Back on the Horse

Sometimes writing is easy. Ideas come and spin themselves easily into words and sentences and paragraphs. At times like these you do foolish things, like take on a writing project with an unrealistic deadline, commit yourself to three entirely separate blogs, decide to write a novel, all at the same time.

Other times, writing is much harder. Life creeps in around the edges. Who can really be expected to write when the holidays are right around the corner? Or when you have a day job and a never-ending list of books to read and TV shows to watch? When there are a million other things to do and the words just won't come.

It's easy to write when the words are flowing freely from your fingertips. It's harder when you're fighting uphill against bad ideas and writer's block and imposter syndrome. But that's when you write anyway. Writing anyway is what makes you a writer. That's what all the real writers say.

So. No more waiting for the perfect idea, the flash of genius, the mini-vacation when you'll finally have time. It's time to buckle down and do it anyway. It won't be good. It won't be pretty. That's how you get better. Write and write and write until the hay gets spun into gold. Nothing magic, just time spent and work done. That's how dreams come true.

Zelda

I’m not as obsessed with video games as some people I know. Most don’t hold my attention for very long. But there is one series of games that I can play for hours without even realizing any time has passed. The Legend of Zelda captures my imagination.

There is a series of dungeons with difficult bosses that must be defeated. Each room in each dungeon is a puzzle that must be solved, which appeals to my mind. I love entering the rooms and trying to figure out (1) what the puzzle in that particular room is and (2) how to solve it.

On top of the problem solving aspect of the game, the premise appeals to me. Each of the fourteen or fifteen games in the Zelda series centers on a teenage boy who is told that he must save the world. He doesn’t have superpowers or any other special abilities. I like the idea that heroes can be ordinary people.

I sit entranced for hours while I make me way through the dungeons, defeat the bosses, and try to save the imaginary world of Hyrule.

Yale

I look at the bright orange envelope that has arrived for me. The bright orange can only mean one thing: it’s from the people at Explo, the summer program that Yale University offers to high school students who have just completed their sophomore or junior year. 

I take a deep breath and slit open the envelope. I remove a folder, the same color as the envelope, and open it. Inside is a letter informing me of the classes that I’m signed up for (neurology and biomedical ethics), a book of general information, and about ten more forms that need to be filled out and sent back. I fill out as much as I can and hand the forms off to my dad to fill out the rest. 

The little book is mostly filled with rules. There’s even an entire page on the punishment for “sexual behavior”, but it never explains what is actually considered “sexual behavior”. As I flip through the rule, the packing suggestion list and all the other information that has been packed into this twenty page booklet, me excitement grows. I’m actually going to spend three weeks at Yale this summer, without my parents or anyone else.

Xander

Xander-syndrome. It’s when you have a crush on your best guy friends, but he only has eyes for the bubbly blonde sitting next to him. He sees you as his friend, his best friend, but he doesn’t see that you want so much more than that. He doesn’t want to see it. I suffered from Xander-syndrome my freshman year of high school.

I had a crush on a guy who was perfect, in my eyes anyway. Like any guy deserving of the nickname Xander he was nice, funny, loyal, and head-over-heels in love with the one girl he would never have. Like so many people, he wanted the unattainable ideal. I suppose I did, too.

He once told me that I was like a sister to him. No words have ever stung me more. A sibling is the one completely undateable person; no sane person would even consider it. I became determined to share my feelings with him, no matter the cost to my self-esteem. At least then he would know.

Try as I might, I couldn’t get up the courage to tell him to his face. I wrote about it instead. Well, as they say, hindsight is twenty-twenty. I know now that it wasn’t my most brilliant idea, but it seemed good at the time. Anyway the fault isn’t all mine; he completely overreacted.

A year after he found out about my crush, he moved away. For those twelve months he would even look at me, much less speak to me. A perfectly good friendship had been ruined, but at least I learned that these situations should be dealt with face-to-face, if at all possible. If I had told him to his face, he would have still respected my courage at least and the friendship wouldn’t have been completely destroyed.

Woods

Note: I believe that I intended this to be from the point of view of a bird. I'm not sure it worked.

I see her nearly every day, the human girl that comes to these woods. She is an adolescent, a teenager as humans call it. She’s the size of an adult, but still gangly. She has the look of an adolescent. She knows that soon everything that has ever supported her will be stolen and she’ll be forced to redefine her life.

I think she comes to these woods for the solitude and silence they provide her. I know that there are more living beings in this small space than in her entire world and each being has a unique sound. But human beings are such noisy creatures that I’m sure, to her ears, these woods are peaceful.

Maybe she comes here to listen to those sounds, though. She is always very quiet and thoughtful, whether she is wandering the paths here or just sitting on a fallen log. Sometimes I think she’s trying to listen to every sound in these woods, but many are out of her range of hearing. I know she can hear the songs the other birds and I sing, but there are so many I don’t know how she can listen to them. Perhaps she is listening to something deeper, something she can only hear against the peaceful backdrop of these woods.

Vow

 Do you remember? We grew up together; there was nothing that could separate us. We sought each other out at every family gathering and stayed pinned to each other’s sides until your mother or mine tore us apart, saying it was time to go home. We weren’t quite sisters, but cousins was good enough. We still shared the same blood, had the same interests. I was closer to you than any of my other friends.

What happened? Don’t tell me you forgot. When we were seven years old they came and taught us about the dangers of smoking in school. They told us about lung cancer and emphysema and death. I think it scared you even more than it scared me. You made me promise to never smoke. We vowed to each other that we would never even touch a cigarette. And here you are, sixteen years old, going through a pack a day.

Can you tell me why? Did you want to be cool? Did you want everyone else to accept you? Did you tell yourself, it’s just one, one won’t hurt? Did you forget our oath? Can I ask you one more question?

Was it worth it? Was that one year basking in the glow of the popular girl worth betraying me? Was it worth lung disease? Was it worth death? I stayed true to the vow. I’ve never smoked a cigarette and I never intend to. And it’s satisfying to know that I didn’t betray the oath, our promise, or our friendship.

Uber-fest

Note: This is the first time I ever binge-watched a television show. Who would have known it would become such a cultural phenomenon

"Wow, what a beautiful sunset,” Jessi comments from the floor. She has looked up momentarily to see the rays of the low sun piercing through the window blinds.

"Um, Jess, that’s not sunset,” I inform her from my spot on the couch. “That’s sunrise.” I suddenly feel incredibly tired.

Jessi, Katie, and I have been watching television for the past twelve hours. We still have about six to go, not counting breaks. This isn’t just any television, though. I received the complete second season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer in the mail yesterday – I preordered it about a month ago. The three of us then decided that it would be a good idea to watch the season straight through, without stopping. These inventive slumber parties will eventually become known as Buffy-fests and will become tradition in our circle of friends.

I turn back to the television. A small part of my brain is beginning to wonder if this was such a great idea. I’m not big on pulling all-nighters, especially when I only slept for about five hours the previous night. Jessi looks wide awake, but closer inspection reveals that she is actually in that state that you always see young children in about fifteen minutes before they crash. Next to me, Katie is curled into a ball on the couch, sleeping peacefully.

I wonder if I’ll be able to stay conscious for the remaining six hours of the marathon. But there's an episode coming up that I wouldn't mind sleeping through. Maybe I can catch a brief nap then. Despite the fatigue, this has been one of the most fun “slumber parties” I’ve been to in a long time. I’m already planning the next one.