Morning

I consider myself a night person, so I usually stay up until 2am and wake up at 10:30 or 11:00 the next day.  My dog woke me up this morning at 8:00am.  I was not pleased.  However, I looked outside at the fresh day while country music played on the radio in the living room and it was amazingly wonderful.  Right now the sun isn't high enough to be shining on all of my yard but is warming up the tops of the trees.  I forgot how beautiful morning is and how awesome it feels to be up early (ish) and know you have a whole day before you.  There are two magic hours for photographers.  The one I most think about is in the evening when the light gets golden and shadows grow long.  The one I most neglect, which is also amazing, is the morning hours at just this time.  The light is still golden and wonderful, but there is something brighter and more promising about it.  I have nothing planned today, I'm up at 8am, the day is beautiful.  I'm excited to see what today will hold.  I'll have to wake up earlier more often.  I've been missing out.

McAfee Knob Hike

Today I went on a hike with one of my friends, Jon, to a gorgeous place called McAfee Knob.  It's a very long hike, mainly uphill, and then you come out at the top of the mountain and can stand on huge, jutting rocks that overlook the valley below and the blue ridge mountains all around.  We came to the top of the mountain during the magic hour (a photography reference) when the light was getting golden and the shadows began to stretch out.  The view was fantastic.  We looked down on rolling hills thickly covered with trees and cleared areas for fields and a few houses here and there.  Mainly it was the hills, the mountains, and the trees.  Civilization had stepped lightly over this grand stretch of country side, leaving only hesitant footsteps here and there as it went.  The blue haze that covers the mountains grew thicker and thicker the farther you look out until far away mountains were barely visible as a faint line of darker blue against the horizon. 


Soon after we arrived at the top, we met two men about our age (in their twenties) who were trying to hike most or all of the Appalachian Trail over the summer.  One of them, nicknamed "Spoon," was trying to go as far as he could before having to go back and return to college in Georgia.  He got his nickname along the way by losing his spoon on the trail somewhere.  After that, he had to carve out his own spoon, which he said was more like a spatula, and eat with it instead.  The other man had a large, thick beard, despite looking young.  They were both very nice and offered to take a picture of me and Jon without being asked.  After talking with them a while, we went to explore the rest of the outcropping and marvel at the views.  Jon kept taking pictures of me, some of which he tried to do without me noticing.  I appreciate that because I'm a fan of candid shots and I hope he got some good ones. 


The hike itself was great and torturous.  Both of us were slick with sweat and the gnats and flies swarmed our heads like crazy.  Of course, both of us being college kids, neither of us put on bug spray, so they were having a field day, dive bombing our ears and going for our eyes.  I go a little stir crazy when gnats swarm me, so I was slapping them away and threatening them with horrible buggy deaths for a long time-they were not intimidated in the least.  I would go to wipe gunk of my mouth and instead smear salty sweat all over my lips-hooray.  Sweat dampened my shirt in the middle of my back and took up residence at my hairline.  I'm not a big sweater-it takes quite a lot-but the hike was pretty rough and it was hot.  The temperature was, overall, perfect for the hike.  It was sunny and hot but we had shade under the trees and a breeze would roll through every now and again.  By the time we got to the top, I had a persistent headache and my joints were screaming at me.  I'm not in the best of shape, but I did make it, so that's something! 


There were beautiful flowers and rock formations along the trail.  Huge boulders stood sentry over the path, covered in lichens.  We climbed one and there were plants and even trees growing on it at the top.  There were several cool types of mushrooms.  Some were deep orange, some were plain and tan, and others were small and brown but grew out of tiny holes in a fallen tree.  At one point the trail passed through an area that had once been cleared out for the power lines to go through.  It was beautiful because nature had crept in and obstinately put its stamp over man's handiwork.  Thick, flowering bushes grew up and down the hills over top the cut trees, which had been left as they were once they had been cut down-as far as we could tell. 


