In Which I Show You My Life

Hello! Remember me? Oh. Well. That's okay, I wouldn't either. It's been a long time, after all.
So, because I so very rarely update this anymore, I am going to do just that -- update this blog! With my life! Yay! Exclamation points!
...
Anyway.
I am thick in the second semester of college, attending a lovely university in the Midwest and double majoring in business and political science. (Yep. That's right. Business and political science and still writing fiction. Defying stereotypes over here. You're welcome.) Last semester, I may have sucked at blogging, but I ended up on the Dean's List, stopped sleeping, and started writing a story about demons, so that's all quite good. Also, my coffee maker broke and the girls that live next to me in the dorm never stop talking. No, not even at 3 in the morning. In fact, that's the perfect time to start squealing and laughing and shrieking. I think that might have had something to do with the last bullet presented. (If you aren't in college yet, look forward to dorm life. No, really. Shared showers, in which half eaten apples mysteriously appear? Drunk people wandering the halls and asking if you'll be their mother? It's all very exciting.)

Also, that's my school. Ten points to Gryffindor if you can guess where I am. (Because college has taught me through late night Pottermore games that this is my house.)

So, instead of talking about my books and classes and tests and lack of coffee, I am going to show you something I was fortunate enough to partake in last January.

It started like this:

Actually, it started a lot more like this,  because we had to wake up at 3 am. 

But soon, the excitement overtook the weariness! Kind of. It helped that we weren't plagued by a broken coffeemaker were full of patriotic excitement. Have you guessed where I was yet? No? Does this help?

Notice the rising sun. Now, I'll have you know that the last time I was awake to see the sunrise, it was because I never went to sleep because I was busy watching trashy television with my friends and forgot to sleep. So, if you haven't gotten it yet, realize that this was a VERY IMPORTANT MOMENT. Finally, the sun crept up into the sky, and by crept, I mean it took its sweet time. Now my view looked like this.

Patriotism! Also, I do mean this is my view. A very excited woman in a very large hat got her hands on little American flags and waved them for roughly five hours straight. No, really. Five hours. It was impressive dedication to annoyingness love of country. Minus the flag, this is what I was looking at.

We had good 'seats.' We were the second section back, behind a bunch of celebrities and public figures. (The cast of Modern Family, for instance, waved at us as they went to their seats. How kind, right?) As a measure of why the second section back was so nice, here's a shot of a part -- only a part -- of the crowd.

Have you guessed where I was yet? Yes? Probably. You're smart. If not, don't worry. We were all waiting for this man.

That's right. I was at the 2013 Presidential Inauguration. I drove with some people from my school, crammed in a twelve person van, from Missouri to DC. I had never met any of these kids; we were pulled from various programs and years for the trip. We spent hours in the Smithsonian Museum; I spent hours drooling over the Library of Congress. We went to the monuments. We played word games with strangers in the crowd. And we saw this man:

Take the Presidential Oath of Office.

After, the streets were packed with people. 800,000 people flooded the surrounding area; to walk two blocks, it took almost an hour. If you ever want to know what the apocalypse might look like, put 800k people in a five block radius. Trash lined the streets and, when an ambulance had to come through, it took almost ten minutes for the crowd to get out of the way. The lines for food were hours long. and people kept screaming about various things -- what they were trying to sell, or that we'd just elected a dictator, or the words to Bootylicious. Hours and hours later, we got back to our hotel in Virginia, and within the next thirty hours, we were back in the Midwest.

So yeah. That's my life thus far. I mean, I'm doing other stuff too, but nothing that I really feel like posting pictures about. 

Cheers, all! Stay warm!

Hey, I'm alive

It's been said, on the college campus that I currently call my home, that Thanksgiving is the time in which couples break up. Where old habits are broken. Where things change. I would like to tell you that means I will remember to blog and break the habit in which I suck at life, but that's probably too optimistic. So, um, here, have a cat.

You're welcome.

Anyway. Hi. It's been literally months since I've posted on this, and I expect that the readers of this blog are far away. Someday they come back, though, so hi. Yeah. Anyway. Um. Updates?

College has begun for me, and that explains my blogging hiatus. I am attending a large, large university and I am caught up in the world of text books, papers, and until recently, politics. I have read Don Quixote, Faust, Frankenstein, The Book Thief, part of Casual Vacancy (more on that at another time), a book about gay men in suburban bars, a novel on the importance of yoga, a couple horrible philosophers, a lot about politics, a lot about North Korea, and spent way too little time sleeping. There have been countless amazing lectures, several very cool concerts, and, oh, right, no sleep. None. It's quite rude of college, and quite needy, and I'm ready to flick it on the nose and give it a talking to.

