tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33549419832296112402024-03-14T00:11:39.870-07:00Yellow rain coat pressI'm trying out new work here. Please let me know if you have any feedback or if I have read you some of my work you think should be here. Thanks for the feedback!yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-3725714802894452642011-04-06T13:23:00.000-07:002011-04-06T19:39:11.688-07:00Love letters and Lab makers<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VZwF8t81ELM/TZzXQdVIcbI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/HNHxW--pT18/s1600/100_0304.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VZwF8t81ELM/TZzXQdVIcbI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/HNHxW--pT18/s320/100_0304.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592581515038454194" /></a><br />Thoughts.. <br /> Umm let's see where to begin on these. <br />My friend Chey is having us write love letters to people we always wanted to say something to but never got to. At first I thought it would be fun, and it is fun in a way, but it makes me think a little more than I wanted to think. I think I may have taken this a little seriously, I've been writing it in parts because I'll get frustrated with myself and think did you really mean to say that, or am I really thinking that. I'm just about done, and now I'm going over it and saying why did you write to that person? Why not someone in your family you heartless bitch, why did you pick him? Maybe....maybe because it was the first time I truly felt valued? To be honest I don't know why I didn't choose to write to a family member who I never got to say I love you to. I probably should have and I've thought a lot about doing that in retrospect, and I've been guilty about it. However, I've become quite attached to this stupid little letter that I've written that will never really be received. It isn't even a "love" letter it is an affectionate letter, I guess. I don't really have a clue what it is for me. I'm excited for the exhibit I believe a bunch of Oxford people are coming up for it and I think we can dress up any excuse to wear dresses is always fun. <br /><br />I have been bracing myself every time I open up gmail, which is quite a bit actually, because what if there is unwanted mail from a certain Oxford university. It's not like I've driven myself crazy trying to get there or making myself sick over it or anything. Also it's not like once I'm there I'll be expecting things to happen exactly like last time, only maybe a little bit, a lot bit, not just a bit lets bulk this bit up into a piece, a whole piece of me wants it to be the same. BUT guess what its not gonna be and I'm gonna be in for a shockeroo. (that is if I get in...)<br /><br />In the pressing present I have a lab report to do. I'm and a sucky lab maker, and an even suckier lab grapher, I was not put on this earth to graph stdev..at least I don't think I was? Bringing me to another point of umm what do I want to be when I grow up (other than writer of course). I'm doing all these pre reqs for ot which is fine and good better than good it could be great, right? Umm why am I then planning on taking the LSAT, it's not like I've thought about being a human rights lawyer...not at all... or umm why have I been thinking about Fulbrights? This doesn't add up to OT? but then lawyer umm could be one of the driest things in the world, I just don't know, yet. I guess Grandma is asking about what I want to be, she would be very sad/disappointed/disgruntled if she knew I wanted to just write. She doesn't think that's a job, maybe she'll be proven right in the end, but for now its the only certain. I'm just have to pick a profession to earn a living while writing, so what will it be? <br /><br />I'm not sure how to end this train of thought blog maybe I'll end with chocolet because everything is better if you end with chocolet, it could have been the worse entry yet and since I said chocolet at the end it suddenly goes up five points. So Chocolet, I would like some, that is all for now.yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-64504256372415905252011-03-22T17:57:00.000-07:002011-03-22T18:49:42.774-07:00Green Sweater<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_0SFMSInq2I/TYlRBWSHQRI/AAAAAAAAAGI/2DnHKRbJoT4/s1600/DSCI0632.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_0SFMSInq2I/TYlRBWSHQRI/AAAAAAAAAGI/2DnHKRbJoT4/s320/DSCI0632.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587085896333082898" /></a><br />I wore my little green sweater today. It's torn on one shoulder and worn looking, I had forgotten how much I loved that thing until today when it tumbled out on me in the darkness of a seven am shuffle. When I wear the sweater people always make a point of telling me that the right shoulder has a rip, they do it all secretive like they are trying to hide me some sort of modifying embarrassment, but I know it has a rip. I knew it very well when I put on, but you know what I love that damn rip. The first time I wore the sweater, I was a senior in high school and I wore it all brand new to ask this boy out to prom (call it progressive or what you will) anyways he said no. To be honest it was no big surprise, but I thought it was horrifying at the time and I rejected other opportunities because I was pig headed and said no one else would do. After this I thought the sweater was cursed or something, I use to be very superstitious in high school. I went to a Catholic school, how could I not be? <br /> I finished up Catholic school and finished (some of) my superstition. I wore the sweater the first time I went to Dyrham park. It was still roughly new then, but I remember the chill of June against it. It was never a very thick, but it certainly was a sturdy thing. Then a year later wearing the sweater again and someone taking interest in me, making me no longer feel inferior, replacing the the first memory of the sweater. Maybe that time is gone now, but the sweater is here in all its glory, with all its little rips and worn pieces.yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-88156600853975672022011-02-28T18:50:00.001-08:002011-03-01T11:00:48.800-08:00Language or literature?