Showing posts with label Words. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Words. Show all posts

the gummy bears

Friday, January 30

When I look back on my life
It's not that I don't want to see things exactly as they happened
It's just that I prefer to remember them in an artistic way
And truthfully the lie of it all is much more honest because
I invented it.
Clinical psychology tells us arguably that trauma is the
ultimate killer
Memories are not recycled like atoms and particles in quantum
physics
They can be lost forever
It's sort of like my past is an unfinished painting
and as the artist of that painting
I must fill in all the ugly holes
And make it beautiful again
It's not that I've been dishonest.
It's just that I loathe reality.
...
The truth is
Back then at the clinic
They only wore those funny hats to keep the blood out of their
hair
And that girl on the left
She ordered gummy bears and a knife a couple of hours ago
They only gave her the gummy bears
I'd wished they'd only given me the gummy bears
-Lady Gaga, Marry the Night

via *

in restless dreams I walked alone: 2

Thursday, June 5

Since I can remember I’ve been immersing myself into the minds of other people; when I was younger I’d invent a new person for myself to be and let them take over my brain for a day. I used to think that meant I had the makings of an actress but it was really the makings of a writer. I had more characters than I could count ready at my disposal, begging for their stories to be told. I would sneak into corners of rooms and talk to these people and write swatches of stories down in the margins of well-loved books. I started collecting the lives of those I’d imagined around me and soon moved into collecting the lives of those I knew and watched.

When the time came for me to have my own life, I wrote down every detail of what happened to me, experimenting with new words and trying with all my might to capture exactly what every single event in my life felt like. How the summer sunset’s look like melting sherbet wrapped in crushed velvet while the September sun looks like warmed honey seeping out behind the mountains and smelled like marmalade. How my first love’s hands reached at my sides like shy little tree roots, nervous to spread out and claim the forest floor. The more I wrote, the more I read, the more I saw, the more I kissed, the more the words demanded to be let loose onto paper. I felt more like myself when my eyes were peeking out between ink on a page.

via *

spring

Monday, April 28

I listen to movie soundtracks while I put together the soundtrack to my own life.
I beg myself to skip a meal so boys will kiss me harder, touch me longer.
But that's foolish and awful so I eat blueberries until my tongue is numb from sugar and my fingers are stained like lilacs.
I spy on my neighbors in their pretty things, sitting in hammocks and reading Nabokov.
The sun seems too scared of my searing white flesh to touch it for long but the longer I lay in the grass, the more the sun sneaks up on me. I like the lines the sun leaves on me, arrows pointing to all of my hidden skin.
When the weather has tricked us into an early summer, I write the grey days away pouring my own warmth into words.

via *

heal gracefully

Thursday, February 6




All images via Pinterest
Sometimes this even means you have to stop looking up what is giving you pain. Stop creeping on people who hurt you, stop reading words of someone you can't have, delete your facebook or other profiles for a while. Don't torment someone with your presence, or torment yourself by keeping them in your life even if it's just a virtual life. Everything will heal gracefully. Something I was thinking about while I was working on my novel and talking with my sister about a friend of hers being sick. Sometimes you have to let go of what you've done that you thought was a mistake. Just learn from it and let it go.

a year in words and a top ten

Tuesday, December 31

My biggest resolution for this year was to read 50 books in 2013. There were a lot of times when I got busy or tired that I didn't think I could do it but today I finished book number 50! I'm so happy I was able to complete this goal; I'm incredibly proud. I read a total of 13,333 pages this year. Longest book was 666 pages, shortest book was 64.

On top of that I made a goal to read one classic book a month. Did that too :)


This was a great year for words and I know I won't have another year like this for a long time because of how busy I'll be in school for approximately 900 years until I have all of my degrees done.

I read a lot, I wrote even more. I completed NaNoWriMo guys. I wrote a novel in one month. I wrote 50,202 words in. one. month. I've downplayed that a lot but DAMN. That is so many words, so much life was told for my characters and much more will still be told but that's a hell of a good start. 25 chapters, 83 single spaced pages on Word. I'm so happy I could burst.

I hope you all had a wonderful year of reading and writing and that you continue to read and write into 2014 as I plan to do, even if school sometimes gets in the way. It's like Lemony Snicket says, “As I'm sure you know, a good night's sleep helps you perform well in school, and so if you are a student, you should always get a good night's sleep unless you have come to the good part of your book, and then you should stay up all night and let your schoolwork fall by the wayside, a phrase which means "flunk."