It started getting dark as we were about 15min away from the car.  It was almost dark enough for flashlights by the time we came out of the trees and crossed the road.  On the way back we saw a deer and several frogs hopping across the road-of course the deer wasn't hopping...  Anyway, lightning started dancing across the sky at frequent intervals, brightening the whole sky to electric blue and purple.  Some of the strikes we saw bright and sharp in front of us and it was wonderful.  After a while it started raining, then pouring as we neared Blacksburg.  It rained so hard the last little bit of our drive that we had to go very slowly because it was hard to see the lines in the road.  

Once we reached the apartment, I stepped out onto a flooded parking lot and heavy, cold rain.  After we showered and changed in the apartment, we went out to eat with two of Jon's friends.  The food was more than welcome after the long, tiresome hike and we feasted like champs.  I tried some weird cheesy, spicy shrimp dip on peta bread even though I don't like shrimp and it tasted fantastic!  After good conversation and good food, we left to go to our cars.  Jon walked me to my vehicle holding an enormous umbrella and we parted ways, saying we would meet up again in two days to go to the Cascades.  He just graduated from VT and had never been to any of the local hiking trails-that was why we went out on this excursion-so we were trying to make sure he got to see some before he left to go pursue the uncertain.  

He is sad when he says he will miss me and his roommates, and college in general, but he is also excited at the uncertainty of his situation.  There is something thrilling, to him, of being able to potentially go anywhere and not be tied down to anything.  He's never been in love, though he seems to truly want to, so hopefully he'll find love when he goes out into the rest of the world.  We were talking about life and religion during the car ride home and I said my purpose in life was to try new things, live my life, enjoy it, love others, and try to be a good person along the way.  I said that no matter what your culture or religion is, loving others and trying to be a good person is something all people can share and aspire to.  And although Jon is atheist, he gave an amen to that. 






Update on the marketing job: I decided to decline it and work two jobs closer to home.  I'll be working at Food Lion and at a restaurant when it opens this summer.  I figure I'll be able to make more money that way and keep more of it, since I don't have to pay rent.  Besides, I'll be close to my friends and everyone should work in the service industry at least once.

Artists

I loved this!


 (It may take a while for the picture to load.)


http://www.nettserier.no/jellyvampire/1304892000/

As The World Falls Down

There is no other world but this.  There is no other time but now. 


