More On YG and Frankenstein

Sorry for bailing on last night's post. It was late, and my brain was fried, and the post was long enough as it was. I'm afraid to say that I don't have much time right now either, seeing as I'm in the exact same predicament. But this was really powerful for me, so I can't just not say it.

Something really struck me last night in a talk my youth group leader gave. It was the feast of the Annunciation yesterday, and she was talking about something called Marian consecrations. It's where you offer your whole life on earth and eternity in heaven to Our Blessed Mother, and she, in return, intercedes to her Son on your behalf. She said that the best way to prepare for a Marian consecration is to learn about Mary, so she talked for a bit on the wedding feast at Cana.

This story is one of the few events in the Bible that records Mary's interactions with Jesus, and, even though hers is such a small "role" in the story, it really shows us how Mary intercedes for us. When Mary saw that the wine had run out she did not go to her Son to wheedle or demand a reaction. She simply brought the dilemma to His attention, then told the servants to do as He bid. That's how she responds to our prayers, too. She works as a mediator, presenting our intentions to her Son, then preparing us for His grace. We just need to be open and allow Jesus to work in our lives.


Okay. Now I have that off my chest, and I will probably go on another involuntary fast from posting, if the past is any indication of the future. Hopefully I'll be able to break the vicious cycle and get out of this writing funk. What I need are some amazing writing prompts. I'll dig some up and write a few.

And now for something a little more light hearted. Well, not really. I'm reading Frankenstein for a seminar, which is in no way light hearted. Oh my gosh. WHY does he need to be such a stubborn idiot? I'm only about halfway through, but I'm about ready to strangle that guy!

I'm sure there's more to talk about, but that'll have to wait for another time. Have a nice rest-of-your-Wednesday and don't read Frankenstein unless you want to hate humanity.

I Just Love Youth Group

I just got home from another youth group...gathering. I guess it's just youth group. Whatever. I've had mixed feelings about youth group for a while now. I love my friends, and I love getting together to party, but I've always felt that youth group is not the place to do it. I always wanted it to be set apart; something we could do to break the pattern of our everyday parties (I wish!). This past semester there have been some major changes, but it's taken some time to find the happy medium.

There were a few weeks where we spent the whole hour and a half on Bible study, which just burned everyone out. I mean, I love Bible study, but it can be trying to spend so much time on it, especially when half the room is trying to discuss and the other half is poking fun at the first. It leads to me getting mad at people, which is not a pleasant feeling. I hate hating my friends.

At the same time I don't want it to turn into just a plain old party. Now, I'm not saying anything against parties. I love parties. Anyone who knows me, or even reads this blog, will almost definitely have that fact already implanted in their minds. But I do like a little bit of color in my life (I think I inherited that from my mom), and I looked to youth group for that color. I hoped it would be a time to discuss our awesome faith with our friends. It isn't a subject that comes up explicitly too often. I find it hard to talk about the faith with friends not only because we all share about the same extent of knowledge, but also it's something so personal that, unless considered in a not-giddy environment, sounds hollow and laughable.

But twas not so tonight. Tonight a bill was passed to limit the Bible discussion to fifteen minutes, and we were able to keep relatively quiet during that time (okay, not really, but it was just a bad day for that). I think that this will really help keep the majority of people interested all the way to the games at the end.
And it worked like a charm. We stopped the discussion right on the dot, and, after a small talk by one of the leaders, got right to the carefree game portion. I've gotta say: having finished the Bible study I was able to appreciate the games so much more.

And now it's ten thirty and I just realized that I never got to the point I came on here to make. I didn't originally want to give a detailed analyses of my views, but the consequence for my ditzy-ness is that now there isn't enough time to talk about the really cool thing. I'll just need to tell you tomorrow. G'night!

I'm Dyin' Ova Heer

I feel like my feet are falling off and I can't move my leg. There are multiple possible diagnoses are available for these intense and highly rare symptoms. For example: I may have just survived the initial raid of the zombie apocalypse, sustaining minimal injuries after the night long chase. Or I may have just come back from my martial arts competition, winning first place and getting ready to move on to the state championships. Or I may have just played four stellar games of volleyball, followed up by a super long game of barefoot soccer. Yeah, let's go with that last option and pretend to keep it real.

There really is nothing like sports. Nothing is more rewarding than a some friendly, competitive games. I have a lot of hobbies, but I think that sports may be my third favorite (high praise when you see my list of favorite things), trumped only by hanging out with friends and eating ice cream. It probably has something to do with the easily acquired skills + strategy + friends. Nothing is more satisfying than that recipe and a healthy dose of sportsmanship.

