Ex: If you reach 50,000 they will buy you a chocolate cake. If you're not at 30,000 by the third week, you will empty the dishwasher for the rest of the month. That sort of thing.
7. Download a bunch of old NaNo pep talks and read them for inspiration.
8. Get a head start on any school projects due in November so that you don't have to worry about that instead of your novel.
9. Possibly research anything if you made the stupid mistake of deciding to write a historical fiction book. (Note: Do not write a historical fiction book for NaNoWriMo).
10. Set up a little nest of things to help you write and stay up until midnight on Halloween to herald in the new month.
Anyway, most of that stuff was me just trying to fill in 10 things on a checklist, but I hope you enjoyed it! Unless you're an adult, in which case your list is probably, "Do work stuff and then clean the house and prepare Thanksgiving dinner!"
HA HA HA HA HAAAAA!!!!!
I'll write more some other time. I have to work on The Old Cities, which is the book in the series directly before The Gold Door which I'm doing for NaNoWriMo. And The Old Cities still isn't done!
-Ariel (magic-esi)
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
I May Be An Angsty Teenager, But I Am Also Not an aspiring photographer
So, despite my promises of not being a typical teenager, my last two posts make me look as angsty as Harry Potter in Order of the Phoenix. So I am forced to admit: Yes, despite my intellectual facade, I am every bit as annoying as the girls who post emo poems on MySpace. Or whatever it is that teenagers are expected to do. I don't pay much attention to the fads, to be honest. Who's popular now? Is that Ke$ha madness still whining on the radio?
Britney Spears is dead now, right?
Anyway, despite all that, I'm still hormonal and horrid. Horribly hormonal. Which is NOT NOT NOT good for many, many reasons. I'm supposed to be an intellectual! A cultural, uh, goddess! The savior of literature, the guiding light of art! I AM NOT SUPPOSED TO BE A NORMAL TEENAGER!!!!
So, to prove to you that I am a fascinating, not-just-made-of-entirely-hormones person, I am going to illustrate my post 'I Miss Rome'. No photos of myself though, thank you very much! Remember kids, the world is made out of stalkers who are out to MURDER you! (and get some rape in, if they're feeling extra special)
(I hope you know this is me trying to get attention. These are crappy photos.)
Oh, and by the way I'm only going up to Rome. I was picking out all my photos and I got sick of it.
Britney Spears is dead now, right?
Anyway, despite all that, I'm still hormonal and horrid. Horribly hormonal. Which is NOT NOT NOT good for many, many reasons. I'm supposed to be an intellectual! A cultural, uh, goddess! The savior of literature, the guiding light of art! I AM NOT SUPPOSED TO BE A NORMAL TEENAGER!!!!
So, to prove to you that I am a fascinating, not-just-made-of-entirely-hormones person, I am going to illustrate my post 'I Miss Rome'. No photos of myself though, thank you very much! Remember kids, the world is made out of stalkers who are out to MURDER you! (and get some rape in, if they're feeling extra special)
(I hope you know this is me trying to get attention. These are crappy photos.)
Oh, and by the way I'm only going up to Rome. I was picking out all my photos and I got sick of it.
The sky is this shade of blue that doesn't happen in America.
The first day was spent entirely on a plane and a layover in Dusseldorf, Germany.
The next day I was on the Acropolis...
Eh you know what, never mind. Hope you enjoyed the sky in Vicenza, German baggage claim and a bit of the Parthenon!
My lunch period's about to end anyway.
I'll post a poem or something fun like that later.
-magic-esi
Officially the Worst Possible Morning Ever
So far, today is sucking on a variety of levels.
OK, where do I begin? Let's see, I started off today with the same cold I've had since Saturday, but fortunately I now have the delicious lemony cough drops.
ONLY GOOD POINT OF THE DAY.
Then, I went into 'zero period' ( a period where we sit in the auditorium and do nothing) carrying my obscenely heavy Algebra 2 textbook. I wrote a journal entry and then checked to make sure we didn't have homework, went on NaNoWriMo (ooh, another reminder that I've got until Halloween to finish my old novel, which has got, like, 15000 words of plot left), and wanted to go on MuggleNet but then- Oops! We've got an assembly. So we have to STAY in the auditorium for the assembly. Guess what the assembly was about.
