I met one of the dads at the preschool who I hadn’t met before, because one of his children was getting baptized. (Well, anointed, technically). Anyway, he and the older boy (the preschooler I take care of) looked almost exactly alike—very similar clothing. This boy’s always dressed very sharp and almost never comes to church without a tie (and, remember, he’s 3). So I went up to comment on how now we know where the boy gets his fashion sense. The man opens his mouth…and he’s Scottish. As my good friend once said (but in relation to Ihop delivery) “that good news should come with a warning label!” You know, a sign above him that says, “Just so you know, I have an awesome Scottish accent so when I talk, you’re going to be amazed.” (As you can probably tell, it was a GOOD Scottish accent. Understandable, per se. Along the lines of Craig Ferguson and David Tennant).
Year Goal – Be in England: somewhere, somehow.
Sadly, one of the first things people learn about me is that I’m an Anglophile. That’s not sad, it’s just sad that it’s so obvious it’s one of the first thing people learn about me. So, that “slightly” modifier in the title is a lie, softened to make me look better. I’m not even sure why, honestly, but can anyone tell me why they love anything, really? It probably has something to do with Harry Potter and Queen Elizabeth (ginger Elizabeth power!). And the nice accents. Doctor Who didn’t even come into the picture until I was too far gone.
So by the end of this year, the plan is to be in England or Scotland. By Scotland I mean Edinburgh. It’s a close-second or possibly tied for my favorite city. (First is Boston only because I have formed a deep attachment to this city, but it lacks a certain proportion of accented people). I may or may not have been distracted for at least half an hour after talking on the phone with my mom by looking at rent prices for apartments (flats!) in Edinburgh and York. Too soon. Too soon.
I’ve got plans and back-up plans to get there. Let’s hope at least one of them works. Then I’ll be a starving, homeless American writer under an English bridge somewhere in a box.
In other news related to my goals – I finished decorating my room! I also wrote at least a sentence every single day for the past two weeks. Except possibly Saturday, because I cannot remember if I wrote something then or was interrupted by a phone call. But I know I at least wrote a sentence in my head, so I’ll count it.
One goal I didn’t write down because I haven’t updated in a while and because it’s been a goal for two years now is that I finally went with my friend Kelly to the SoWa market, a farmer’s market/o/pen-air type thing in the South End. It’s a good thing I had no cash for the small things – delicious looking raspberries and bread – and that the big art things were too expensive. I told my friend at that moment I was sad I wasn’t a full and legitimate adult yet who could buy art for their house…or spend money on cool clock-earrings. (Or a bracelet of Henry VIII and all his wives!)
And Saturday night I cooked a delicious lasagna with my friend Conrad. So I’m being all sorts of productive. Sort of.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
Step Three: Have a Love/Hate Relationship With the Red Sox
(This was actually from about Wednesday of last week, but I got a little caught up with work and tiredness. No excuse. Here’s the belated update).
I’m a Red Sox fan. You kind of have to be, by default, if you live in Boston. I mean, there are a few miserly people here who stubbornly cling on to their Yankees love or Red Sox hate, but, if you come to Boston with no preference one way or another, you become an adopted Red Sox fan. Granted, I’ve only been to one game and I didn’t get to that until four years had passed, BUT I do support them and if baseball is ever on in a restaurant, I always check to see if it’s the Red Sox and what the score is. That’s about the extent to which I will pay attention to baseball.
However, I hate Red Sox fans. I mean, I’m sure most of them are decent people, and Boston’s sport fanaticism is part of why Boston is a great city. There’s just nothing like the town spirit in sports. It’s great. Until you have to go ANYWHERE during a Red Sox game. It’s wicked awful.
They take up the T, and they don’t stop coming for hours. Seriously. There’s just masses of them. I have the unfortunate luck to work in Kenmore Square, right by Fenway Park, and the even more unfortunate luck of somehow getting out of work at different times in the week and somehow EVERY TIME being mobbed by Red Sox crowds. Either coming or going. They’re always there. I go down into Kenmore Station and they’re all along the platform, jostling me as I try to get to my spot where I wait for the T. Then, they’re on the T I try to take, and me with my bulky backpack has to shove my way onto the T and breathe the heat and the stink of a way too full T and become friendly with unknown people.
