Just Another Sappy Love Blog

I'm sure that people get tired of me talking about falling in love. I've written plenty of blogs about it. But for some reason, I just can't pull my mind away from the idea of finding someone out there who is right for me. Why can't I seem to concentrate on anything else?

I go through periods like this every now and then. For awhile, everything is fine and grand and life is good. I'm happy and bright-eyed and smiling. Who needs a man to be happy? And then, somewhere out of the blue, I just start thinking about how lonely I am. Don't get me wrong, I have some of the greatest friends in the world, and they're always around to keep me company. I love them to death. But I think that there's a void inside of me; something that can only be filled by knowing I have the love and devotion of someone who needs a person like me to feel complete. Maybe that's just it. Maybe I don't feel like a complete person. Something is missing.

When certain objects that I'm fond of actually go missing, I can ignore the fact that they're gone for awhile. I can last without them. I don't need material items to be happy, right? But after a certain amount of time, I think about whatever it is that I've lost, and I miss it terribly. This usually causes me to go berserk finding it, because something inside me just snaps. And after much searching, if I still haven't located it, I just give up and forget about it again for another period of time. I think that a situation like this can also happen emotionally, where even though I'm surrounded by people who love me, I know that there's a greater happiness out there, and it's only when I remind myself of its absence that I get stuck dwelling on where it could possibly be. I've felt that kind of happiness before, and when you realize that there is something beyond your ignorance that makes you feel better than if you had not known it was there in the first place, there is suddenly a need to have it. A thirst, if you will. For example, if your parents banned you from eating candy, and then at the age of 18, you moved out and ate your first candy bar, how many would you eat on a daily basis after that? Probably an unhealthy amount if you really liked the taste.

I remember the first time I really fell head over heels. There was this guy in my 6th hour my freshman year of high school, and I thought he was the cutest, funniest guy ever. I never talked to him, but I always admired him in class. I fell in love with the way his eyes would smile when he grinned, and how he got along with everyone. I admired how spontaneous he was, and how sometimes he would break out in random song while the entire room was quiet. He seemed great. And I made the mistake of letting him know I liked him. After that, I couldn't seem to contain myself. I tried way too hard to get to know him and to talk to him. I would go to the movie theater with my friend every Friday, especially when there was a popular movie showing, hoping that he would be there (and he was a few times). I remember how excited I'd get whenever he'd say a simple hello or when he would give me a head nod. My heart rate would speed up if he sat anywhere near me on the bus rides to and from school. At the time, I thought that it was the best thing in the world. The air tasted sweeter, the sun shined brighter, and I was always looking forward to waking up for school because there was someone worth waking up for. And I wish that someone could have been there to slap me across the face and call me an idiot, because I knew he didn't feel the same way, but I did a good job at convincing myself that he did.

Things went downhill very fast. He played with my emotions for awhile before he stopped talking to me altogether, and then I grew very bitter. I was bitter because I felt like I had wasted time fawning over him. I was bitter because as much as I wanted to hate his guts, I still cared for him. And I hated that I still felt very devoted to him when I knew that he didn't give a rat's ass about me. I was angry about even allowing myself to become infatuated with the person I thought he was. So for the remainder of my high school years, I fought my feelings. I began forcing myself to stay away from him, especially if I knew certain places where he'd be during the day. I'd take the longer routes to class. I'd sit with my back to him if we were in the same room. And if I saw him near or leaning on my locker in the hall, I'd turn around, walk around the corner, and wait for him to leave. My old habits were difficult to break, but by the first quarter of my senior year,  I was finally able to let go.

Every now and then I think back to those memories, and one thing that I can never seem to get over is how easy it was for me to close my eyes and fall asleep at night thinking about him, but by the beginning of junior year, thinking about him was what kept me awake. I think that when you truly love someone, the thought of them  shouldn't keep you up at night. It was such a weird transition, and when I realized that thinking about him was preventing me from catching my Z's, I finally accepted the fact that I couldn't deal with it anymore. I think that was when I began closing myself up, and suddenly, loving someone and caring for someone on such a level was a frightening and dangerous thing. It was a rude awakening to be aware of how much vulnerability I had allowed myself, and it didn't just hurt me emotionally. It hurt me physically. Some nights my chest would tighten, and my heart would literally ache. I'd find it hard to go to sleep without acknowledging how badly I was hurting, and the worst part of it was that I did it to myself.

Still, I'm never going to be able to shake off just how great loving someone felt. Memories of my happiness with him are very distant, but I know they're there. I had written countless poems and songs about how great he made me feel, and when I read over those pieces, I felt this overwhelming urge to smile. My heart would flutter, and I'd close my eyes and allow the happiness to flood over me. Love coursed through my veins, and when I'd get done reading, I'd be on this sort of high. But the pieces transitioned from my happiness to my decline, and after reading the poems and songs where I felt confused or upset, the happy pieces would make me feel very depressed because I realized I had been in love with someone I didn't even know. I felt like I had fallen for a stranger who only revealed his true colors after it was too late for me to save myself. So, last summer, I took a folder and put every written piece about him inside of it. Then I went outside and burned it. All of it. It wasn't healthy to keep it anymore, and I had to move on. As I watched the folder burn, it began to curl into the shape of a flower before falling to ash, and I felt relieved. I had bloomed from this experience, and I was stronger now.

Ever since last summer, I've guarded myself more than I ever have. I try my best not to allow my heart to fall for anyone, and although I admire guys from afar, a red flag always rises in my head, as if saying you know what happened last time. Plus, just by looking at them, I know that I don't have a chance. I've suppressed a lot of my feelings in fear of hurting myself again, and when I start becoming fond of a guy, I always try to shake it off and forget about it. Sometimes it's hard to focus on just staying friends and not becoming charmed by whoever it is, but in the long run, I find it to be easier. However, there's still a part of me that hurts because I feel empty. Why? Like I said earlier, there's a greater happiness out there. I know there is, and I want it. We all want things that make us smile, or that entertain us and keep us pleased. But it doesn't mean we're ever going to get it.