Guess.
It was about bullying. I know, right? Like, you never in a million freaking YEARS would've guessed that, considering our school, our district, and our entire damn STATE has yet to shut up about bullying since last year. So it was this guy with cerebral palsy lecturing us on his life. Which was sweet and lovely and all, and it was certainly nice to miss French, but I had to pee. The entire time. Plus the snotheads sitting behind me wouldn't shut up laughing at his voice. Reeeeaaaal mature, guys.
Anyway, after the assembly we all filed out and then- oh, well, then I had to remember, when I was nearly out of the auditorium, that I forgot my waterbottle. So I dashed back to my chair and grabbed my waterbottle, while my books spilled all over the floor. Finally I got everything together and asked the teacher in charge for a pass, while awkwardly standing around next to the inspirational speaker, unsure of anything inspirational I might say. Finally, the teacher gave me the pass and I ran up to AP English. I tried to make my entrance inconspicuous, but just as I was trying to subtly slide into my seat near the front of the classroom, all my books fell. My binder, laptop, notebook, How to Win Friends and Influence People, and my accursed Algebra 2 textbook.
In front of the whole damn class.
Anyway, after getting over THAT stupid incident, I sat down while the sub (thank G-D it was a sub; the usual teacher is fond of humiliating us) explained that we were to research classical argument as a literary form and cite our sources. Lovely. So I pull out my laptop and I'm just jotting down the five main parts of an argument when-
And I'll have to explain this a bit: I'm a sophomore, and I'm in a class with a few other sophomores, but mostly juniors, because, well, it's AP English Language.
And the assembly we saw in the morning, only underclassmen saw it. But the upperclassmen were supposed to see it-
That's right, the UPPERCLASSMEN were supposed to see it during my AP English class.
And since the teacher had to go with them, the entire class, sophomores and all, had to head down to the auditorium to see the same damn assembly over again.
So I awkwardly sat around in the auditorium, writing in my journal while everyone looked bored, and then finally the bell for third period rang and we were allowed out.
Unfortunately, my third period class is art, which consists of three seniors and me. So I go down to the art room, and the sign on the door says literally only this:
"PERIOD 3 ASSEMBLY AUDITORIUM (teacher's name-
OK, sorry, I'll continue the story of the worst possible morning ever later- I've got US History.
More then!
OK, where do I begin? Let's see, I started off today with the same cold I've had since Saturday, but fortunately I now have the delicious lemony cough drops.
ONLY GOOD POINT OF THE DAY.
Then, I went into 'zero period' ( a period where we sit in the auditorium and do nothing) carrying my obscenely heavy Algebra 2 textbook. I wrote a journal entry and then checked to make sure we didn't have homework, went on NaNoWriMo (ooh, another reminder that I've got until Halloween to finish my old novel, which has got, like, 15000 words of plot left), and wanted to go on MuggleNet but then- Oops! We've got an assembly. So we have to STAY in the auditorium for the assembly. Guess what the assembly was about.
Guess.
It was about bullying. I know, right? Like, you never in a million freaking YEARS would've guessed that, considering our school, our district, and our entire damn STATE has yet to shut up about bullying since last year. So it was this guy with cerebral palsy lecturing us on his life. Which was sweet and lovely and all, and it was certainly nice to miss French, but I had to pee. The entire time. Plus the snotheads sitting behind me wouldn't shut up laughing at his voice. Reeeeaaaal mature, guys.
Anyway, after the assembly we all filed out and then- oh, well, then I had to remember, when I was nearly out of the auditorium, that I forgot my waterbottle. So I dashed back to my chair and grabbed my waterbottle, while my books spilled all over the floor. Finally I got everything together and asked the teacher in charge for a pass, while awkwardly standing around next to the inspirational speaker, unsure of anything inspirational I might say. Finally, the teacher gave me the pass and I ran up to AP English. I tried to make my entrance inconspicuous, but just as I was trying to subtly slide into my seat near the front of the classroom, all my books fell. My binder, laptop, notebook, How to Win Friends and Influence People, and my accursed Algebra 2 textbook.