So. No offense to all those wonderful people, but I hate Red Sox fans.
--
I had at least three updates planned for the last week. But then work decided to beat me up a bit. Like, how my daily goal for the day I wrote the above was “go to the gym” but that didn’t work out…because I felt like I’d already been to the gym all day. That counts, right??
So, since I don’t actually have the time or brainpower to have a real update with goals, here is something related to the previous post: how to deal with fear of spiders!
(I like to think my actual writing is better than this, but hey, I wrote this in about an hour…)
I’m a Red Sox fan. You kind of have to be, by default, if you live in Boston. I mean, there are a few miserly people here who stubbornly cling on to their Yankees love or Red Sox hate, but, if you come to Boston with no preference one way or another, you become an adopted Red Sox fan. Granted, I’ve only been to one game and I didn’t get to that until four years had passed, BUT I do support them and if baseball is ever on in a restaurant, I always check to see if it’s the Red Sox and what the score is. That’s about the extent to which I will pay attention to baseball.
However, I hate Red Sox fans. I mean, I’m sure most of them are decent people, and Boston’s sport fanaticism is part of why Boston is a great city. There’s just nothing like the town spirit in sports. It’s great. Until you have to go ANYWHERE during a Red Sox game. It’s wicked awful.
They take up the T, and they don’t stop coming for hours. Seriously. There’s just masses of them. I have the unfortunate luck to work in Kenmore Square, right by Fenway Park, and the even more unfortunate luck of somehow getting out of work at different times in the week and somehow EVERY TIME being mobbed by Red Sox crowds. Either coming or going. They’re always there. I go down into Kenmore Station and they’re all along the platform, jostling me as I try to get to my spot where I wait for the T. Then, they’re on the T I try to take, and me with my bulky backpack has to shove my way onto the T and breathe the heat and the stink of a way too full T and become friendly with unknown people.
So. No offense to all those wonderful people, but I hate Red Sox fans.
--
I had at least three updates planned for the last week. But then work decided to beat me up a bit. Like, how my daily goal for the day I wrote the above was “go to the gym” but that didn’t work out…because I felt like I’d already been to the gym all day. That counts, right??
So, since I don’t actually have the time or brainpower to have a real update with goals, here is something related to the previous post: how to deal with fear of spiders!
(I like to think my actual writing is better than this, but hey, I wrote this in about an hour…)
Larry was a bookspider (as opposed to a bookworm, a rather insulting term which implied a spider was slow or over-gorging), and therefore he preferred staying home and reading his webs to exploring the world. Therefore, he was having trouble adjusting to his new web. He had not met all the neighbors yet, but the downstairs web hosted a rather large spider who seemed kind of sinister. Then again, all other spiders seemed sinister to Larry, who was bad at starting up conversation.
After reading all the webs he could in his hometown and earning the recommendation from his professors, Larry had set out to explore a new location out of necessity. He’d learned all he could but he still wanted to learn more. The only solution was to move.
Searching had been hard at first, because he didn’t know what he wanted. Did he want a bigger, airier space, a damp earth home, or a dry, cramped corner? He’d come from the open, a grassy area near some trees. A house was a big change. By the time he found his real estate next to the big machine the landlord had called a “washing machine” he was tired and ready to settle down, but he also genuinely liked it. There were loud noises occasionally, but they intrigued rather than frightened him. It was only that his downstairs neighbor was too close for comfort and the spiders down the ways in the basement were too far away to bother meeting.
Things were going well for the bookspider. The days were comfortably warm, though the air was getting cooler each night. He built his web efficiently but sturdily. Every once in a while he heard thumps above, but his home was snug. He began to think he quite liked living in a house.
