problems with the plan

So, on my last post I detailed my plan for writing. The plan was to write a bad book first and then write my “real” book. Sounds easy enough, right? Yeah, that’s what I thought too. But it’s hard to motivate myself to write when I know it doesn’t even count! In the back of my head all I can do is plan out are ideas for my “real” book. It’s frustrating that I’m not writing it! I’m wondering if I should just ignore the advice and start up my “real” book. Plenty of authors must publish their first book, right? Sigh. I’m not sure what to do. 

I think I will try to continue to write my “bad” book (for now), and I’ll try to hurry through it. 

In other news…

I re-read the Inheritance Cycle books: Eragon and Eldest. I must have forgotten everything that happened in them, because it was like reading them for the first time. I forgot how good they were! Then I read the third installment, Brisingr, which was likewise fantastic. The author, Christopher Paolini wrote three best selling novels by the time he was my age…now I’m depressed. 

Seriously though, it you haven’t read them, do. They’re really good. 

I’m eagerly awaiting the fourth and final installment! What should I read until then?

Grammar Girl’s Writing a Novel Tips

I finally got around to listening to “Grammar Girl’s Quick and Dirty Tips For Better Writing” podcast about “How to Write Your First Novel.” She talked to author, Scott Sigler, to get his suggestions.

1.) Write every day
Well, that’s generally not a problem for me. I typically write everyday, but sometimes I don’t get much done… I should try to write without the Internet for a period of time maybe…

2.) Write a bad book first
I’m not sure that was ever a choice for me! Ha! But, Sigler explains that writing is the only way to get better, and if you intend to write a bad book you can push through tough parts and accomplish the goal of finishing a book. I think this tip is pretty monumental for me. I keep trying to write the perfect novel and starting a new one 100 pages in, because the plot has become too convoluted. If I know that this book isn’t my “real” book, then I think I can finally finish it!

3.) Finish the bad book, then put it away for six months
I might need a reminder when the six months is up…the calendar on my computer can accomplish that. Sigler says that if you wait six months then when you read the book, the experience will be akin to that of a person reading it for the first time. You’ll see what other people would see, rather than what you wanted to portray.

4.) Start writing your “good” book
I think I’ll be bolstered by actually finishing a book, and I’m always excited to write! This won’t be a problem!

5.) After six months, read that “bad” book, learn where you’re weak, and address those weak areas.
This will be enlightening, and perhaps humbling. I wonder if I will realize how bad my book is before I re-read it. I’ll be excited to improve though!

So, I’m pumped to finish my “bad” book, and move on to the good stuff! Yea! Thanks Grammar Girl and Scott Sigler!

Oh, and here’s a link to the Grammar Girl’s site about this particular podcast: Grammar Girl :: How to Write Your First Novel

Writing for Young Adults

It is almost written as if it were FOR young adults, rather than for writers of the young adult genre. The tips are obvious (use active voice, don’t have too much non-plot advancing exposition dialogue, know who you’re writing for, etc.). I’m not sure what I was hoping for–a book that would write a novel for me, perhaps–but so far I haven’t found anything useful in this book.

I haven’t finished it, so maybe it’s just the beginning that’s painfully obvious (it is an IDIOT’S guide, after all). I hope I’ll find some useful tips on advancing the plot, or something that will help me pace my story. We’ll see. If not, I guess the hunt is back on for a helpful writing-a-novel-tips book. Know any good ones?

procrastinating with a purpose

Sometimes I wonder what it was like in the good-ole-days back when writing was done with a pen and paper, or even on a type writer. Sure, computers are way more efficient and I seriously might hurt myself trying to edit on paper, but the computer provides so many lovely distractions…aka The Internet!

Every time I sit down to write the Internet is there, calling to me to delve into its wealth of knowledge about well, everything. Sometimes, well, often, my Internet exploring begins with a search for a fact for my book. I need to know the population of a town, a bird native to the area, or map quest how long it would take to get from one place to another. The Internet is extremely helpful in providing facts that would have otherwise meant a trip to the library. (I think I would practically live in the library…there are some serious holes in my knowledge!)

The point is that while the Internet is a huge distraction, it is also useful. I’ve found several sites (which I keep on hand in my “Book” bookmark list!) that I visit regularly for all my novel-writing needs.

One such site is yeahbaby.com (link below). Plain and simple this is a baby naming site. J.K. Rowling’s characters’ names often have a meaning that pertains to his/her personality. For example, Draco means dragon in Latin. Anyway, besides providing a bookoos of names to choose from (I really like the unique baby names lists) the site also gives the meanings behind the name if you’re interested in having the name relate to the character. Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don’t. 

Baby names and meanings for naming boy and girl babies.

And since most traditional baby naming sites don’t provide a list of evil baby names I use one of these sites for all my villain naming needs:

Canonical List of Evil Baby Names

20000-NAMES.COM: Evil Names

First names aren’t the only names I need help with though, and I’ve found a great surname site. You can search by country or name meaning. I’ve found it invaluable. If I didn’t have this I’d have a lot of Jones and Smiths. 

Behind the Name - the Etymology and History of Surnames

Microsoft Word provides a thesaurus, of course, but sometimes (usually when I’m not sure what word I’m looking for) I need a stronger tool. 

Thesaurus.com

Thesaurus.com does the trick. There are other features easily accessible from the site like dictionary. reference.com, reference.com, and a translator. I haven’t checked out the reference section or the translator, but they look pretty useful.

Sometimes when I’m stuck in my writing I use  a character questionnaire to get to know my characters better. It actually does help. The more you know about your characters (even if you don’t include all your knowledge into the book) the more realistic they are. Not to brag, but I’ve been told that my characters are the best part of my stories. This site provides some great character questions:

Character Questionnaires - Get to Know Your Characters

When I get really bored, sometimes I play around on seventhsanctum.com, which is kind of a silly site, but it gets the creative juices flowing. It’s hard to explain, so just check it out yourself.