In front of the whole damn class.
Anyway, after getting over THAT stupid incident, I sat down while the sub (thank G-D it was a sub; the usual teacher is fond of humiliating us) explained that we were to research classical argument as a literary form and cite our sources. Lovely. So I pull out my laptop and I'm just jotting down the five main parts of an argument when-
And I'll have to explain this a bit: I'm a sophomore, and I'm in a class with a few other sophomores, but mostly juniors, because, well, it's AP English Language.
And the assembly we saw in the morning, only underclassmen saw it. But the upperclassmen were supposed to see it-
That's right, the UPPERCLASSMEN were supposed to see it during my AP English class.
And since the teacher had to go with them, the entire class, sophomores and all, had to head down to the auditorium to see the same damn assembly over again.
So I awkwardly sat around in the auditorium, writing in my journal while everyone looked bored, and then finally the bell for third period rang and we were allowed out.
Unfortunately, my third period class is art, which consists of three seniors and me. So I go down to the art room, and the sign on the door says literally only this:
"PERIOD 3 ASSEMBLY AUDITORIUM (teacher's name-
OK, sorry, I'll continue the story of the worst possible morning ever later- I've got US History.
More then!
Saturday, October 1, 2011
I Miss Rome
Well, there ought to be an introductory post or something before I just plunge in, but whatever.
I miss Rome.
The four-day Rosh Hashanah long weekend is drawing to a close, and I feel increasingly more depressed. Last summer I went to Greece, Italy, and France with People to People, and it really changed me. It's hard to understand unless you've been there. It's so damn dark and uncolorful here in New Jersey, and it's so... bright there. The sky is this shade of blue that doesn't happen in America. The colors are radiant, and the sun emits rays that shine visibly. The art is beautiful. The people are vibrant.
It sucks here.
And DO NOT GET STARTED on: "Oh, look at you, Precious Little Miss Sensitive. You think you're freaking unique cause you've got teen angst and written yourself a poetic paragraph about your summer vacation. So you got to sigh romantically on a gondola in July, and now you feel sorry for yourself because you have to have real responsibilities like homework again? Sorry, finding it hard to sympathize."
Because if one more person instantly guesses I'm like that because I'm a teenage girl, I will scream in frustration.
I studied art history last year, as a freshman (in high school) and got a five on the AP exam. I absolutely loved the subject, and I was insanely excited to go to Europe. I was nervous, too- I'd never even been to summer camp, and here I was going for three weeks with a group of strangers to another continent. The first day was entirely spent on a plane and a layover in Dusseldorf, Germany. Exhausted, I fell asleep on the plane to Athens.
I woke up twenty minutes before we arrived in Athens International Airport and groggily glanced out the window to see the Mediterranean. Suddenly, I could barely contain my excitement. I was staring out the window, eager to see a better glimpse of the land below. Greece is beautiful, and I soaked in the mountains and desert and marble far below me.
The next day, I was on the Acropolis, surprising the tour guide with my endless flow of facts about the Parthenon. Day after, we went to the beach on Aegina and I swam in the Mediterranean and broke off to take pictures in a beautiful Byzantine church. (I'm Jewish, by the way; I just love art.)
We drove through the Greek mountains and I tried to write in my journal but failed to take my eyes off the mystifying landscape. How is this real? I wondered. Today, I still can't believe that Greece was not a figment of my imagination or a dream except for the fact that my imagination could never dream up something so beautiful. But if my eyes drifted closed from the heat at the ancient theatre of Epidaurus, I would instantly see, not blackness, but a bright vision of an island on the Mediterranean...
On our last day in Greece I raced at the original Olympic track and ate stuffed tomatoes in an open-air restaurant. We drove to the seaport and I stared off at the clouds rising like smoke over the mountains, melancholy over our departure.
When I woke up the next morning on the ferry, it took a while for me to register what I would eventually be ecstatic over. At breakfast, I looked out at the sea at the landmass behind it and suddenly realized- we were nearing Italy! The sunlight shone and I could barely contain my happiness.