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FZGCyBsN5e0/TWxk8Et4BvI/AAAAAAAAAGA/AjGlo6iE-wA/s1600/DSCI0532.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FZGCyBsN5e0/TWxk8Et4BvI/AAAAAAAAAGA/AjGlo6iE-wA/s320/DSCI0532.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578945021626287858" /></a><br />Language or literature? The question sounds quite sophisticated, doesn't it? So sophisticated that no one could question the validity of a literature degree. Here in the States literature is becoming a little underestimated by our braggadocio science counterparts. Not to be primeval or anything, but the next person who tells me that being an English major I must have a great time to myself, or it must be fun, I'm going to rip out their jugulars and before you correct me on how exactly that may be impossible I will tell you that being an English major nothing is impossible, a man got eaten by a whale for gods sakes. And yes that was a run on sentence I am taking master creative license here I can do that with my literature degree (when acquired). With science there is a right and wrong answer, with English your essays can be ripped apart about fifty times and never put right. Does the latter sound easier? And for all those out there who have never taken an upper level English course it is not as easy to bullshit as you think passages really are required. This is not college writing so please for all of you that aced that, I'm very happy for you, but I also aced nutrition and I really have my doubts that is an upper level chem class, correct me if I'm wrong. English is an art and as an artist I want to be a perfectionist. So please everyone who calls English easy let's see your novels, whether they be good or bad I'd like at least 250 pages. Easy right? Not to bring Hemingway into every argument, but here goes... Hemingway never took the easy way out and although he may not have majored in anything he was certainly a man of words. Case closed thank you Mr. Hemingway.yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-3435394668598229962010-12-08T21:37:00.000-08:002010-12-08T22:10:02.456-08:00What are pictures really?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TQBvVzw_DyI/AAAAAAAAAFw/Yeh44PXZn0I/s1600/DSCI0325.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TQBvVzw_DyI/AAAAAAAAAFw/Yeh44PXZn0I/s320/DSCI0325.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548557161384054562" /></a><br />What do the blind see from a picture? Rather what do the seeing see in a picture? If you have had any part in the picture you no long see the picture, you feel the memory. So how do the blind capture memories? Maybe they feel them better in the first place without all the snapping of lenses and rushing to capture the moment instead of feeling it. For some reason I have a recurrence memory of the day I went for a walk to the perch pub and it is very clear, in fact more clear than most, but at the time I remember scolding myself for forgetting my camera. But most memories are brought back by more than looks or a still frame of another time. Smells tend to bring back memories, I'll smell woodsmoke and remember cold days sitting by the back door watching the embers and smoke, wishing the heat would come on soon. Now that is an image I would never take a picture of, is the smell my "picture" in a way, the capturing of a memory. It's harder to capture a smell than a picture, and in that way it is like the return of the memory has to choose you. There are sounds of course, and sounds frame and capture time, look at radio. Roosevelt's speeches during his presidency certainly capture a time period, and I'm sure to any one who lived through the time the voice of FDR still triggers certain memories. Bells and organs will always remind me of trying to get to sleep in England and the consistency of the chime every hour. So how can we capture a memory? There is no way to take all of our sense back to the memory at once. So we must rely on bits and pieces of our a sense to capture a moment that has already past. And perhaps hiding behind a lens we never saw it. Here is a picture of place you need 5 senses to know, but it's the best I can do.yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-41358550611257301462010-11-30T13:46:00.000-08:002010-11-30T14:09:01.215-08:00Things you can learn from standing in line<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TPV13alqmtI/AAAAAAAAAFo/9EG2WV8l6Eg/s1600/100_0242.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TPV13alqmtI/AAAAAAAAAFo/9EG2WV8l6Eg/s320/100_0242.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545468111067192018" /></a><br />I honestly think you can learn more standing in a taco line than you can from half your classes. You have psychology, nutrition, and my personal favorite, stories. And the cost is minimum, in fact if you were really low on cash you could stand in the line until it's your turn then politely excuse yourself remembering you are allergic to 95% of the ingredients. It's your free education embrace. The only problem is you can never get people to stay in the taco line long enough for a full story, they all seem to walk away with their stories after they get their taco, strange really. I suppose that is when writers come in, they make up the other half of the story. As a writer you end up finding the oddest things that intrigue you. <br /> I remember looking a someones feet that were twisted and worn, and I thought wow I want to be friends with those feet. Those feet have been places. Mine looked so young in comparison, but when I looked up and saw the girl she was my age. Maybe her feet had just seen more, been to more places, dealt with more things. Feet are funny like that, they can tell your life experiences that you try to cover on your face. Anyways those are my thoughts I'll give you some more tomorrow.yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-7421730018651999152010-11-17T21:36:00.000-08:002010-11-17T21:54:57.671-08:00Is double really better?Is double really better? I sure wouldn't say so about doubling my jean size, or the