Seventh Sanctum

Since my book is about superheroes I’ve found an excellent site for me, though it probably wouldn’t help someone who isn’t writing about superheroes.

Superhero Database | Superheroes, Villains,Teams and Superpowers.

I really like to use the site to get ideas for powers that my characters have. They have a huge list!

Of course, sometimes I need other information like the Alabama curriculum for 11th grade. That’s easily found in a google search. 

But I have to say, the place I get the most ideas from is Wikipedia.com. I search for one thing, then I link to another and another and another, and then I’m on entirely different subject, learning about something I’d never heard of. I get great inspiration from wikipedia.

That’s not a complete list of sites in my “Book” bookmark, but those are definitely the best. Check them out, and procrastinate with a purpose! 

When the light bulb burns brightest

I am constantly working and thinking about my novel…when I’m not writing I’m thinking about how I should be writing. But I’ve noticed that there are times when I seem to get more writing done, or seem to get the most brainstorming done.

1.) When there are other things I should be doing.

So, I had a southern politics test this past week and I think I managed to write twenty pages in my book. Um, hello procrastination! If I should be cleaning my apartment…then I’m writing. If I have a paper or homework, then I’m probably working on my novel. Unfortunately this means that I neglect one task to fulfill another, but at least I am accomplishing SOMETHING. (Hey, I used to read or watch TV when I was supposed to be studying!)

2.) When I’m suffering.

Oh, how I hate exercising, but when I actually make myself tie up my tennis shoes, get over myself, and head out on that run my mind seems to distract myself from the burning in my legs by hammering out details in my book. A useful distraction. It’s odd. Without trying to think about my book, my brain just goes there. The only problem is that I can’t write anything down while I’m running! By the time I get back home I’m itching to write, but after I shower the motivation and ideas sometimes have faded. 

3.) When I’m in class.

Yeah, I should probably be listening to the professor. My response to that is that the professor should probably not be so boring. It hasn’t been as bad this semester as it usually is–I actually like several of my classes, but in semesters past my mind has had a tendency to wander to that special novel-writing place. Last semester I had this one class where I would bring pages of my book to edit in class. He liked to tell personal antidotes a lot…that had NOTHING to do with the class. I refused to let him waste my time. I’m the queen of productivity…

4.) When I can’t write.

It’s so easy to have all these grand ideas and lots of motivation when I CAN’T write–when I can’t get to my computer. The biggest example of this is when I’m driving. I always want to write while I’m driving. I think it might have something to do with music. I don’t know. Its probably just because I obviously can’t write when I’m driving, so then, of course, I want to. You always want what you can’t have.

despicable main characters

In my boredom and inability to find adequate reading material sometimes I re-read books. So, I was re-reading the Twilight series. I’m on Eclipse right now, and I’ve realized something. I hate the main character in Eclipse!

(SPOILER for anyone who hasn’t read the books)

So, the main character, Bella, is madly in love with Edward. They’re going to get married and everything is perfect–except her best friend is in love with her too. Well, he pretty much tricks her into asking him to kiss her, and she does. I understand that she doesn’t want anything bad to happen to Jacob (her best friend), but I find it despicable that she hurts both Edward and Jacob by falling for Jacob’s manipulations. Re-reading this has lead me to two conclusions:

One: I’m a very loyal person, and there are few acts more despicable than cheating in my opinion. 

Two: The main character in my book will NEVER do anything like that. It’s almost unbearable to read this part of the book, because I hate Bella so much. That isn’t to say that my main character will never do anything bad. Everyone makes bad decisions or acts selfishly now and then. But I just would lose all respect for my character if she did anything like what Bella did. I wouldn’t even be able to write it. I would probably chuck the computer against the wall. And then I would be mad at both myself and my character! 

So, anyway. That’s what I’ve decided. Now, I’m going to trudge through the stupidest part of the series, and watch as Bella makes out with a stinky dog.

What I’ve been reading

I’ve heard over and over again that there are only two ways to become a great writer. Write a lot, and read a lot. With school and a habit for procrastination, I don’t devote enough time to either of these things. I do manage to always squeeze in a little time for them though. I’ve recently been on a trip so I had plenty of airplane time to read. I’ve noticed that the hardest part for me is starting a book (both reading and writing) but once I get into it I can’t stop. I just finished Graceling by Kristin Cashore this morning.

It was a really intriguing book, and I found some interesting similarities between it and my own book. There were things that really bothered me about it, but I won’t share them since they contain quite a few spoilers. I would recommend it still, since I did become engrossed and couldn’t put it down. I wasn’t irritated until it was over. You can check out my review on goodreads.com if you’d like. (Goodreads | Seallain - Tuscaloosa, AL)

Coincidentally, I’d like to recommend Goodreads to anyone who likes to read. It’s a wonderful site to do some research on what book you’d like to read next!

The other book I’d like to recommend is The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. It was a really great read! I’m normally not into books set in the future (well, except The Host by Stephenie Meyer, but that’s because I love her!!), but this book was really interesting. I would give a plot synopsis of these books, but I’m too lazy, and I’m always afraid of giving spoilers. There are short synopses on Goodread’s (not spoiler, like what you’d see on a book jacket). 

So, if you’re looking for a good book, I just wanted to recommend those two! 

I have decided that the worst thing about finishing a book is knowing that you’re going to have to get into another one. I haven’t decided what I’ll read next, so if anyone has any suggestions I’d be glad to hear them! I think I’ll take a break from reading for a bit and concentrate on my writing. I feel as I’ve neglected it while I was on vacation. My characters are bored without me! 