I have recently admitted to myself that I am crushing on a guy. But I remind myself that that's all it is. A simple girl crush. And I honestly don't plan on trying to take it beyond that point. The guy who I'm crushing on probably has tons of other girls fawning over him anyway, and I'm not willing to drive him away or give him any reason to. I'm too fond of him to do that, and I like his energy levels. Although I'd love to tell myself that he secretly likes me too, I know it's not the case considering we hardly talk. I think that when you like someone, you often exaggerate everything that they say or do. There's some secret meaning or feeling behind a simple hello, or a "how are you?" And even though that person may take a little time to stop and talk to you or to ask you something, it isn't code for anything. It's called being friendly. Don't over-think it. That's what I always remind myself, and it's saved me from a lot of disasters already. It's hard for me to not over-think considering the fact that writers often enjoy putting a lot of special meaning behind simple words or phrases. But it's something that I'm learning how to do.

Sometimes I may be smitten, or shy, and I might even bat my eyelashes a few times and smile because I just can't help but feel charmed by you. But don't count on me trying to do something with that admiration. The way I see it, unless I know that something is there, I'm not going to try and build something out of nothing.

Yeah, I like a guy. I admit it. But I just can't trust that it'll turn into anything. I'm running short on hope, and I'd rather keep the little bit of what I have of it for something that might actually have a chance of happening for me.

I gotta shake this feeling. I feel myself falling.

You don't like my picture? Too bad.

Normally, around this time of the night, I'm doing useless things on the internet or finishing up homework assignments that I've lazily and continuously put off until the last minute. There are even some nights when my friend Ed and I will talk on Facebook chat into the ungodly hours of the morning, which result in some of the best, most insightful discussions that I can ever find myself diving into. But tonight is a different night. How so, you might ask? Because around midnight, I made the choice of peeking inside my creative writing portfolio that my teacher handed back to me on Tuesday. I pulled out my setting assignment that I had written two weeks ago to see her comments, and I was expecting a low A because I had put a lot of work into it. They say that writing is like art. You have to help people see it by painting a picture, only writing uses words instead of brushes. So that's what I did. I spent nearly two hours on this assignment so that people could envision what I was describing, and I was looking forward to positive comments. However, when I took a look at it, I noticed red pen EVERYWHERE. I was puzzled at all the markings, and as I looked through my paragraphs, I realized that she was taking all of my imagery out of it. She wrote to the side "a lot of modifiers - let's work on pruning a bit in future", and as I read it with the crossed-out words, I realized that my writing sounded more empty than it should have.

Let's back up a minute to my previous statement about writing and art being related. If you paint your canvas well, it's going to evoke certain emotions and reactions out of people with little to no trouble. Like a painting, I work extra hard to do the exact same thing to my writing. Imagery is extremely important to me, because without a definite picture, it's going to be too vague. Because of vagueness, my readers are going to aimlessly wander around wondering what kind of sick joke this is, and I'm not going to do that to them. My teacher's request to take my modifiers out is like requesting an artist to only paint half of his or her canvas. It's just not something that's done, and if it is, it shows lack of skill and/or imagination. Over the years that I've been writing, I've developed a definite style that seems to be favored amongst my close friends and my Facebook friends. So it is very disconcerting for me when I see all of those red markings on my paper after I've worked so hard to make a piece work.

I am going to provide for you my original setting assignment. Then I will show you how it would read with my teacher's revisions.

Original:

        "The colorful leaves of autumn were floating down toward the ground of the moist forest soil. There had been a rainfall the night before, and the grass glistened with brilliance as the sun shone down on each single blade. Birds could be heard singing melodious tunes throughout the treetops, and every once in a while, a strong breeze would cradle the leaves in its arms, carrying them further into the brush. There was a distant trickling of water bubbling into the creek just down the fiery-colored pathway, where tiny fish swam together in schools of glistening silvers, oranges, and yellows. They didn’t seem to have any particular direction in which they were going, and yet, the movements looked rehearsed, as though they were dancing to the sweet twittering music that the birds were performing above them. In the middle of the creek, a turtle’s head emerged amongst the schools, peeking out at the bright sun that shone above him. Water drops rolled down the sides of his cheeks, and the few that rested on his head glistened in the light
Every now and then, a flurry of leaves would burst into the air as a pair of rabbits playfully chased each other around the trees, kicking the colored scraps up from under their feet. There were flowers of all kinds standing proudly above the soil with colors ranging from deep reds and bright yellows to dark blues and royal purples. Their soft petals glowed softly in the rays of the sun, always open for other animals to pass by and sniff with great pleasure. The bees hummed to and fro, pollinating each flower that awaited them, for they were the great gardeners of the forest. Outside the forest, a fiery red fox trotted about the landscape, stopping for a moment to prop its ears up to listen to the music being composed by the great elements of nature.  It then gazed up at the sky with its deep, dark eyes and watched as two of the birds flew off into the distance together, traveling directly toward the bright yellow ball of light that hung high in the sky, as if another world awaited them.

A stray leaf fell from the darkened sky of a cold, quiet forest onto the surface of still creek water. The only movements that could be seen were the rings that expanded around the torn, broken piece of foliage that dipped silently into the icy liquid. A cold wind blew the brittle leaves around the naked branches of the shady trees, and the impenetrable, ashen clouds crawled along the dreary darkness of the night, as if beckoned to swallow the sky. A thick mist flowed like an intricate river throughout the wooded area, licking the dead, dry grass with its perspiration. The deep, haunted call of an owl could be heard echoing throughout the still of the air, fading into the enveloped sky, but the living creature itself could not be seen in the dense, mossy growth of the desolate area. The wind whistled through the lips of the woven twigs that had long been groped and dragged down by the dead plants that covered the cold, solid ground of the forest floor, coiling around anything that crossed their path.
Tree roots twisted and curled throughout the pathways of the deep undergrowth and weaved themselves into tight knots atop the forest floor. Any plant life that dared to grow in their way was decapitated, wilted flower heads and shriveled buds rotting along the tough ground. Darkness brooded within a nearby cave, its entrance closed off by a thick bed of thorns that had thrived within the harsh environment, and a pile of animal bones lined the base of the cave entrance where creatures had attempted to wiggle through the holes of the razor sharp plant growth. Every now and then, a deep growl could be heard inside the heart of the hollow structure, but what dwelled within its contents was unknown, and perhaps, would never be discovered. The forest was malicious, unforgiving, and whoever passed through it would never again see the light of day."



