It’s an Emergency! Wait—Never Mind. I’m Just Chaotic.
I’d like to open up this conversation with a quick thank you to Sofi—my best friend—my muse—my honorary sister—for reminding me that, hey! I have a blog, and you know what? I committed not too long ago to posting every single week that comes and goes.
And I completely forgot.
So that is why I sit at the dining room table at 8:03 p.m. on Monday, across from my youngest sister and father (who are playing ‘S’mores Wars’ currently) and not watching Gilmore Girls with my mother and older sister.
Now, this may be a spur-of-the-moment entry—for me, not you—but this is a topic of which I’ve been thinking of for many a long, cold weeks of winter. It has to do with two of my very favorite characters in my novel, the latter being someone whom you’ve yet to see in action, and how exactly I’ll be developing their chemistry, friendship, and—much later on, because I’m completely terrified of writing bad romance—very shy, very adorable crushes on one another.
Citrine and Storm enter stage left
At the moment, I’ve just finished writing a rough draft scene—“just finished” meaning that I wrote this approximately five days ago—where they each open up about their tragic pasts and have a new understanding for each other.
(I’ve gone a year and then some without spoiling too much to you guys, but you know what? I’m through with being so cryptic. I’ll probably be spoiling a lot more in the future, so just… brace yourselves, I guess.)
Where was I? Ah, yes: Storm’s mother is dead, Citrine is adopted, and saying this out loud makes me realize that I’ve told you this already. They don’t know, however, and it’s a bonding moment for them. They feel… closer, somehow, because they’ve finally met someone who isn’t lying when they say “I know how you feel”.
These two have been the best of friends since the very first draft. I have forty-three chapters with small but extraordinary scenes sprinkled throughout of the two of them making stupid jokes, cheering one another on, being worried sick for the other, and wouldn’t you know it? Their chemistry was exemplary.
So I have spent the better part of four-and-a-half years carefully recreating that friendship that accidentally came to life all those years ago, never feeling truly satisfied. Perhaps I’m being too hard on myself? After all, I am still on a rough draft.
My friends, I tried so hard to write a decent blog post. Truly, I did. But most of you (er, all of you, I think) are writers, so you know what it feels like to sit in front of your computer or notebook and just draw a complete blank. That’s what’s happening to me right now. Going back, reading what I’ve written, I realize that I said a whole bunch of nothing in a very roundabout way.
This is why I’m supposed to write my posts throughout the week. I’m getting flashbacks now, of the younger but apparently more intelligent version of myself writing blog posts as much as two weeks in advance. I aspire to be like her again.
Since I already have you guys here, I thought I’d tell you that my first club meeting at my school was last Friday, and it was super fun! And actually, Friday was a really… it was one heck of a day. Oo! Anecdote time.
When I arrived at school, I was actually energized for the first time in the past month. I checked with my English teacher (she’s the sponsor for the writing club) to make sure we were 1000% having the meeting after school that day, and to my relief she said there was no force of nature that could prevent it.
Thank goodness.
But, see, I have a really terrible knack for thinking so intensely about something that I manifest it into existence, and over the next two hours I thought periodically “It would be so terrible if the writing club should be cancelled. I wonder if school will be let out early today? That would be ironic.”
Curse my train of thought. (I’m only kidding, of course. There’s no way I could’ve willed the following events into existence.) During fourth period, as my science class was begrudgingly watching a space documentary (which I actually found quite captivating) the PA system came on saying “Code Red, at this time all teachers will lock their doors and students will sit uncomfortably on the tile floors, this is not drill”.
Or something like that.
Anyways, my classmates and I all line up on against the honey oak cabinets in stunned silence like people who want to live. And we stayed there for the next few hours.
In fact, time dragged on for so long that my friend and I decided we should learn ASL so we could communicate in instances like those. By the time our school went from a Code Red to a Code Yellow, I couldn’t feel my butt, and my stomach was digesting itself in its own acids. And I can assure you that I was not the only one. About, say, ten minutes later, we went back to Code Red without lunch—of course—and stayed there for a considerable amount of time—or at least a considerable amount of time to those of us with empty stomachs.
Anyhow, long story short, once the crisis was averted, stomachs were growling, tears were shed, mothers were called, people under the age of fifteen were going through something that resembled a mid-life crisis, and karaoke was a popular procedure issued to bring spirits back up.
(Real Quick: my school was not threatened in any way during this event. The Code Red was a precaution taken due to a shooting in a nearby restaurant. Was it still scary? 100%. But me and all other students, teachers, and other staff in *insert redacted middle school name here* were completely safe the entire time.)
So fast forward past an hour and a half of cancelled school work (yay) and we reach the end of the school day, and the writing club is miraculously still meeting, even after all that.
Granted, it was only me and two other girls who attended since everyone else was under the impression that all club meetings were cancelled, but still. It happened and now that the first one is out of the way, the rest don’t seem so scary. (Because what’s more terrifying than a bunch of teenage writers in one room? …I might have to reevaluate my fears.)
So what are we doing in this writing club? Thanks for asking. We’re going to write about four 1500 word stories each, give or take a little, and practice self editing, beta reading, constructive feedback, etc. etc. until we have a couple dozen short stories to compile into one portfolio and publish it!
*squeals of excitement fill the air*
Does that not sound amazing to you?! Because it sounds pretty amazing to me. Anyhow, it is now 10:52 p.m. and I do desire to sleep for a few hours, so it is with this thrilling recollection of my experiences and a virtual smile that I say goodbye to you all.
Goodbye! And I hope that this post wasn’t as boring as I fear.
—Leah Larkspur (14)