Write What You Know

So, as I’ve mentioned before I have been dabbling in several different stories. I get an idea and go with it, and then it either becomes too complicated or I get a new–better–idea. Hence me never finishing a novel… Anyway, one story (I hadn’t written much on) I decided that it would work much better by changing some things. The original story had the main character, Keira, moving to Alabama with her father, a forester. The main problem with this was that I have zero knowledge about foresting. I attempted to scour the internet for information (God bless google), but it really wasn’t telling me what I wanted to know (curse you, google!). So I’ve gone back and changed the dad to a mom (it works better, but really isn’t pertinent to my argument) and her occupation is journalism. Ah, something I know much more about. Finally I have found a use for my journalism degree. (Well, incomplete degree–I have two more classes.) Anyway, I’m excited about finally putting my useless journalism knowledge to use.

Gosh. I really hate journalism. 

But with my new changes I’ve also decided to change the season from fall to summer. That means the two chapters I had with Keira in school…well those are kaput. Oh, well. This editing is certainly making my story better even if I’m having to re-write a bunch of stuff. I enjoy writing, so it really isn’t a problem.

The whole point of this is that I really do think it’s important to try and write about what you know. It seems like common sense now. Sure I’d love to write a story that takes place in Ireland, but since I’ve never been across the pond I probably wouldn’t be very good at writing that story. So my new game plan is a.) write about stuff I have some knowledge about and b.) use fantasy so I can make it up myself! hehe. Ah, the joys of fantasy writing. 

Actually the other book I’m working on is a mystery and the problem I’m having with that is the same problem with the forester occupation (which, by the way, would have been a big part of the story). The big problems were that first, my character is 29, and when I had the piece workshopped it was commented that she seemed younger. Probably because I don’t know what it’s like to be 29. The second problem was my lack of knowledge about police procedure and general knowledge about the judicial system. I thought about changing it, but that really would be a completely different book. I don’t think it would really work if I changed the age of the character…the whole plot would change. But the concept actually inspired me a bit.

I’ve noticed that there aren’t many young adult mysteries–the good ole Nancy Drews of old. I think that may be a project to tuck away for later. 

So through trial and error, I’m learning. Slowly but surely. At least I’m having fun doing it, and when I finally do finish a novel it’s going to be pretty dang spectacular.

“Writing is an exploration. You start from nothing and learn as you go.” 

-E.L. Doctorow

A p.s. on giving blog credit where blog credit is due:  I would like to say that my brother, Eric, has inspired me to try harder on my blog. If Eric can have a wicked awesome blog (Life of a Jenius) then so can I. My other brother, Rhett, has a pretty hard core blog. I don’t think I want to put that much effort, but it is a kick booty blog so check it out (Dot Physics). Obviously, my blog is quite a bit different since I’m more of a right-brained person. Math and science fascinate but befuddle me.

Just Because

I’ve decided to post what I wrote for my second workshop in my prose class…just because. I still like my first piece best, but since that’s a project I’m still working on I’m going to save that. This didn’t turn out the way I thought it would…but I kinda like it. Here it is:

            I propped my head on my hand, straining to stay awake. School was so monotonous. Everything bored me. It was laughably easy. Of course, I was incredibly smart. I’m not just saying that. I tested at genius level. I was offered a full ride scholarship to all the ivy league schools, but my mom didn’t want me that far from home. We made a deal, one year at the university close to home, and then I could go to the college of my choice. I thought it was pretty selfish of her to try to destroy my future so she could still see her baby boy.

            “And that’s all for today,” the dull tweed clad professor announced two minutes after the class was supposed to have ended.

            A girl in the front row shot her hand high in the air showcasing the “X’s” on her hand from partying at the bar the night before. I rolled my eyes. “Um, Professor?” she asked in a loud shrill. “Last week you said you’d assign a paper for Monday?” she prompted in an exaggerated southern accent.

            “Oh, right. Yes,” the professor said absentmindedly. “I’d like you all to write a three to five page paper on Romeo and Juliet. If any of you turn in a high school typical paper, you’re going to fail. I’m not going to tell you what to write about, but I expect some real thinking and originality.”

            The class groaned and the rustling of papers, snapping binders, and zipping of backpacks filled the room. I groaned too. Not because I had anything better to do that weekend than write a paper, but because I hated Romeo and Juliet. No one could fall in love that fast. Not true love. It was completely ridiculous. Nobody died for love anymore.

            The girl who had ruined everyone’s weekend was wearing the snobby girl uniform of gym shorts, a tee shirt, and pearls. I saw a few other people give her back a dirty look as she slung her tote over her shoulder and strutted out of the classroom with her nose in the air.

            Girls like that made me want to smack my head against the wall. Were there any decent—smart—girls at college? Girls who didn’t just want to get drunk every night? But, even if I wanted to date a girl like that, she wouldn’t look twice at me. When girls saw me they saw a lanky pale geek, and that was without taking my deformities into account, which were impossible to miss. I wasn’t the kind of guy girls lusted after. Generally, I was okay with that, because there weren’t any girls that interested me.

            “Kellan!” I heard someone call. I spun around. The good thing about my name was that I never mistakenly responded when the caller was talking about another Kellan.

            “Oh, hi,” I said, seeing my big brother, Liam. “What’s up?”

            Liam was the anti-Kellan. He was in a fraternity, hooked up with a different girl every night; basically he was a normal college guy, and definitely better looking than the average guy. Girls flocked to him. “Not much, man. Just woke up,” Liam said jogging to catch up to me.

            “You just woke up?” I asked. “It’s one in the afternoon.”

            “Yeah. I was at this crazy party last night. Man, you should’ve been there,” Liam said smacking me on the back.