I'm in love with this country, I thought to myself as we drove through miles of hills covered in dark green trees. We toured Pompeii and ended the day in Napoli, where we stayed in a nunnery standing at the edge of a cliff. The next day, I (and most of the rest of my delegation) climbed the length of the crater of Vesuvius. Absolutely terrifying- and insanely breathtaking.
The happiest day of my life was easily July 19, 2011; the day I went to the Vatican. My favorite artist has been Michelangelo since the summer after eighth grade, and the place I had most been looking forward to seeing was the Sistine Chapel. It awed me- no- words don't describe it. I know most people that go there kind of go, "Yay, cool art, but after that long walk through the museum I kind of just want to get out of this crowd," and I'd have credited that to a lack of knowledge of art history, but after being there, I don't know what to credit that kind of reaction to. Michelangelo's work left me speechless.
After excitedly seeing St. Peter's basilica, I was still insanely happy as we broke off into groups to spend three hours checking out the monuments of Rome. I ran ahead to the Pantheon and lectured my poor group on its architecture. Then, we talked with street artists and Italian tourists in Piazza Navona as the sun set and had fantastic pizza and gelato.
I was tired as we toured the Colosseum the next day and went to Assisi, a beautiful town with fields of sunflowers and quiet hills. In the morning, we drove through the small town as, by chance, Simon and Garfunkel's The Sound of Silence played on the bus while the sun rose outside the window.
As we walked through the streets of Florence, I felt the spirit of the Early Renaissance resonate through me from the bricks we walked on. I stood in awe of Michelangelo's David (here come the penis jokes; I'm a teenage girl and that's all I think about, right guys?) and the Doors of Paradise on the Florence Baptistery.
It was raining the day we left Venice. I rode on a gondola and saw St. Mark's Cathedral (only from the OUTSIDE unfortunately) and slipped through the narrow alleyways as it rained silver flurries. At the end of the day, it was time to leave and we boarded the train. I tried to write but the lights went out and I had to go to sleep, mourning our leaving behind the place I wanted to call home...
In the early morning, I left our compartment for a few minutes and, when I returned, I looked out the window for a moment at rolling green countryside and signs in French. "We're in France," I whispered.
I took advantage of the hourlong bus ride to Paris to write, but when we arrived, I looked up. Monuments seemed to shout to me: The Panthéon! Notre-Dame! The Eiffel Tower! The Opéra Garnier! Later that day, we toured the Louvre and I stared up at Winged Victory and the mysterious Mona Lisa. In the five minutes of free time we were given at the end, I raced to see the nineteenth-century paintings I knew were housed there.
We had a homestay in the small town of Reims, where my host family took me to see the town's famous champagne caves, the home of a French poet, and most excitingly (to me anyway) the Gothic Cathedrale the town was home to. (It's supposed to have an 'e', and no, that's not an attempt to be an edgy cultured hipster or whatever the hell teens do to piss off adults.)
Back in Paris, I stared out at the Eiffel Tower from a platform as I sat on stairs, Paul Simon's El Condor Pasa playing in the background, the sunlight merry around me, and reflected that in two days all of this would be gone. "I wish," I thought, "that I was visiting Paris at the time this tower was built... the turn of the century, the World's Fair, the modernists, the artists and poets and rebels..."
Notre-Dame was beautiful, and it rained as I walked around it, admiring the flying buttresses and the spitting gargoyles. I bought and ate a Nutella crepe on Monmartre. (It was delicious.)
The last day we were in France we went to Versailles and to the top of the Eiffel Tower. When I was on the plane the next day I wrote about it, and to refresh my memory I flipped through my camera's pictures. I stared at the picture of me at the top of the tower... I was so happy... I was so completely contented...
And as I landed in Newark, for the first time in three weeks I arrived in a new country and, rather than being excited and hopeful, I was miserable.
And it's been more than two months since I got back. I've started school. I've got homework to do. I'm back at my two jobs (at the library and at my temple). I've got a book to finish before November. I'm trying to get myself a job as a columnist in a Jewish magazine....
And not a day goes by when I don't think longingly of the fields of Italy.