I guess it makes for a lot of stories, though, and the best part of college? It's fun and it's crazy and it's reminding me that I like to write, that writing keeps me calm and that it's able to fit in even in the most random moments. (Like, um, when I should be paying attention in Sociology.) (But really, there's not much need for that, right?)
Anyway.
I essentially just posted this to remind myself that I have a blog and should remember to write. I have a job set up next year as a writing tutor. I plan on applying for Alpha again this year, and I have a five week Christmas break that might as well be Nano-Wri-Mo for the bored college student.
Happy Giving of Thanks, dears!

The Wonderful World of Made Up Worlds

I have such a talent for post titles. Truly. You should all bow down to my awesome skillz. Or not. Hi. You're pretty. I really like your nose. And your teeth. 

Anyway.

 I went out to lunch the other day with my wonderful librarian (Also known as Green Bean Teen Queen)  and Maggie. We talked about a bunch of things, many of them deliciously centered in the book world, and one of those things happened to be trends. Trends fascinate me. There is no new story; that's an old adage. Trends, however, take whatever new aspects we might see in a genre and push them into the market. Recently, we've seen the Twilight craze of Paranormal:

And even more recently, we've seen the Dystopian trend explode due to this wonderful book:

Most recently, though, a new trend has started. A new book is coming out that looks absolutely fantastic called A Throne of Glass, and it's not alone in the market. All of a sudden, fantasy novels are back in style. My guess? Game of Thrones has changed the game again. The book is now a hit show, and America -- and for that matter, a lot of the world -- is enthralled.

I'm amused. Fantasy has always been one of my favorite genres. I grew up on Robin McKinley, Diana Wynne Jones, and most of all, Tamora Pierce. Harry Potter was set in a fantasy world, and those aspects were always some of my favorites; Lord of the Rings is your classic fantasy novel, yet we haven't seen the trend too recently in YA. Still, there are some fantastic fantasy novels in the past five years, and if you're looking for something while waiting for the next George RR Martin, I suggest these:

General Winston's Daughter is fantastic. It is one of the most realistic worlds that I've ever encountered, with breathing characters and a beautifully crafted social structure. 

Enchanted and Entwined are both smart, well done fairy tale mashups set in fantasy worlds. They're both clever and bright reads, without being difficult worlds or random story lines to sift through.

There are these as well:

All of these are relatively recent fantasy novels, all intricately built and easy to read. If you're waiting for fantasy novels after finishing Game of Thrones, there are plenty of books out there to look to now. And if you haven't already, seriously, dude. Read Tamora Pierce.  (But of course you have. Why wouldn't you have? You're much too smart to have never read Tamora Pierce.)

Anyway. More later!

Winning

I talk a lot about debate on this blog. It's funny, and kind of random, because this blog was born out of my love for books. That love hasn't changed in the past four years, but something else did -- me. It isn't from writing, though, that I've become different. The part of me that loves books and words will always be there. The part that got good at using those words, though, came from debate.

That actually has very little to do with anything, but it makes me laugh.
So.

I graduated high school in May. It wasn't a particularly stunning event, honestly. Nothing felt any different. I was sad to leave my friends, and it's odd to think about going to college and waking up on my own, working on my own, but none of those things are the most troubling aspects of leaving school. No -- for me, it was leaving the debate room.
Yep. I'm a nerd. It's not disputed. (But come on, dudes, this is a literary blog. Do you expect much different?)

That's me. Yep.

Here's the thing, though.
I started high school shy. No, seriously. I was relatively quiet. I was political, but didn't like voicing it. I was very, very insecure. I was, however, still incredibly competitive. I planned on only two years of debate, taken with the purpose of securing a good college. Funny thing was, by my junior year, my grades were often slipping, because I was too busy with this:

I filled binders with literally hundreds of pages of research each month. I learned how to speak. I choked on nerves. My sophomore year, I barely did anything in terms of debate at all -- I couldn't get past those stupid, idiotic nerves. And then, toward the end of the year, my coach did something totally and utterly horrendous. He made me get up in front of my class, in front of kids that honestly, kind of scared me, and I started a speech. I say started because seriously, that's what it is. I never finished that dang speech. Instead, I started it 22 times.