            I sputtered a little as the breath was knocked out of me. Liam was twice the size of me, and he didn’t realize his own strength. “I had a test at eight this morning,” I told him. He wasn’t listening anymore.
            “A’ight man, well, I’ll hit you up later, I gotta go get something to eat,” Liam told me with another slap to the back. That was going to leave a bruise.

            I walked swiftly back to my dorm, ipod drowning out the chatter of passersby, and staring down at my worn tennis shoes. I was completely lost in the melodies of Mozart when I smacked into something solid knocking me down to the ground and sending my thick glasses flying across the sidewalk. I felt helplessly around on the ground like a blind man, because I might as well have been blind without my glasses.

            “Here,” a soft voice said and I felt my glasses return to my face. It felt odd having someone else put my glasses on. The only other person who had done that was the eye doctor. You would think for as many times as he put other people’s glasses on he’d be better at it, but he always ended up jamming me in the ear or putting them on crooked.

            This person put them on perfectly though. I met her eyes. They were a startling emerald green. Once I looked into them it was like a spell. I couldn’t look away. They weren’t just beautiful. They were so deep, like there was something going on behind them—a rare occurrence I had come to find. It was also rare to meet someone who wasn’t terrified at my appearance. Her eyes didn’t look scared.

            “Sorry,” she said, getting to her feet and holding out a hand to pull me up as well. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

            I noticed a book on the ground. She must have dropped it. I leaned over and picked it up and handed it to her. I glanced at the cover—Romeo and Juliet. How ironic. I just came from a Shakespeare class. “I have to write a paper on this book,” I said sounding a bit awkward. Why would this random girl care that I’m writing a paper on the book she’s reading?

            “Really? Do you have Dr. Gaunt?” she asked.

            “You’re not in that class too are you?” I felt sure that I would have noticed her if she were.

            “I’m on my way right now,” she said. “Does he give us a paper assignment then?”

            Ah, a different time, same class. Too bad. What was I saying? It wasn’t like if she had a class with me that she would talk to me. But I least I could have looked at her. “Yeah, I just got out of there. He didn’t really say what the paper was about though.”

            It was easy to talk to this girl. I usually couldn’t carry on a normal conversation with people. I was too random. My brain worked too fast. That, and most people focused on the large scar covering half of my face. It made me pretty self-conscious. The scar was something I had since I was three. A rare snakebite resulted in Liam gouging out half of my face with his contraband pocketknife trying to get all the venom out. Of course that had only made things worse, but he was only six—and he was trying to save me. I think he felt guilty about it a lot. It wasn’t like he could forget, because every time he looked at me there was a huge reminder running down the length of the left side of my face. Not to mention the accident had mysteriously changed the color of my left eye. Doctors were always fascinated with me. They couldn’t figure out what had caused the change. But no matter what the reason was, I had two different colored eyes. Most people couldn’t stop looking at the scar to be scared of my eyes. The left one was bright blue—almost white. The other was deep brown. I looked like a circus freak or the phantom of the opera.

            Somehow, I ended up walking the girl to her class—the building I had just left. I loved talking to her. I loved listening to her talk. I had never been in love before, and I was firm believer that love at first sight was impossible. There was only lust at first sight, but I wasn’t just attracted to this girl’s shiny red hair, which was wavy and sitting on her shoulder. It wasn’t her body—which I assure you, was fantastic. It was everything really. Her voice had a raspy deep quality to it, not like she had smoked too many cigarettes, but like she sang so much that it changed the quality of her voice. She was so lighthearted and peppy—two words I never thought I would use to describe someone I was attracted to—but she was far from the cheerleader type.

            I noticed everything about her. I noticed how she swung her arms, how she held her head—inclining it slightly toward me when I spoke. Most of all I noticed her smile. It lit up her entire face. I felt giddy when I saw it. It was ridiculous that I was allowing myself to become obsessed with this girl. I had only met her five minutes ago. I didn’t even know her name. Would it be weird to ask now?

            “I’m Lorelei, by the way,” she said holding out a hand as we reached her building. Could she read my mind?

            “Kellan,” I told her shaking her hand. He hand was tiny and soft, but she had a nice handshake. Firm. I hated when people had wimpy handshakes. For all my shyness, I had to say I had a nice handshake.

            “It was really nice to meet you, Kellan,” she said with a wide smile. It wasn’t the all too common fakey-nice smile or sympathy smile. She was so genuine. She threw up a hand to wave good-bye as she trotted into her building leaving me standing outside completely dazed.

            I walked back to my dorm only thinking about Lorelei. Lovely Lorelei. I was completely enchanted. I was Romeo in love with Juliet…or I suppose it could be Rosaline. He was obsessed with both, wasn’t he? I laughed audibly. My giddiness had apparently not disappeared with my dream girl. I thought Lorelei must be my Juliet. I would throw myself in front of a bus for her.

            I flung myself onto my bed ignoring the fact that I had rumpled the freshly made comforter. That saying, “now you’ve made your bed so you have to sleep in it” resonated in my head. I always thought that was a ridiculous saying. If I just made my bed why would I sleep in it? I obviously just woke up. Stupid saying, really. I wondered if Lorelei thought that saying was stupid. I stared up at the crumbling ceiling and wished I had been brave enough to get her phone number.

            “Dude, you’re all wet,” my roommate, Connor, said.

            “Huh?”

            “You’re soaking wet.”

            I looked down at my clothes. I was wet. “Why am I wet?”

            Connor laughed. “Uh, because it’s raining outside.”

            “It is?” I asked cluelessly.

            “What’s up with you?” Connor asked. He sounded concerned, and he wheeled to the edge of my bed.