“Aiieeeeee!” A shriek pierced the air, startling Larry from his musings about the origin of the cosmos. He looked up to see a looming figure with eyes larger than his own body staring at him. “Spider! How am I supposed to do my laundry now?” The voice was high pitched and shook Larry’s body; it was the most terrifying thing he’d ever heard, and he scrambled behind the white box, afraid to even peek around the corner to see what was going on. A mumble of voices continued for a while and then his body began shaking. It wasn’t just him; the entire box he clung to with all his strength was moving, rumbling, tumbling. With another jolt of fear, Larry scrambled back to his web which, thankfully, only twitched a little.
What was this devilry? How could he ever have believed living in a house was a good idea? And those eyes? Larry shivered remembering those eyes. They were so big…so…white…so…creepy. He’d heard stories of humans, of course, and even vaguely seen them from a distance but he had been told they were dangerous, deadly even, if you crossed the wrong one. He cowered in his web, waiting, even after there were no more sounds.
Larry must have fallen asleep, because he woke up to some shuffling of feet, a pause, then the noise of a door opening. The spider peeked around the corner and saw the human bending over, moving fabric from Larry’s white box into the other white box.
“Hello,” her voice came quietly. “Are you there, spider?”
Larry almost jumped off his web at being addressed. “Yes, I’m here!” he squeaked out.
She didn’t appear to hear him, but she continued speaking. Maybe his small spider voice was too quiet for human ears. “My name’s Melissa. I’m going to be doing my laundry here, sometimes, okay?”
“Okay,” Larry replied. This human didn’t seem so bad after all.
“I know I’m invading your home, so please don’t be mad at me. I’ll just be down every once in a while.”
“That’s okay,” Larry said, but she still didn’t act like she heard him.
Melissa left for a while, but when the second white box stopped vibrating, she came back down. “How are you doing today, spider? I’m doing okay. I don’t really like doing laundry that much, and I’m kind of scared of spiders, but I guess it’s okay since we had this talk.”
Larry began to think living in a house might not be as scary as he first thought.
Melissa left again, and Larry didn’t see her for a while. A few other humans came down; they were not as talkative as Melissa, but they left Larry alone. After several weeks, though, Melissa came down again.
“Hi, spider. It’s that time again. Laundry time. How has life been? For me it’s been good. I just got back from softball practice. We have a big game against our rivals this weekend. Better get my uniform cleaned up, eh?”
The next time she came down, she brought not only more news but also food. “My friend’s coming to visit after the game. Maybe you’ll meet her—she’s kind of messy so she might spill food on her clothes,” she informed Larry as she sprinkled some cracker crumbs on the floor next to his web. Larry had never had human food and was a little wary of it, but, though a little hard, the crumbs were fairly tasty.
Over time, as Larry studied his surroundings and continued on his task of discovering more about the world, he began to look forward to Melissa’s laundry visits, even coming to think of her as a friend. He only wished he could somehow speak to her. Every time he tried to speak to her, she acted as if she hadn’t heard.
Larry tried many things. He tried jumping around, making more noise than spiders usually did. He tried speaking in high tones and low tones. He tried screaming. Nothing reached Melissa. But then, one day, one of the other humans in the house left a book down in the laundry room. As the page lay open, Larry, with his bookspider tendencies, crawled over to the table and read the words written. It was a science textbook, and the page talked all about amplification of sound. Larry had found his solution.
He thought and thought for several days, then organized his web, remembering what he had learned about science and sound from the person’s textbook. Then, he waited for Melissa to do her laundry.
It was a cold, rainy day when Melissa came down again. “Hi, spider,” she said glumly, her voice strangely muted. “I have a cold. I hate being sick.”
“Hi, Melissa,” Larry replied, and he could hear his voice booming louder than it ever had.
Melissa paused and looked around. “Who was that?”
“Me. Larry, the spider you’ve been talking to for several months.”
“Is this a joke? Carol, is that you?” Melissa looked around.
“No!” Larry almost yelled, worried all his work would be in vain. “Look down!” Thankfully, Melissa did look down, and Larry waved one of his legs. The girl took a step back, clapping her hand to her mouth, then rubbing her eyes.
Larry felt sheepish. He hadn’t meant to startle her. “Hello?” he said again tentatively.
Melissa stared at Larry, then giggled. “Your name is Larry?”