price of gas. But what about a college major? Is more better? I feel like I'm drowning in all of these misconceptions about majors, minors, certificates and what have you...everyone seems to be pushing for more and more. I'm trying to figure it all out myself, should I double major and take the college for what it's worth? But in the process of that am I losing something else, something we use to go to college for a long time ago... love of the subject? Isn't being passionate about one subject just as important as getting your twelve degrees or what have you. I'm not really sure at this point, but I can tell you that after dabbling a bit in other subjects I still feel most comfortable in an English class. And I write, not for class, but for love. I research for writing, I read to help my writing, I listen and think of writing, I observe and put it into words: is this not important? Should I be stuck in a text book instead, hyperventilating over reqs like I've been doing for the past year. I do think I would like being an ot, so I can help other people develop writing as a stress reducer, but do I need to double major, no. I've also been looking at Oxford and it looks like they want a focused candidate, someone who loves their subject. Of course Oxford is slightly ridiculous to get into...but who knows crazier things have happened. So what if I focus on writing and start looking at agents instead of spreading myself thin. So for now I think I'll stick to writing and hopefully everything else will just fall into place.yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-6917596546558267762010-11-14T16:58:00.000-08:002010-11-15T20:36:49.869-08:00Waking up is getting a little out of control<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TOIHM63-0TI/AAAAAAAAAFg/i975aNM4TXk/s1600/Photo%2B158.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TOIHM63-0TI/AAAAAAAAAFg/i975aNM4TXk/s320/Photo%2B158.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539998410163015986" /></a><br />"I love sleep. My life has the tendency of falling apart when I'm awake, you know?" ~ Earnest Hemingway. I think Hemingway had it right, life easily falls out of place during the conscience hours. I remember having a wonderful sleep last night, I was very productive in my dreams, if only that was my life. When I'm awake everything seems to be slipping and words are continuously falling out of my mouth before my brain has time to parent it. <br /> I've been thinking a lot about perceptions lately, and if we are who we perceive we are. I'm nervous that I've turned into someone I wouldn't like. At times I have a strong sense of who I am, but other times if I'm distracted and give a snap answer or am thoughtless I think well that wasn't really the kind of person you are in your day dreams. Of course it is very difficult to be the person we dream up and short answers and snap judgements come easy with stress. I always find the more alone time I have the closer I become to myself...if that makes any sense. It's funny although I was thousands of miles away I felt very much like myself in England and oddly enough closer to some people in America. Of course I missed home and my family but I was able to see it from a new perspective looking west. Maybe that is why we love dreams so much because we are alone and can see ourselves and everyone we are close to from a new view, an unconscious view point.yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-13767578282025901082010-11-12T14:29:00.001-08:002010-11-12T14:55:17.717-08:00Pain: yours, mine, and ours<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TN3FTqZ70RI/AAAAAAAAAFY/sDLzdDHcwN0/s1600/DSCI0321.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TN3FTqZ70RI/AAAAAAAAAFY/sDLzdDHcwN0/s320/DSCI0321.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538800058326831378" /></a><br />Ever since Christopher Rick's gave that lecture on pain, I have been thinking about the representation of pain. I think it is true that no one can feel an other's pain, or feel the pain that was once theirs but no longer exists. And who is to measure our pain? If the atrocity, circumstance, aliment (creator of the pain) is different for everyone who gets to have a painometer? As Austen says one half of the world doesn't understand the pleasure of the other, isn't' that true with pain one half doesn't understand the pain of another? Is pain measured by severity? Does a starving person always hurt more than a person who is well fed but broken from words? I remember when I skated I got a very bad cut on my leg that got infected and became green. When I finally brought it in to the doctor they told me I was very lucky I came in when I did because it could have become gangrene which in very bad cases ends in amputation. I remember being frightened and wasn't able to walk on it for a few days, but I really don't have any recollection of the pain. However there are words, rejections, places that when I think about still hurt. So what is pain? And what is the pain of others, it certainly is not ours, and yet isn't it our responsibility to try and understand?yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-66512498529395232032010-10-28T19:26:00.000-07:002010-10-28T20:35:20.745-07:00Outside looking in<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TMpA63J0-AI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/Q9ywxv8OzUY/s1600/Photo+128.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TMpA63J0-AI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/Q9ywxv8OzUY/s320/Photo+128.