            Connor was a good guy. I was lucky to have gotten such a good roommate through luck of the draw. Our personalities coexisted well together, though we weren’t technically friends. I was a neat freak. He was a slob. I meticulous about my schoolwork, and he half-assed everything. But we both had problems with girls. I had problems because of my scar, and Connor had problems because he was in a wheelchair. For some reason girls seemed to pass over him because of that. Girls were so superficial. And he was a good-looking guy besides that—if I can say that without sounding gay. I decided to tell him about Lorelei. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut about her actually. I probably sounded like a middle school girl. Lorelei wasn’t interested in me. She couldn’t have been.

            “You’ve got it bad, huh?” Connor laughed.

            In the worst way. “And I doubt if I’ll ever see her again,” I moaned. Wow. I was so melodramatic. I just met the damn girl. How could I be so obsessed?

            “So, she has that class after you, right?” Connor said. I nodded. “Well, just hang around after you get out of class, and then when you see her pretend like you had to talk to the professor or something. Say hi to her, and ask her for her phone number,” Connor suggested.

            “You make it sound easy,” I mumbled. I knew his plan was technically feasible, but I couldn’t see me actually going through with it. I was such a coward. I also couldn’t see not doing anything. Maybe my obsession would outweigh my fear. Even if I did grow a pair and ask for her phone number it was doubtful that she would ever want to date me. Listen to me using phrases like “grow a pair.” What did this girl do to me? Lorelei. Her very name was like a drug. When I closed my eyes I saw hers. Glistening emeralds. I had to do something. But even if I did what would happen? She was nice, but she couldn’t have been attracted to me like I was to her.

            That night I lay in my bed, eyes wide open. I wouldn’t induce my Lorelei coma further. I didn’t even try to sleep, because I knew my mind was too active to let the subconscious take over. I sat up when the sun peeked through the window. Ah, dawn. I could get up. Only two more dawns to endure before I would see her. I tried to keep my mind away from her by writing the Shakespeare essay. Obviously that didn’t help. All that paper did was allow me to examine my own ridiculous obsession and compare it to Romeo. Was my story a tragedy too? It would be worth it if that meant my love wasn’t unrequited. If my Juliet loved me back there was no tragedy.

            Monday came finally after what felt like an eternity. Most people thought the weekend never lasted long enough. I never despised the wait until Monday as much as I had that weekend. My eight o’clock class was a bore. Obviously. What was so difficult to understand about elementary thermodynamics? Their brains had obviously rotted from all the alcohol. Shakespeare couldn’t come fast enough.

            “Everyone pass in your papers please,” the professor instructed. There was the rustle of papers being shoved forward through the rows, and some mumbling about the difficulty of the paper. I had never found a paper easier, and that was saying something. “Well, that’s all I need from you today. You’re dismissed early,” he said. The rest of the class was overjoyed.

            This was not good news to me. It seriously hindered my plan. What would my new plan be? To wait for fifty minutes for Lorelei? And tell her what? “Remember me? I’m Kellan, and I’m madly, and desperately in love with you.” Ha. That was about right. But I had to wait. I needed a fix. I was going into to Lorelei withdrawal. Like a powerful drug, one hit was all it took to get me hooked.

            I sat in front of the building where I was sure not to miss her. I don’t think I could have missed her. I felt that I was attuned to her. I would know when she was close. I would smell her. I would feel her breath. I saw her coming. Her red hair blew behind her in wind created by her momentum. She tapped her index finger on her ipod in time with the music. One strand of her hair was caught in her pink lip-gloss. She adjusted her tan messenger bag on her shoulder. It must have been loaded with books. It looked heavy.

            I stood as she approached. She looked surprised to see me, but that meant she recognized me. She remembered me. My pathetic heart thumped quickly.

            “Kellan! Hey,” her glorious voice greeted my ears. “What’s up?”

            “Um,” I stumbled. Had I lost my nerve? “How did you do on the essay?” I asked lamely. I needed a little buildup.

            “Fine, I think,” she said. She shifted the weight of her bag. I could see it was making an indentation on her shoulder. “I love that play, so at least it wasn’t about something ridiculous.”

            We had the same favorite play! This knowledge bolstered me. “So, Lorelei. I was wondering if maybe you wanted to get together and study for this class or something.” I thought that came out pretty smooth for me.

            “Sure! That would be great.” She sounded enthusiastic. This was good. “Why don’t we exchange phone numbers?” Perfect. Everything was falling in place. I took out a piece of paper and scribbled my number down. I tried to write legibly. The plan would all go to hell if she couldn’t read my number.

            She tore the paper in half and wrote her number on the blank half. Her writing was elegant. Cursive. You didn’t see that much anymore. Actually, it reminded me of calligraphy. It was very old-fashioned looking. She was different. I couldn’t help but comment. “Your penmanship is lovely.”

            “Oh. Ha. Well, my sister just got married recently, and she was trying to save money on the invitations so I had to learn calligraphy. I had to practice all the time, so I just got used to writing this way.”

            She turned to walk away into class. I couldn’t let her go. Not when I wasn’t sure when I’d see her again. I needed a set meeting. That urgency prompted me. “Do you want to get together tonight and study?” I was still using that excuse. I was less likely to get rejected that way.

            “Tonight?” she asked. Her face fell. “Well, I actually have plans tonight.”

            I knew it was rude, but I couldn’t help myself. I needed to know if it was a lie. “Oh. What are you doing?”

            “I, ah, I have a date,” she seemed to know I wouldn’t want to hear that answer.

            If she didn’t know it before she certainly knew it after she said that. I couldn’t hold my smile, and my face fell dramatically. My heart felt like it was crumbling. I wanted to cry. I wanted to know who my competition was though. Check out what kind of guy she was into. Maybe I could change. I could become her type. So I made an effort to put my smile back on and asked. “Anyone I know?” I tried to sound charming, rather than creepy. I didn’t have much practice.

