Glasses

Yesterday I wore a white shirt, black legging, and my brand-spankin'-new glasses from Cotton On. I don't usually wear shades, but I felt I was channeling my sister's fashion sense, and none of her outfits are complete without sunglasses. Here's to you, Sofia.

Frankenstein

I understand the joy of the model train aficionado. Because I am a writer with a limited attention span, I oftentimes do not like sitting down to write chronically. I do not have the determination and tenacity of say, Gary Schmidt, who consistently writes 500 words a day, picking up exactly where he left off. Rather, I'm a bit of a flake, a wayward upstart overrun with conflicting whims and shallow affections, endlessly growing bored with the first passage and running off to the next chapter in hopes of fresh entertainment. Once bored, I am hopeless, and I must begin something unrelated, another chapter, a new viewpoint, a different angle--and with a start, I realize the two parts can fit together with a bit of tweaking, cannibalizing bits of a chapter--an arm here, a leg there--and slowly, slowly hooking them together like cars on a railroad, running electricity through the sum of their parts and finding that it's alive! It's alive! 

What's Up

Dear Friends,

I haven't written in a very long time because Christmas and New Year came and went, followed by Lauren McKnight from Australia, and several other small adventures, like catching a cold and watching embarassing amounts of Charles in Charge and writing in coffee shops. My computer has died now, unceremoniously--as previously mentioned, the b and v buttons gave out, then the spacebar expire, and now the drive has ceased to function. I need to find a repairman fluent in Swedish, as my language settings are currently set to my native language with little hope of change.

As for school, my newspaper crew has doubled, and I am currently teaching three novels in two different classes. How do I manage, you ask? I had given out the copies of Lois Lowry's The Giver to my first seventh grade but when I got there, the cupboard was bare, and so my poor second seventh grade had none. Instead they received Madeleine L'Engle's A Wrinkle in Time. That is all well and good, except I am starting to get them confused and I does perturb me slightly that I haven't the faintest idea how to teach a novel.

The one thing that pleases me most at the moment is my netbook, on which I have written a great deal. For the past few days I have worked on my story and even managed a few details on a short story idea, and you know how I struggle with short stories.

Mainly, I have been focusing on using description to further the plot, as every element must play a part and turn back to the cohesive whole.