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533306472159836162" /></a><br />Tonight I was talking to someone about writing as an outsider. Really it is the only way to fully understand a group of people. You have to be on the fringes of a certain society to really know them. No one understand the group they are in or the role they are playing. I seriously could not tell you fully what I'm like as a person, or even what sort of friends I have; I could however tell you very accurately about groups I never quite fit into. And the further you grow from different relationships the easier it is to see the person in full. I think that's why it's so easy to be cynical of other people, because you can see their flaws so much easier than your own. We were talking about F.Scott Fitzergald and how though perhaps he never quite fit into society he was able to beautifully personify. He captured the jazz age without actually being admitted into it. I have a funny feeling that the servants at the party could tell you more about the guests than the hosts could. It's the feeling of being removed, and yet present that makes good literature. These were just my thoughts. Any more?yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-18410665271354132332010-10-26T15:58:00.000-07:002010-10-26T18:43:54.289-07:00Green and chained<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TMdoxhJATYI/AAAAAAAAAFI/bhtHJIIW1qo/s1600/DSCI0686.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TMdoxhJATYI/AAAAAAAAAFI/bhtHJIIW1qo/s320/DSCI0686.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532505867166961026" /></a><br />"Time held me green and dying/ Though I sang in my chains like the sea." ~ Dylan Thomas. I'm beginning to find something in poetry. I never did before, but everyone changes life makes you change. This poem is about pastoral Wales and childhood; it makes you think about returning to places you haven't been in a long time. Will they be the same or if the place will be gone; still physically there for others but not the same place you remember. As we were reading the poem today I thought about Wales and driving out of Gower, will I ever see it again? The ponies and the rugged grass offset by the cliffs and sea, I may look at it again but I won't see the same thing. I'll see it with anticipation perhaps or maybe expectations, but surprise? Worries? Probably not. <br /><br />What about being chained to time? Sometimes I want to brake the clocks arms and make the tick tock stop so I can be closer to a different time. But we are in fact, chained to the clock no matter how many arms we intend on braking. Maybe I'll age with grace, and won't have to worry about the pesky clock's tick tock's. Perhaps it will be better the next time around and when I see things again it will be even better. I wonder about people too, and what will happen to my opinions over time. Will there always be excitement with certain people or will that die? I really don't know, but things like that scare me. A lot of things scare me being forgotten over time, scares me. Can a place forget you, can people forget?yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-51657644275026023542010-10-24T18:48:00.000-07:002010-10-24T20:04:25.471-07:00Messy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TMTztflBIpI/AAAAAAAAAFA/PhcbUNU-Wrc/s1600/66655_1412522759728_1432301212_30907398_1447291_s-1.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 130px; height: 87px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TMTztflBIpI/AAAAAAAAAFA/PhcbUNU-Wrc/s320/66655_1412522759728_1432301212_30907398_1447291_s-1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531814205214237330" /></a><br /><br /> A crumpled up bag of mint cookies mockingly sits on my window sill, it's trying to make a point: clean you slob. My mother always buys me mint cookies before I leave home, and then insists on having a few before I take them. I secretly enjoy this habit (tradition) mostly because I'm never able to finish the cookies. Of course it's not just the cookies that are screaming at me to clean up, it's the tissues and the piles of notebooks too... Maybe my life is a heap of untidy things, like Thatcher's office. I hope that Thatcher's office is not something that editors cut out of my book. I was reading that Jane Austen had lots edits in her book, which I really don't think makes her any less of a writer to me, considering the bulk of the edits seemed to be grammatical issues. In my opinion the real writers are the ones with the imagination and the ability to tell the story, but everyone has a different take on this; some think that grammar should be emphasized and others think the story is more important. Undeniably both are important to good writing, and I am working on the latter. Jane is also working on the grammar. I should be working on the shakespeare and the grammar.yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-69455866036180491082010-10-21T12:54:00.000-07:002010-10-21T13:20:20.025-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TMCgdE4IUoI/AAAAAAAAAEY/Ptn-wDMEWjw/s1600/100_0371.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TMCgdE4IUoI/AAAAAAAAAEY/Ptn-wDMEWjw/s320/100_0371.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530596763796787842" /></a><br />I've been reading a little about Sheffield. There is nothing that seems too unique about it or any reason I should have dreamed about it. I don't think there is even an airport there, which would have constituted for the plane in my dream; certainly it's hard to make sense out of a place in your dream that you didn't even know existed before. I think it was part of the industrial revolution and it's in the north of england which is where I dreamed it was...but other than that I don't know why I dreamed about it. <br />Back in the real world there are plenty of test and papers to worry about, none of them seem as interesting as dreaming about sheffield, but I suppose I do have to think about them. Waiting for kin grade to come, that could go either way. Trying to type my book up so i can get this project going. Hopefully agents next? Keep you posted on the sheffield inigma.yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-38030426203902298132010-10-20T11:32:00.000-07:002010-10-20T11:54:48.746-07:00Just to sayMy hands are numb from holding on to the thin rope of the past. I know I should let go and fall back into the hugeness of the present, but it's hard to let go when your thumbs have grown into the rope intertwining and becoming one with this small string. The hugeness of the present feels like an abyss of foreign things that know me, and my hands seem to know them. I'v tried to put it into words so many times, but I fail. I fail at a lot, I should