            She looked uncomfortable, but answered, “Um, I don’t know. His name is Liam.”

            I don’t know whether she said good-bye or not. I don’t know how long I stood outside the building. Time froze, or sped up, or slowed down. Did it matter? My damn brother. He got everything! He was the one that destroyed my chances of ever getting a girl! I was hideous because of him. He ruined my life. If Lorelei wanted to make the mistake of liking my brother, fine. It would be to her detriment. But Liam. He needed to be punished.

            I found something new to obsess over. Of course, it was actually still related to the first obsession. Once I got rid of the competition, the path would be clear for me. I paced the floor in front of my bed every night for weeks. The carpet was worn in a line now. I would not be hasty. I would not make a mistake in my rush to attain my prize. Good things took time. I meticulously planned every detail of his murder.

            My intentions never wavered, especially when Liam would stop by to tell me all about his new girlfriend. She would be my girlfriend soon enough. I saw only two options. I would have Lorelei, or no one would. I didn’t want to kill my angel, but at least I had a backup plan. I would not share either way.

The End.

Yes. So that was supposed to be a love story. I guess I wasn’t in the mood. Hehe. The people in my class liked it.

sigh…by request…my 3rd workshop piece for my prose class

“Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.”

         -Dr. Seuss

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…no that’s wrong. It’s in this galaxy, and not long ago either.

ALLAIN WARS

            Well…not so much wars, but you get the idea.

            So, my family is what you might call “geeky.” We’re all pretty proud of that too. My dad has a PhD in chemistry, so obviously he’s a geek, but he’s not as comfortable with that label as everyone else. He seems to feel that he’s “cool.” Wrong.  You can’t have a PhD in chemistry and not be a geek. My mom is much more comfortable with what I would say is more dorkiness than geekiness—but I venture to say that they’re all related. She did major in microbiology, but she never used that degree—she was an elementary school teacher. She does insist to be “mechanically inclined.” I’m not so sure the rest of my family would agree with that. She gets quite angry when we point that out though.

            And my brothers—they display their geekiness as a badge of honor. Eric, the oldest, is a biochemistry professor at Appalachian State University. He has a new obsessive hobby about once a month. We call it his “hobby of the month.” Not very creative. He’s done everything from bouldering to chess to guitar to poker to magic tricks. And he goes all out. I mean, he buys everything one could possibly need to participate in the activity. The first step in developing a new hobby for him is to buy a “Dummy’s Guide to…” His library is awesome though. Oh, and he’s totally into Rock Band.

            My middle brother, Rhett, is a physics professor at Southeastern Louisiana University. He writes a physics blog, and is completely obsessed with how many hits it gets a day. I’m actually shocked it gets so many. Rhett also likes to build fun little contraptions. The best thing he’s built is probably a potato gun. It’s quite entertaining to watch him shoot potatoes down to the lake behind our house.

            The youngest of my brothers, Neil, is a computer programmer. The quintessential geek. Neil likes to get together with his friends—who have been his friends since high school—and play Magic the Gathering. Can it get any geekier? He also is really good at video games, but can you be a computer programmer and not be good at video games?

            Then there’s me. I’m sixteen years younger than Neil, and twenty years younger than Eric—not to mention the only girl. I suppose I’m partially in my mom’s camp. I’m more of a dork than a geek. I do like Star Wars though. I suppose it depends on one’s definition of “geek” and “dork.” If you consider a geek someone who is smart and into computers and science, then no. I wouldn’t fall into that category. I stand out in my family for shunning math and science. I guess when it’s crammed down your throat your whole life it’s way too tempting to go the other way—the dark side. But if you consider a geek not just limited to science and math, and include literature and combine that with someone who does dorky things…then I would have to say I am. Maybe I’m just trying to fit myself into the geek category instead of the dork category. Geek sounds better doesn’t it?

            I think most people consider the two words somewhat synonymous…or at least similar. For my purposes I’ll say they’re the same thing. To say one is a geek (or dork) could mean so many things. I’d like to demonstrate exactly how geeky my family is.

            Everyone gets together twice a year at my parents house—once at the Fourth of July, and once right after Christmas. This is where the main examples of geekiness occur. We fuel each other’s geekiness.

            “Oh my gosh, Neil!” I screeched. “How am I supposed to rock out when you’re over there shooting off noxious gasses?”

            Neil laughed, but quickly shut up. It was time for him to sing.

            Eric was laughing so hard he could hardly play the drums.

            I was having a hard time playing the bass with my tee shirt pulled over my nose. I inhaled deeply enjoying the perfume spritzed on my shirt rather than the toxic gas that filled the basement. A gas mask would have been helpful.

            My nephew, Noah—the oldest of all my nieces and nephews (we are only seven years apart), was also laughing as he pressed the colorful buttons of the guitar.

            “Ninety-eight percent!” Neil cried when the song was over, and our scores appeared on the screen. “Ninety-eight percent!” he repeated—bragging.

            “Neil…that was Eric that got a ninety-eight. You got an eighty-five,” I said a little smugly. I loved it when they were wrong.

            “Oh,” Neil said. Everyone else was dying out laughing.

            “Well, here’s the good news: we got fifteen bucks for our gig,” Eric said. “That’s enough to buy beer for the band.”

Exhibit A: we think playing Rock Band makes us real rock stars.

            Everyone gets really into it. Eric learned that Rock Band was coming out with stage kit—complete with a fog machine. He decided that we should probably get it for this Christmas. It remains to be seen if we will, but I wouldn’t be surprised if we did. Did I mention that Eric is in his forties?