No. Seriously. 22 times. I was cut off with 'Speak slower' and 'Sound calmer' and 'Sam, chill out' 22 times. I left school basically in tears like the pathetic and emotional kid that I was and then I ranted a lot about my coach to my friends with calm vigor and newfound respect for my coach.

Or...I might have acted like this for several weeks toward him.

Then came Junior year. I've talked about that a lot on this blog. I don't really know why, except  for this: for me, Junior year was my turning point. It was when I attended Alpha. It was when I first experienced the hell of high school drama first hand, first went through that stupid melodramatic thing sad first heart break that everyone has to experience, and when I first won a varsity tournament. It was the first time I qualified to Nationals. It was when I became a National semi-finalist in a supplemental debate.

And then my senior year. 

There's not as much on this blog about my last year of high school. In large part, that's because it passed so quickly. I've been wanting to write this post for some time, but it needed to wait until now. I want to talk about winning.

I am incredibly competitive. I said that earlier. It's a problem. I don't have the grace to apply that to sports, but it does apply to academics, and with debate, I found something that I was good at. Beyond that, though, I found something that if I truly worked at, I could make myself better. And I did: I brought home a lot of first place trophies this year. It got to the point where I was incredibly cocky. Like, beyond words kind of cocky. The kind I was ashamed to admit to and yet didn't really understand just how bad it was.

And then I lost.

But I didn't lose something small. I lost Districts. I lost the bid to Nationals, and the bid to State. I was someone who was slated to very possibly win State in my event ...  and then I didn't qualify.

It was -- quite bad. I made Maggie  pick me up and deal with my emotional breakdown  calm confusion. It wasn't just that I had lost -- it was that I had lost something that I had poured my heart into, that I had built my world around, that I had assumed was mine already. 

Sound familiar?

A lot of writers, I think, feel that way. To finish a novel, you have to break off a piece of your soul and press it into the pages. When that still isn't enough, when you still can't get published, when people still don't take notice, it is heart breaking.

But that isn't the point of this never ending post.

I still qualified to Nationals. I qualified in something called Public Forum debate. Puf, as we call it. Puf has always been the event I liked more, but it was not the one I won as often. At semester, I switched debate partners and ended up debating with one of my close friends. We made it together to Nationals. Even so, it hurt so horribly to give up the event that had been my baby. The thing I had loved, that I had poured so much of myself into.

Debate Nationals for high school, 2012, this year came in the form of Indianapolis. I attended, along with about 250 other teams. The best teams in the country. Many of them were private school. Many of them had much, much more money and resources than us, and they were quite happy to tell us about that.

Right. Here's the thing, and finally, the elusive point.

Two weeks ago, I ended up coming home with one of these.

I ended my high school career walking off the National stage with a very large trophy and a significant scholarship. I ended up placing very, very high, higher than I ever could have imagined and higher than anyone from my school ever has. My coach ends his career with that behind him, and my new coach, the assistant that I loved all year, saw his first Nationals end with my partner and I walking off that stage. Someone on my team had also done exponentially well, and as such, our little public school did better than anyone could have imagined. 

I spent my last four years enveloped in debate. I learned to speak. I learned to research. I learned to be part of a team. I learned to dress, walk, and talk as if I have confidence, even when I don't. And even though I lost -- I lost so badly, even as recently as this year -- I ended up winning more than I ever, ever could have hoped for. I walked off stage with someone that I love and trust, I left a team that I honestly think I might have helped make better, and I left better. I left different.

So. Back to writing.

Sometimes you lose.

Not even that. Often, you will lose. Ask anyone that writes. Hell, ask me: I entered my last year of high school pleased and confident after leaving Alpha, and ending up often hating writing for reasons that have nothing to do with recreational habits and everything to do with some poor choices in a class room. 

But.

You can win. You will win. Sometimes, when it seems as if everything is done, it really hasn't even started yet. Just keep working. Yeah, I know. None of this is shocking or new. But it is something I have always believed in, and I am so, so glad to have seen it proven to myself not just once or twice in the past years, but time and time again. My life has bled high lighter ink and statistics and quotes, and it's hard as anything I've ever done to leave it all behind. But moving on is moving forward. Debate is over, but I still have writing, and I still have everything I learned. That is priceless.

More later. Someday, maybe I'll even go back to putting up legit book stuff, like reviews! (Or more likely, a spiel about Game of Thrones.)