Actually, that's where sports can go terribly sour. I've played my share of games that, in and of themselves were great, but were played in such a way as to make the whole experience miserable. Sometimes people get too caught up in the game, and forget that it's just that: a game. Games should be fun. Granted, competition is one of the things that makes it so, but we sometimes have a tendency to take things a little too seriously. My brother played in Little League a few years ago, and it would always be a chore to watch his games, not because they were boring (I actually love watching baseball), but because there were always those families who couldn't loosen up and were screaming bloody murder every other play. Twas not particularly pleasant.
The thing is that I can't balance my competitiveness. I'm either way too invested (aka shouting myself and my teammates down) or not in the game at all. It's the hardest thing to get the right ratio of laxity and drive.
The best is when everybody's super chill about the game. No crazy expectations or goals, just a lot of team spirit and friendly banter with the enemy opposing team. It's games like those that I'm addicted to. Just a bunch of friends playing for fun.

And that, my dear reader, is why I'd never make it in sports. Despite my overwhelming natural talent at many physical activities I 1) wouldn't be able to handle the stress, 2) can't stand poor sports/non-team-players, and 3) it just wouldn't ever be fair for the other team.

Also, I think the physical exertion would kill me. My feet will likely never recover, and I'll just have to limp lamely through the rest of my life.

Time For My Weekly Post...

I've been super behind in my writing lately, so finally I just set myself the goal of writing up a blog post today. And I'm going to fail in that, too, since it's getting late and I want to go to bed. Anyways, here's something.

Write a letter to Writer's Block, parting ways forever.

Dear Sir,
It has come to my attention that your behavior has been causing our employees unrest. While I allow that inspiration should not be awarded unscrupulously, I do believe that it's occasional benefit must be granted to customers at least once every blue moon. Their satisfaction, after all, must be considered and acted upon.
This is not the first warning, I believe, that you have received. There have been several instances of your incompetency over the years, leaving the management to clean up the lives of the glum aspiring authors you condemn to failure. I have disregarded the facts and put off this unfortunate decision for much too long. Your stingy efforts to leave the general populous uninspired have given me no alternative, but to relieve you of your position. 
Insincerely,
Me

Okay, I don't actually feel any more inspired, but hopefully after a good night's sleep I'll be able to write an intelligible sentence. Until then!

Just found this blurb that I'd forgotten to post:

I'm very temperamental about my writing. An example: I just had a marvelous time writing a religion paper for school. I'd been dreading it for almost three weeks and today I finally got around to writing it. Which is weird. Usually that combination of fear and procrastination result in a hurried, under-worded essay that is all but incomprehensible, much less fun to write. Not so today.

I just wish I could turn my writing mode on (and off!) at will.  Like now. I'm nowhere near a stopping point in school, but I honestly can't stop thinking about writing. I don't even have anything to say, but I couldn't stop thinking about just sitting down in my quiet room with a pencil and notebook.

One thing that I've been growing used to (I'm not sure if it's a good or bad habit yet) is that I can't write on the computer. For a few months now, my writing on the computer has turned into scrambled essay language. So, to counteract that, I've gotten into the habit of composing these blog-destined masterpieces by hand and spend my waning computer time copying them out on here. It feels more personal somehow. This sounds weird, but I know that I wrote it if I can hold the hard copy in my hand and see the words crammed onto the page. On the computer it all seems so inhuman. I go back to edit and delete half of what I wrote because it just looks silly. I indulge my inner editor and end up deleting half of what I write. That doesn't happen nearly as often when it takes actual time to erase all my words, as opposed to clicking them out of existence. And at least on paper I remember that even if my story stinks, my handwriting is still pretty. :)

Here's another example. I wrote a prompt last week and my friend was reading it straight from the notebook. I had been planning on posting it, but for some reason I was getting really nervous by showing it in it's raw form. It looked so vulnerable. I had to stop it. It's still coming up here, and when it does I'll be fine, but I'm still too emotionally invested in it to expose my precious now.

My history book has been staring me down for the past age and my conscience is starting to kick in. I shall leave you now, in peace, to contemplate the mysteries of my complex writing style. Ciao.

One of THOSE Movies

The house is finally quiet. The movie ended over an hour ago, and this is the first time I am allowed to think. To revel in the misery this short movie has forced into my life.

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas.

It's a good movie. I need to show you this movie. It's really great. Why did I ignore the warning that followed? Even I had to cry at the ending.

Well, not this time. In a room of over a dozen I was the only one crying.

