Dear fellow writers,
You know when you get to that point in an essay where you've just elaborated so much on a point that you can't stop? Or maybe when you are writing in your journal you describe your day in such great detail you only make it to lunch before your exhausted? More obvious than that perhaps, when you are telling a story to your friends and they really don't care about the context, but you can't help explaining it anyways?
That basically sums up why I haven't been posting: there is this need, ridiculous as it is, to correctly fill you in. Yes, this is the Internet and obviously I'm not going to mention names, addresses or credit card numbers. Yet reader, I feel as though we have created this bond, and you deserve to understand the circumstances in which these posts are written.
It must be the Holiday Season that's making me so sappy. Ugh.
Even now, I'm catching myself erasing and re-writing to make each sentence more precise. Is there an end to this?
No. I probably will always write twelve page essays. I will most likely never be able to keep an accurate account of my life in a journal (however that sounds a bit narcissistic anyways).
But maybe that's okay.
Books are long aren't they? They take years to write, you can always edit and re-edit. Isn't a novelist a failed short story writer anyways?
Maybe there's hope for me then, and for all you excessive describers out there as well. We just have to write the next Harry Potter book.
Ha ha, hope.
Keeping life Short and Simple,
Arctic Hipster
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Why, your face is so familiar but I've forgotten your name!
Dear Blog,
I'm afraid I've been seeing other networking devices.
I know this is hard to take in, but you had to have expected it. All this modern technology, these new time-waster apps, the ever handy Twitter and of course, the sick and twisted suductress known as Facebook, they've been keeping me away from you. So, I'm here to explain myself, and offer amendments for the neglect you've felt this past while.
This year has been difficult for the both of us. School is number one priority (you've always claimed to understand that), and I must be honest, Math 30 is the course from Hell. I almost lost all hope of ever succeeding in mathmatics last year, then they decided to throw in a diploma exam this year. A small room packed with nervous teenagers desperatly writing down all that they can remember from the class they couldn't concentrate in: definitely not my idea of a good way to boost averages. On top of that, the ridiculous test was worth fifty percent of my final mark. So as you can see, my brain has been under constant academic fire. Therefore, I've been resorting to mindless entertainment to soothe the blows. For this, I apologize. No game of "Angry Birds" will ever replace the emotional and creative support you've given me.
Then again, how was I to know that you would change after I had left you?
All of these new gadgets, I can hardly keep up with you! I mean, now I can see you when I'm on-the-go, take you and spend time with you when I'm supposedly studying, it's all very overwhelming. But I have faith that we can move past these roadblocks and reestablish our solid relationship of creative outlet and aspiring writer. I promise you that I will make time for you at least once a week. Blog, you are becoming increasingly important now that university application due dates are looming closer. I trust that you are up for the challenge of becoming a portfolio, as I am for becoming a student.
Yours truly,
Arctic Hipster
I'm afraid I've been seeing other networking devices.
I know this is hard to take in, but you had to have expected it. All this modern technology, these new time-waster apps, the ever handy Twitter and of course, the sick and twisted suductress known as Facebook, they've been keeping me away from you. So, I'm here to explain myself, and offer amendments for the neglect you've felt this past while.
This year has been difficult for the both of us. School is number one priority (you've always claimed to understand that), and I must be honest, Math 30 is the course from Hell. I almost lost all hope of ever succeeding in mathmatics last year, then they decided to throw in a diploma exam this year. A small room packed with nervous teenagers desperatly writing down all that they can remember from the class they couldn't concentrate in: definitely not my idea of a good way to boost averages. On top of that, the ridiculous test was worth fifty percent of my final mark. So as you can see, my brain has been under constant academic fire. Therefore, I've been resorting to mindless entertainment to soothe the blows. For this, I apologize. No game of "Angry Birds" will ever replace the emotional and creative support you've given me.
Then again, how was I to know that you would change after I had left you?
All of these new gadgets, I can hardly keep up with you! I mean, now I can see you when I'm on-the-go, take you and spend time with you when I'm supposedly studying, it's all very overwhelming. But I have faith that we can move past these roadblocks and reestablish our solid relationship of creative outlet and aspiring writer. I promise you that I will make time for you at least once a week. Blog, you are becoming increasingly important now that university application due dates are looming closer. I trust that you are up for the challenge of becoming a portfolio, as I am for becoming a student.
Yours truly,
Arctic Hipster
Saturday, July 3, 2010
A Rearranger of the Proverbial Book Shelf....
Greetings from a mind set of far far away..
Guess what? My computer had decided to become a moody, over emotional and extremely difficult preteen. I suppose I should have guessed this, especially since my tired Mac is nearing the ninth year of existence. This does not excuse it's latest temper-tantrum... which ended up locking me out of two years of writing files. Now, perhaps I'm over reacting. Words are all recycled right? It's a blank slate to begin again. You could even go on a High school Musical quoting binge, "It's the start of something new", "Just like kindergarten", and "Don't worry, we're all in this together!".
