Books and friends and bookish friendships

Hello darlings! Have you missed me? (Pretend, please?)

I've missed you all. I've pined. No, really. I mourn the death of my home's Internet pretty much hourly, especially since all the stupid college classes I'm taking aren't stupid at all and in fact need internet to do a large amount of the work.

(No, come back! Come back, I'll stop whining, I promise!)

Anyway.

I'd forgotten that my phone could work blogger, so I'm gonna try and use this to post occasionally (until freaking AT&T gets here with Internet) (Seriously. Doing debate without internet is awful) (Okay, I'm done) because I miss you all.

 But anyway. (Again.)

Do you talk about books? I'm guessing yes, if you're reading this. I always feel weird describing the books I'm reading to random people, because too often I'm just like ...well, there's a boy...and he's a vampire/zombie/werewolf/elf....and he's really cute...

But to real book people? Talking to them is fun. I forget, sometimes, that book people are everywhere, though.

I had a conversation with a guy today about books. (Dude, I know. I talked to a guy, about books. A new guy. How weird, right? Don't you love my stereotypes? No? What about my parenthesis?) But that isn't the interesting part. I haven't discussed books with someone new in a long time. I'd forgotten the friendships that done from yammering about them. Stories and characters and plot make the best bonds.  At Alpha this past summer, people were able to immediately start conversations because of books, because of love shared over stories.

(But still. Don't necessarily be that person in the book store that is like OMG THIS BOOK I LOVE IT ALSO HI YOU ARE PRETTY. Because books do not need to equate pick up lines.) (Unless he's British. Then do what is necessary.)

Actually, the bond with my best friend came from books. They tie people together easily and there's something magical about that. The best writing comes with friends. The best friends often share books. (Like in Tamora Pierce's Circle books omg Briar and Tris.)

Anyway. For now, that's all my fingers can type on this aggravating keyboard. And to my best friend, happy birthday. :P

Maggie, I love you. Here's to another lovely year of books. :P (Even if 18 means adult and adults are scary.)

More later, people. Continue loving each other. Also, discussing books.

(And if you have internet? Hug it for me. Love it. Because someday, it might be gone.)

(Okay, seriously, I'm done complaining now.)

(Love me.)

Books are Famous

Ahem.
Hi.
-blinks-
-looks down in shame-
-wonders if whining about debate and finals will make it better that I've totally been neglecting my blog-
....
-hands you cookies-

Ahem. Anyway. Moving on.

Guess what?

No.

Seriously. Guess.

....You aren't guessing. Fine. Whatever. I suppose that's okay. I'll survive. More importantly, THIS came out last week.

(And because of debate, I was not able to start it until yesterday. I would like to point out that this is a sign of how much of my life debate eats away. I'm not just neglecting you, dear people. I'm neglecting shmexy vampire boy things. So...yeah. -hands over more cookies- )

Anyway. I would give a book review, but there are plenty of those. Plus, I've still got like, twenty pages left. Stupid teachers keep teaching and making me pay attention to things like molecular geometry instead of, you know, finishing the book.

BUT.

There is something fascinating about this book. And no. It isn't just the shmexy boys or the pretty cover (mygodiwanttolooklikethaaaat.) It's the reaction people keep giving.

To this point, there have been four people that have grabbed book, petted book, read parts of book, asked me about book, and one that about had a break down when I tried to talk about it. (On the upside, it was really kind of funny.)

I have never seen that reaction to a movie. To a magazine. To a video game, even.

(Fine. Maybe I have. Shut up.)

(Oh, crap, don't shut up. I'm sorry. Come back.) (Here. Take this. Please?)

Seriously. It was the best thing ever. People I've never talked to, people I thought were stuck up or annoying, people who think I'm pretentious and spend too much time talking about debate (ahemiprobablydocoughahem) suddenly engaged in deep conversation about the hotness of Dimitri/Adrian, the prettiness of the cover, the love of Lissa, and holycrapohmygoodness, who will Rose chose? 

I find this wonderful. I find this fascinating.

I find it a sign that books are now the new cool accessory.

-nods-

-blinks-

Well. Fine. Ipods might still win. Or puppies.

-ponders-

Yeah.