Here are my top ten books of 2013. I'll try to order them as best I can. And I won't include rereads, because if I'm going to do that, The Book Thief would win every year and that just wouldn't be fair :)

Top Ten Books of 2013-

1. Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell
It's a book about writing and finding yourself, a lot like what my year consisted of. It touched my heart and inspired me.
via *

2. The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides
Gorgeous, lush, delicate language that haunted me long after I finished reading it. I found myself just as obsessed with the Lisbon Girls as the boys who narrated the story.

3. Anna and the French Kiss by Stephanie Perkins
Just the most fun and romantic book I read this year. I've never fallen harder for a romantic book and this one truly stayed with me and made me dream of my Paris Prince.

4. The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank
I cannot believe it took me as long as it did to read this book but man was it moving. To see this girl grow up on the pages and to hear her voice and her life moving around after she is gone was one of the most profound experiences I've ever had as a reader.

5. Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn
This was the book I read this year that kept me up at night, freaked out of my wits. I couldn't eve start a new book for a few days after this book ended because I was still thinking about this book. Flynn is an amazing writer. Her stories weave about like no others.

6. Lola and the Boy Next Door by Stephanie Perkins
The sort of sequel to Anna, this book was just as sweet and lovely. How Stephanie Perkins is able to make such playful and deep romance without ever being corny is amazing to me. I cannot wait for her next book to come out this year! I wrote some more feelings about her here. 


7. Maus 1 & 2 by Art Spiegelman
Graphic novel about his father's time in Auchwitz and the time leading up to the war. Groundbreaking, moving, inspiring, unforgettable. I loved how the story of his father's time was told while also telling the story of Art writing the book and interviewing his father. Their relationship broke my heart.

8. Eleanor and Park by Rainbow Rowell
Rainbow Rowell cannot be stopped, nor should she be. She is clever and her writing is like a dream. This book hooked me so much and made me feel a whole lot of things. It was truly a perfect book. I wrote more words about it here and here. 

9. The Madness Underneath by Maureen Johnson
Besides being one of the funniest humans on planet Earth, Maureen Johnson can write one hell of a story. This book series felt made for me. London, ghost stories, boarding school, history, attractive British boys. This is the second book in the series and I loved it. I'm still horribly mad about the end but hopefully book three will be out soon!

10. The 13 Clocks by James Thurber
This book was recommended to me by my grandmother's friend. He loaned me his very old copy that smelled like words and history and I was excited to dive in. It's a short little fairy tale but the words in this book are some of the most beautiful I've ever read. There were sentences in there that made me cry just by reading them. Truly an amazing little book that inspired the writer and the child in me.

And there we have it! I cannot wait to see what books I'll find myself curling up with in 2014. Hopefully they will be just as good as the books I read this year! 

Full list of the books I read can be found on my Goodreads. Happy reading, lovelies. I hope your New Year is phenomenal and safe. Mine promises to be a great night. :)

challenges

Saturday, November 9

I feel bled dry of words. All of the pretty words that usually swim in my head seem to have drowned or have gotten out of the pool in my thoughts. I have this horrible habit of stopping writing when I feel like what I am writing is crap. I know it's a process. I know it will not be Gatsby on the first draft. I know that this is a challenge to get words on paper so I can move forward from there. But I feel dried out and like I'm sabotaging myself.

Writing a novel is hard. It's tedious and draining. Not every word is beautiful, not all the dialogue is clean. I never understood when authors said it took them years to get a novel ready for publication and that by the time they got to their final draft so much had changed. But now I do. John Green said that in his first draft of Looking for Alaska, there was not even a hint of Pudge's obsession with last words. THIS IS A CENTRAL THEME IN THE BOOK. I couldn't imagine the book without it. How far that book came. How far mine will come.

It's amazing. Even when I feel bled dry of them, I find my solace in words. I write out my frustrations. I read books for more. I listen to music, engraining the lyrics on my skin. I want to talk to people. Watch words form on their lips. Trace them against their skin.

I guess I'm a writer after all.

The Book Thief

Sunday, November 3

Some books transcend everything, don't they? They change the way you think. The way you write. The way you see the world. They change everything. It gets to the point where you feel incomplete without that book living on your nightstand staring at you every night. When you see other people reading the book you get jealous that they are spending time with your best friends among the pages, cradling the spine like you cradle those characters in your heart. The book has become so completely yours and so completely you that you simultaneously want to share your love for it and keep every single copy in the known world under your bed for yourself.

This is The Book Thief. The untouchable, perfect, heartbreaking, groundbreaking work of art that changed everything for me.

via *
I read this book for the first time when I was about 15. I was immediately pulled in to this world as I watched Death walk alongside these characters and sit by their side in the snowy streets of Molching, Germany. I was immediately in love. I had never read words like this before in my life. The way death described things. The way he saw the world. I wanted to stand with him as he told me his stories, to see the world in the colors he saw it in.