            Neil is probably the funniest playing Rock Band. He starts out playing the guitar, but due to…ahem…inebriation…he has to switch to singing, which is extremely entertaining. He has a really good voice, but it’s pretty funny to listen to him try to sing songs he’s never heard before. One times we made him sing a song in German.

            The kids get really into too (I have seven nieces and nephews), but I suppose we can’t really say that makes them geeks…it is a kid’s game, but they’re Allains so they really have no choice in the matter of them becoming geeks.

            Since the family is so large—sixteen people all staying in the same house—my mom pulls my twin beds apart (which are usually pushed together to make a king sized bed), and Neil and I share a room. Maybe it was partially from the wine, but Neil and I both dreamed about Rock Band every night. In my dream at least, it was just like I was staring at the screen. The stream of notes paraded in a vertical line. I’m surprised I didn’t throw up. It made me kind of dizzy.

            But every night we’d play. (I suppose this was last Christmas, and last Fourth of July, but the visits all tend to run together.) After dinner we’d sneak downstairs with our coffee. Sneaking so as to avoid the procession of watchful children who would inevitably steal the game away from us, and drinking coffee to counteract all the wine we’d already had. We’re early drinkers. Wine time starts at five.

            Rhett’s children are the youngest, so he doesn’t get to play as much as everyone else. One time he actually did break away and was playing when his wife, Ashley, came downstairs to inform him that the children were running amok upstairs, and she needed his help. Apparently, his son, Luc, was throwing his stuffed pig off the balcony screaming, “piggy drop!” then running to get it and doing it again. His daughter, Ellie, was trying to take her clothes off on the stairs, because it was “too hot.” And his youngest, Andrew, (just a baby) was trying to climb up the stairs on the wrong side, as in on the outside of the railing. Quite dangerous. Every time he was told not to he would turn around smile, and then scream happily.

            After dealing with his children, Rhett decided he should punish those who didn’t have young children by coming down to the basement and vacuuming while we played Rock Band. It was unsurprisingly difficult to play when we couldn’t hear the music.

            “’Ello there gov’na!” I said as I grabbed a cracker and a piece of cheese from the platter that my mom had fixed and brought outside to the back porch.

            “Victoria, could you pass me the crackers please?” Eric asked in a British accent.

            “Of course, Ian.”

            “Oy! Look over there! Our dearest brother, Nigel,” Eric raised his glass of wine at Neil’s entrance out onto the back porch.

            “To the Queen!” I cried, and we all toasted and drank, except for Neil who, I later found out, was fake drinking, because he was already too drunk. Big baby. (Not to mention that he was slighting the Queen! Gasp!)

Exhibit B: um…we speak in bad British accents, complete with our special British names.

            This one is pretty easy to categorize as “dorky.” For one entire night we decided we would only speak in British accents. The kids really liked this one. Everyone was speaking their own version of how they think British people talk—and I think everyone would admit that we’re not very good at it. Eric was definitely the best. Neil said when he woke up the next morning his brain still wanted to speak British. Eric kept saying that he wanted to teach a class in a British accent ala Ross from Friends. I told him that if he did he would need to video tape that.

            Rhett and Ashley hadn’t arrived yet when we did this one, but they got names nevertheless. They were pretty confused when we started calling them Thornton and Petunia.

            We had so much fun we decided to have a French night. The only thing that ever happened on the French night was that we sang “Les Poisson” from The Little Mermaid. About a million times. And we quoted the French guards on Monty Python and the Holy Grail. (“I fart in your general direction!” “Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!” etc…) We actually quoted Monty Python for the British night too, now that I think about it, but we quote Monty Python a lot regardless of what accent we’re speaking in.

            I turned the page on what was promising to be a good book. Ah, this was the life. Warm, bright sun, cool pool water, and a good book. I finally had the pool to myself. The kids had finally left. You couldn’t lay out on a float when there were kids in the pool.

            A jet of freezing cold water smacked me in the face. In shock, I dropped my book into the pool and fell off my float trying to catch it. I glared up to the third floor balcony where my brothers were giggling, armed with a water gun.

            “I’m going to kill you!” I screamed, as I hoisted myself out of the pool. I wrapped my towel around me as I stomped inside, but I didn’t bother to dry off.

            When I got upstairs Rhett and Neil were in the kitchen—still giggling.

            “It was Rhett’s idea!” Neil protested.

            “It was Neil’s idea to put ice in it!” Rhett countered.

            “I ruined my book!” I whined. “Dad!” I called, looking for some sort of backup. Not that Dad could actually punish them—they were too old, but he could at least yell at them. I could always count on Dad to yell.

            Rhett laughed. “Dad knew what we were doing!”

            “Wha–?” I turned indignantly to my dad, who had entered the kitchen.

            “Y’all shouldn’t have done that,” Dad said sternly.

            “Dad!” Neil laughed. “You laughed when you saw what we were doing!”

Exhibit C: we act like children even when we’re grown-up. (Not to mention, we play pranks on our dear sister…)

            This is still quite a popular subject when we get together. The kids love it. Actually a lot of the time they beg their dads to “annoy Aunt Sarah,” and being good fathers, they oblige. They particularly like to disrupt my relaxing pool time. I usually can count on my dad to yell when anyone is fighting (even play fighting—or rather particularly play fighting), but apparently he was much too entertained to scold them this time.

            Annoying people is somewhat of an Allain family hobby. This is Rhett’s forte. Since I’ve learned that ignoring them is the quickest way to get them to stop, they don’t bother me as much. Rhett’s favorite target is Eric’s wife, Holly.

            Holly has several things that really bother her, and unfortunately for her, Rhett has figured out those things. She really hates feet. Well, that’s pretty easy to exploit. She often gets a face full of nasty man toes. She also has several other odd things that bother her. She doesn’t like sneezing or flossing. Go figure.