The reality is that with the disappearance of those documents, is a loss of life. I'm writing a book, or, at least attempting to. There were original chapters, character descriptions right down to their blood type and poems "they" were going to write. It was a tangled up, dramatized, assortment of childhood dreams that I'd given birth to. Words that I'd loved. People that I'd loved.
Technology being the marvelous stable database lost them, barred me from the world I'd created. Ironically, I'd written a poem the night before in my journal about the ridiculous dependence humanity has on such things. Karma sucks. Despite the bad luck, I'd thought I might share what is left of the lost and hopefully entertain with a tale about a violent storm.
The New Rain Coat
Exploding Madness.
Imploding Euphoria.
Rushed, it conquers
The dream to which it's given birth
twisted into nightmarish meanings
for those who have transformed it.
It roars with crazed fury,
uprooting all manufactured nature,
Isolating Necessity
Crushing false attachments and safety
To awake the sleeping
To breathe life back into the bored
To kill unbelieving
and reinvent the human soul.
It's tearing down buildings
Idols of the indestructible
Expired, Retired.
Waters down possessions
until the glass spills over.
The storm rages
As Ending,
To Begin Again.
Don't forget your umbrella,
Arctic Hipster
Monday, June 7, 2010
What wonderous things discovered again by unexpected means
I have found great inner peace dear readers....
Well, not completely but that is simply because of the teenage mindset and lack of experience. Nevertheless, I am ready to make some changes in my way of being as well as begin some new projects. I am attempting to release all of the stress that has accumulated inside of me during these last few months through physical activity. Yoga stretches out every bit of muscle that I never even realized I had, and releases it in a calming way. Leaving me feeling as though I'm able to bench press a house. Realistically that's humanly impossible. It's a pretty great feeling though.
That said, there are also some pretty fantastic vibes entering my window at this time. The sun is back darlings! Sky rocketing Ice cream sales and surprising Yellowknifers with tell tale signs of our origins. Almost the entirety of the city's population had turned an angry red after our first day of plus twenty temperatures. The weather had been nothing but blue skies with the casual dark rain cloud. We northerners don't fret that much about precipitation anyways. You get used to it after nine months of snow.
Speaking of cold, have I talked about how wonderful my boyfriend is? He honestly is the coolest person since Frosty melted. Sir Alex is the force that refuses to let me tumble into self loathing or teenage angst behavior. Instead he makes me laugh until the tears roll down my face and my sides are in pain, which makes us laugh even harder. Thus furthering my belief that all you need is love.
Is it possible to exist in such a state of undeserved bliss?
Alas, despite a couple barf-ons by the unstoppable force of life this is turning out to be quite the fantasmical* year. Two plays (Charlie and the Chocolate factory: Micheal Jackson tribute and The Werewolf's Curse), countless social engagements, hundreds of cookies, volunteering until my heart is sore, staying up doing homework until I'm sure my hands will fall off, fundraising like the mad for Relay For Life, and writing. Lots of writing.
Now, in some ways I wish I didn't do so much or could say no to participating and helping out some times. I might get in my eight hours of sleep that way. In another though, if I weren't so busy I'd be bored. My parents believe it's hereditary, and as much as we all curse each other out for our over booked, under-planned schedual, our household wouldn't be the same without an event mangeled calender. In fact, I doubt any of us would get six hours of sleep like that. We'd all be up pacing looking for things to do. Instead of giving up being immersed in society, I'm prioritizing. My mother informs me that that's very mature and I'm growing up. What she doesn't realise is that I'm merely "reorganising". I'm slowly trying to reduce my Facebook addiction, and instead, replace it with a blogging obsession. This makes more sense anyways, considering I suffer from "Graphomania":
"a compulsive urge to write either driven thereto by an exaggerated idea of the importance of what he or she writes or by an insane impulse"**.
I'm voting for the insane impulse. Math homework, the back of gum wrappers, the underside or even the upside of tables, chairs and other furniture, a ridiculous amount of notes and letters and journals. Strangely enough, the idea that I might one day create a job out of this seemed improbable. Writing= Freedom. Job = Work. I didn't think that I could actually do this as a career, one that would make money and possibly fulfil my unsatisfiable need for the written word. Unlikely, but goodness would it be awesome.
Then, as if fate had another idea for my Psychologist future, the English world fought it away with books and authors. That's right, guess who was able to attend the North Words conference?! Not only was my class able to listen to publish authors Jamie Bastedo, author of On thin Ice, Silas Revenge and Tracking Triple Seven, and Cathleen With author of Skids and her new novel Having Faith in Polar Girls Prison, I was able to talk to them. Some kids grow up wanting to meet so-and-so of this movie or that, but I've always wanted to meet a writer. Boy could you tell too. I was tripping over my sentences and basically blurting out my entire life story in the span of a couple seconds. Yet, being the amazing breed that they are, Mr. Bastedo and Mrs. With tolerated my explosive adoration and awe. Mrs. With even gave me great direction on where to take my life. She studied at the University of Victoria with amazing professors, retired great authors who were attracted by the weather but couldn't give up the trade. She took theater and had an education degree, and is helping kids adjust to school. She talked with me as if I hadn't just spilled my story all over her shoes, but rather as if I were a writer too. That's when it hit me.