The Zombies Are Coming

Look, guys! Two posts in one week! I'm so awesome. Obviously. (Don't leave! No, come back!)
All right, fine. I'm not. Two posts in one month. I'm beating my record. Remember when I used to post like, ten times a month? Yeah. Me either.
Originally, this post was written last month, but I never published it, because I was writing it at school and the computer hated me. However, I like Zombies. So. I am posting this now. Ignore the time discrepancies and enjoy the creepy dead things loveliness that is my Zombie-tastic musings.
And if that isn't enough...
Here. Have a Zac Efron. No charge.

Anyway. TIME FOR A TIME WARP IN WHICH SAM TAKES YOU BACK TO A POST I WROTE A MONTH AGO. WHEEE.

...

Anyway again.

I'm in the final days of senior year, now, which means that school consists of basically nothing. No, seriously. I read a 500 page book between yesterday and today without ever opening it outside of the school building. We watched a movie in one class. Oh, and my debate partner cracked his head open on the ceiling trying to jump off a chair. 

...No. I'm not kidding. Ten staples and two stitches in his head. Lots of blood. There also may or may not be ten or twelve posts on Facebook about how I threw a tomahawk at him and that's how he ended up in the hospital.

Yeah, baby, we're going to Nationals.

Anyway. We're currently living in a world of boredom, and that does very bad things when combined with a bunch of hyperactive teenagers. For me, I play on tumblr a lot spend the time contemplating the known universe and everything within it. My friends, though, have found something even more interesting.

They've found the zombie apocalypse.

No, I'm not kidding. The entire debate team has, in the past week, discussed the coming zombie doom more than we've discussed anything that actually has to do with, you know, debate. Maggie starts quite a bit of it, and is assisting in writing a screen play.

...No, again, I'm not kidding. Why do you keep laughing at me? It's quite rude of you. 

The Zombies are coming, apparently, and none of us are getting out alive. Normally, I would be pertrubed. In the team of Zombies versus Unicorns, I am totally on the sides of the sparkles. But, that said, I'm fascinated. A fantastical element of society, implemented into common conversation? Me gusta. It's like we nerds are taking over the world.

One thing that the writing world is quite interesting in comes in the form of nerd power. Being intelligent -- being showy about being geeky -- isn't really something that's embraced in high school. Shocking, right? But in the writing world? At Alpha? Random knowledge is something to be proud of. It's something that is hard won, and eventually, something that makes life interesting. For years, I've collected random bits of information. We all do. For me, I know about 17th century navies and pirates, and Norse mythology, and the history of redheads, and a lot of random political theory. For Maggie, there is a multitude of things -- music, philosophy of dreams -- but specifically, a lot of random strangeness about zombies. And it's cool to me to watch a group of friends reveal their secret geekiness in something as strange as creepy dead things  unique as zombies. It's like the writing world come to life.

Random knowledge, yo. Do you have any that you'd like to share? Feel free to speak. Or type. I mean, you can speak too, but that might be weird. And I probably won't hear you. By all means, though, go right ahead. I'll be off avoiding my friends, their tomahawks, and their elaborate plans for my zombie-tastic death.

More later.

Unless I'm undead.

Then probably not, because my fingers shall not be able to type.

All Grown Up, and Nowhere To Go?

Hello, darlings!

Guess what? In the past two weeks, a lot of things have happened. Yes? Yes. I'm a horrible blogger this year, so let me update some. Now:

I am a high school graduate.

And I'm eighteen (and watching a ton of Disney.)

I've attended Senior Prom (and, um, left early to go camping with my friends.)

And I wore a (totally hideous) cap and gown.

I have a diploma (even though I wasn't technically supposed to get it until after I'm back from debate Nationals.)

And somehow...

I feel totally the same.

YA is interesting. Books are made out of moments. The sad ones, the happy ones, the ones that have you laughing until you can't breathe, or crying until your eyes ache. What we put into pages -- what we take out of pages -- comes from life. In the last two weeks, a lot of life, at least by societal standards, has been shoved into my lap. It's rather odd, actually.

I mean -- I never really doubted that, if possible by health and wealth, I would graduate high school. It's a luxury I've been allowed in my life to know that was a signpost I would obtain. It's something that I shouldn't take for granted, but definitely have. Through the stress and drama of high school, this was basically the mantra:

It was a basic one. An easy one. But when I look at books, and movies, and just stories in general, it feels like it should have been a bigger moment. It's the same with turning 18. I mean -- whoa. I'm an adult. (Haha. That's a joke. Right?) It doesn't feel any different. This is still one of my favorite movies. 