In a silver ballgown made of silk and starlight she steps tentatively along the outer edge of the ballroom, looking for him.  A kaleidoscope of color pulses and changes, filling the room with mystery and a heart pounding sense of possibility.  Dancers twirl and swoop past, laughing and smiling and longing and waiting in the chances all around.  Candles and orbs of floating light illuminate the grand ballroom enough to give teasing glimpses of faces, masked and unmasked, through the crowd.  She steps behind a pillar and emerges from the other side, voluminous skirt rustling quietly and tilting back and forth as she walks, making her feel like a fleeting princess in a dream.  Maybe this is a dream, maybe it isn't real.  But the feeling is so true it takes over her entire body.  The hope, the anticipation, the possibility; frightening and alluring and exciting all at once.  A wonderful mixture of yearning and slight unease that winds through her veins and makes her skin flush pink and alive.  He is here, somewhere, amongst the candles and the dancers.  Her heart flutters as she peers around, absorbing the sights and sounds, making them a part of her being.  The music and the magic of this night will lead her to him, perhaps, perhaps.  She doesn't know who he is, but she knows he holds all the world's wonder.  She would find it and him and they would be hers.  Perhaps, perhaps.  There.  A shoulder covered in dark blue.  It throbs with significance even from so far away.  The pulsing of the music guides her steps, leads her forward to a destiny she can choose to grab a hold of.  The crowd parts and swirls back together like a living thing.  Sometimes opening a path to him, sometimes barring her way.  A dark brown wave of hair beneath a mask.  Follow it, follow it.  Gone.  She has lost it in the crowd.  A touch on her elbow makes her turn round and see him.  A black and silver mask hides half of his face, but the brown eyes send a rush of emotion through her that lodges in her throat and stirs in her stomach.  With the locking of their eyes, a connection is established in the magic of the night that cannot be undone.  He slides a hand past her waist to rest on the small of her back while another hand pulls her right one up in his.  She places her other hand lightly on his upper arm, fingers tingling with the subtle warmth that passes through his shirt.  They begin the dance, swirling and stepping and spinning together like the others, yet like only they can.  They become one soul, a union that frightens and excites at the same time.  The hand on her back pulls her gently yet persistently closer to his body, making heat rise through her stomach, up past her neck, and into her cheeks.  She resists ever so slightly, just to feel the determined pull forward.  She fancies she can see his heart pounding through the fabric over his chest and knows he is watching hers pulse to the music around them and the music within them.  She chances another look up into his eyes and is swept up into them.  Falling, floating, flying, sinking.  The world is falling down around them but the two stay aloft on the pure, solid power of electric connection between them.  He takes her by the hand and leads her through the invisible people that must still be there, on some plane that no longer matters.  They stop on the stone balcony, moonlight cutting clear and bright through the night sky and bathing their figures in its glow.  She reaches up and slowly, with bated breath, peels back his mask.  He is a stranger and he is all she knows, now and forever.  He takes the edges of her delicate silver silk mask and reveals a face as beautiful as hope itself.  Captured in the tilt of her nose and the curves of her cheeks is the allure of what if.  His strong features respond to hers with definition, with what is and what will be.  His hand returns to the small of her back and pulls her forward until she is on the brink of a connection that sends blood slamming through her arteries, urging her forward and the thrill of it all making her pull back.  But she cannot pull away entirely, that would be giving up the possibility.  One hand comes up and traces her jawline, fingers resting under her chin as the thumb brushes her bottom lip.  His eyes, looking down at his prize, both asks the question and tells the answer as he leans slowly forward.  Her hands come up to rest against his broad chest, feeling the warmth there, pushing against him but not truly wanting to be released.  With a tilt upward, the moon greets her face as his closes in.  Finally, at the last moment, she leans forward and lifts up slightly on her toes to join her possibility with reality.  Their lips meld in soft, giving, warmth that melts them the whole way through and bonds them together.  


There is no other world but this.  There is no other time but now.
As the world falls down.

All My Lovin' (The Beatles!)

I won't give you all my love.
No matter how hard you try
You will never have it all.


You will share it with my cat
and you will share it with my mother.
You'll have to make do
with what my friends don't get.
I hope you can live on what's left
Because I can't give you more than that.


But what you get will be enough.
It will be more than you need
and all you can hope for.


After all, there's a whole lot of universe out there
And no one here knows
where it stops.

Marketing Job

I had a phone interview today for a paid summer internship with Plow and Hearth.  I would be writing product descriptions, etc for their website and print advertising.  They gave me two assignments, I suppose to see what I can do.  So, with absolutely no experience, I tried my hand at writing a product description for a "Whimsical Duck Watering Can" and "Tab Top Curtains."  I looked up examples from Amazon and other places on their site and I think it went fairly well.  I'm not sure though, since I've never done this before, but we'll see!  


Anyway, when looking through their website, I came across this: 
http://www.plowhearth.com/product.asp?pcode=6574


How adorable is that!? 


Also this:
http://www.plowhearth.com/product.asp?pcode=10982

I go a little crazy over miniature things, so this is wonderful to me.  I lack the money and space to be a practicing miniature model enthusiast, but I think I have the passion for it.  So I guess I'm a  theoretical miniature model enthusiast.  How lame is that?  Whatever.

Writing Out Loud

You know how sometimes you have to talk about an issue out loud to someone to work through it?  Well, I figure a blog is kind of the same thing.  I'll talk about a lot of random things and personal revelations here because writing them down helps me figure them out.  I'm trying to teach myself, not really preach it to someone else, fyi.