Puppies might win. Or sparkly debate trophies. 

But personally, I would totally rather have the book.

(Okay. Fine. I want debate trophies too.) (And puppies.) 

But yeah.  The book is still best.

Win?

-offers you knife-
Why? Because I am a bad blogger. I am giving you the change to cyber stab me. It's okay. My cyber self can take it. I understand. I have been a bad blogger.
And for the moment, I'm continuing that. I've got a massive essay due in -- ahem -- twelve hours, and I haven't started it yet. (Shush. I'm a bad student, too.)
You know what I'm okay at, though?
Talking.
Remember me whining about losing?
Well. Now I have a pretty 2nd place trophy. And it was seriously awesome getting it.
(Even if my coach LIED TO ME and said I got FIFTH and I got on stage and was like Wait, why the freak aren't they calling my name -- OMG THEY FORGOT ME -- OR NO, OH CRAP, I AM NOT EVEN SUPPOSED TO BE UP HERE AND THIS IS BAD AND I KNEW A JUNIOR WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO GET THIS FAR AND--wait, what? Second? SECOND?) (And then the debate team was CRACKING UP across the auditorium because I am on stage blinking and looking around like a freak. Yes. Some teams clap. Others laugh hysterically at their poor misinformed 11th grader.)
Anyway.
It just goes to show you -- sometimes you have to lose to figure out how the heck you are supposed to win. It's the same in writing, the same in everything; just keep going, just keep at it, and guess what? You'll win. I have a cheap plastic shiny thing in my kitchen proving that to be true.
Cheers, all.

I'll have a book review up later this weekend. More later.  

Shiny Trophies, Shiny Failure

Debate season has started. For me, this means a couple of things. For one, I will start looking worse and worse. For another, I'm probably going to be freakishly bi-polar. It also means I need to be prewriting the Foreign Fridays and setting the timer publisher thing, because there just isn't enough time Friday morning. (I'msorrydon'thateme.) But most of all, it means that I'm going to get competitive.
See, I'm not competitive in sports. I'm more the kid that's like Oh, look, there's a ball coming -- DUCK! There's no point in me being competitive at that, because the public school system doesn't acknowledge that ducking is a  pretty impressive reflex and should be awarded as well. I personally would accept this trophy.

But that doesn't happen. So I become competitive at academics.
Debate, in particular, is what I tend to focus on. And guess what? I'm actually kind of good at it. I came into Junior year excited, because for the first time, I would have the ultimate edge of age.
Yeah. Funny, huh? Earlier this week my couch put me in something called Champ debate. It's more oriented toward seniors. Which means I would be among the youngest competing. For the third year in a row.
My partner and I prepared more than we ever have before. We knew the topic backward and forward. We spent hours and hours working on it, and we actually felt pretty good. I mean, we'd done well before with odds against us.
Guess what?
We failed.

Like, serious, the worst I've ever done.
And every time something went badly, I'm just sitting there horrified. I mean, I'm supposed to be good at this. Why do I keep losing? Was there like, essence of suckage in my coffee that morning? Oh, god, I'm going to end up a failure at life and have to like, be a trophy wife or something. (You see, even in panicked states, I am indeed thinking about trophies.)
Truth time? We prepared, but we prepared for the minor leagues. We didn't think about the big stuff - what could we trick people with, how could we trap them. Plus, we went up against the best. Every single team we hit -- every single flipping team -- was in finals. Every. Single. One.
I wasn't sure whether to be amused or not.
It's depressing to lose. If it wasn't, then we wouldn't want to win so freaking badly. (Also, those trophies are sparkly. That helps too.) In writing, it's the same way. I've talked to a lot of people who queried for maybe a month or so, got nowhere, and gave up. I've read blogs where people continually lament their losses.
And yes. I get it. It hurts. You do want to give up.
Yes, it's depressing.
But your first time out, you are the underdog. If you don't prepare properly, nothing matters. Preparation alone isn't enough; you have to pour yourself completely into it, think in ways no one else has, and still, sometimes, you just don't win. You keep getting reviews, but that doesn't really matter to some people. It's still miserable. And dude, does it suck.
Guess what, though?
Next tournament, I know what I'm doing. Next time, I know the competition. Next time, I am going to get a pretty shiny trophy.
And maybe for you, when it comes to writing, you'll get that shiny trophy your next time. Even if you don't, you will eventually. You just gotta keep trying.
Seriously, I promise.
The trophies are definitely worth it.