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Step Two: Hate Spiders
That last post was so hectic and full of grammar mistakes. I blame it on the 11 12-hour days I’d just had. But, really, who am I kidding? When I write as me-Elizabeth and not writer-Elizabeth, I write like I speak, so grammar mistakes are bound to abound. (See what I did there?)
Daily Goal: Get over my fear of spiders so I can do my laundry.
It’s amazing having my first day off after twelve days, but I feel jet-lagged, like I’ve just flown to Alaska and haven’t slept for 25 days. Sheesh, who knew working so hard could be so exhausting? And I’m rather sore all over, but hopefully I’ll get gigantic muscles from lifting all those crazy boxes – someone ordered a futon. A futon!! I’ve seen those dorm rooms. If it fits, it’s going to fit EXACTLY.
Our landlady came today to go over the apartment with us. She seems nice enough and said not to worry about the nicks in our walls and things, though she signed our apartment condition report as “good condition” and said she wouldn’t hold us accountable for the aforementioned nicks. I hope she’s as nice and trustworthy as she seems! It’s a good thing she came, because the laundry machine was broken, and she had me test it. So she was able to fix it. There’s only one washing machine and dryer for three three-bedroom apartments, which could be interesting, and the washer takes 45 minutes. Plus, $2 a load for each washer and dryer. Eep, more expensive than BU, and I complained about that!
The worst part, though, is how sketchy the room is. It’s in the basement, so it’s kind of dirt floor, and there are cobwebs EVERYWHERE. When I was putting my laundry in, I noticed a spider chilling next to the washer and was trying not to freak out. Then, it disappeared, but by the floor was a GIGANTIC spider. Maybe a daddy long legs, but I don’t care either way. It’s huge. I don’t like it. I don’t like doing my laundry anymore.
On the plus side, my room may not be perfectly organized, but it’s at least nicely set up, and really all I have to arrange now is the decorations. And we discovered a grocery store right on the bus line, which will be much easier than the other one .8 mile walk from here, which would be annoying enough with heavy groceries, let alone with heavy groceries in the winter. So, things are looking good.
Time to change my laundry and then take a nap. If I don’t get killed by spiders first.
Daily Goal: Get over my fear of spiders so I can do my laundry.
It’s amazing having my first day off after twelve days, but I feel jet-lagged, like I’ve just flown to Alaska and haven’t slept for 25 days. Sheesh, who knew working so hard could be so exhausting? And I’m rather sore all over, but hopefully I’ll get gigantic muscles from lifting all those crazy boxes – someone ordered a futon. A futon!! I’ve seen those dorm rooms. If it fits, it’s going to fit EXACTLY.
Our landlady came today to go over the apartment with us. She seems nice enough and said not to worry about the nicks in our walls and things, though she signed our apartment condition report as “good condition” and said she wouldn’t hold us accountable for the aforementioned nicks. I hope she’s as nice and trustworthy as she seems! It’s a good thing she came, because the laundry machine was broken, and she had me test it. So she was able to fix it. There’s only one washing machine and dryer for three three-bedroom apartments, which could be interesting, and the washer takes 45 minutes. Plus, $2 a load for each washer and dryer. Eep, more expensive than BU, and I complained about that!
The worst part, though, is how sketchy the room is. It’s in the basement, so it’s kind of dirt floor, and there are cobwebs EVERYWHERE. When I was putting my laundry in, I noticed a spider chilling next to the washer and was trying not to freak out. Then, it disappeared, but by the floor was a GIGANTIC spider. Maybe a daddy long legs, but I don’t care either way. It’s huge. I don’t like it. I don’t like doing my laundry anymore.
On the plus side, my room may not be perfectly organized, but it’s at least nicely set up, and really all I have to arrange now is the decorations. And we discovered a grocery store right on the bus line, which will be much easier than the other one .8 mile walk from here, which would be annoying enough with heavy groceries, let alone with heavy groceries in the winter. So, things are looking good.
Time to change my laundry and then take a nap. If I don’t get killed by spiders first.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Step One: Start a blog!