I wanted to be a writer too. I could be a writer.
So i went home and looked at my life as though each piece was an article of clothing or childhood treasure tumbling out of a disorganised closet. Right at the bottom, created when I fist heard a story, was my need to write. So I put it out in the open, and stacked everything from least important to most, placing it out in the open. This is my project lovely readers, this is my future.
May your closet be messy enough to be lived, but clean enough to see.
Arctic Hipster
** Dictionary.com
Well, not completely but that is simply because of the teenage mindset and lack of experience. Nevertheless, I am ready to make some changes in my way of being as well as begin some new projects. I am attempting to release all of the stress that has accumulated inside of me during these last few months through physical activity. Yoga stretches out every bit of muscle that I never even realized I had, and releases it in a calming way. Leaving me feeling as though I'm able to bench press a house. Realistically that's humanly impossible. It's a pretty great feeling though.
That said, there are also some pretty fantastic vibes entering my window at this time. The sun is back darlings! Sky rocketing Ice cream sales and surprising Yellowknifers with tell tale signs of our origins. Almost the entirety of the city's population had turned an angry red after our first day of plus twenty temperatures. The weather had been nothing but blue skies with the casual dark rain cloud. We northerners don't fret that much about precipitation anyways. You get used to it after nine months of snow.
Speaking of cold, have I talked about how wonderful my boyfriend is? He honestly is the coolest person since Frosty melted. Sir Alex is the force that refuses to let me tumble into self loathing or teenage angst behavior. Instead he makes me laugh until the tears roll down my face and my sides are in pain, which makes us laugh even harder. Thus furthering my belief that all you need is love.
Is it possible to exist in such a state of undeserved bliss?
Alas, despite a couple barf-ons by the unstoppable force of life this is turning out to be quite the fantasmical* year. Two plays (Charlie and the Chocolate factory: Micheal Jackson tribute and The Werewolf's Curse), countless social engagements, hundreds of cookies, volunteering until my heart is sore, staying up doing homework until I'm sure my hands will fall off, fundraising like the mad for Relay For Life, and writing. Lots of writing.
Now, in some ways I wish I didn't do so much or could say no to participating and helping out some times. I might get in my eight hours of sleep that way. In another though, if I weren't so busy I'd be bored. My parents believe it's hereditary, and as much as we all curse each other out for our over booked, under-planned schedual, our household wouldn't be the same without an event mangeled calender. In fact, I doubt any of us would get six hours of sleep like that. We'd all be up pacing looking for things to do. Instead of giving up being immersed in society, I'm prioritizing. My mother informs me that that's very mature and I'm growing up. What she doesn't realise is that I'm merely "reorganising". I'm slowly trying to reduce my Facebook addiction, and instead, replace it with a blogging obsession. This makes more sense anyways, considering I suffer from "Graphomania":
"a compulsive urge to write either driven thereto by an exaggerated idea of the importance of what he or she writes or by an insane impulse"**.
I'm voting for the insane impulse. Math homework, the back of gum wrappers, the underside or even the upside of tables, chairs and other furniture, a ridiculous amount of notes and letters and journals. Strangely enough, the idea that I might one day create a job out of this seemed improbable. Writing= Freedom. Job = Work. I didn't think that I could actually do this as a career, one that would make money and possibly fulfil my unsatisfiable need for the written word. Unlikely, but goodness would it be awesome.
Then, as if fate had another idea for my Psychologist future, the English world fought it away with books and authors. That's right, guess who was able to attend the North Words conference?! Not only was my class able to listen to publish authors Jamie Bastedo, author of On thin Ice, Silas Revenge and Tracking Triple Seven, and Cathleen With author of Skids and her new novel Having Faith in Polar Girls Prison, I was able to talk to them. Some kids grow up wanting to meet so-and-so of this movie or that, but I've always wanted to meet a writer. Boy could you tell too. I was tripping over my sentences and basically blurting out my entire life story in the span of a couple seconds. Yet, being the amazing breed that they are, Mr. Bastedo and Mrs. With tolerated my explosive adoration and awe. Mrs. With even gave me great direction on where to take my life. She studied at the University of Victoria with amazing professors, retired great authors who were attracted by the weather but couldn't give up the trade. She took theater and had an education degree, and is helping kids adjust to school. She talked with me as if I hadn't just spilled my story all over her shoes, but rather as if I were a writer too. That's when it hit me.
I wanted to be a writer too. I could be a writer.
So i went home and looked at my life as though each piece was an article of clothing or childhood treasure tumbling out of a disorganised closet. Right at the bottom, created when I fist heard a story, was my need to write. So I put it out in the open, and stacked everything from least important to most, placing it out in the open. This is my project lovely readers, this is my future.
May your closet be messy enough to be lived, but clean enough to see.
Arctic Hipster
** Dictionary.com
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