In which I come across as insane due to heat exposure.

"You have internet friends?"
"Well, yeah."
"I thought only lonely paedophiles had those."
"Yep, pretty much!"

     And that's why I don't usually bring up my friends of the interwebs in company. They are fantastic, though.

Apologies for the lack of posting, life is busy. This is mostly an I'M NOT DEAD sort of thing. I haven't had the time to read/comment on any of your blogs, which I am upset about.

If you need convincing of my business:

• I sang in front of people. (It went decently.) 
• I ate cheesecake
• I graphed lines
•  I balanced reactions
• I ate ice cream
• I almost failed a math quiz 
• I got t-shirts from the internets. 

THERE IS MORE. But it is way too boring to bother sharing. This isn't supposed to be like a diary. YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO WRITE WITH QUALITY, GABRIELLE. Blaaahhh.

Let me just make it through exams.

-Gabi

Just another link in the blog chain.

"Why do you write?"

     It was the 30th of November, and my hands were sore. I was typing gibberish quite frantically as the clock ticked towards midnight and failure. Nyan Cat was the only song upbeat and innocuous enough to keep my hands moving. I detested it. That is what led me to a crying nervous breakdown while writing my (absolutely awful) absurdist fantasy novel.


     Now, somebody who was not completely familiar with the writer-ly sort of attitude may ask a completely reasonable question. With a strange look on his face, he may ask me: WHY?

I just think that this is adorable. 

     Why on earth do I put myself through the ordeals of writing? Why are the pain and the suffering and the keyboard calluses even worth it, not to mention the editing? 


     There are many answers I could give to that, but none really pin the tail on the metaphorical donkey. 


     I can't claim that beautiful words just magically stream through my Dixon Ticonderoga* on to a page, partly because I'm out of pencils, but also because I'm not particularly talented. I mean, I like to think that I'm not too bad at writing, but I also can't seem to harness that uncanny ability to make words into poetry.


     As cool as it would be to be a published author, it isn't really a goal of mine. Thoughts of the publishing industry make me shiver.


     I suppose that there are a bunch of little things which make writing gratifying. My love for words and the way sentences work, and the mathematical precision of grammar. The way it feels to finish a piece and the sweet, sweet pain of editing and editing and editing. Seeing something which comes across as meaningless to others and thinking, "that could make a good story." 


     As little sense as it makes, I write for the small things. There's something else, also. Writing has always been something I've done. Writing is a part of who I am. It's just what I do.


* My favourite pencil. Yes, I have a favourite pencil.

✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐✎✐

Why yes, those are little pencils. 

Thus concludes my Teens Can Write Too blog chain post. 

It's been written on three hours of sleep. 

I highly recommend reading what other bloggers in the chain have to say. Links below! They're all fantastic and eloquent and stuff. 

. . . I'm going to go faceplant on my bed now.

Want to follow our blog tour? Here are the participating parties, day by day:

May 5–http://towerofplot.blogspot.com–The Leaning Tower of Plot

May 6–http://correctingpenswelcome.wordpress.com–Comfy Sweaters, Writing and Fish

May 7–http://cassidymarierizzo.wordpress.com–Cassidy Marie Rizzo

May 8–http://insideliamsbrain.wordpress.com–This Page Intentionally Left Blank

May 9–http://weirdalocity.wordpress.com–You Didn’t Really Need To Know This…

May 10–http://inklinedwriters.blogspot.com–Inklined

May 11–http://thewordasylum.wordpress.com–The Word Asylum

May 12–http://lilyjenness.blogspot.com–Lily’s Notes In The Margins

May 13–http://laughablog.wordpress.com–The Zebra Clan

May 14–http://planetaryelastic.blogspot.com–Tangential Bemusings

May 15–http://realityisimaginary.blogspot.com–Reality Is Imaginary

May 16–http://otherrandomthings.wordpress.com–Dragons, Unicorns And Other Random Things

May 17–http://lonelyrecluse.wordpress.com–The Lonely Recluse

May 18–http://delorfinde.wordpress.com–A Farewell To Sanity

May 19–http://incessantdroningofaboredwriter.wordpress.com–The Incessant Droning Of A Bored Writer

May 20–http://allegradavis.wordpress.com–All I Need Is A Keyboard

May 21–http://teenscanwritetoo.wordpress.com–Teens Can Write Too! (We will be announcing the topic for next month’s chain)

It isn't like I have a math test tomorrow or anything.

Due to an overexposure to English class I thoroughly embarrassed myself in history.

I said Shakespeare's name in the place of Hitler's.

I was talking about how Hitler had to shake the hand of a black man who won an event in the 1933 Olympics in Nazi Germany.

"So the guy won a sprint, and then Shakespeare had to -- did I say Shakespeare? I didn't mean Shakespeare. iswearimeanthitler. I meant Hitler, guys!"

It's a good thing that I can laugh at myself and not be completely embarrassed by my simple slip of speech which made the entire class laugh and my face turn red and me feel stupid and overly talkative, right?

Okay, maybe I'm a little bit embarrassed.

The Holocaust is a topic I take really seriously -- I mean, my grandmother is a survivor. So it was weird and uncomfortable as well.

Fantastic. ( <-- That's been my favourite adjective lately. I need to sleep more.)
______________________________________________________________

I'm writing a post for Teens Can Write Too's blog chain for Monday.
Yayy.

“It's still magic, even if you know how it's done”

I'm floating.

My school's arts council runs this event twice a year called Java After Dark. Talented people perform, there's an intermission and we eat cookies and drink coffee, then more talented people perform.

THERE WAS JUST SO MUCH TALENT.

One of my favourite parts was right after the intermission. A thunderstorm had just started.*  Everyone was chatting, slightly hyper from their recent caffeine doses. This guy walked up to the front of the library to perform a story by Edgar Allan Poe, The Tell-Tale Heart.

The room became silent as a boy (I had always seen him as quiet) filled the air with his presence. As the madman - because that is who he became - admitted to his crime ("I admit the deed! Tear up the planks!") lightning struck and thunder boomed. For an instant, there was perfection.

Within the badly painted library, stocked with second rate microphones, an only semi-functional projector, and uncomfortable plastic chairs, there was a miracle.

In fact, every performer tonight found something true, something right, something unencumbered by small flaws.
Somewhere within our acne-filled faces and metal-filled mouths and barely developed senses of self lies a little bit of perfection.

I'm hoping to track that down in myself one day.

*I adore thunderstorms.

-Gabi