More later. 

My priorities

English homework? Pretty much done. I had to write a letter from a character in the Crucible. Minor editing to be done, but I've had it planned out for a week now. 

Debate homework? Not done, but hey, I have a general area of where I'm going with it.

Writing? Wrote 2k words. YAY NINJA.

Emails? Oh, dude, I'm on top of those. Maybe. I'm on top of my AOL account. Facebook? Yeah, totally. Twitter? I'm doing quite well. 

Chemistry? No homework. HAH. 

Math homework?

Um.

Well.

I . . . .

I know . . . what it is . . . . and where it's at . . . so obviously, that should count for -- for something. Right? 

I mean, it's PRACTICALLY done. A good THREE problems are TOTALLY finished. So that should get me some kudos, right? I --

Oh, shut up. 

Dear School

Dear Chemistry,

I hate you. A lot. I've always thought science was modern magic, but guess what? I was wrong. You are not worthy of Hogwarts. Not at all.

This is not you.

I like the teacher, but I just can't like you. Please go die. Painfully. And possibly with a loud BANG.
I really, really despise you,
Sam

Dear World History,

Did you know that you have seen a LOT? I mean, dang. Plague, war, shmutty aristocratic games, more war, porcelain, Monguls, more war, and probably some really hot dudes? You have had a heck of a run. Please, keep running. I'm enjoying you, even if your tests are HARD.

You keep my ego alive,

Sam

Dear Math,
I don't like you either. I thought equations were for me, but I was wrong. I can't remember you all. My brain is too full of information for World History and Hogwarts Trivia Games to keep track of every faucet. So shoo. Fly away. I don't understand why I took Honors. I was young and optimistic then. Now I know better. I wish you loved me. But you don't.
This is me, breaking up with you before you break up with me,
Sam

Dear English,
I'm going to collapse in your arms and scream THANK YOU to the Great Purple Platypus. You are getting me through the day. I don't care that you are making me read about Pilgrims. We should be on Salem Witches soon, and I like that. But mostly, I like you. You are pretty and have good teeth. That's important to me.
Let's get married,
Sam

Dear Debate,
You make me bipolar. That's really all there is to it. One minute I'm all YAY I FEEL SMART and the next I am quivering in my NEW AWESOME LACEY SHOES and then having to go hug someone to regain my self confidence. It really doesn't matter if they want to be hugged. It just happens. You make me talk all pretty, though, so--
Love,
Sam

Dear Spanish/Government/Lunch,
Eh. I like you all in different way. You don't particularly stress me out. I am not fond of conjugating you or memorizing your faucets and dang, one of you is way caloric, but you don't really bother me.
Keep it up,
Sam

Dear Alarm Clock,
I don't care that you try and be cute by waking me up with Bon Jovi or Adam Lambert. I don't care that you have a snooze button. You are evil. I really, really dislike you.
I'm not even signing my name. You don't deserve it.


Dear Reader,
Are you still there?
...
Really?
Seriously? -blinks- After that? You aren't GONE?
I kind of love you.
-hands you cookie-

Adoringly,
Sam

School Bell Ringing

Today was the first day of Junior year. And ZOMG, guess what?
I'm learning stuff already!
For instance, I've learned that walking into a math classroom? Yeah. I automatically am gifted with a headache.
I know. I know. -shines nails on collar- It's a true super power.
Oh, and in English? That headache mysteriously disappears. It is a magic, disappearing headache.
I have also learned that drama does not dissipate over the summer. For instance, at lunch:

Boy: That one chick isn't sitting with us is she?
Me: -raises eyebrows- Well, that is her purse. So yeah.
Boy: God, no!
Friend next to me: What?
Boy: Dude, the food already tastes bad. Let's not make it smell too.