DEATH AND CHOCOLATE

First the colors.
Then the humans.
That's usually how I see things.
Or at least, how I try.
***Here is a small fact***
You are going to die.

I loved the voice Death had. The tired, dry, sarcastic wit. The love he feels for Liesel. For Rudy. For them all. Death's narration makes this book. The way he describes colors. Every time I reread this book I find a new description to love. The first one I underlined? The eyes of a dead pilot the color of coffee stains.

I've never seen description like this. It's an amazing feeling to pick up a book, not realizing how different you will be after you read it. This book changed my writing entirely. I began going description crazy and I saw the world around me twist and turn while I read some passages over and over again. I had never been so taken by a book. 

When I got to the last fifty pages or so, I slowed down. I had tears cascading down my cheeks and I felt like I would never be able to breathe normally ever again. It took me two hours to pull myself through that mountain range of rubble and I emerged on the other side tear-stained, exhausted, and wholly swept away. It still takes me about two and a half hours to read those last pages. Those are some of the most gorgeously brutal words I have ever read.

I've never felt so attached to characters. They feel like family. Because the author spends so much time letting you get to know these characters, you cannot help falling in love with them. He tells you stories that really have no consequence in the grand scale of the story. They don't move plot forward per se, but they make your heart ache for these people. Rudy with his lemon hair, Liesel's love of words and hours spent on the floor of a secret library, Hans breathing with his accordion, Rosa's hidden moments of tender love with Hans, Max sweating fear every hour of the day. Lord, I can't even type about this book without getting tears in my eyes.

This book gives me the most visceral reaction of any book I've ever read. I feel my entire body pulsing when I read it and when I even think about the words. If I ever feel the need to cry, I can think of a scene in the book between Max and Liesel and in seconds glass tears will fall. If I need a laugh, I think of Liesel and Rudy saumensching with each other in the school yard or along the Amper River. Even the name of my blog comes from this book. Liesel reports the weather to Max one morning so the hidden Jew can have a small taste of the sky.

"The sky is blue today, Max, and there is a big long cloud, and it's stretched out, like a rope. At the end of it, the sun is like a yellow hole..."

Max, at that moment, knew that only a child could have given him a weather report like that. On the wall, he painted a long, tightly knotted rope with a dripping yellow sun at the end of it, as if you could dive right into it. On the ropy could, he drew two figures- a thin girl and a withered Jew- and they were walking, arms balanced, toward that dripping sun. Beneath the picture, he wrote the following sentence.

***THE WALL-WRITTEN WORDS OF MAX VANDENBURG***
It was a Monday, and they walked on a tightrope to the sun.

via *
I've spent a lot of time thinking about why this book has affected me so much; enough to lead me to read it once a year, each year highlighting and underlining more and more of my beloved well-loved copy. (I would read it more but I physically and emotionally don't think I could handle it.)

I think at my core, I connected with Liesel and her love of words. Her inspiring, motivating, life changing dedication to reading and writing and taking control of her own world through words. The power of language is a theme that is so central in this book and that is also a big part of my own life. Nothing moves me more than the power of language and watching this little girl fall in love with words reminds me of myself discovering words and using them as a weapon, a crutch, an embrace, a friend. I see so much of me in Liesel. I see me in her feeling of displacement and her deep love for those she cares most about. Her quiet watchfulness and powerful soul. I love that little girl. 

I love all of those characters. I am in love with Max Vandenburg. Hans and Rosa are my second parents. Rudy. To quote Death:

He does something to me, that boy. Every time. It's his only detriment. He steps on my heart. He makes me cry.

This book kills me. This book steps on my heart. This book makes me cry. 

via *
I was so nervous when I heard this book was going to become a movie. Actually, screw nervous. I was livid. I was in my bathtub reading the book when I decided to look at Tumblr tags, hoping to find some pretty fan art. Instead I found a cast list and filming locations. My heart burst open. No, I thought, this is The Book Thief. Not the Movie Thief. Where will the words be? No. These are my characters. They'll have to leave out so much. No. No. No.

I remained furious for months. I got protective and angry. I didn't want people to start claiming this book that was my lifeblood as their own after seeing a movie and never holding these characters in their hands. I wanted the movie to be done right, to do justice to these words that are so ingrained into me. I didn't want people who I felt didn't deserve this book to be able to see the movie and cry. They don't know these characters like me, they don't deserve to sit and cry with me. They will cry because of the Holocaust, I will cry because I'll be watching my family and my heart on the screen. 

Then I saw the trailer. And lost it completely. It blew me away. I was crying within the first three seconds. I was so happy because it looked exactly like what I always pictured, but also different enough to let me keep my images of these people and places alive in my brain. I calmed down with being so militant about this book being mine. My perception of this book and the meaning I have assigned to it will always be mine and nobody will ever touch that. But now the world will see why I go so crazy over this. They will get to meet my loves. 