Revised:

       "The colorful leaves of autumn were floating down toward the moist forest soil. There had been a rainfall the night before, and the grass glistened as the sun shone down on each single blade. Birds could be heard singing throughout the treetops, and every once in a while, a strong breeze would cradle the leaves in its arms, carrying them further into the brush. Just down the fiery colored pathway, there was a distant trickling of water bubbling into the creek where tiny fish swam together in schools of glistening silvers, oranges, and yellows. They didn’t seem to have any particular direction in which they were going, and yet, the movements looked rehearsed, as though they were dancing to the sweet twittering music that the birds were performing above them. In the middle of the creek, a turtle’s head emerged amongst the schools, peeking out at the bright sun that shone above him. Water drops rolled off his head, and the few that remained glistened in the light
Every now and then, a flurry of leaves would burst into the air as a pair of rabbits chased each other around the trees, kicking the colored scraps up from under their feet. Flowers of all kinds stood proudly above the soil, their colors ranging from deep reds and bright yellows to dark blues and royal purples. Their soft petals glowed softly, always open for the bees to hum to and fro, pollinating each flower that awaited them, the great gardeners of the forest. Outside the forest, a fiery red fox trotted about the landscape, stopping for a moment to prop its ears up to listen to the music being composed by the great elements of nature.  It gazed up at the sky with its deep, dark eyes and watched as two of the birds flew off into the distance together, traveling directly toward the bright yellow ball of light that hung high in the sky, as if another world awaited them.

A leaf fell from the sky of a cold forest onto the surface of creek water. The only movements that could be seen were the rings that expanded around the piece of foliage that dipped silently into the icy liquid. A wind blew the leaves around the branches of the trees, and the clouds crawled along the darkness of the night, as if beckoned to swallow the sky. A mist flowed like a river throughout the area, licking the grass with its perspiration. The call of an owl could be heard echoing throughout the still of the air, fading into the sky, but the creature itself could not be seen in the growth of the  area. The wind whistled through the lips of the twigs that had long been groped and dragged down by the plants that covered the ground of the forest floor, coiling around anything that crossed their path.
Tree roots twisted and curled throughout the pathways of the deep undergrowth and wove themselves into knots atop the forest floor. Any plant life that dared to grow in their way was decapitated; wilted flower heads and shriveled buds lay rotting along the ground. Darkness brooded within a nearby cave, its entrance closed off by a bed of thorns that had thrived within the harsh environment, and a pile of animal bones lined the base of the cave entrance where creatures had attempted to wiggle through the holes of the plant growth. Every now and then, a growl could be heard inside the heart of the hollow structure, but what dwelled inside was unknown, and perhaps would never be discovered. The forest was malicious and unforgiving, and whoever passed through it would never again see the light of day."

Now,  the happy part of the scenery I don't mind. She left a lot of it there and made minor changes. But the dark part of the assignment lost a lot of great imagery because she deleted many of my modifiers. It was really upsetting to read through it and realize how empty it sounded. It had lost its color, in a way. As a writer, I think that if you have something that sounds great, evokes the emotion that you want it to evoke, and grabs the interest of people who are reading it, then let it be! Don't take out all of the imagery and expect the readers to paint the pictures themselves. That is not something that I believe in. It's almost like what I said in my previous blog, when writers who don't understand grammar hand you their pieces. They leave a lot of the work up to you, which is something you never want to make an audience suffer through! I want to be able to create pieces that can be easily read and that flow from sentence to sentence without having to stop a million times to correct something. It's painful, it's time consuming, and no one wants to deal with it!

Tonight, for one of my Facebook statuses, I wrote, "I'm going to fulfill my dream of being a well-known author someday, and I'm going to keep writing the way I do, no matter what my teacher says. I will not dilute my work and lower myself to a level of mediocrity for the sake of those who enjoy reading weak, cliche forms of literature. Sorry, but it's just not happening." It really isn't, guys. Why should I have to go through the trouble of dumbing my stories down just so readers who happen to enjoy the shitty end of the stick can enjoy my work as well? There are so many books that I shake my head at, and one of them happens to be this little easy read called Evermore. It's from a book series known as The Immortals, which I refuse to touch because the first book is just awful.
Play by play? It's about this girl who has a dead sister only she can see, and this sister of hers likes to pester her. She also meets this new guy at school who is instantly infatuated with her, and even though she doesn't like him all that much in the beginning, she continuously has romantic thoughts about him and can't seem to get enough of his presence. And whenever she happens to wish he was there with her, bam! There he is! And then they come close to having sex a few times, she gets jealous because he looks like he's flirting with another girl, and the book is so jumpy that you're going directly from one place to the next with no transitions. First they're at school, then at home, then at a party, then back at school, then Disney World, then a beach, then the dude's house, and you're sitting there going "What the fuck is happening?" At the end, her sister finds happiness and is set free, and then Evermore is going out with Damen.There is also little to no action in the book, which really sucks. The final chapter is probably the most eventful chapter in the book. I don't even remember at this point. The author seemed to borrow a lot of ideas from Twilight as well, and I kept getting that Bella Swan/Edward Cullen relationship sped up 10x faster. So, the author pretty much wrote all three books of the Twilight Saga into one using shitty writing skills. And the next book in the series? Blue Moon. Sound familiar to anything?

The sad part about this book series is that everyone fell in love with it. My friends read it after I told them how awful it was, and they liked it. They even went out and read Blue Moon, which they said was a really good book. All I could do was shake my head and wonder how my friends could settle for such a crappy book series.  But then it occurred to me that they could never get themselves motivated enough to read the books that actually had substance to them. It just amazes me how many people settle for literature that lacks great character development, an intriguing, well thought-out story line, a killer climax, and a relieving ending that leaves you looking forward to the next book. And what the hell are these publishing companies thinking? They couldn't have possibly read through Evermore, thought, This is a great book! Let's sell it! and then put it out in stores. The only reasonable explanation that I can come up with is that the publisher probably thought "Omg this sounds like Twilight! Maybe if I put it out on the book shelves, tons of teenage girls will read it and it will become just as popular!" Sorry, but that's not the case with me. You fooled me once. Shame on you. But I will not be fooled twice.