Anyway, I'm working on (and by "working on" I mean: think about it every now and then and berate myself for not working on them) two stories that will hopefully turn into short books.  One is called The Contract and is a scifi mini dystopia concerning a modeling agency and one girl's dream to become a model.  The other, as cliche as it may sound in the wake of a booming vampire/werewolf craze, is centered around a small continent and the struggle between the werewolves and humans that live there.  It is discouraging to work for two or three hours on a page or less than a page when I can read 100 pages of someone else's book in a single hour.  It gives me a new appreciation for how long it must have taken the authors to write their books.  If I wrote only one page every day, then I could totally write a full book and edit it in a single year.  That scenario depends on me actually writing every day, however, that does not fit with my recent trend.  When I think of how long it takes me to write so little, I get discouraged and go do something else, which leads to me getting even less done than if I had labored for two hours over a single page.  I need to change my habits if I seriously want to be a writer.  Even if neither of my stories make it to the publishing stage, I still will have gotten over a major hurdle by actually finishing a book for once.  I have started so many books over the years but have never completed one.  One of the major problems with procrastinating on my stories is that I forget the feel of the story and exactly what's happening, so I have to go back and brush up on the details before continuing.  By the time I stop reading, I don't feel like writing any more, so that's got to change. 


Even if I don't feel like it, I have to write every day to get better.  I may look back on the books I spent so much time and effort on and think they're awful, but writing mediocre books and improving is a whole lot better than being a great writer who never finishes anything.  All of the cheesy romance novelists are doing better than me because they actually finished their stories and got them published.  Some of them are truly awful, and hopefully I write better than that, but they are still more successful than me at this point for even finishing their books at all.  Don't get me wrong, some romance novels are good, but the majority I've come across make me flinch at the bad writing.  Even so, cudos to the authors for being published.  That's more than I can say right now.  If I do end up writing a mediocre book, I can still hold it proudly in my hands and say that I wrote it and I finished it.  Writing it will help me understand what it takes to write a full book and will give me practice, allowing me to get better in the future.  Plus, I can make my friends and family read it, so I'll have some sort of audience. 


One of the hardest parts of writing for me is rewriting.  I don't mean editing; editing is my THING.  One of my professors said that revision meant re-envisioning your work: looking at it in a different way, maybe even changing it in huge, sweeping ways.  I have learned, albeit slowly, that "writing is rewriting" and it's not the scary monster it seems to be.  As I see it, I've already written the thing, so going back to make it better is easier, less time consuming, and exciting.  I get to take something I've already created and make it better!  How cool is that?!  Yes, I may be trying to convince myself here, but whatever. 


I'm going to make it my goal not only to write in this blog approximately every day, but to finish both of those stories by the end of this year.  Ready...Set...GO!

Spending Time, Spending Money

I always feel guilty for being mad at someone or thinking bad things about someone if they spend money on me.  I think a bad thought and then feel bad when I remember that they just took me out to dinner or they just bought me a present.  This is an unhealthy way to value a person.  No amount of money or presents can make up for being a jerk.  I would rather someone be nice to me and spend time with me than be mean and spend money on me.  Generosity is a good thing but it only means something when coupled with genuine kindness.  In short, I should stop feeling bad about disliking a person even if they do nice things for me.  Money truly can't buy happiness and it doesn't make up for rudeness or coldness by itself. 

Blogging as a Blog

I don't write in my blog very often and I don't keep up with a diary.  This seems an odd thing for a serious English major: not to write much outside of class.  Writing by hand is too slow for me, but I like typing and a blog gives me the sense of being published, even though anyone can do it and probably no one actually reads this.  My creative writing professor stressed keeping a journal and writing in it every day.  Regardless of the quality of your writing or whether or not it will ever see the light of day outside of your journal isn't important.  The process of writing every day helps with discipline, practice, and the creative process.  I know this, but I'm negligent, so I'm going to try to write here every day with something or another.  I guess it's time to try my hand at using my blog as an actual blog.  This should be fun and I'm looking forward to the journey!  I hope I actually follow through with this.