stop trying. <br /> I'm scared to think about the future too. I hate how some people have it all worked out plotted and planed for a life they think they will live. I'm scared I'm ruining my life by not going into something conventional. I might end up doing something conventional. I don't know. I might be poor. Really poor. I might end up a Dickens child, except I'll be an adult, but no one will know because i'm so short and my voice is so high. <br /> Maybe I need an activity to take my mind off the future (and the past). I could take up knitting, and be really really good at it. I could be a knitting queen, and make ticky takcies. <br /><br /> Just saying I could be really good at it, that is if I ever learned.yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-6576904794187883492010-10-17T17:28:00.001-07:002010-10-17T18:48:22.871-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TLunJy-5_TI/AAAAAAAAAEA/SrHQV6PM1AQ/s1600/DSCI0769.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TLunJy-5_TI/AAAAAAAAAEA/SrHQV6PM1AQ/s320/DSCI0769.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529196754273697074" /></a><br />Dreams can be odd:<br />I kept pushing north up up the country constantly in motion. The name sheffield kept echoing. I've never been to Sheffield in fact outside of the dream world I didn't even know it existed, or it could have been Scarbourgh which would have made more sense since it's in a book I'm reading but I could have sworn it was sheffield. I was on a train and I was alone. I had this odd feeling that I should been nervous and unhappy, but I wasn't I was content not happy exactly but I wasn't nervous as many impulses as my mind tried to send. Then I came to this old plane that was painted brown, it looked like something from the forties. I went to feel the plane and I knew I was seperated from something and I was alone here, but I wasn't unhappy. I kept trying to tell myself I was but I wasn't I was just on my own, isolated. <br /> <br />So that is my dream up for interpretations...yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-22173314063428320722010-10-14T15:38:00.000-07:002010-10-14T15:50:08.145-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TLeI9RSz_hI/AAAAAAAAAD4/8c9f_MtHEHE/s1600/DSCI0276.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TLeI9RSz_hI/AAAAAAAAAD4/8c9f_MtHEHE/s320/DSCI0276.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528037653816278546" /></a><br />Things I wish I could Do:<br /> 1. Apparate( for me this includes apparating to different countries too just so you know where I was going with this)<br /> 2. Time Travel<br /> 3. make things on your body magically disappear such a pounds<br /> 4. Get Published with out a lot of fuss<br /> This is it for now. There is more, i know there is but for now that is all I have time for. I finished my book feeling lonely and miserable with out being able to go there. It lets me basically do the first two things. Started a new it's about Oxford big surprise there, right? Yea well you can't live in the past, but hell why can't I write a book about the past and Oxford (my past I guess). Trying to type up At Memories Mercy so people can read it through... I hope it makes someone think at least that is all i can ask. If anyone wants to read excerpts your welcome to them. I should go study kineseology= bane of my existence. Write later. Oh and P.S this picture may or may not be where I want to apparate to, just saying.yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-7322726728428492902010-09-20T13:00:00.000-07:002010-09-20T13:12:36.408-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TJfAGYiy6VI/AAAAAAAAADw/U5w2y0MueNI/s1600/100_0270.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TJfAGYiy6VI/AAAAAAAAADw/U5w2y0MueNI/s320/100_0270.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519091084265974098" /></a><br />Far- everything seems very far far away. I was looking at the steps by the campus center, the girl sitting on them was very small, it made her look like she was a fairy or nymth, something not human. Sometimes I feel like that very small surrounded by the towering buildings of Umass, except I don't have any magical powers like a fairy (that I know of). It's an overwhelming feeling...being powerlessly small. I was talking to an advisor today about a grant and he told me no one holds your hand through this. I laughed umm yes I know very well no one holds your hand at Umass. <br /> I still have my clock on england time. Maybe I'm secretly trying to convey the fact that I'm not on the same wave length as everyone else. I've been working on my book, I only have a chapter or two left. Then I'll have to do lots and lots of edits, the word count has gotten slightly out of control so I'll be cutting it down. At least I can visit England in my book, and that is something. Hopefully I'll blog again soon.yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-59375509881242715662010-08-31T20:36:00.001-07:002010-08-31T21:24:10.450-07:00I never realized that...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TH3UetB5ZaI/AAAAAAAAADg/hNICn4G92LY/s1600/100_0029.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TH3UetB5ZaI/AAAAAAAAADg/hNICn4G92LY/s320/100_0029.