The point of this blog is simply to state that I will not change my writing style just so it ends up sounding as horrible as Evermore. I never want to create empty characters just so people can put themselves in their shoes and feel like they're serving a purpose. My characters are going to be real people with real strengths and flaws, and I'm so sorry if you can't relate to them. But I refuse to make them shells for you to step into and to take over. My teacher may have told me that I used too many modifiers, but damn it, those modifiers painted a picture that I needed to see in my head so that I had something to work with when it came time to write my story. Now, I'm not saying that I'm God's gift to this Earth. And I don't mean to sound like some cocky, egotistic snob that knows everything there is to know about writing. I'm still learning as I go. But I do know that I've had enough practice to trust myself with my style and to be comfortable with what I write and revise. If someone is going to come around and tell me to change the way I've learned, thinking that they're doing me a favor, they have another thing coming.

I would like to leave you all with one of my favorite poems before I depart from this raging blog.


"Listen to the MUSTNT'S, child, listen to the DONT'S. Listen to the SHOULDN'TS, the IMPOSSIBLES, the WON'TS. Listen to the NEVER HAVES, then listen close to me— Anything can happen, child, ANYTHING can be.” -Shel Silverstein

Don't let anyone limit you from reaching your full potential. So long as you know it, believe it, and trust it, you are permitted to strive for it, and no one can tell you otherwise.

What Writing Is: Inspired by the King.

It's a funny thing, writing. You can do so much with it. Write a  letter, note, speech, story, poem, capture a five second moment and stretch it out into a span of one paragraph, twist things around so that it makes you sound witty, intelligent, and hilarious. You can even make yourself sound as though you are an illiterate mess that has no idea what words go where, so the inner hick pukes all over the page and causes the reader's nose to wrinkle in dissatisfaction. Let me show you an example of a short moment turned into a simple paragraph.

"The wings of a dandelion yellow butterfly flitted above the luscious green grass of the landscape, its six thin legs only an eighth of an inch away from skimming the blades. With one graceful glide, it landed softly onto the deep blue surface of some soft Morning Glory petals, spreading its bright, intricate patterns across its surface. Never before had there been such brilliant contrast between two colors before, allowing the delicate insect to stand out amongst the rest of the scenery. Its tongue remained curled under its large, black eyes, and only a second or  two later, it unraveled the thin drinking straw of its body, dipping it into the depths of the Glory's pool. The nectar was sweet and refreshing, and once the drink was complete, the tongue once again tucked itself under the eyes of the fragile bug. The butterfly began to slowly open and close its wings, and then with sudden speed, it took off into the air, once more ready to move onto the next flower."

Now that you have finished reading the paragraph, just imagine how quickly that moment would have gone by had you been watching the butterfly do that simple action. Also note that since it is in writing, you can read the same action happening over and over again instead of waiting for it to occur with a different colored flower, which ultimately, would not have the same imagery as it would have had with the flower beforehand. That's what makes writing such a beautiful and precious thing. You can see moments occur over and over again in your head with descriptive imagery and never risk missing it due to time constraints. It has always amazed me how much power is in the written word; how much control you have over the things that you see in your own mind. Maybe had Hitler gotten into serious writing, he could have made himself dictator over the entire world without having to actually do it. Would he have been shunned for such a book? Probably. But would it have been better than actually trying to take over the world? Heck yeah.

With writing, I can even change who I am as a person. I could make myself shorter, thinner, stronger, wittier. It would be easy to do, granted that no one actually knows who I am in real life. However, I think that inside, writers never are just one person. They are a number of different people all crammed into one shell. I often feel like there are many different voices talking to each other all at once inside my mind, and I'm surprised you can't hear them screaming at each other through my ears. Wouldn't it be an interesting experience to be sitting in your English class writing something, and then all of a sudden hear an audible, "Make me sound more handsome, because I am, after all!" "Oh, get over yourself, you cocky asshole!" "Why don't you keep your mouth shut! Just because she made you ugly--" "Excuse me!" "BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP! I'M TRYING TO SLEEP IN HERE!!" Imagine the looks you would get from your surrounding classmates. Haha. I think writers would definitely have to have some noise-cancelling headphones on to keep those guys quiet! But it's true that you have to have a sense of who other people are in order to make up characters who have strong personalities. Without that, you just can't write short stories or novels. And the same goes for poetry. Unless you have a deep connection with your inner self and your emotions, you simply can't do it. I think that writers have to have some sort of knowledge of who they are as people in order to come up with imaginative ideas that will make sense, and they have to be able to place themselves in those ideas to get a feel for what (in their minds) is actually happening. To do to your characters is what you mentally do to yourself, pleasant or unpleasant, and that's just the way it goes. Understand it, then grasp it.

I can tell you right now that writing is no walk in the park. Some of my friends say that they enjoy writing, or that they were thinking about trying it out. But it's something that you have to build experience on, and it's something that you have to want in order to make it happen. And, as much as I hate to say this, you have to know your grammar. I know so many people who would be fantastic writers if they knew where to put their commas, periods, semicolons, apostrophes, etc. Without knowing the essentials, the story isn't going to flow, and the reader is going to be scraping his or her knees every few words or sentences because of it. To write a story without grammar is to lay down a cement sidewalk filled with rough, uneven rocks. It's painful to walk on, and it's difficult to get to the end of. Whenever I read a story with poor grammar, it annoys me because  it gives me work to do that I shouldn't have to be doing. A reader is supposed to lay back and enjoy a smooth ride through the pages, not sit with a red pen and mark all the mistakes. So, I think that any writer out there can agree with me when I tell you wanna-be writers to KNOW YOUR GRAMMAR. Yes, writing does have rules, surprise surprise.