And I know nobody will read this anyway, and I know if you do you don't GIVE a crap, even if you personally know me. I know that everyone who reads this will think I'm just a dumb, melodramatic teenager who over-romanticizes stupid crap. I know what you're thinking: "Ha! She studied art history? What next, the philosophy of Care Bears? What a dumb idiot. Humanities, writing, as if that's a real future for anyone. And now she whines about being in the best-off country in the world?"
But I had to get all of this out, even if no one can relate to it. Because, more than anything else in the world right now, I want to go home. The next three years are just filler, just a long period of me getting good grades (which I inevitably will) until I can go back home.
Yup, over-romanticizing it. Spend nine days in a country and you want to live there rather than the privileged country you've spent your whole life in, you must be pretty darn spoiled.
But I want so badly to go back, you have no idea.
-Ariel (magic-esi)
I miss Rome.
The four-day Rosh Hashanah long weekend is drawing to a close, and I feel increasingly more depressed. Last summer I went to Greece, Italy, and France with People to People, and it really changed me. It's hard to understand unless you've been there. It's so damn dark and uncolorful here in New Jersey, and it's so... bright there. The sky is this shade of blue that doesn't happen in America. The colors are radiant, and the sun emits rays that shine visibly. The art is beautiful. The people are vibrant.
It sucks here.
And DO NOT GET STARTED on: "Oh, look at you, Precious Little Miss Sensitive. You think you're freaking unique cause you've got teen angst and written yourself a poetic paragraph about your summer vacation. So you got to sigh romantically on a gondola in July, and now you feel sorry for yourself because you have to have real responsibilities like homework again? Sorry, finding it hard to sympathize."
Because if one more person instantly guesses I'm like that because I'm a teenage girl, I will scream in frustration.
I studied art history last year, as a freshman (in high school) and got a five on the AP exam. I absolutely loved the subject, and I was insanely excited to go to Europe. I was nervous, too- I'd never even been to summer camp, and here I was going for three weeks with a group of strangers to another continent. The first day was entirely spent on a plane and a layover in Dusseldorf, Germany. Exhausted, I fell asleep on the plane to Athens.
I woke up twenty minutes before we arrived in Athens International Airport and groggily glanced out the window to see the Mediterranean. Suddenly, I could barely contain my excitement. I was staring out the window, eager to see a better glimpse of the land below. Greece is beautiful, and I soaked in the mountains and desert and marble far below me.
The next day, I was on the Acropolis, surprising the tour guide with my endless flow of facts about the Parthenon. Day after, we went to the beach on Aegina and I swam in the Mediterranean and broke off to take pictures in a beautiful Byzantine church. (I'm Jewish, by the way; I just love art.)
We drove through the Greek mountains and I tried to write in my journal but failed to take my eyes off the mystifying landscape. How is this real? I wondered. Today, I still can't believe that Greece was not a figment of my imagination or a dream except for the fact that my imagination could never dream up something so beautiful. But if my eyes drifted closed from the heat at the ancient theatre of Epidaurus, I would instantly see, not blackness, but a bright vision of an island on the Mediterranean...
On our last day in Greece I raced at the original Olympic track and ate stuffed tomatoes in an open-air restaurant. We drove to the seaport and I stared off at the clouds rising like smoke over the mountains, melancholy over our departure.
When I woke up the next morning on the ferry, it took a while for me to register what I would eventually be ecstatic over. At breakfast, I looked out at the sea at the landmass behind it and suddenly realized- we were nearing Italy! The sunlight shone and I could barely contain my happiness.
I'm in love with this country, I thought to myself as we drove through miles of hills covered in dark green trees. We toured Pompeii and ended the day in Napoli, where we stayed in a nunnery standing at the edge of a cliff. The next day, I (and most of the rest of my delegation) climbed the length of the crater of Vesuvius. Absolutely terrifying- and insanely breathtaking.
The happiest day of my life was easily July 19, 2011; the day I went to the Vatican. My favorite artist has been Michelangelo since the summer after eighth grade, and the place I had most been looking forward to seeing was the Sistine Chapel. It awed me- no- words don't describe it. I know most people that go there kind of go, "Yay, cool art, but after that long walk through the museum I kind of just want to get out of this crowd," and I'd have credited that to a lack of knowledge of art history, but after being there, I don't know what to credit that kind of reaction to. Michelangelo's work left me speechless.