I am so scared to see this movie. If watching the trailers is any inclination, I will be a horrible sobbing mess the entire time. I went to a movie last weekend and saw the trailer for the first time on the big screen and immediately started weeping, much to the embarrassment of my sister, brother in law, grandmother, and fellow movie-goers. My mom flat out refuses to see the movie with me because I won't be able to stop crying throughout. That's alright, I'd rather brave it alone. 

This was a whirlwind to write. I'm once again tear stained and exhausted; it's like I just finished reading the book. I love this book to pieces, with every beat of my heart and I am so happy to share my love of this book with you all. 

via *

warm visions

Sunday, September 15

via Tumblr
I have a mere two weeks of my internships left. Two weeks until I can get back to my life. Two weeks until I can stop living for others and begin life for myself. Mr. Larsen told me a few weeks back that there is only so much a person can take of sitting in the used grey shadows of the dreams of others before their own dreams come busting forth too powerful to contain.

Life keeps inching forward toward happiness and growth and it's giving me warm visions for the future. You are in every single vision. Every night as the moon crests the mountains and life gets clearer and closer to the finish line of September, your face eases in to my mind like ink rushing across a page. Our hazy grey days keep swimming in my mind and brimming across my eyelids in steady waterfalls.

My inconstant moon- just out of reach- is keeping me up at night. I'll take the moon's indirect gaze until it is ready to warm my nights with it's silver grey light. I feel big things coming. I feel the moon pulling my hand forward like the tides.

mantra

Monday, September 9

via Tumblr

midnight musings II

Wednesday, September 4

-I feel paralyzed when I write sometimes and I'm not entirely sold on what I've written. I realize first drafts can't be perfect.
-This scares me. I'm a perfectionist. It scares me when my words aren't perfect.
-You know what helps? Music. 
-Cliches are cliches for a reason. They are true.
-Without music, I believe, we would all feel paralyzed. 
-We would feel lost.
-We wouldn't breathe.
-All we can do is keep breathing
-I hope everyone has something they can love like I love words.
-I hope everyone has a celebrity they can look up to. Or if not a celebrity, someone with influence. 
-Pop culture is a part of us. It's time to accept that.
-Ever let your past come back at 12:05 and keep you up at night? 
-Sometimes it's nice to sit and think the past through.
-Even past that is re-imagined is true to you. It becomes your history. 
-I love personal histories
-I am a collector of lives.
-I want to hear every single story.

via Tumblr

Complacence

Thursday, August 22

I love feeling swept away with conversation. I love meeting someone who I feel I can talk with forever and ever. It reminds me about how amazing life is and how beautiful dedication and the human mind can be. With so much to do and so much to hope for, how can anyone stand to not be driven and active and excited to be alive? Lazy days are good but a lazy life? Such a shame.

I've been working in the dental office for about three weeks now and time has flown. Sure I've learned about dentistry but I've learned more about people, especially the people I am working with. The dentist I have been assisting has such a wise and kind soul. He is very thoughtful, very smart, very dedicated, and one of my favorite people to talk to. He listens without judging, shares opinions without preaching, and is also hilarious. So. He's a gem. If he's not your dentist, you're doing it wrong.

He's a very active man. He runs races. He raises a family. He works as a dentist. And he is always striving for self improvement and knowledge, a trait I find the most inspiring. He is so thirsty to learn and loves sharing ideas with people for the mutual pursuit of knowledge. He's the kind of person that you talk with that you walk away feeling better about yourself and so excited to get out and live! And run! (Or try and run. Oh exercise... why must you hurt me so?)

His excitement has made me feel excited again. For the past few weeks I have started to get this cringing complacency crawling across my mind. I've accomplished a good deal recently and I've landed into a rare transitional period where all I have to do is wait until it's time to start my next chapter. Because of that, I've gotten lazier and lazier. It's not so much unmotivated as it is...uncritical satisfaction. I'm satisfied for now because I really can't do anything else but wait for my time to come. It's not quite moving day, not quite time to get back to the U, not quite time. It's a lackluster limbo that has made me painfully complacent.

But as I've been talking with the doctor, I've rediscovered how much I have to do with my life. I feel like I've woken up after these past few weeks. Just because my goals and dreams aren't new to me, doesn't mean they aren't new to someone else or that you can't make them new again for yourself. There is never a good time to stop working hard to chase your dreams, especially if they are finally happen.

Is it just me, or did you never think you'd get to where you are right now? Like, you plan your whole life but the day it begins to happen, it amazes you. You can achieve your dreams in this life? You're allowed to get what you want? When did we all grow up? Time flies and before you know it, you're here. You're on your way, and why not? You deserve your dreams.