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511795142920070562" /></a><br />The more I live the more I realize how complicated people are. I'm coming to this realization at the funny age where no one keeps things from me any more, but I'm still use to to not being let in on the big secrets. The creaking of a door followed by cold voices--looking back at messages come months ago acknowledgement come yesterday. Why I never saw these things before, I can blame on lack of experience or youth, but if you know me you'll know I hate youth as any excuse (especially when it comes to ideas and writing). It's all a game really and when your finally let in on the secrets you realize just how intricate the game is. It's then you realize you've been playing your own game and not even realizing it. Maybe you have even been the complication--or are the one creating it. Other times it's distant, which might be the worst because you have no words to heal something distant. I will also say that aside from the game I have found that people are better than we give them credit for. This idea is of corse the reason I get so discouraged when people disprove this theory, but sometimes my own thoughtlessness makes me one of those people. On top of all this I'l admit I'm seeing all these faults everywhere after England I want to go back so badly. Anyways old age is making me cynical they all said this would happening and now I'm seeing the things I never would have a year ago. Write again soon. I'll put up a picture I took over a year ago but I was looking back at it. I think it looks like a bird made out of clouds. Of corse the clouds are minipulated by an airplane. It's a natural picture inspired by human rythms. Missing Oxford incredibly wish I were moving east on sunday instead of west....yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-19011171148041472532010-08-13T06:22:00.000-07:002010-08-13T10:14:52.623-07:00Scotland<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TGVM3DS6v_I/AAAAAAAAADY/Qx2KXnjx9tk/s1600/DSCI0775.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TGVM3DS6v_I/AAAAAAAAADY/Qx2KXnjx9tk/s320/DSCI0775.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504890628191469554" /></a><br />Keep pushing north through the hills and lakes up up you go to Scotland. The hills of England eventually become mountains of Scotland. The first thing I noticed about Scotland was the terrain, it's nestled in the heart of forbading mountains protecting the nation. I went to Scotland with very little sleep. But I didn't notice my exhaustion till I got back the next morning Edinburgh distracted me with it's beauty. <br /> The first things we did when we got to Scotland was go to breakfast. We went to this little cafe called St. Giles and had the most amazing waffles and bacon. Real bacon the sort of strips you get back in the states. After this meal I have made the hypothesis that Scotland's food is superior to England's. Then we headed up to the castle and the royal mile. In front of the castle was a large stadium set up for a festival called the Military tattoo. According to the woman I met with on nursing Scotland has a very strong military, which makes sense because there are a few museums and of corse this festival dedicated to it. The castle is built into the side of a small mountain. The whole city looks ancient and has a beautiful yet dark feel to it. The castle has an amazing view of the sea and the city below. It reminds you of how it use to be when the warriors were looking over the walls with a perfect view of intruders coming from either the mountains or the ocean. There were lots of different museums and things within the castle which kept us occupied for a long time.<br /> Next we ventured to the craigs which is the group of mountains just outside the city centre. We decided to climb the highest mountain I guess it seemed like a good idea at the time. It was very very steep and rocky hence craigs. There were times when you could have easily fallen off the face of the mountain, but we survived! At the top you could see for miles and miles of ocean and mountains. After taking a break at the top we walked back down and grabbed dinner in the Elephant house which is where JK Rowling wrote Harry Potter. Feel very inspired before boarding the plane for our second flight of the day.yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-80723046682516952122010-08-09T11:55:00.000-07:002010-08-09T12:39:38.709-07:00Wales<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TGBZbj4Bb4I/AAAAAAAAADI/ffAIDQ2v5Bg/s1600/DSCI0691.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TGBZbj4Bb4I/AAAAAAAAADI/ffAIDQ2v5Bg/s320/DSCI0691.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503497074668302210" /></a><br />Secret places are meant to be discovered. The ocean was not meant to be ignored and I was meant to find gower. Gower is a pennsilla in Wales, and it is debatably the most beautiful beach I have ever been to. It has a rocky coast line and caves which we explored. One of the caves was so dark and you had to turn on your side in order to walk further. It reminded me of treasure Island. The place itself looked like the where the horcrux was stored in the 6th Harry Potter book. It was absouetley perfect. I found it by asking some people in Starbucks what was nice to see in Wales. Some one mentioned the gowers which is closer to swansea than cardiff(where we were staying). So I reasearched when we got back to the hostel and found out we had to go to Swansea to catch a bus to Gower. When we finally got to gower we were awe struck it was amazing, and not crowded at all. <br />It definatley made the trip! <br />Yesterday I went to Blehiem palace where Sir Winston Churchill was born. It was wonderful. Fountains and amazing carvings. And of corse lots of displays on Churchill whom I love! He was anything but an appeaser. I found out he was however a painter. Some of his art even got made into Christmas cards. <br />Tomorrow off to Scotland for a day trip. Waking up at 2 to leave at 3 and back tomorrow morning at 3 kinda crazy! I'll keep you posted!yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-21027629432134736672010-08-03T15:27:00.000-07:002010-08-03T16:09:25.527-07:00ClutterClutter~my mind is a giant room of cluttered books, cluttered clothes imploding in on me. I have about five different place to direct my thoughts and yet none of them settle on anyone subject. It's like my mind is opening up one of the books in the cluttered space and reads for a few moments that swiftly replaces it a new. I'm afraid lot's of the books in my mind are children's books and that my reasoning is (as one of my professors told me) native. But I can't focus on one thought for too long or I might brake routine.