I still like sparkles on my nails. Nothing has changed.But now people automatically take you a little bit more seriously when you say your age. You get jobs easier. In some countries, you can drink. But that moment wasn't any different from any other birthday. Senior prom was just another dance. Wearing my graduation robe was kind of just like wearing a superman cape, and my diploma just seems like a sheet of paper.

I guess the moments we put into books really aren't moments at all. It's odd, and much too musing of me, but I think the interesting part comes from the culmination of time. Maybe graduation was meh, but high school? I was lucky; I enjoyed every year. I joined debate. I made friends. I did decently well in figuring out my goals in writing and making strides to someday achieving those goals. I became me: I talk too much, care too much about politics, take too many pictures, and wear too much sparkly nail polish, but that is, indeed, me. Someday, those parts of me will make my writing better. The paper that means a diploma doesn't represent a ceremony of graduation; it represents four years of laughing and changing and crying and becoming who I am. 

I don't know. I don't feel different; I'm not. Those moments didn't change anything about who I am, but they do represent the changes that have happened. It's growing up, I suppose. 

How marvelously strange, and how scarily interesting.

More later, with more substance. I just wanted to update. Also, post pictures of Disney. Because why not?

Characters: Those people things

I have a confession.
I'm weird.
Yeah, yeah. I know. Most of us are. Actually, we all are. We -- especially we book types -- come in odd forms. We like locking ourselves in rooms alone with dead trees and pretending the rest of the world doesn't exist. We sit at our computers and lose ourselves in worlds that only we can see. We collect intangible words and hold them close. It's a characteristic of people who love books. And why?
Because:

Every group of people has that. Has that set of things that makes them different. Some of us like words. Some of us enjoy cooking. Some freaks lovely individuals like spending their time getting sweaty and disgusting  working out. That's what makes life -- and books -- interesting. High lighting the differences.

Even better, though, is the weird stuff.

Some of it doesn't translate well to books because it's just too odd. I, for instance, live in the debate group. The mix consists of about fifty people -- seriously, our prom group numbers 30 -- but you can narrow it down to ten or fifteen of my particular 'people'. We go camping in back yards because we're too lazy to go further, but we like the out doors. We make a lot of mix cds and we go to a lot of movies and the boys play a lot of Frisbee. We're known in the school as the debate kids, and known by the characteristic of being snarky, cynical, and competitive.We spend too much time at the local Sonic, drinking way too much soda. (Except we gave soda up for prom. You don't know how much that hurt.) (I miss cranberry coke desperately.)

All of those things are part of our group. Those translate as our characters. But there are little things that probably wouldn't make much sense in a book. Time at tournaments has made us lose our personal space. It isn't uncommon for people to randomly bite someone else on the shoulder or wrist -- and by bite, I really do mean bite (I know, it really is weird). We joke to the point of meanness and get in trouble for talking a lot. (I am a senior, dangit, and still having my seat moved by my teachers. It's incredibly obnoxious.) (But then, I guess I am too.) Those things don't really translate as well. If I were writing a book and using us as characters, those little things wouldn't make sense to put in. 

It's interesting to me. I've been reading a lot lately -- I took a class called Appreciation of Literature this semester and all it consists of is reading and reviewing books -- and the difference between strong and weak characters comes in the details. I have the bad habit of looking at my friends and thinking of them in terms of a character. One of my best friends has bright hair and a bright laugh; another will either end up an incredibly successful engineer or a freaking crazy mob boss. It's fascinating to wonder about authors and their characters. Even if we don't mean to, I think we pull from our friends. Things that are said, jokes that are made. Nervous habits. I was reading something I wrote for Alpha last year and noticed just how many of my characters ran hands through their hair, or twisting their hair, or pulling at it, when they were upset or thinking or nervous. When I watch my friends, I see the same movement. It's a stress thing, I think, and in debate, that's one of the few nervous ticks you'll see demonstrated time and time again in hallways. 

The other most recent notice of good characters comes by Hunger Games. Even in the movie, the characters has things about them that make them breathe. When watching the movie, you can ignore everything else and realize just how freaking adorable Josh Hutcherson is see Peeta or Cinna or Rue or Haymitch and realize just how good Suzanne Collins' characters are.

I don't know. It's interesting to think about.

Anyway. More later. And for now, go watch Hunger Games.

(Seriously, now. Why haven't you already?)