I know the feeling of never thinking you'd get to where you are right now. It's amazing to see dreams coming true for yourself and it's also very humbling to see how much work and how many detours it takes to get to your dream. When you're little you anticipate a straight shot to greatness; nobody told us the arrow would be curved. I never thought I'd be a dental assistant. I still can't believe it. I'm a professional person working with real people in real time. But this detour has taught  me so much and prepared me even more for my true calling in life.

Surgeons once worked at McDonalds too before they realized their dream of saving lives. The struggle toward your dreams inherently defies complacency. Take it from me, do not let yourself get complacent because you think you've hit a rest stop. Use this time to pour over your maps for the 700th time, reroute if necessary, and then carry on. Even if you are driving slowly in a desert, you are nearing your paradise faster than you know it.

via Tumblr. Quote by John Green

wasted daylight

Sunday, August 18

Water color clouds bleed across
the azure page as your
thought inch up my spine
like ink.

The ghost of your fingertips
brush past my wrist,
down my palm,
nesting on my nail beds.

Do you remember?

Wasted days
sitting in twisted sheets,
sipping scalding coffee,
mussing my hair,
mapping your back
with eager hands 
exploring
learning

yearning.

The daytime 
sparks and scalds our skins.
so we stay in.

Huddled in each other,
until the moon called me home.

She wears your face now,
obscured by clouds,
she's made brighter,
as you made me. 

Irony, no?

Wasted time, enjoyed,
was not wasted.
I still waste daylight with 
you by my side. 

EmJ
via WeHeartIt

Based on this <3

Walking Irony

Wednesday, August 7

Time is flying this year, isn't it? Was it not JUST New Year? I remember New Year so vividly like it was yesterday and so much has changed. It was 7 months ago! It's gonna be Christmas tomorrow at this rate.

I sort of hate how time flies. And just like everyone always says, it goes faster the older I get. Good lord, I'm only 21. Time better simmer down if I plan to enjoy being 30 eventually. I just find it amazing when big things happen after loads of planning and time. It's like your high school graduation. You know it's coming for 13 years of school. You know it's always on the horizon. But one day you wake up, slip on your graduation robe, adjust your tassel, and have your dad drive you to your graduation. It feels surreal and is over so fast, just like everything amazing in this life.

I've spent so long planning for my future and now it's here for the most part. At least, the future I've been working towards for two years now. January is on her way, which means I finally get to be back at a University studying English like I want to be. (Brief side note, how DARE America not speak like the British do by saying "I'm at University reading English instead of majoring in? Real missed opportunity there.)

As excited as I am to get on my way to my dreams and my future, I'm so scared to leave where I am right now. I love my little twin size bed in the room I grew up in. I love having my dogs around me. (Real talk, I'm the saddest to leave my girls. Unbearable. Un. Bear. Able.) I love how my bed smells. I love my small town. I love knowing what I'm doing.

I like to be the best at things. I like to be good at what I'm doing and know what I'm doing. I hate feeling unsure or stuck in limbo. However, I love adventure. I'm walking irony. I love new things, but I hate being imperfect. I love new bedrooms and decorating, but I hate leaving my home. I thirst for new places and new people, but I'm so afraid to be hurt. I love irony and I hate it.

 I'm human juxtaposition.

This is a weird sort of word vomit of a post, but writing catharsis is always needed, yes? Not all words are flowering and pretty, but some rambling is needed for the flowers to grow.

via Tumblr

messy mind

Thursday, July 25

When I love something,
                                            I take sever ownership of it.
Like I have some deeper
                                                          Understanding and love of this thing.

When really
It's just different.

Except my favorite song. That's mine.

Mine
mine
Mime

Some days I feel less like a person,
more like a mime.
Going through the motions,                                                                       
Vastly unnoticed,
slightly creepy
ever watching.

Watching
watching
Waiting

Waiting for change,
                              dreading its arrival.
Ever feel like you 
                             sabotage yourself?

I do.

I slow myself down
                                     so change won't come.

Come
come
Came

Change has already
                         come and gone
And I'm fine.
                                      I survived. I flourished.

Flourished
flourished
Flounder

What if this is the time
                                I flounder and fail?

Don't think that way.
Believe
Hope
Blah blah.
BLAH.

I take ownership of things,
                           get competitive.

Volatile.
Stifled and stilted.
Stiff and sly.

I see people with similar
                             passions, dreams.
They inspire me,
                        intimidate me.
Drive me. 

There's enough success for two.
Good vibes to them=
                                good luck for me.

Sharing is caring,
                            it's first grade.
After all,
                                it's all first grade.

via Tumblr   

Thanks Sam

Tuesday, June 25

Frodo: I can't do this, Sam.