<br /> <br />Yesterday I met with the woman who is an expert on nurses of WW1. She was fascinating, and had a lot to say about the realities of war, it makes me very nervous writing, I want to do some justice to the period. I think perhaps i will phrase my book as a book that takes place behind the war, not necessarily about the way. My book has a plot which of corse makes it fictional, and I think it would be more honest to phrase it this way. <br /><br />One of my professors gave me some harsh criticism about my writing, more so than I've already written about in the blog. It makes me feel like I should have stuck with the nursing path, or teaching...I could have been good at either. I wanted to be a nurse or a doctor in the worst way until I was about seventeen, I think that is why this book has so much of the medical involved. I still think it's interesting and I'm still petrified I should have gone into it instead. But with ot, hopefully I'll get to do both. <br /><br />Today I went on a Harry Potter tour of Oxford. We saw the stair case where all the first years come in and the great hall which was filmed in Christ church. It was pretty much how you would picture it. Sometimes I feel like i'm going to school at Hogwarts...I wish i were magical it would certainly take care of all these career issues. What do you do? Oh i'm a wizard. No questions asked. That is a pretty impressive title. Speaking of magic I saw a pretty good magic show last night at the cape of good hope. The magician is there every monday. He told me I made him nervous, I hope I don't make people nervous but I'm around performers all the time at home it's quite easy for me to be a little skeptical. Anyways i thought the show was brilliant. <br />Off to Wales tomorrow, I'm not sure if they have internet so it may be a while till I can write again.yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-59788850936583521842010-08-01T15:53:00.000-07:002010-08-01T16:20:10.567-07:00Not quite sureJ.K Rowling said that failure is what you learn best from, that it is necessary. I hope she failed sometimes, then I could relate. Sometimes I feel like I'm a swimmer in the Olympics and I'm hoping no one will notice that I only have the skills of a life guard. As a writer I question everything about myself, and perhaps the question I raise most is: What give me the right to write this story? But then I remember that I was given this story, and stories come to people for different reasons, and it just so happens that you need to write the one your given-no matter how ill equipped you feel. And I think that, and I could be wrong, if you go with what you are given you will figure it out and write something important. This could all be wrong of corse and I may stand corrected hundreds of times over, but this is at least what I feel now. <br /><br />Tomorrow I'm heading off to London to meet with a woman who is an expert on nurses in WW1. This should give me a better grip on particulars. I need to ask about the training of the nurses and have other very particular questions. Again I hope I am prepared enough for this meeting. I'm thinking I will do something other things in London because I bought an all day pass and I want to get use out of it. I don't have too much else to say today. Lots of work and a paper. Write tomorrow.yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-83382778426041241252010-07-30T09:54:00.000-07:002010-07-30T10:23:18.857-07:00London and fairy pathsLondon is a very big city, but I never feel intimidated by it, like I do New York. I've tried to rationalize my comfort in London and nerves about New York, I think maybe it is the skyline. New York's buildings are overwhelming you can only see the place where you stand, in London you can see out beyond the street your looking at or peek down the river way and see Big Ben. I'm not quite sure if I'd want to live in London permanently, I think I would prefer more country, but I would like to live there for a while at least. Today we went shopping at Portabello road, which is dangerous for me, while I'm trying not to spend money. If you walk far down the street you get the best antiques I found a dress from 1910! Of corse this was drastically out of my price range, but it was beautiful. I also saw all of these military jackets, some looked like they dated to the Regency era, or I suppose it could have been the Boer wars, never the less very interesting. I had to resisting stopping at everything, and I only bought a sale dress for 5p for a friend. <br /><br />I'm going back into London next monday to meet with a woman who is an expert on nurses in ww1. Today I went to Primart (aka my savior in terms of buying clothing) and bought some dress pants. I should study up before I talk to her, I'm always nervous that I haven't researched enough or am misinterpreting something, and eventually someone will call me out and tell me I have no business writing. I was thinking about that the other day, if I had to be something else other than a writer how I could be happy, and I'm still not sure if I could be happy. <br /><br />I was talking to my professor about Americans and the separation between indoors and outdoors. Here people utilize the outdoors more and don't think about. We walk everywhere and in Oxford the city bumps into the country. On my last day of British Detectives we went out into the middle of the country and finally walked into a small hamlet, the houses had thatched roofs and wooden beams, and finally my tutor lead us into a country pub. The pub had a backyard that was gorgeous with gardens and shurbbery everywhere, it looked at lot like a fairy's nook and the location even was like a fairy path.I want to bring it home with me, I want to bring everything home with me, except the excessively startchy meals. Sorry for all the rambling. I'll write again tomorrow.yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-86629298330408307052010-07-26T15:52:00.000-07:002010-07-26T15:55:28.488-07:00Things a very short proseWhen I was young I had a sixth grade teacher( I was not crazy about) who told her class never to use the word things. That the word things was weak and not to be used in her class. One of my peers just got a review back from my Oxford professor who said, "please talk more about the thingyness of things." Well I guess everyone has their own style.yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-44958803590058686422010-07-25T16:03:00.000-07:002010-07-25T16:35:47.320-07:00Faith<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TEzKSUM_JLI/AAAAAAAAAC4/z1pAnX0_vro/s1600/DSCI0483.