Also, I would like to throw in there that as much as I love great vocabulary, please please PLEASE don't use words that no one else is going to know the meanings of. During my freshman year of high school, my English teacher was teaching us how to write a thesis statement. I distinctly remember this guy in my class who told all of us that he had a very advanced vocabulary and that he liked using big words. On the day we brought our reports in, we had to read them to our classmates. So of course, big vocabulary man walked up to the podium and began to read his essay, and let me tell you, I had no idea what he was saying. Half of the report was composed of gigantic or complicated words that no freshman would (or should) know at that age. So of course, I suffered through it with a gigantic question mark floating above my head (you know, like the type of shit you see in video games). I'm not sure that I would be able to tell you what half those words are to this day, but it's just a turn off for a reader when you use big words for the sake of using big words. Sure, it may make you look like Mr. Fancy Pants for a few sentences, but then it turns from admiration, to confusion, to hostile thoughts, such as, Oh, buddy, if only my arms were long enough to reach your neck...

Now, I hate thinking maliciously of people, but if you're not going to teach me what language you're speaking in, yes, I will have the urge to march up to you and strangle the heck out of you. Some of you may be thinking But Stephanie, you use large words sometimes. Yes, I do occasionally. However, those are actually the first words that come to mind when I write because I am well educated in that department. So no, if I use a big word, my goal is not to confuse you. It is to describe to the best of my ability. I also hate to use big words consecutively in one sentence. You will never see me write something such as, "The ravenous, famished mongrel devoured the broiled veal sitting on the mesa above the linoleum floor." When you try to dress a sentence up like that, it just sounds like a bunch of barf spewing out at you. Now, people who actually know what those words mean may disagree with me. But I know that there are people that don't have a wide vocabulary range and may not know what two or three of those words even mean. Save yourself some trouble and don't look through your thesaurus for every word you can think of that might have a fancier word for itself. Simple is good sometimes and can make the sentence flow better.

Writing is a pretty amazing thing.  For people who want to write or would like to try it out, yes, it is a challenge. But as frustrating as it can be at times, especially when nothing is coming out the way you want it to, don't give up on it. Your ideas don't suck. Your writing isn't crap that your dog just left you as a gift. It just needs time, patience, and practice, and you have to be open for suggestion. I cannot stress that enough. Without having an open mind and open ears, you will not prosper. Constructive criticism will aid you in doing better and becoming more disciplined and civilized about it. But I will warn you that not all advice should be taken, so if someone says to throw your story away and re-write it using all of their ideas to make it sound better, don't sent it to the garbage can. Send their judgement to the landfill and go find someone else that will help you without murdering all of your ideas. There is a sort of chivalry that all writers must possess in order to become better at what they do, but there must also be that sense of knowing who you are. And above all, make sure that you have support from at least one person. As much as I'd love to say that I've always believed in my writing, I must admit that there was a time in which I thought my writing was crap, and that I'd never write another poem or story again. It took an entire classroom of students who were older than me to make me realize that the only person holding me back was myself, and without a cheerleader, your performance will suffer.

Writing isn't easy, but it's beautiful. That is, if you know how to do it correctly.

Stephanie Michelle Pabst

Walking the tightrope.

I had a dream a few nights ago that was beyond the ordinary dreams I have, and trust me, my dreams aren't that ordinary in other peoples' minds. It was a dream where I met this guy, and I knew that I had talked to him from previous times. Not in real life, mind you, but he appeared to be very familiar in my dream realm. He was a mutual friend of one of my friends (I don't even remember who it was anymore), and we were going to watch a movie. I can't remember if we were in a legit movie theatre or not, because I remember the seats being pretty comfortable, which is normally not the case. But whatevs, it's my dream. Haha. I ended up sitting by this guy, and I just had an insanely strong liking towards him. We couldn't have even been acquainted that long, but for some reason, my heart trusted him. He was kind, loving, and just as scared as I was to be with someone, and even though we had just gotten settled in our seats, he allowed me to lay against his side, just like the classy men do. It was then that I looked up at him, and him down at me, and he started to lean his head in. There was no hesitation as we kissed each other, and as simple as it was, it was real, and I found myself feeling as though I had finally found something that felt right. Throughout the dream, I remember sneaking more kisses from him, and realized that I finally had someone to kiss without needing an excuse. I woke up that morning and realized that, no, I did not have a boyfriend, and no, this guy wasn't real. But what shocked me about it was that for the first time ever, I had gotten my very first kiss, and I couldn't even be awake to enjoy it.

I've had dreams before where I've had awkward relationships with guys, and the few that I have tried to kiss always ended up being very weird about it, so nothing ever counted. I would wake up and wonder why it was that I could never dream of having a kiss that went right, and then would decide that it was because I didn't know what kissing was like, so I couldn't have a dream about one that actually wasn't odd. And now, it's funny, but I want to have what I had in my dream. I want to have that guy who I'm fond of and who I want to spend my time with, and I want to take things slow. But the thing is, I'm just so scared. I've had guys tell me that I'm beautiful and that they've had things for me, but it just never felt like it could work, and it was difficult to see me stepping out of that friend zone. The few guys that I have cared for have been guys that I'm never going to be able to touch, and it just sucks that I can't ever get things right.

I'm at a point in my life right now where I'm saying "whatever" to the idea of dating. I don't mind being alone, and I don't mind living my life. But even though I can play this act extremely well, there's always going to be a part of me that yearns for finding the other piece of me. No one can go through life and tell people that they never want to get married, and have it be 100% true. There's no one on this planet that can say love is stupid and that they don't want it, because there's always going to be something buried deep within the heart that yearns for loving someone who will love it back. We're all guilty of it. We say that we're done, but not really. We say that we're not going to fall in love anymore, but we do. It's a never-ending cycle, and I think that people like me say we're never going to get married like it's nothing because we're just too scared to be certain that we will. I know that I'm deathly afraid of how I feel sometimes, and I'm afraid of how other people feel about me. I've had a few guys look at me with eyes that say, "I'm into you", and it honestly makes me panic. If there's a guy who reaches to teasingly touch me with no motive but to touch me, I flinch and back away. I can't bring myself to be okay with love because I need to know that it's what my heart wants, not what someone else wants.