September 8, 2011
Hey, look! I’m writing an entry! Or, rambling, more like. The whole “goal” thing is really just a disguise for the ability to ramble until you’re bored stiff or think I’m crazy.
Daily goal: Do not lash out at students, even if they have stupid questions
This one will probably be tricky for me. I’ve been working 8-8 in the BU mailroom since August 29th, and it was fine at first, but now classes have started and many, many more boxes have arrived, and I’ve been basically doing double the work as anyone else (a long story, involving BU not having enough staff/not wanting to pay an extra person for two weeks to help out this teensy tiny supervisor). So I’m on the end of my tether, and last night, even if people were nice, I feared I was giving them death glares and was about ready to snap. Or go postal. Har har har.
Weekly goal: do not spontaneously combust; do laundry, clean/organize room, make real food
This whole 8-8 thing has been rather stressful. I still haven’t been able to fully unpack my room, because I get home around 8:30, do an hour of work, get ready for bed, and crash. Fun stuff. Meaning that this weekend I have a heck of a lot of chores to do. The making of real food will be nice. Having to bring lunch and dinner to work is tricky, since it means I have to only bring things that can be microwaved or easy-to-carry stuff. I’ve had some soup, lots and lots of leftover pizza from move-in night, and cheese and crackers. But I have all the ingredients for chicken fettuccini alfredo with broccoli, so I’m excited for the weekend! (I also have to go grocery shopping, though my roommate Sara always says I have plenty of food already, but everything I had was non-perishable, and I’d like some fresh stuff to supplement my emergency supply of canned food—emergency simply being when I’m too lazy/tired to make food). <---Run-on sentence alert!
Monthly writing goal: 5000 words in a new story; edit the old
I’m setting my writing goal low right now, to get the hang of things. That’s about 10 pages, so maybe it’s not that low: if I wrote ten pages a month, in a year I’d have a novel (I’ve figured that one page in a book is about ½-1/3 Word page, meaning it’s three pages to every page I write. So if I write 100 pages, I have between 250-300 book pages. Not a too shabbily-sized book, I’d say). So, upon second thought, regarding how busy I am, 5000 words is sort of impressive. But, I have to prepare for November, which is National Novel Writing Month, in which I must attempt to write 50,000 words. AND there’s only 30 days in that month!
If you haven’t figured it out yet – I’m a writer. I don’t tell many people this for several reasons: 1. I get one of two responses – “That’s so awesome, what do you write???” or “Really? What’s your other plan in life?”
2. To both responses, I hate answering. The first is kind of awkward. Maybe other writers are different, but for me, what is written is meant to be written, not spoken about. It sounds strange out loud. It’s also a highly personal pastime, even if eventually it will (hopefully) be shared with the world. Writing comes from within, and every word on paper could either be likened to a piece of my soul or a drop of blood, depending on how hard I had to work to get that word there. The second is just completely wrong. What someone who isn’t a writer (and I don’t mean a writer in the sense of someone who writes papers for school, or who occasionally writes down story ideas and says “I’ve always wanted to write/publish a book one day”, I mean someone who IS a writer – who is always dreaming, who comes up with ideas at the randomest times, who gets antsy when he/she hasn’t written in too long) doesn’t understand is that it’s not a “plan in life”. It IS life.
As my parents will tell you, recently I’ve had a frustratingly last-minute life-evaluation, meaning what I’d thought I wanted to do since sophomore year changed, and I no longer want to do it, and now I’m figuring out what I want my “job” to be. I think I’ve figured it out, but the reason it’s so hard, is because the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do, down to my bones, is write. It’s a vocation, if you will, and while I realize it’s not as profitable as other vocations nor will it be as easy to reach, it’s the ONLY thing I can 100% see myself doing. So choosing a “backup” job isn’t very easy.
About as easy as publishing. Sara (the “you have too much food” roommate) told me the way to go is getting an internet fan base. You know, become a vlogger or start an internet zine or something. But to get popular that way, you have to have something snazzy, like some high-concept Adjustment Bureau-type thing, or something trendy like zombies. Not like my current story, which is girl falls down hole into magical world, meets strange white rabbit who’s late—errr…I mean, fiddle-playing boy—who leads her home, mishaps, adventures, and general silliness ensues.