Sam: I know. It's all wrong. By right we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.

Frodo: What are we holding onto, Sam? 

Sam: That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo... and it's worth fighting for. 

Thank you, Sam. Your words are always the greatest comfort. 

Image via Tumblr



Work in Progress

Sunday, May 26

Here is the start of a short story I am currently working on! I'm excited to share some of my writing on this blog other than just personal stuff. I'd love to hear some comments from you all :). The story is based on my favorite work of art by my favorite artist, Banksy. Perhaps you know it. This story is far from over but here is the start of it. Enjoy!



Early in the spring of her 21st year, Heidi Chapel reclined gently in a meadow of baby’s breath and lilacs. The clouds hung lazily in the indigo sky of the early May evening. She reached her hand out to her side, running her fingers through the grass, letting it tickle her arms until goose bumps rose up like tiny anthills along the smooth pavement of her flesh. Her breath came out in slow easy sighs, blending with the music of the wind combing through her hair.
It was amazing to Heidi that being alone could taste so sweet. But only by being alone could she truly feel connected to anything anymore. With her mind silenced and the grass pressed against her cheek Heidi became part of the Earth. She sank herself deeper and deeper into the ground until she felt roots spring from her mind anchoring her to the world.
The wind stood still for a moment as a voice rose up beside her. “Haven’t seen you here for a bit, Heidi. Welcome back.”
She tilted her head toward his voice as he sat down next to her. A smile flirted onto the corners of her mouth. “Speak for yourself, Andy. I never left Wonderland. I’m here in my mind all the time. Where have you been?”
“Oh, here and there.”
“Doing?”
“Oh, this and that.”
Heidi chuckled and turned away. “Always the enigma.”
“Yes of course. But not today. Today is a special day, Heidi. Today is-“
“I know what today is, Andy. How could I not? But please, let’s not talk about that. Let’s just rest here a minute.” Heidi closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting it fall out of her mouth in a heavy sigh.
“Heidi, we-“
She put her hand up to stop his words, before lowering her finger to her lips, shushing him. “Don’t ruin today, please. Just let me fall asleep in the grass and don’t wake me up,” she whispered.
“Ok, Heidi. Rest easy. I’ll stand watch, just like when we were young. I’ll keep the monsters away.” He looked at his sister lying in the grass, the wind now a velvet blanket easing her to sleep. “The monsters won’t find you here. I’m King Arthur, remember?”



“I’ll fight the monsters, my lady! I’ll chase them away, for I am King Arthur, brave and true!” Andy was ten and sporting a bright yellow cast. Tromping through the bushes, he swung his sword gallantly.
Over on the other side of the yard, Heidi held down tree limbs forming her prison. Her eight-year-old voice called out to her brother in alarm, “They are coming closer, Arthur! Don’t let them eat me!” Her pitch grew as she continued crying out support to the brave soldier battling the invisible monsters invading their homeland.
Her knight fought bravely. The trolls were toppled, the sea monster shamed, the dragon defeated, and the goblins groveled on their knees to be spared. “I am a merciful King, you beasts! If you promise to serve no one else but me and my sister, you may live.”
“PAUSE!” Heidi shrieked as she ran from her prison cell and feel onto her knees in front of her brother. Scrunching her face, and shrinking her arms until she resembled a newly hatched T-Rex, Heidi presented herself before her King. “We the goblins promise to be loyal subjects! I will take out the garbage for you and your sister and… and… make all of the beds!”
“You must shake my hand for the deal to be good, you disgusting creature.” King Arthur extended his good arm out to his sister. Slowly, she gripped his hand as he shouted, “From this day on this girl shall be my slave! Heidi Chapel will forever serve me, the mighty KING ANDY!”
“That’s not the game, Andy! Let me go!” Andy tightened his grip on her hand as she struggled to pull away. She toppled him, pushing herself on top of him, still trying to free her hand. The two twisted and turned about the yard, grass stains piling up on Andy’s cast and Heidi’s new white summer dress. With angry tears flowing down Heidi’s face, her throat sore from shouting, the fighting wore on until a voice sounded from within the house.
“ANDREW DANIEL CHAPEL! What do you think you are doing? You know you have to be more careful with that cast! Get up right now before you need a matching one on your right arm! Heidi, look at your dress! What are you, a barn animal?” Their mother was an imposing woman in her cream-colored blazer and navy dress. She had her hair twisted into a tight bun, not a hair daring to move out of place. Her kind eyes, revealing an inner child that couldn’t be deterred from playing just by wearing stiff clothing, softened her imposing air.
“MOM! Andy says I have to do all his chores for him because I shook his hand! But I wasn’t shaking his hand, Mom! He was being King Arthur and I was being a goblin!”
“But you always look like a goblin, stupid! That’s why the trick worked,” Andy laughed.
“MOM!”
“Andy, be nice to your sister! Playtime is over. Heidi, you don’t have to do any chores but your own chores. Andy, apologize to your sister. And both of you get in this house right now. You both have to change now before we go to lunch with your grandmother. Hurry up.” As she turned around, her motherly scowl turned into a smile that reached from ear to ear and warmed her soul.
Apathetically, Andy rolled his eyes toward his sister. “Heidi, I’m sorry I said you looked like a goblin. And I guess since you’re a baby who got mom involved you don’t have to do my chores.”
“I’m NOT a baby and you’re NOT sorry! I hate you forever and I’ll never talk to you again!” Heidi ran off into the house, leaving King Arthur defenseless and alone in the golden afternoon. 