Now, you might say, "Well, Steph, if you don't give a guy a chance, how will you know he's not the one?" Good question. My honest answer is that I think you can determine your feelings for someone without having to be over-physical. You can't just fall in love by holding hands and cuddling and flirting. You can't just fall in love by staring into their eyes until something in your heart snaps that makes them look 100% different all of a sudden. You fall in love by learning about who that person is on a deeper level, and by spending time to connect with them. I think that falling in love requires a friendship, and what's risky about it is that you have to be willing to step out of that friendship zone to date them. You have to put them on the line and you have to risk losing them. Love should be about putting your heart on the line, and that's why I don't just jump into relationships. My heart is not something to be toyed around with, and if I put my heart in that sort of position to be hurt all the time, I wouldn't be able to function as a normal human being. I can't help but shake my head at the people who just jump right into a relationship with someone and tell them how much they're in love. Love is time, patience, caring, and appreciation. That kind of thing can't be found through a computer, or through a phone line, or through a reality TV show. You can't just be put in a room with someone for five minutes and decide whether that person is right for you or not. That's not how it works.

Yes, I am scared. I am frightened at knowing that I could be crushed by someone who I am completely head over heels for. I don't want to feel the pain of losing someone that I care for more than anything else on this planet. But I think that the reason why I'm so withdrawn to the touch of a guy is because I know what pain is, and when it strikes, I remember everything that I've ever experienced with that person. I've been abandoned plenty of times by people whom I've counted on and whom I've loved with all of my being, and I remember every touch, every hug, every smile... what they smelled like, looked like, felt like. I store it in my memory, and I just don't want to store anymore because I don't want to feel anymore.

I wish that I could have what I had in my dream. It was nice to have someone to cuddle into, and to kiss, knowing that there was nothing to be scared about. But that's why they call them dreams. That's all they really are.

I may never get married. I may say that I don't want to get married. I may be happy by myself. I may say that being single is the best thing ever. But I also know that I am not telling the complete truth, because my heart still wants to find love. It is just scared to walk the tightrope.

Day 2 of no Facebook!

Hello, all!! Well, it is day 2 of no Facebook for me! That's right, a full 48 hours! And I am happy to say that my withdrawal has started dissipating. Yes, it was difficult at first, not going to lie. But today was the day that I actually sat down and started getting some of my homework done for college. Yes, crazy Stephanie is doing her homework during spring break. I even started reading Stephen King: On Writing last night before bed and started to become absorbed in his words. I found his first ten, maybe fifteen pages (not sure exactly how much I read before passing out) stimulating to my brain. Today, I woke up and came upstairs to watch some TV, and then when my mom went to take a nap, I sat here and started to take notes on note cards for my informative speech that I'll be giving in two weeks. After that, I started to get ready to go to Brian's house for a movie night, and I also proofread my brother's research paper. He thought that he did a horrible job, but when I read through it, I hardly found any mistakes. It was amazing, considering that about a year ago I found myself completely re-writing his papers for him. I came upstairs and told my mom that he was developing the Stephanie gift of bullshitting papers the day before they were due, and my mother replied with, "Really?!" Ah, it's great to see him prosper as a student. He really is an intellectual boy. The problem is that he doesn't always want to apply himself. Of course, who does want to do that when they're in high school? Haha.

The movie night was a lot of fun to be at. Although it was only Brian, Eric, Allison, and I, we all had a blast together. We played Scene It on Brian's gaming system and made fun of my character who always did this puppy whimper when she lost, and I would refer to her as the prostitute bitch who wouldn't shut up. I was finally able to switch her out for someone else, and then the next round we played, Brian chose some gothic, creepy chick who we would make fun of. Brian kept beating us at the questions, so we started calling him names and talking bad about his creepy girl character. It was pretty fun, if I do say so myself. Brian decided that we were going to watch The Fourth Kind as well, but none of us really did watch it. We talked through most of the movie while Eric (who I refer to as my husband) gave me a neck, shoulder and back massage because he was antsy. Haha. After the movie, the boys played video games while Allison and I talked, and then we started watching music videos through Vevo. So the movie night ended up being 6 1/2 hours long. And now that I'm sitting here typing this, I'm realizing how much better I feel about not being on Facebook. It is no longer a top priority to log onto it so that I can check my notifications. Ed was 100% right when he told me that my decision to stay off of it for a week would be a release for me. It's not something that is on my mind 24/7 anymore, and it just goes to show that technology is only a necessity when we choose to make it a part of our daily lives. If we were forced to throw away our phones, computers, iPhones, iPads, etc., we may feel like it's killing us at first, but the longer we would be without these things, the more we would realize that we don't need them.

When I stopped using Facebook two days ago, it only took me a few hours to feel as though I had become disconnected from the world. But here I am two days later, still very much alive and not feeling the impulse to log on and see if anyone needs me or wants to talk. I have some "me time" to focus on more productive things. Allison told me Saturday night that I chose a bad time to decide to stay off of Facebook given that it was break, but I think that this is probably the best time to give it up. Why? It's not eating my time up. I'm actually getting out and doing things. Productive things. Things that won't make me feel like I spent the entire day being a bum. And when I do return to Facebook, if I become addicted once more (God help me if I do), I'll make sure to remind myself to take breaks. If I can survive this week, I'm sure that I can stay strong enough to keep myself from getting too sucked in again.

Well, it is almost two now, and I have to get up in the morning to take pictures with Allison. So I better be heading to bed. I think that I'll read some more of King's book before I retire for the night and get some more of it out of the way. I'll try to update tomorrow night if I'm not too wiped out.

Day two? I have slain you.

No Facebook for a Week!!

It was a few nights ago that I decided I would stay off of Facebook for an entire week. The subject came up when I started a conversation with my friend, Ed, from college. We were talking about the technological advances we've made and how it has made so many people dependent on them. I began reminiscing with him about the good ol' days when we didn't have Facebook or cell phones or all these fancy gaming systems, and it was at that moment that I decided one week spent without the most popular social networking site wouldn't kill me. So here I sit, 4 hours into this goal of mine, and I'm already having withdrawals. I know, horrible, right? I mean, after so many of these fancy gadgets and wonderful ways to stay connected are presented to us, it feels wrong to have them taken away. Why? Because our generation likes to be connected. We like to talk to each other and share our thoughts. We like to have that feeling of security where if we feel unsafe or uncomfortable, we aren't alone, because the power of talking to someone is a click or text away. We like to feel like others are listening to us and acknowledging us. It's hard to think that there were times when people didn't have laptops, cell phones, computers, video games, televisions, portable video gaming systems like Nintendo DS, iPods, touch screens, etc.