It had seemed fine at first. Sure, this won't be too bad. I just won't cry. It wouldn't be hard with so many boys in the room. I admit, I ham it up around my girlfriends and sob at the appropriate queues, but that should work in reverse, right? I should definitely be able to reign in my emotions now, with no supporting audience.

How wrong I was.

This was one of those movies that require several hours to recover from. The kind were you just want to sleep all these imaginary troubles away. That leave you breathless. The kind that I watched tonight with a roomful of boys and acquaintances.

I don't know how long I will be experiencing this movie hangover, but please forgive me if I'm dazed and moody. I'm probably either thinking about this movie, or, even worse, trying to think about it.

SPOILER ALERT.

I got myself really worked up about the ending, and welcomed my mom's theory that, after this tragedy, the father at least would see the error in his ways and come around. Accepting that, however, just opened me up to be ripped to shreds by the remembrance of the end of the war and the penalty for war crimes. 

I was on my way to getting genuinely depressed that the boy's sacrifice hand't changed anything, when it struck me. My family was praying night prayers when my worries were put to rest. Bruno may not have saved his father's life, but he may just have saved his soul. Our human laws must be, in some ways, unforgiving and impersonal, but God is rich in mercy and reads the hearts of sinners. My striped pajama boy may not have died in vain after all.

END SPOILERS.

And that is how my mind words. It warps characters and ideas into real-life scenarios, demanding a moral explanation at every turn. It's sad, the number of stories that I have ruined for myself that way. But then, every blue moon or so, these experiences come along and justify the whole process. My little silver lining.

The Greats

My repertoire of classics is sadly lacking and I have only recently gotten around to fixing the dilemma.  In the past few months I've started reading Agatha Christi and Sherlock Holmes, Emma, Chesterton, Wodehouse (okay, maybe not a classic, but great all the same), CS Lewis and Shakespeare and let me tell you: it's amazing.

I love the tricks that Conan Doyal and Christi can play in your minds. The way Chesterton paints pictures from a pageful of words. Lewis' depth, Wodehouse's wit, Austen's clarity. I love the way Plato makes you think and Shakespeare makes you feel.

I was introduced to Plato because of this philosophy course I started yesterday. As I was reading I couldn't help but feel as though I was in a stadium full of people watching Socrates argue to save his life. It took me almost fifteen pages to realize that what I was reading was merely a dramatization of his trial recorded by his student and not an autobiography written by his ghost. Granted, I didn't think of it in that absurd way. But maybe it's the reason I liked it so much: it was simple to follow and sort of eased you into a philosopher's way of thinking. I had no idea it would be this fun.

Only last month did I discover Shakespeare's sonnets. My friend suggested that, since we no longer have assigned poetry for school, we memorize some good ones on our own. Actually, that's pretty ironic because I remember kicking and screaming through most of the speeches and poems I had to learn a few years ago. And here I am, memorizing them of my own accord. I guess that's what They wanted. Well, I have two down, and only about a hundred and fifty to go.

I have to go now, but let me just close off with my favorite sonnet so far. I know it's a cheesy conclusion, but bear with me here. You'll thank me later.

Sonnet 29
When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, with him friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts, myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to a lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For they sweet love remembered such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Ah, Lent

Lent has arrived. Forty days is a long time, but I've survived before. And it's not like TV and limited computer time are as essential as I've been making them out to be. Ah well.

Despite my initial judgement, I have decided to continue blogging. My first reaction was "it's on the computer, it's gotta go," but I've come to see the light. Not only am I still allowing myself some computer time (I need to organize things via email all the time), but writing's good for me and I've been meaning to do it more. Yes, I know, it doesn't seem particularly Lenten, but you have no idea how hard it is to stick with writing, at least for me. So my goal is to write something every day. Plus, giving up writing on here wouldn't be much of a sacrifice. You wouldn't even notice I'd given it up!

I was going to tell you all about the snow day I had on Monday (yes, a California getting a snow day home school style!), but I didn't have enough time to write it all up, instead I'll link you to some of my friend's versions of it: Josie's and Thomas's accounts. Just pretend I wasn't intolerably lazy and that I wrote something similar.

Oh! This seems like eons ago (it was last Saturday), but the Mardi Gras dance went off beautifully. There were just a few hiccups with the music (our 8 minute long Virginia Reel somehow forgot what timing was and went totally wacky 4 minutes in) but the overall dance was wonderful. I wore this amazing green steampunk dress that made me feel like a princess. Didn't get any pictures this time, but I may post some soon  because I'm going to another dance on Saturday!

Today I'm starting a philosophy class taught by my friend's dad. I'm really excited about it, and hopefully I can tell you more later, but I've got to go now to re-read the homework. Have a good Ash Wednesday!