            After Rhett does something annoying to Holly, he’ll scold himself saying, “Bad Rhett!” and slapping himself on the hand. Apparently this also really bothers Holly, which means he only does it more. One time he went so far as to spank himself over the couch. Everyone else was rolling on the floor laughing. I think he may have even got a chuckle out of Holly that time.

            Rhett, like most Allains, likes attention. My mom loves to give it to him. For some reason she thinks that everything he does is hilarious. Once we took a vacation across the country (actually we took three of these, but that’s not really important.) and visited Yellowstone National Park. We went on a lot of really pretty hiking trails, but some of them were so crowded that it was like waiting in line at Disney World.

            Rhett did this impersonation of what it was like. He jumped up and down chest to chest with my mom and reached around her pointing with his hands at unseen things behind her. All the while screeching, “Look at the bird! Look at the tree! Look at the bird! Look at the tree!” Holly got irritated with that too.

            It isn’t that Holly doesn’t have a sense of humor; it’s just that Rhett likes to do things past the point of them being funny anymore—well they’re not funny to anyone except my mom anymore. It’s another Allain trait, overdoing things, that is.

            “We’re clearly soldiers in petticoats and dauntless crusaders for women’s votes!” Mom, Holly, and I sang as we danced around the kitchen. “Though we adore men individually, we agree that as a group they’re rather stupid.” We stopped our marching to put our arms around each other. Then back to the marching. “Cast off the shackles of yesterday! Shoulder to shoulder into the fray!” We came back together to sing, “Our daughters’ daughters will adore us.” Then we pulled away. “And they’ll sing in grateful chorus, ‘Well done, Sister Suffragette!’”

            My nieces and nephews laughed from their stools at the counter. It was dinner theater for them.

Exhibit D: we dance around the kitchen singing Mary Poppins. The Sound of Music is another popular choice.

            This isn’t a one-time scene. This happens pretty frequently. I’m not sure why, but I am sure that this solidly puts us in the dork category. I don’t know why we latched onto this song either, but we’ve always loved Mary Poppins.

            Actually the song reminds me of something my dad’s protégé/favorite son (who isn’t really his son, but we call him that), Omar, said. Dad was complaining about how the women were shopping instead of fixing his dinner, and Omar said, “Oh, Ron. Let the women be free. They just want to be free.” This is a phrase that is often repeated in my family. It is particularly funny as Omar is from Jordan, where women are less than free.

            When we sing, we aren’t really quiet. We sing at the top of our lungs, and my brothers get a taste of their own medicine. (But just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.) They get a little irritated at our show, which makes it all the more fun to do.

            “Kumbaya my Wesley, Kumbaya!” Rhett sang on the front porch. There were several children with him all decked out in costumes from the collection of dress-ups kept in the attic.

            “Rhett! Please!” I screamed hysterically through tears.

            Rhett laughed and continued his song.

            “Dad! Dad! Please, make him stop! Wesley is going to be here any minute!” I begged.

            “RHETT!” Dad yelled in his fiercest voice. “Come back inside right now!” he demanded. Dad was a pretty intimidating figure, even if he had nothing to threaten Rhett with.

            “Thank you, Dad,” I said, calming down and wiping the tears away from my cheeks.

Exhibit E: our dorkiness must be hidden, or at least introduced gradually to new comers.

            My brothers are protective over me. This event occurred when I was sixteen, and it was the first time my boyfriend, Wesley, was coming over to meet my brothers. Needless to say, I wasn’t keen on having him see what freaks my family are, we had only been dating for a few months then. Wesley knows now—five years later, and I doubt my brothers could do anything that would shock him now, but then…I don’t know if I’d still be dating him if he had seen that spectacle.

            When Wesley actually got there Rhett and the kids had put away their costumes, but they didn’t hesitate to tell Wesley embarrassing things about me. Such as my obsession with Harry Potter, and how I’ve read each of the books over ten times, or how I memorized the sorting hat song. (I was in middle school! And a dork…)

            Anyway, the point is that this level of dorkiness cannot be exposed all at once, or people get scared away. That isn’t to say one should hide it, but maybe just ease it out. It is such a relief to not have to hide my geekiness anymore. Wesley knows now. I actually would like to take credit for transforming him into a geek as well.

            Before meeting me, Wesley was more of a skateboarder type. Now he’s obsessed with video games, Harry Potter, and Twilight. Score one more for the geek team!

            But Wesley wasn’t the only one who may have been shown the geek side too soon. Rhett’s wife, Ashley, got a face full of geek the first time she was introduced to us.

            When Rhett and Ashley got engaged we had never met her, so she and Rhett flew up to Chicago to have the family meet and greet. Mom, Holly, and I (I was really young…maybe seven?) went to the airport with signs, noisemakers, and I think someone was wearing a veil… Good thing Rhett already proposed.

            There are about a hundred other examples about how my family is crazy, but I think you get the point. I think that most people have some geekiness inside them. The question is whether you’re in denial or not. I find that life is much more enjoyable when you don’t care if others think you’re weird.

            Sometimes it works to your advantage… One time Eric drooled at this pushy lady in a store. It’s a really funny story…but hard to explain.

            So, my family is dorky, geeky, whatever. Who wants to be normal anyway? How boring. When you care so much about what other people think about you, it really creates too much stress. I still think it’s best not to present our full geekiness right away, but if it’s introduced gradually I think it’s a good thing. That isn’t to say you shouldn’t be yourself, but I’m not going to pretend like it wouldn’t have scared Wesley away if he had seen my brother on the front porch. It’s a delicate process, but it is so freeing when you can let your full personality out. So, now…I too am proud to be a geeky, dorky, Allain.