I swear I didn’t actually rip-off Alice in Wonderland. It’s more Wizard of Oz, Alice in Wonderland, and other such stories wrapped together. And all started one day when I was just sitting in my room and one line of dialogue came to me. Then, I took a fateful car ride with three of my favorite children in which aforementioned fiddle-playing boy was invented…and then on the ride home, more of their antics had inspired more ideas, thus in the span of a day creating about the first three chapters. Then, I went to Edinburgh, saw a carousel in the park, and another chapter was born…not that that’s how most of my inspiration works, but for this story, it was very much “Oh, look at what happened there, that can go in the story!” A hodge-podge of events. (Hodge-podge is my word of the month. Been using it far too often.)
Well, better actually do some work now…
Hey, look! I’m writing an entry! Or, rambling, more like. The whole “goal” thing is really just a disguise for the ability to ramble until you’re bored stiff or think I’m crazy.
Daily goal: Do not lash out at students, even if they have stupid questions
This one will probably be tricky for me. I’ve been working 8-8 in the BU mailroom since August 29th, and it was fine at first, but now classes have started and many, many more boxes have arrived, and I’ve been basically doing double the work as anyone else (a long story, involving BU not having enough staff/not wanting to pay an extra person for two weeks to help out this teensy tiny supervisor). So I’m on the end of my tether, and last night, even if people were nice, I feared I was giving them death glares and was about ready to snap. Or go postal. Har har har.
Weekly goal: do not spontaneously combust; do laundry, clean/organize room, make real food
This whole 8-8 thing has been rather stressful. I still haven’t been able to fully unpack my room, because I get home around 8:30, do an hour of work, get ready for bed, and crash. Fun stuff. Meaning that this weekend I have a heck of a lot of chores to do. The making of real food will be nice. Having to bring lunch and dinner to work is tricky, since it means I have to only bring things that can be microwaved or easy-to-carry stuff. I’ve had some soup, lots and lots of leftover pizza from move-in night, and cheese and crackers. But I have all the ingredients for chicken fettuccini alfredo with broccoli, so I’m excited for the weekend! (I also have to go grocery shopping, though my roommate Sara always says I have plenty of food already, but everything I had was non-perishable, and I’d like some fresh stuff to supplement my emergency supply of canned food—emergency simply being when I’m too lazy/tired to make food). <---Run-on sentence alert!
Monthly writing goal: 5000 words in a new story; edit the old
I’m setting my writing goal low right now, to get the hang of things. That’s about 10 pages, so maybe it’s not that low: if I wrote ten pages a month, in a year I’d have a novel (I’ve figured that one page in a book is about ½-1/3 Word page, meaning it’s three pages to every page I write. So if I write 100 pages, I have between 250-300 book pages. Not a too shabbily-sized book, I’d say). So, upon second thought, regarding how busy I am, 5000 words is sort of impressive. But, I have to prepare for November, which is National Novel Writing Month, in which I must attempt to write 50,000 words. AND there’s only 30 days in that month!
If you haven’t figured it out yet – I’m a writer. I don’t tell many people this for several reasons: 1. I get one of two responses – “That’s so awesome, what do you write???” or “Really? What’s your other plan in life?”
2. To both responses, I hate answering. The first is kind of awkward. Maybe other writers are different, but for me, what is written is meant to be written, not spoken about. It sounds strange out loud. It’s also a highly personal pastime, even if eventually it will (hopefully) be shared with the world. Writing comes from within, and every word on paper could either be likened to a piece of my soul or a drop of blood, depending on how hard I had to work to get that word there. The second is just completely wrong. What someone who isn’t a writer (and I don’t mean a writer in the sense of someone who writes papers for school, or who occasionally writes down story ideas and says “I’ve always wanted to write/publish a book one day”, I mean someone who IS a writer – who is always dreaming, who comes up with ideas at the randomest times, who gets antsy when he/she hasn’t written in too long) doesn’t understand is that it’s not a “plan in life”. It IS life.