I was upstairs only two hours ago chilling out with my brother and his friend Josh, and we were having our usual random conversations. We were telling jokes, talking about music, Pokemon, Yugioh, Invisible Children, Youtube videos, etc., and I was really enjoying the time that I was spending with them. So many funny things were said, and I kept thinking about how badly I wanted to share those funny things with my friends, but couldn't because I made a decision to stay off of Facebook. And now I'm thinking about it and can't believe that I was so focused on posting things to the internet instead of enjoying the moment for what it was. Although it isn't bad to think about sharing funny things that have the potential of brightening someone's day, it's almost impossible for me to go throughout the entire day without thinking, "I'm going to post that on Facebook." Ed told me the other night that by not going onto it 24/7, it would be a release for me because I would not have to constantly feel a need to see if anyone liked my post or commented on my photo. I'm hoping that realization is stage one of this temporary experiment, and that by the end of the week, I won't feel as eager to log on anymore. But I am also afraid that as soon as I start using it again, I'll go crazy and post a week's worth of content all within an extremely short amount of time. I find that when I don't use Facebook as much during certain days as I normally would, I always manage to catch up with the time that I would have spent posting things by posting three or four statuses within a twenty minute period. It's so unhealthy to feel like I have an audience that is expecting to see my posts, so I need to catch up with myself. What is there to catch up with? How many people care about what I post anyway? I doubt that the internet world will miss me much. Heck, my friends are probably rejoicing right now and thinking about how great it is that they won't have to see me clogging up their news feed for an entire week. Haha. Still, there are some people who have been asking me how in the heck they're going to communicate with me while I'm gone. I guess I've never realized just how often I depend on Facebook for day to day communication. But I do depend on it very often.

I think that quitting for a week will be healthy to do. I'm so tired of being distracted by the social networking site when I could be doing better, more productive things. I don't know why, but even if there is nothing to do and I  get bored with Facebook, I find that staying logged on and not doing anything is better than getting up to find something to do. I just don't wanna have to feel like that anymore. I want to be able to force myself to read, paint, do homework, write, etc. The internet has been swallowing so much of my life that I'm already dying, in a way. I'm not living every day like it's worthwhile, and I want to do that. So, this experiment is going to hopefully get my mind out of the cyber world and into the fresh air of mother earth.

Well guys, I'm getting pretty sleepy. I know this blog is short, and I would love to type more, but if I continued to do so, you would most likely end up reading a long sequence of jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjdddddddddddddddddkkkkkkkkkkvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhsssssssssss due to my head falling onto the keyboard and hitting random buttons. Who wants to read long strings of letters that don't spell anything? Not this girl.

So, Goodnight, and thanks for taking time to read this. I'll try to keep up every other day with an update, but it's no guarantee considering my week is pretty packed.

Love you all.

Long Live

It was just moments ago that I was browsing through the songs on my iPod when I decided I was in a Taylor Swift mood. But there was one song in particular that I wanted to listen to, and couldn't remember for the life of me what it was called. Major brain fart! Anyway, I went to her Speak Now album and scrolled down the list of songs, and selected the song "Long Live". I haven't listened to it in forever, partially because I just haven't put much thought into it, and partially because my old friend comes to mind when I listen to it.

For those of you who have known me up until the new year, it was no secret that Tony and I were best friends. We did everything together. Took long walks. Drew with chalk. Watched movies. Made videos. Stayed up late and talked about where our lives were going, took midnight strolls, and just laughed at anything and everything. No matter where we were, you could guarantee that as long as we were together, nothing was going to be boring or uneventful. We would crack jokes during the worst times and make fun of people who were too uptight or who were boring large crowds with monotone voices. Sugarland was always playing in the car, and Tony was always dancing to it in the passenger seat. When we went out places in his mom's car, E.T. would always play on the radio. Things just seemed to have a certain way with us, and then before I knew it, everything was crumbling, turning into sand that ran through the cracks of my fingers and all over the ground, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Listening to "Long Live" is bittersweet for me. Tony and I always related this song not only to us, but to our generation. We weren't just part of a friendship circle, but part of something much bigger: people who had a thirst for their dreams, and who went after them. He wanted to be a country singer, and I wanted (and still want to be) a famous author. We wanted to prove everyone wrong who thought we would never reach stardom or make a name for ourselves. We wanted to show everyone that we could make a change and that we could be well known and respected for what we do. And we were doing such a great job. We were traveling that journey of fighting the dragons and bringing down walls and triumphing over all of the doubts that everyone had about us, and we were going to do it in all of our small town glory. We were having a blast doing it too, and I mean that in the most sincere way possible. But, I guess some things just aren't supposed to last.

I think that even though our friendship ended on a bad note, we hit a lot of good notes throughout the years that we've spent together. We've shared so much success and happiness with each other, and I guess we just grew up thinking differently and disagreeing more and more about things that we never used to worry about. Ever since the summer before our senior year of high school, we've been fighting. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't all the time, but when we did fight, it would last a long time. I think our longest time without talking to each other was three months straight, and I chased after him that summer because I missed him too much to let him go. But back near the beginning of January 2012, I realized that things weren't going to get better. He was headed in a completely different direction than me, and I knew that letting him go was going to relieve me of so much pain that I was already suffering from. I was going through periods of depression without him, and I remember December being a very dark time for me. I didn't want to talk to anyone about it, and I didn't want anyone to see me crying and miserable over not being able to drive, and not having a job, and not being okay with the way I looked. I wasn't satisfied with myself or with the people I had befriended that past semester. I felt like everyone was disappearing... like I was disappearing. I felt invisible, like people couldn't see me, and for the longest two weeks ever, I felt like no one cared. They didn't think of me enough to call, or to text. People were busy with their Christmas breaks and didn't have time to see me. What was even worse was that my best friend, Shane, was off in Cali visiting his dad, so our ways of communication were extremely limited. I had no way of calling him to hear his voice, and I rarely received texts from him. Not being able to have him here for stability really affected my mental health, and even thinking about it makes me emotional. Without Tony here, things were really off-balance and completely wrong. I was spiraling out of control and even went an entire day without eating. It was at that point when I told myself that I needed to get a hold of myself, and somehow, I survived it.