Gatsby

Saturday, May 11

"Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book. And then there are books like An Imperial Affliction, which you can't tell people about, books so special and rare and yours that advertising your affection feels like betrayal." -John Green, The Fault in our Stars

So. This is a topic that I feel will appear in quite a few posts on this blog and it's a topic I've had a hard time getting in to because my mind is a jumble of words when it comes to it. The topic:

Gatsby

(what Gatsby? Har har har... literary humor har har)  The Great Gatsby is my favorite book. Of all time and eternity. The word favorite doesn't even really encompass the way I feel about this book. It doesn't feel special enough to call this book a favorite book. It doesn't feel... sacred, like this book is to me.



 The above John Green quote, however, sums it all up quite nicely. I feel both ways about Gatsby. I feel as though you will never understand how my brain works until you've read this book. That part of my soul lives and breathes on those pages. But I also feel as though nobody can understand this book like I do. That Jay Gatsby is mine and nobody understand how he feels and I don't want people reading a book about him and misunderstanding him. This book is my lifeblood, it's my greatest passion, it's the thing I love the most on this Earth. This is the book I read 6-7 times a year, a book permanently stationed on my night stand. When I wake up in the middle of the night and I need something to comfort me, or I can't settle on a new book to read, Gatsby is always there waiting for me.



This was a book I never talked about as being a favorite. I'd rattle off my list of favorite books when asked: Looking for Alaska, The Book Thief, Perks of Being a Wallflower, etc. Never Gatsby. Gatsby was a private book since the first time I read it when I was 16. It was a private obsession that flowered in my mind only in the dark of night when I would read through my favorite passages on my own. It was mine. I never even talked much about it with people I dated or loved for fear that after ending relationships with them, my book would become tainted by them. I kept it pure.

Then my friends and I began a book club and selected Gatsby as our February read. I was excited to talk about this book with people I respected and loved. People who I knew would respect my near obsession with this book. For the first time I was finally able to vocalize and ponder WHY this book had taken over my thoughts and why Jay Gatsby became the secret specter of my mind, a vision who made his home in my head. I read it closely and wrote endless pages about what this book and man were to me. Something snapped in me then, a hidden spark burst into wildfire. This secret affair with this book became too large and too important to remain hidden. 

I feel as though I understand Gatsby. I have his same obsession with the past, the same thirst to keep that one beautiful moment that has managed to define our lives pure and golden. We have an inexhaustible gift of nostalgia and hope for ourselves and our lives. I connect with him and the words on these pages. I started developing too many thoughts about this book to keep them all to myself. It became bigger than me, a romantic vision that kept me awake most nights thinking of Gatsby. We both stayed awake in the dark reaching for a green light. He was mine. 



A few weeks back, I went to visit a dear friend who teaches at Davis High school. We got talking about Gatsby, as any conversation eventually leads. I got emotional as I was talking about it, as I normally do. He was very taken by my response to the book and invited me to come teach a few of his classes about the book. I was so excited. I went home and wrote up a whole bunch of thoughts about the book and prepared my lecture. He told me I'd have a half hour to fill and after the first lesson, it became apparent that that was not enough time. I think I spent about 45 minutes talking about the book with the last class. I could have kept going. I could always keep going.

Then it came time to see the movie. I was incredibly nervous to see this movie, but I knew that nothing could live up to the vision of this book I had stored in my ghostly heart (reference to the book anyone?...eh...?) Leo DiCaprio is the perfect Gatsby, I adore Carey Mulligan, Tobey McGuire made me nervous but he had an awkward energy that Nick always had. I love Moulin Rouge and the energy that film has, an energy I believe Gatsby has. I was so excited.

I saw this movie for the first time Thursday night at 11 with a dear friend, Shelby. We both sat anxious and excited, waiting with baited breath. It began... and I couldn't handle it. It was perfect. It was unreal how much this film matched what I had in my head.