After excitedly seeing St. Peter's basilica, I was still insanely happy as we broke off into groups to spend three hours checking out the monuments of Rome. I ran ahead to the Pantheon and lectured my poor group on its architecture. Then, we talked with street artists and Italian tourists in Piazza Navona as the sun set and had fantastic pizza and gelato.
I was tired as we toured the Colosseum the next day and went to Assisi, a beautiful town with fields of sunflowers and quiet hills. In the morning, we drove through the small town as, by chance, Simon and Garfunkel's The Sound of Silence played on the bus while the sun rose outside the window.
As we walked through the streets of Florence, I felt the spirit of the Early Renaissance resonate through me from the bricks we walked on. I stood in awe of Michelangelo's David (here come the penis jokes; I'm a teenage girl and that's all I think about, right guys?) and the Doors of Paradise on the Florence Baptistery.
It was raining the day we left Venice. I rode on a gondola and saw St. Mark's Cathedral (only from the OUTSIDE unfortunately) and slipped through the narrow alleyways as it rained silver flurries. At the end of the day, it was time to leave and we boarded the train. I tried to write but the lights went out and I had to go to sleep, mourning our leaving behind the place I wanted to call home...
In the early morning, I left our compartment for a few minutes and, when I returned, I looked out the window for a moment at rolling green countryside and signs in French. "We're in France," I whispered.
I took advantage of the hourlong bus ride to Paris to write, but when we arrived, I looked up. Monuments seemed to shout to me: The Panthéon! Notre-Dame! The Eiffel Tower! The Opéra Garnier! Later that day, we toured the Louvre and I stared up at Winged Victory and the mysterious Mona Lisa. In the five minutes of free time we were given at the end, I raced to see the nineteenth-century paintings I knew were housed there.
We had a homestay in the small town of Reims, where my host family took me to see the town's famous champagne caves, the home of a French poet, and most excitingly (to me anyway) the Gothic Cathedrale the town was home to. (It's supposed to have an 'e', and no, that's not an attempt to be an edgy cultured hipster or whatever the hell teens do to piss off adults.)
Back in Paris, I stared out at the Eiffel Tower from a platform as I sat on stairs, Paul Simon's El Condor Pasa playing in the background, the sunlight merry around me, and reflected that in two days all of this would be gone. "I wish," I thought, "that I was visiting Paris at the time this tower was built... the turn of the century, the World's Fair, the modernists, the artists and poets and rebels..."
Notre-Dame was beautiful, and it rained as I walked around it, admiring the flying buttresses and the spitting gargoyles. I bought and ate a Nutella crepe on Monmartre. (It was delicious.)
The last day we were in France we went to Versailles and to the top of the Eiffel Tower. When I was on the plane the next day I wrote about it, and to refresh my memory I flipped through my camera's pictures. I stared at the picture of me at the top of the tower... I was so happy... I was so completely contented...
And as I landed in Newark, for the first time in three weeks I arrived in a new country and, rather than being excited and hopeful, I was miserable.
And it's been more than two months since I got back. I've started school. I've got homework to do. I'm back at my two jobs (at the library and at my temple). I've got a book to finish before November. I'm trying to get myself a job as a columnist in a Jewish magazine....
And not a day goes by when I don't think longingly of the fields of Italy.
And I know nobody will read this anyway, and I know if you do you don't GIVE a crap, even if you personally know me. I know that everyone who reads this will think I'm just a dumb, melodramatic teenager who over-romanticizes stupid crap. I know what you're thinking: "Ha! She studied art history? What next, the philosophy of Care Bears? What a dumb idiot. Humanities, writing, as if that's a real future for anyone. And now she whines about being in the best-off country in the world?"
But I had to get all of this out, even if no one can relate to it. Because, more than anything else in the world right now, I want to go home. The next three years are just filler, just a long period of me getting good grades (which I inevitably will) until I can go back home.
Yup, over-romanticizing it. Spend nine days in a country and you want to live there rather than the privileged country you've spent your whole life in, you must be pretty darn spoiled.
But I want so badly to go back, you have no idea.
-Ariel (magic-esi)
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