As my parents will tell you, recently I’ve had a frustratingly last-minute life-evaluation, meaning what I’d thought I wanted to do since sophomore year changed, and I no longer want to do it, and now I’m figuring out what I want my “job” to be. I think I’ve figured it out, but the reason it’s so hard, is because the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do, down to my bones, is write. It’s a vocation, if you will, and while I realize it’s not as profitable as other vocations nor will it be as easy to reach, it’s the ONLY thing I can 100% see myself doing. So choosing a “backup” job isn’t very easy.
About as easy as publishing. Sara (the “you have too much food” roommate) told me the way to go is getting an internet fan base. You know, become a vlogger or start an internet zine or something. But to get popular that way, you have to have something snazzy, like some high-concept Adjustment Bureau-type thing, or something trendy like zombies. Not like my current story, which is girl falls down hole into magical world, meets strange white rabbit who’s late—errr…I mean, fiddle-playing boy—who leads her home, mishaps, adventures, and general silliness ensues.
I swear I didn’t actually rip-off Alice in Wonderland. It’s more Wizard of Oz, Alice in Wonderland, and other such stories wrapped together. And all started one day when I was just sitting in my room and one line of dialogue came to me. Then, I took a fateful car ride with three of my favorite children in which aforementioned fiddle-playing boy was invented…and then on the ride home, more of their antics had inspired more ideas, thus in the span of a day creating about the first three chapters. Then, I went to Edinburgh, saw a carousel in the park, and another chapter was born…not that that’s how most of my inspiration works, but for this story, it was very much “Oh, look at what happened there, that can go in the story!” A hodge-podge of events. (Hodge-podge is my word of the month. Been using it far too often.)
Well, better actually do some work now…
Something New
August 20, 2011
Just for the fun of it, I’m starting a blog. I can’t guarantee how long it will last or whether it will be regularly updated, but hey, why not? I want to devise a series of goals for myself – daily goals, weekly goals, monthly goals…I’ve decided it’s good to have goals. Maybe I’m not carpe diem enough, but it’s nice to have something to accomplish, even if it’s small. Also, goals make time go faster (or, at least, my “to do list” every day with school work and errands always made my days seem horribly short), and as much as I love Boston and I’m looking forward to spending a entire year straight through here, I’m also getting a bit impatient for my adventure to England (at which time I’ll probably start a new stranger in a strange land-esque blog and tell you all the crazy things that happens to an American when she gets it in her head that she should live in the land of her red-headed brethren), so why not set myself some goals to make the time go by faster?
These goals might be weighty or flighty – from cooking something new to writing a certain number of words in a story to actually going to the gym to remembering to carry around change in my pocket to give to beggars, whether they are actually in need or not. Oh, and also trying as many of the little places in Quincy Market as possible. That one’s essential.
I’ll start soon, once I get settled and make myself my first list of goals. Then we’ll see how this pans out.
Bon voyage!
Just for the fun of it, I’m starting a blog. I can’t guarantee how long it will last or whether it will be regularly updated, but hey, why not? I want to devise a series of goals for myself – daily goals, weekly goals, monthly goals…I’ve decided it’s good to have goals. Maybe I’m not carpe diem enough, but it’s nice to have something to accomplish, even if it’s small. Also, goals make time go faster (or, at least, my “to do list” every day with school work and errands always made my days seem horribly short), and as much as I love Boston and I’m looking forward to spending a entire year straight through here, I’m also getting a bit impatient for my adventure to England (at which time I’ll probably start a new stranger in a strange land-esque blog and tell you all the crazy things that happens to an American when she gets it in her head that she should live in the land of her red-headed brethren), so why not set myself some goals to make the time go by faster?
These goals might be weighty or flighty – from cooking something new to writing a certain number of words in a story to actually going to the gym to remembering to carry around change in my pocket to give to beggars, whether they are actually in need or not. Oh, and also trying as many of the little places in Quincy Market as possible. That one’s essential.
I’ll start soon, once I get settled and make myself my first list of goals. Then we’ll see how this pans out.
Bon voyage!
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