...
.....
.......
Oh. So this is why people don't like high school.
-rolls eyes-
Actually, it's not all that bad.  It was fun telling him how stupid he was.
Sadly enough, teachers do have a problem with me reading books in their class. Even American Government. And trying to tell them that books teach you important stuff, much more important than the little notecards being passed around that declare MY NAME IS SAM AND I LIKE PURPLE does not work very well.

See? Lookie! I'm learning about PRINCESSES. Yeah, that's right.

Other than that, though, it's good.
I have learned that I do not look good in snot green. This is the color National Honor Society demands. I believe the heinous cut and torturous color is to assure that the freshmen don't develop crushes on the upper classmen.
-pets the freshmen- I have also learned that freshmen are cute, like puppies.
(Not really. But I feel as if I don't say enough obnoxious WHAT NOW, I'M A JUNIOR phrases. Excuse my overcompensating.)
I've learned that I can actually park my car. That's nice. I've also learned that just because I can park, that does not guarantee that the convertible next to me can. So, when backing up, I have learned that you must do obnoxious thing to assure that you don't get your car smacked.
Ooh. And when driving to the library, I learned that eldery women tailgating me and dangling a cigarette out their window inexplicably make my car drive slower, the windows roll down, and the music go up.
Weird how that works, huh?
All in all, I think it'll be a good year. English looks fun, Debate should be good, History is eh, Math and Chemistry Shall No Longer Be Named, and World History might kick my butt. I've yet to decide. Oh, and I'm actually supposed to hablar espanol in Spanish 3.
Urm.
Buenos Dias! Adios! Hablamos!
 Errrr. OOH! I REMEMBER!
El chico es muy guapo! Or--wait. Is it mucho?
No. Muy. Maybe.
...
Anyway.
How bout you? How was your first day of school? Or have you not had it yet? (YOU LUCKY.) Or, if you are of the SUAVE older peeps, you should tell me about your college experience. Give me hope for a shiny, pretty time.
Cheers!
More later.

Warning: Girlyness shall ensue

I have a secret. It's seriously quite astonishing. In fact, it's down-right mind boggling.
You ready?
I may look fifteen. I may act fifteen. In fact, I probably even act older. The truth, though?
I'm secretly six and a half.
*Nods seriously.*
I get the feeling you aren't believing me. Maybe it's my grammar, or my spelling. I've got too tight a handle on that, right? No. See, no fifteen year old could get as jumpy and squealy over a Disney cartoon as I did about ten seconds ago.


Yes. That is, indeed, Rapunzel.
And yes. I will, indeed, go to see that in theaters.
Hehe. I love Princess movies. (Shut up. I can be six if I wanna.)
Even if they have changed the name to 'Tangled' in hopes that more guys will watch the movie. Apparently, you see, Princess and the Frog didn't make enough. (222 million. I wish that were a paltry sum in my book.)
Still. I'm more excited for Rapunzel than I was Princess and the Frog--not that I wasn't excited for that too.

Sigh. I wanna be a Princess. I wanna have a pet Alligator. I'll pass on the creepy snake though.
Anyway. In order to fulfill my renewed childhood status, I'm off to play with my barbies and paint my nails with silvery sparkles.
...
Actually, I'm going to go watch American Idol.
...And yes. I'm going to watch American Idol while painting my nails with silvery sparkles.
PRETTY!!
...
Ahem. If it makes it better, I'll also be doing Honors Geometry homework. I do, after all, have a brain.


....I take it back. Lord, just let me be six again.

Recooperation

School is the ultimate drain on one's mental health. Parents will tell you it's work and that school is the best time of your life. I believe this to be a lie.

(This seems freakishly familiar.)
Yes. I know, it's shocking. Highschool is hard.
However, I got to take a hiatus today. I wrote 4000 words in one of my stories, edited some old chapters, and ate a day's worth of calories all in one little container.


It's a demon in a cup. A very tasty, very beautiful demon.
Anyway, relaxation is lovely. I highly suggest it. That wasn't what I set out to write about though; I set out to say this.
This was a very good book.

I am so sick of paranormal. I mean, I see bloody fangs on a cover, or wings on the back, or fangs, and I barely even blink. It has to be good for me to care about paranormal right now.
This was very good.
There were ghosts. There was a cute British boy, and we all know how much I approve of that. There was magic and there was a ballet angle that was new and interesting.

