Never Too Late

That's one thing I can never seem to figure out: Is it ever too late? If you think about it, it really all depends what you're talking about. Some things should just happen because they need to. Other things seem able to be dug up, again and again, poked at, scribbled out, and fix yet again.

... For example, my writing. That's the cool thing about writing; you can leave a story for months and then come back to it to find it still the same, perfectly preserved.

Yes, it's a second chance.

Not Famous

When I was little, and even sometimes now, I wanted (and still sometimes want) to be famous. I always would like to be known as this famous writer, or someone inspiring to people my age.

And then I look at my family.

My mom isn't famous, but she's one of the most important people in my life, and my grandma is the nicest person you'll ever meet. My brother is hilarious, and my dad is artistic. People before me worked hard for their food, and went through things I'd never imagine going through myself. I always catch myself looking at their pictures and just being grateful for who they are, and who my family is.

Sometimes, not being famous can be a good thing. Isn't it so scary, and so creepy, that there are so many amazing people out there that nobody knows about? I like to call this The Perks of Being Not Famous. Because they are perks. Most of you guys' (I think that's not gramatically correct. Then again, who cares?) blogs that I read are so interesting, and I really wonder why you're not famous.

All in all, it's a mixed emotion, because I'd love to be known by the world as someone influential. It's like the song Beverly Hills, because he says he wants to be famous, but deep down, he knows he doesn't belong with the celebreties. I don't want to be a celebrety, exactly, just a writer. Someone who tells stories.

...Do you want to be famous?

Then and Now

I write down things that happen everyday. Not like a diary, just a list of what I did, what I thought was funny, etc. And you know what?Someday I'll be wondering what I used to do when I was a teenager, how I thought. Someday I might want to tell people how my story went, day by day. Maybe someone will find all these journals I keep, and look back and be spooked. Or maybe, just maybe, they'll find an answer. It's wierd, I love writing so much, and it's like me writing down my -our, as in, my family's- story everyday.And then, I know, I'll always be known to everyone.

So far, I've been recording my life since August of 2009. Sometimes I wonder, what was I doing on this day excactly a year ago? And now I can look, and I swear, it gives me the chills. My stories dance among the pages wildly at night, and sometimes the memories take me by storm, flooding over me and Now.

Staying Gold

"...But I didn't just write The Outsiders, I lived it. Looking back, I realize how important it was for me to have another life at that time. To be someone else. To deal with problems I had to face, and write my way to some sort of understanding and coping. This is all hindsight. At the time, I was mad about the social situation in my high school. I desperately wanted something to read that dealt realistically with teen-age life.
I knew I was going to be a writer."
~ S. E. Hinton

She is my role model, along with J. K. Rowling. While J. K. Rowling shows the world that you can come from nothing and be one of the most influential people out there, S. E. Hinton really makes her mark as one of the greatest teenage writers of her time. It's crazy; one day, she was angry and started writing a short story about a boy that gets beat up by "nice and popular" kids on his way home from the movies. At age fifteen. On the day of her graduation, she got her publishing contract. That's insane. And I want to be just that.
I want to make my mark.

Sticky Notes in A Bathroom Stall

Yeah, this title has significance. I've always wanted to take a pad of colorful Post-Its and cover a bathroom stall in my school with them. With messages. Little blurbs here and there. Just to leave my mark in a way that nobody else would know was done by me, you know?
I was tagged by Cassidy (The saga of Another American Tweenager) to play Would You Rather? And it's funny, 'cause I love what ifs. It's, like, another language I'm fluent in :) So, here I go...

Fabulous dancer or amazing singer? Singer. I'd love to scream some rage into a microphone, if I knew how to.
Potato or carrot? Potatoes are my favorite food, so a potato.
Window or a door? Window. There are endless possibilities you can do with a door. Open it. Look out it. Smash it. They, like I said before, are keys to other people, and that is incredible.
Glue gun or a roll of duct tape? Well, duct tape smells nasty, so a glue gun.
Guitar or drums? I'd rather be a guitar, because they make "the heart fly away, sharing the music of magical love".
Spoiled brat or a homeless person? Spoiled brat.
Truck driver or sailor? Sailor. The ocean is something I couldn't live without.
Dog or cat? Cat, because they're sly, lanky, and have an option to sun bathe all day long. Lithe and elegant creatures.
Motorcycle or car? Car. Well, a truck actually.
Super popular but cliche person or an unpopular but better person? Unpopular, quirky, and a mystery any day. Shallow girls turn into dust when high school's over, in my opinion.
Tooth or toenail? Toenail. They can be painted. True personality.
Stuffed animal or action figure? I'd rather be a stuffed animal, because bear hugs in the middle of the night when someone's scared are always nice.
Cell phone or credit card? Cell phone. I love gossip, even though I don't spread it.
Famous actress or artist? Artist. No question.

Okay, I'm doing this differently, but I'm tagging everyone that reads this. So here you go :)

Now, I decided to create my own questions for a tag. Here they are, you can all copy and paste them and tag whoever.
1. What is your all-time favorite song and why? What makes it so amazing?
2. Have you ever been in love? What do you think makes someone in love with someone else?
3. Have you ever thought/dreamt about someone and saw them the next day somewhere random?
4. Where is your haven?
5. Do you believe in fate/karma?
6. If you were to get a tattoo, what would it be of and why?
7. Have you ever lit a candle to wish for something?
8. What is the craziest thing you've ever eaten? (It can be ANYTHING.)
9. What do you want to be when you grow up?
10. What will you do differently with your life than what your own parents did?

