Tuesday, December 1, 2015


Now Playing: The Cure - Fascination Street

I just realized I updated my blog almost every day last week. Holidays + blog challenges + friends + mean people being mean apparently makes for a productive writing week. Or well. Productive blog-exclusive writing week. Let's not talk about editing/revisions yet--especially since my own self-impose deadline looms close and yet I'm just laughing at it awkwardly and pretending I don't notice it. I wasn't that productive last week. In any other regard. Like parking.

Anyways. . .

There was so much writing going on, so much introspection, let's start December, the best month, my month, with total pointless shit.

Mainly my hair.

I'm not sure how to contain it? I've taken shameless selfies to document my growing inability to part it properly or tuck down loose locks atop my head.

Another thing: I feel like, in these pictures, I actually (and finally) look my age. Which might be both a compliment and an insult--doesn't really matter.

I've only got about two weeks left of being nineteen. And it feels weird. Because I don't want it to end. I don't want to be twenty.

That's weird, right? Don't most people start to freak out about their age when they're turning 35 or 40 or 45? This one is supposed to be good. It's taking me one step closer to the legal drinking age. It's pushing me further up into the great years of adulthood--responsibilities but so many liberties, fun without true recklessness. Nineteen hasn't even been that great of a year and yet I still want to hold onto it desperately.

What gives? Is it the deadline I gave myself regarding querying agents/my lovely yet stubborn urban fantasy novel? Is it because it still labels me as both a teen and adult? Is it because of that Stephen King essay I've been repeating in my head all year? (I'm not even joking. I think I have parts of it memorized).


This is getting introspective.

The point of this post was dumbness. That dumb hair.

I want to say I'll learn to contain it, but between despising it and therefore wishing for straight hair in middle school and completely disregarding it in high school, I think I'm finally developing an amicable relationship with it.

And really, what else could I ask for?

P.S: Figured I'd include this here because it was so cuteee. I mean, it was at the end of a book from a terrible YA series, but it was still so cute.

While at the library on Saturday, Silvia and I found this note written at the very last page of a novel:

If you can't read it too well, it says: The beuty [sic] of a library book is to know that someone else has drank the same words you have and scaped [sic] the world through them.

Probably not a good idea to write on library books but nonetheless--adorable!

Although. . too bad someone forgot an "a" and an "e" there.

Ahhh fellow patron. You still meant well :D

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"Science and science fiction have done a kind of dance over the last century... The scientists make a finding. It inspires science fiction writers to write about it, and a host of young people read the science fiction and are excited, and inspired to become scientists...which they do, which then feeds again into another generation of science fiction and science..."
- Carl Sagan, in his message to future explorers of Mars.