I so wish I could do that.
Anyway. I'm off to watch one of my favorite, mindless movies.
Don't judge me.
**OH! Other thing I was going to say . . . Hilary Wagner interview soon! She has an amazing post up about agent search. Go. Read it. Now.**
More later.

The joys of public education

I was talking to a friend of mine who lives in California the other day, and we were comparing classes. Now, I go to a good school. I take hard classes. I work hard, and I like working hard. I don't always feel challenged, but I usually enjoy school.
(Well. I hate waking up, but other than that, it's usually okay.)
It's interesting to me to hear about schools in other parts of the country, so I decided to show what a day in the life of a Missouri teen would be.
In . . .
*drumroll please!!*
PUBLIC SCHOOL!

(I really don't know why people I meet online are always so shocked and horrified by this. But hey, whatever. :D)
So. This is a day in my school schedule.

1st hour:
Honors Geometry
.
If you've been reading my blog for a while now, you've probably heard me whine about this class. I don't like math. Therefor, this class is not that fun. Plus, I either feel not challenged at all or pressed for time in this hour. Not a very interesting hour for me.

2nd Hour:
Spanish 2.

I love the teacher. I like the language. I love the culture. However, it is worksheet after worksheet after worksheet. I memorize and then toss away in the corners of my mind. I couldn't even tell y0u last month's vocab.

3rd Hour:
Biology.

Eh. Equations sometimes. Labs often. Lots of notes. Good teacher, but not my favorite class. Right now, we're doing the various phases of Meiosis.

4th Hour:
Honor's English Two. This is my absoloute favorite class. (Yeah. Surprise, right?) I love the people in it, and I love the subject matter. We're writing book reports right now. (Literary Analysis, excuse me.) Mine is over this book:

I loved the book. It's a true and terrible story about humanity, and I probably wouldn't have read it but for the class.
I loved A Separate Peace earlier this year, and I loved poetry. Grammar, not so much. However, I have learned the power of complete sentences. :D Now I just have to make sure and use that power wisely.

5th hour-Study Period. It's a school wide thing. My teacher hates my class. I hate my class. Often I try and escape to another English teacher who I've actually never had, but I kind of love. It's like half an hour. This is the time I stare mindlessly at my Honor's Geometry book and think If I ever join a career where this stuff is actually needed, I will have failed in life.
(Failed in my life. No discrimination against those who enjoy higher math. My own sister finds it fun. It's freaky, but hey.)

6th hour: American History Two.
History is my favorite subject. Unfortunately, there's no Honors class; he tends to do projects that cater to students who don't care as much, and that tend to frustrate those of us who do. My friend and I are currently doing a project of Khmar Rouge. I'm finding it fascinating.

7th Hour: The biggest waste of my time. The most hated hour. The real reason public education gets a bad rap.
Gym.

It's not my gym, but I would still probably hate it.
I find it stupid and inane.
I have no problem working out, but that isn't what you do. You run twice a week, and the rest of the time play pointless games. Boys jockey for the shot, the catch, or the whatever and most girls don't pay attention. If I liked games, it would be one thing. However, I don't. I REALLY don't.
I could be taking Sociology, Mythology, or Economics. Instead, I waste my brain in Gym to fulfill a pointless requirement.

8th Hour: Debate.

Thank goodness. Debate is my life at times. Yes, it's nerdy. However, it's filled with the most entertaining people I know. This includes my couch, who is equal parts hilarious and terrifying. (One of the only people who can say 'I'm disappointed by that' and get a real reaction. Of course, if you told him this, he'd mock you mercilessly.)
This month's topic is whether or not Obama's plan for troops increases is good for America. We're debating in class, and I get to feel superior because I'm relatively good at debating. After gym, it's needed.

Anyway. That's my relatively boring schedule. Next year I get to take all the fun stuff.
Now, I am off to burn my math homework.
I mean . . . Research Khmar Rouge. Or reread A Long Way Gone. Or . . .
Sigh.
I guess I'm going to do my math.
YUCK.

*Edit* Stay tuned for the fabulous Holly Schindler's interview in the next few days!!