Forever

I'm almost finished with my story, and it's kinda scaring me. I mean, what will I do with myself when it's all over, everything written our for me to look at and see? I love all my characters like the sisters I've never had, and just loosing them all is terrifying, leaving their stories undone, hanging in suspense. Forever. I know that I'm not going to actually loose them, but... what if I need to add something when it's all over?
I've always been the kind of girl that feels like my identity is uncertain. Like my first post, titled, Who Am I? I used to ask myself that all the time. And I still sometimes do, because like Francesca says, we're always growing, always changing. Forever is not etched in stone. Forever is forever changing, always taking on a new identity.
I'll miss my friends that I've grown with, though.

Tell Me

"You know, you're different than most girls. You don't care about makeup and guys all that mush. But you're still... passionate, you know? You still care about the important things, the things that mean something to you. You might not care that you're not like everyone else, but something's gotta bother you. You're human. It's not possible to be chill all the time. I know you got more to you than you let me see, but that's okay.When the time is right, I just know you'll hand me over the key. But it's alright waiting. Waiting is nice. Always something to look forard to." ~ from my own book I've been writing lately

Spiked Adrenaline

There's something so chilling and exciting about being thirty feet up in the air, my sneakers pressed up against only the wild breezes that creep through your bones. Maybe it's because the only warmth and comfort is the person to your side, and you finally have an excuse to just hide in their shoulder. Or maybe it's the wonderful feeling of my teeth chattering in the cold. Whatever it is, I could be up in the air forever, living on only hope and the feelings of trust in the ride, and myself. I just have to do that. Trust.
Yesterday I met an author. She had stiff white hair in a funky pixie and warm pink lipstick and a kind smile. I was telling her about how much I wanted to write books, and she looked me right in the eye and said, "Well, I love writing, but the only negative is that you can't retire." And she laughed, leaving me puzzled.
Well now I get it.
She meant that she loves writing so much, and it's totally addicting. I want to feel that way someday when I'm older, too.
Q: Why are oldies songs only and always about love? Can someone please answer???!
Guess I had something to say today :)

8/26/09

Last year, I got this calendar. It's the paper kind that you see in offices with little notes under the date written all over the place. So it was on sale for a dollar at the store, and my mom asked me if I wanted to get it. At first, I had no clue what to do with it, but for some odd reason, I said yes, and I bought it, took it home, and found out that it didn't fit on my desk. Great. So then I decided to stuff it underneath my bed, and write what happened underneath the date, everyday. So I did. And now I am completely addicted.
It's a lot easier and less sappy than a diary, with still something to say, you know? And it's a lot quicker, and takes just three minutes to jot something- anything that you thought was funny or horrible -down. All this time I've been writing, I haven't even looked over what I had been writing for almost a year in tiny boxes. And the first date I read was today, a year ago.
It's odd reading something from a year ago, on the exact date, still someone you've yet to come. I've always wondered to myself, Gee, I wonder what I was doing on this exact date, identical time, three years ago. And let me tell you, reading it gave me the chills. Almost like looking in the mirror, and seeing yourself, but with a mask on. You can see all the flaws, the differences, and all the mistakes. It's creepy.If I could go back in time, I would have told myself this: Stop worrying about all the small things. Just look in the mirror. I mean, really, look. You're beautiful, stop changing yourself. Popularity and pretty faces and brands aren't everything, actually, they're nothing. You should think more about the good things about yourself, instead of tearing everything apart, trying to morph into something you're not, and never will be. Just live. Say yes when he asks you out with that pleading look in his blue eyes, leave your hair alone, and open your eyes. Open them, look around for a minute. It's a really beautiful place.
But I can't tell myself this. I can only warn myself now.
Today may have been average, typical, boring, but someday you'll look back on it and smile for what it was.

Mush

I have this notebook. It's purple and just a plain old 1 subject notebook with the metal spirals on it, and I write everything I can think of in it. I write a lot of poems for fun that I'll never show anybody but myself, and it's all in that notebook, along with little passages to books I've written for fun, and quotes, and song lyrics. Sometimes I even print out little posts from other peoples blogs that I think are incredible and tape them onto the pages, and they don't even know it. Someone's gonna find it, they will, and that's okay with me. In fact, I want somebody to find it, to read it all, and most important, to understand every little secret I'm keeping. I've been writing and drawing in that notebook all day. Today is just one of those days where it's been pouring since last night off and on and all there is to do is sit around in your pajamas and spend the whole day writing and drinking cup after cup of tea, and then at night watch a movie with salted Jiffy Pop on the couch. So that's what I've been doing, and loving every moment, pushing that nagging voice saying stop being lazy and get up and do something useful to the side for awhile to just enjoy myself. It's that kind of day where it's okay to eat a spoonfull of sugary frosting all to yourself, or look at pictures on weheartit.com all day till your brain turns to mush. So be it.

I love mental health days. And frosting's good, too.