Our friendship ended in early January. All hell broke loose through texting, and before I knew it, we had destroyed nine years of friendship by means of words that we had spoken out of anger and spite. But inside my heart, although I wanted to tell myself that this was temporary, I knew that this was it for good and for the best. This friendship wasn't going to fix itself. We couldn't keep covering it with band-aids and go on acting like it was okay, because somewhere along the way, we knew something else was going to happen that would cause a new wound to form. I remember always wondering when the next big fight was going to be, because it was just inevitable. I knew we were changing and finding ourselves, but I didn't want to find myself the way he was finding himself. In fact, I backed away from it and kept my distance. His actions and motives began to change, and before we even had our text fight, I just knew it was over. It was a sad feeling, but it was the way it needed to be.

Do I regret meeting him? Never. He taught me more about friendship than anyone else has. He's seen me at my absolute worst and hasn't minded it. He's held me against his chest and let me sob all over his shirt because I needed someone to hold me and tell me that it was going to be okay. He's listened to me bitch about things that I'm sure were probably not even the least bit dramatic or interesting to him, and sometimes he would even give me advice. He told great stories and always knew how to make me feel better on my worst days, and whenever I would feel like falling apart and completely giving up, he wouldn't let me go down without a fight. He really was a great friend to me, and he's made me a lot stronger than I used to be. Without him, I probably would not be who I am right now, and I could never thank him enough for that.

We ended our friendship January 20th of 2012. "Long Live" our beautiful friendship, and "may these memories break our fall" whenever we feel like we're never going to make it out alive. I know we couldn't promise to stand by each other forever, but half of my life was spent with him, and when someone is around for that long, those memories aren't empty. They are what they are. We're just different people now. Shit happens.

This is not home.

Last night I was talking to one of my friends over Facebook who I haven't seen much of lately. Oh, college, how I hate you for your inconvenience. Haha. Anyway, I decided to ask this person if two of my former friends were still going out (I wish not to name names or go into details about the turn of events that caused our unfortunate falling out), and he/she said that they were, and were as happy as could be. I felt a little bit of a knot in my stomach, which contained both equal amounts of happiness and anger. I couldn't help but be happy that nothing had broken them up (considering how they deserve a break), but I was also angry because 1) I had to have a falling out with them to make things better, and 2) I wasn't getting any breaks at all. I then told my friend, "Kinda sucks that I had to lose them in order for the bad stuff to diminish, but oh well. I guess that's life. I just hate growing up, because nothing can ever stay the same. Then he/she told me, "Same. But growing up in a fairy tale isn't bad. But yeah, the old friendships never stay the same." When I read this reply, I couldn't help but think, "Fairytale? What fairytale?" And it's an honest question. My life has been more of a drama than anything, and all I could do was feel a sudden and long-lasting sting in my chest.

The word "fairytale" hurts. Nothing ever seems to be that magical for me. Don't get me wrong, receiving the only advanced composition writing award in high school and having a poem published is a pretty sweet, fulfilling reward, but it's no fairytale story. After watching countless Disney movies the past few nights (the classics, of course), I felt like I was on this magical high. Each one ended on a happy note, a sing-song kind of tune, and then one night during one of these movies, my mother said to me, "Wouldn't it be great if that happened in real life?" The perfect image that I had been viewing in my head shattered, like a sledge hammer to a magic mirror. There was no more spirit or wonderment to what I was watching, and I was again brought back down to Earth, where there were no magic carpets or mermaids or tough tramps who took you out to a fancy Italian dinner. There was no ruling a kingdom of animals, or an alien crashing to earth to help you realize that, hey, you're not weird after all! No. This is reality, where looking at a guy doesn't cause love at first sight, and no man is going to take you on a trip through a starry night sky and sing you a beautiful song about a new world. Chances that a man is going to take you out to a fancy restaurant after fending off some mean people is slim, and there's probably no chance at all that you come from a royal bloodline and you're going to end up ruling over people. Aliens? Shit, I'm an alien, if anything. Haha. But my life is too realistic to even come close to being a fairytale in the slightest bit, and it sucks.

When I found out my former friends were still dating, I was proud that I realized why I was so angry, and it wasn't because they were still together. It was because they didn't communicate with me to keep our friendship going, or to fix anything that could have helped us avoid being like this. I was angry that I wasn't a part of their lives anymore. And I was angry that they were happy and I wasn't. Now, don't get me wrong. I love my life. I love the people in it. But, I guess I'm not happy because I'm stuck in this town with nowhere to go that can make me happy, and I have nothing to distract me from being aware of all these setbacks. No job. No license. No forests to explore. No place to really find a job here that will set my career off. I'm just trapped by fast food restaurants and strip malls and stores. Everything costs money. You can't get anywhere without a vehicle. And even if you could, it probably wouldn't take long before you got bored of walking past stores and restaurants and seeing the same damn thing everywhere you go. Walmart. Kmart. Target. Fantastic Sams. Applebees. Subway. Shop N Save. Fashion Bug. Office Max. Best Buy. Lion's Choice. KFC. Walgreens. 88 China. Heaven Scent. Schnucks. Barnes & Noble. Mid Rivers Mall. Must I go on?

I just feel like there's no place for me to escape to. I have nothing to do but rot in this town because I'm not in an environment where I can be free to paint and draw and take amazing, beautiful pictures. I don't have room to move, in a way. I feel like I'm being suffocated by the technology and the stores and the cars rushing down the street. I'm being poisoned by a toxic environment that I wish for the life of me I could escape from, because this is not ideal for the free spirit that I am. This is not home. This is the destruction of once beautiful farmland where horses ran and where farms were built. I remember this place before people came here and destroyed it, and I hate being here. I hate it so much.

I just want to be in an environment where I feel like I actually belong. Is that so much to ask? To see a beautiful sunset touch the silhouetted tree tops? To see animals freely playing with each other and roaming about? Is it so much to ask to see pure beauty every single day that I live, and not have to pay money to see it?

Please, can I just be happy for once?