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NM7g2JCO_4o/TEzKSUM_JLI/AAAAAAAAAC4/z1pAnX0_vro/s320/DSCI0483.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497991661122167986" /></a><br />She spoke with her hands making pictures of her prayers begging the virgin Mary for a humanly need something only a divine power could cure. As I walked a long the pews and statues people stood humbly before the relics awaiting judgement or asking for an answer. The Sacre Couer is up at the top of hill over looking all of Paris, a relic itself secretly judging from its high place. The amount of faith the pilgrims who worshiped here had, made me feel like an outsider on my own faith, secretly watching their private prayers. <br /> Faith it is one of the hardest virtues, if it is in fact a virtue. Faith is difficult, not just in religion; but in your self, in the government, and as I discovered this weekend in the transit system. The train failed miserably creating an intresting story. When leaving Paris for London we got on the wrong subway which took us out to a shady section of Paris instead of garde norde. When we finally got to garde norde after much panicking the security told us we were too late to check in. After some alarm and emotional outbursts... he gave us a ticket for the next train free of charge. When we arrived in London the subway we were suppose to take was closed forcing us to take a convoluted system. At Paddington station they annoucned the Oxford train would be leaving from platform ten, but after sitting on the train at platform ten for half hour they announced that this was a mistake and then we had to take the elven o'clock train. Faith in the trainsit...I'm losing it.<br /> <br />This brings me to another point of faith- faith in people. The people in Paris are notoriously rude; however I have trouble believing that about anyone before meeting them. I put a lot faith in asking direction and meeting new people. However before I left numerous people had told me if they were rude i should remind them "we saved their butts in world war 2", this was of corse last resort...and I never once had to use it. In fact the people were all very warm..if you attempted to speak the language, which I did horribly but eagerly. One of my friends had a pen pale in France and he met up with us, which gave me the chance to talk to a local. He was very nice and spoke english well...my french on the other hand... But I had a lot of friends with me to interpret. <br /><br />The city is gorgeous, when you walk along the Siene there are all these little stands set up selling art and trinkets. The area I stayed in was called Momarte it was where all the artist use to paint, and many still do, we walked through a section of all painters working on different pieces. I must confess that my favorite was along the Siene though, that is where Hemingway writes about. I was able to into the bookshop where he bought all his books, although in those days it was more like a book swap library. The topic of Heminways brings me to my last point on faith. Faith in ones self. I think this may be the hardest kind. Yesterday I got an email from a professor who read an excerpt of my book. It was pretty brutal she said I wrote too old fashion and it was distant. And that I wrote like Hemingway, but she didn't care for Hemingway. I love Hemingway's writing this I know and will not be swayed, I admire his style though never before has my work been compared to it. And when I was walking up to Shakespeare and co. I felt as though I was walking up as a writer, a new writer, yes, but I did not feel like I was an imposter. I felt like I was where I was suppose to be, and discovering new place where people of my kind had been coming for a very long time.yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3354941983229611240.post-79098175392169549472010-07-20T15:57:00.000-07:002010-07-20T16:36:34.416-07:00DistanceMuffled voices and frozen screens makes one feel very far far away. My skype connection is faulty at best- I can't seem to get a non-pixilated picture of anyone up. It is trying to show me the distance between Oxford and the Boston- here and home. I guess it is over 3,000 miles or so and skype is just letting me know. Although even my in country skypes are interrupted by bad connections. Oxford likes things to be very pretty and look very grand, but i have found the technology lacking.... <br /><br />Besides the distance there is also time to consider, time makes you feel far away- the empty space of time with you gone. My father has told me about a dozen home improvements he hopes to put in. In a way it is as though no time has changed when I hear my father stop talking about one of his many projects then I can start to feel far. But that is just physical things doors-pools- I'm sure there are a lot of other changes that have happened between me and the distance. My friends back home seem distracted on skype they are far, in miles and thoughts... but then how can you be on the same wave length this far apart? I'm not sure if conversation waves can travel that far...<br /><br />In the meantime I have my own changes. I have my lovely sixteen pages to finish before Paris and two books to read, how these small details of my life will change me I do not know, maybe they won't. I bought a new dress today that was out of my budget, but my mother has been encouraging me buy it because I won't get another chance. It was a fun shopping excersion with one of my friends, we had both set up the afternoon to do papers but we took off and bought dresses instead. It was high table tonight so we felt justified in out decision; at least we had an occasion to wear the dresses. I should get working but it's doubtful at this moment. I miss my family, but at the same time I don't know if I can leave England in three weeks, it is one of the most beautiful places. I'll write again tomorrow.yellow raincoat presshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10498535061105919062noreply@blogger.com1