My biggest fear for this movie was that it would be too grand, too loud, too focused on the partying. The trailer made it seem draped in excess and the soundtrack talked a lot about wealth and party. I was nervous because it needs to be understood that Gatsby is not a party novel. Jay Gatsby isn't concerned with his wealth, he's concerned with his golden girl. But the movie did an incredible job with the parties. Through all of his parties you got the sense of the thrill, but never lost sight of the true meaning behind them and the fallacy of the parties. Just like Jay Gatsby, the glitz of the parties cannot hide the pain of his life. The movie remained centered on the man even through the parties. 

His eyes. "His count of enchanted objects had diminished by one."

In summation of the movie I'll quote Jordan Baker. "Anyhow, he gives large parties and I like large parties. They're so intimate. At small parties there isn't any privacy." That's what the movie felt like. It was cerebral and very internal. A grand affair that remained focused on the intimacy and acute sense of life Gatsby had. 

This movie felt as though it was made for me. There are sentences and moment in the novel that I have always felt to be the most important and beautiful that I had never head talked about. They hadn't appeared in either of the two film versions I had seen previously. But Baz Lurhmann picked up on them like I did. He made them so central in the film just as they were in my brain. The theme of Nick seeing himself as inward and outward was something that never felt central to the films. It was here. Gatsby too, like Nick, was inward and outward of his own life, half living in his dreams.



The attention to detail was incredible. From the clothing being spot on to how the book described it to little mannerisms of Gatsby tapping his foot restlessly on the car ride into the city. It was palpable how much Baz adores this book and how much he adores Gatsby. It was a very Gatsby-centric movie. The added dialogue Gatsby had to bring more understanding to his obsession with Daisy's singular love was beautiful.



The scene that broke my heart was when Jay and Nick are talking by the pool after the party Daisy and Tom attend. He's worried about the fact that Daisy didn't like it. This scene in the book is incredibly powerful but this scene in the movie... the added thoughts Gatsby spoke... it was like watching my mind on the screen. Gatsby vocalized thoughts I've had about this book since I first read it that had never been spoken before. Gatsby says something along the lines of, "It's so sad. It's so sad because Daisy doesn't understand. I've gotten all these things for her but I can't make her understand. I need her to tell Tom she never loved him." Lurhmann gets Gatsby. He gets his pain and struggle. He understands like I do that it is NEVER too much to ask for singular love. I could die talking about how perfectly Lurhmann understood the character.

Look at the pain in his eyes. Unreal.
But even more than Lurhmann understanding it, Leonardo DiCaprio understands Jay Gatsby. There are moments in that movie that wouldn't be possible if he was just a good actor. Yes. He is incredibly talented and he disappears into this role. But there is also an energy that Leo gives. He understands Gatsby. There are things he does for this role that go beyond talent, go beyond acting. He was living and breathing this role. Every time he talks about Daisy, he has a ring of tears in his eyes.

His eyes, though.
He gave Gatsby the vulnerability that has been missing in EVERY film version I have seen. He made this enigma become the realest character in the book and on the screen. He became easier to understand. He stepped out from behind his Gatsby smile and became the hurt man he truly is. I was left breathless by this performance. It's a performance that I feel will never be topped for me. He was Gatsby. He always was.



Nick, Tom, Daisy, Myrtle... they were all perfect. They all acted as I've seen these characters for years. This movie was the soul of this novel. The focus was on Gatsby and his belief in the Green Light, not on the American Dream. I've never seen this novel as focused on the American Dream. There is for sure a level of commentary in there, but not nearly as much as is constantly placed on it. This is a novel of nostalgia and past, remembrance and regret. It's a novel about Gatsby. Fitzgerald played with calling this book The American Dream, but it's not about that at all. It's about Gatsby and the vision he had of himself in his heart. This film was Baz Lurhmann's heart and soul, and it was mine too.

I would apologize for the length of this post but even this feels short to me. I have an enormous amount of words for this book and this barely scratches the surface. Thank you to those who stuck through and read the entire thing. I feel like this is the most important post I could ever write. It was cathartic to write it and to finally let people maybe understand why this book is so vital in my life. Sure, it's an extreme love, but when I love I love like Jay Gatsby. I love with my entire being, I love forever, I love with a force that controls my life and changes my destiny. In the words of Gatsby, I felt myself falling in love with this book "and I just let myself go."

Thank you for reading. And an eternal thank you to Fitzgerald for his velvet words and his ghostly Gatsby, the sweeping story that will enchant my life and my mind for an eternity.




Even Hell Can Be Pretty

Wednesday, May 8

This video is wonderful. These words are powerful. Share this with those in need.

You are beautiful, world. You are worth it. You are gold.