1.05.2011

my january 5th resolutions

I'll admit the last bit of 2010 slipped past me unnoticed as I braved the torturous trial of college apps reveled in wonderland.

But now that I have my wits about me, I feel I ought to do some resolutions. Late ones, of course, but self-improvement is always a good thing to think about.

Before I start my own, I'd like to share Virginia Woolf's resolutions, which I find quite fascinating:

January 2, 1931:
Here are my resolutions for the next 3 months; the next lap of the year.
To have none. Not to be tied.
To be free & kindly with myself, not goading it to parties: to sit rather privately reading in the studio.
To make a good job of The Waves.
To stop irritation by the assurance that nothing is worth irritation [referring to Nelly].
Sometimes to read, sometimes not to read.
To go out yes—but stay at home in spite of being asked.
As for clothes, to buy good ones.

January 4, 1936:
To read as few weekly papers…as possible [until The Years is finished];
to fill my brain with remote books & habits;
altogether to be as fundamental & as little superficial, to be as physical & as little apprehensive, as possible.


Now, for my own:

BLOGGING-WISE:

  • to blog nearly daily and to let my thoughts roam & gallivant & grow across this little nook of the internet like mold as much as possible. This is how I will do it: since I can't seem to fall asleep right away anymore, I will think of topics right before I drift off to dreamland, and write a post the next day.
  • to catch up on all the review copies I have lying around, and to be more timely in the future with my dealings with authors and publicists
  • to enact a new meme that I had an idea for yesterday, where I'll share a poem I've read that I like once a week or once every two weeks and comment on it.
  • to strive to make sure I have a perfect balance of somewhat silly posts and more serious, contemplative posts.
  • to comment more on other blogs, and to properly thank the lovely people who do comment on mine.
  • to once and for all settle on a header I like.

And I figure I need to get some personal resolutions down in permanent ink. So here's mine:

PERSONAL:

  • to keep a dream journal regularly
  • to walk the dogs every day
  • to turn away from less productive pursuits, i.e. watching tv and movies and browsing other nodes of the internet where I'm only an inactive observer. Instead, I should read, read, read and blog, blog, blog. If I can find a way to make the unproductive productive (i.e. watch tv for the purpose of learning how to screenwrite, then that would be lovely.)
  • to be altogether more kindly to the people in my life
  • to consider each word I say with great care
  • to finish another practice novel with all the trimmings: many, many drafts, many revisions, many beta runs, and much agonizing
  • write everyday: whether it be through blogging, school and scholarship essays, dream journal, new novel, poetry, short story, or free writes
  • to strive to fill my mind with new knowledge ; to go the library and rent out tomes of books so that I will be someday able to converse intelligently about Dadaism and Plato and music and to by the end of the year, know twice as much as I know now.
  • to be more confident
  • to care less about things that don't matter and to care more about things that do

  • to not let it get in my way that many people have more resources and advantages than I do in terms of their education, and to instead create my own opportunities to learn and grow. But to also be thankful and keep in mind that I'm lucky to have the resources and advantages I do, since some people don't.
  • to once and for all clean up my careless commas, ponder my usage of dashes, and to fix my horrendously awful use of semicolons, which I'm sure you've all had to suffer through.

And that's about it, I think.

What are some of your resolutions?

1.04.2011

hypothetical bookish situation #4: if j.k. rowling wrote a harry potter prequel

So I reread the whole Harry Potter series last week (nope, I don't have a life. MY LIFE IS HARRY POTTER), and realized that the last HP movie would be coming out this year. HP is coming to an end in 2011.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

But I'm foolishly hopeful an optimist when it comes to J.K. Rowling's intentions. Filled with fizzy, floaty optimism and buoyant thoughts of Harry Potter, I start daydreaming.

And then I think...

What if she wrote a Harry Potter prequel? (Think le Dumbledore and le Grindewald escapades. Or le James and Lily Potter escapades at le Hogwarts. Yes.)


*le gasp*


my face at the thought of this happening for real:

source

Just think, in addition to these:



WE COULD HAVE...HMM....LET ME WHIP OUT PHOTOSHOP MY POLYJUICING BOOK COVER SKILLS AND THINK DEEPLY ON THIS MATTER.
*

How about:



1. James Potter and the Marauder's Map

James Potter has just begun his second year at the Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, and is happy to be back with the friends he made as a first-year: fellow Gryffindors Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew.

He's ready to get back to trouble-making, face off with greasy rival Severus Snape with a jinx or two, and win over green-eyed Lily Evans.

But once at Hogwarts, James discovers that Remus is a werewolf. In the wizarding world, werewolves aren't good news...but James , Sirius, and Peter are determined to help their friend as much as possible.

It's going to take all of the Marauders' cleverness and effort to make this work. Perhaps becoming an Animagi will help. Perhaps creating an all-knowing map of Hogwarts will solve all their problems and allow the Marauders to bend more rules than ever...that is, if they don't get caught.





2. Albus Dumbledore and the Elder Wand

Albus Dumbledore has always been gifted and destined for greatness. He's just finished his final year at Hogwarts with top marks and is set to embark on a Grand Tour of the world with his best friend Elphias Doge.

But tragedy soon strikes: his emotionally-scarred sister Ariana, who can't control her magic, accidentally kills his mother. Now head of the family, Albus is forced to return to Godric's Hollow, where all his ambitions and skills are going to waste as he's left to the mind-numbing task of taking care of Ariana.

But then he meets Gellert Grindelwald. Brilliant Gellert, whose charisma and talent immediately attract Albus. Soon, the two are inseparable, and together, they concoct plans that will make them the most powerful wizards in history and put Muggles in their place--if only they can find the long-lost Deathly Hallows...



***
And now I'm thinking: a world with these books in them would be a better world.

IF J.K ROWLING ACTUALLY WROTE THEM:

  • the world would be full of sunshine and unicorns and HOPE.


  • Rowling would make several more truckloads of money from rabid fans


  • people like me would once again have a purpose in life


  • more movies! more midnight release parties! more books for my Harry Potter collection!


  • I think I would cry from happiness. Basically.

Now, if we could just perform inception on J.K. Rowling's mind...

*just in case there's any confusion: the book summaries and covers are fakes by me. No copyright infringement intended. The faux covers are modeled off of the adult HP covers.

12.30.2010

18 random thoughts

1. I can't believe it'll soon be 2011. Time is funny. It's unregulated, you see: it goes far too fast and slow and altogether strangely to be understood.

2. Reading rehabilitation is going quite smoothly.

3. In fact, I'd like to say I'm doing quite well. Reading about two books a day for the last two weeks: Diana Wynne Jones, mostly, and I reread the whole Harry Potter series.

4. Deathly Hallows is actually quite magnificent, once you get past the whole tramping through the countryside part.

5. Christmas didn't feel like Christmas.

6. The only things on my wishlist this year were two books (Geek Love & Pale Fire), but somehow I ended up getting many things. Presents just muddle me, because suddenly I have new things, too suddenly, and I push it off to the side because I'm not sure what to do with all the new stuff.It's a bit overwhelming.

7. The walls of my cheaply-built neighborhood are too thin. I can hear my neighbor from two houses down, and he's inside. So am I.

8.I have immense respect for Neil Gaiman. He dips back and forth between children and adult books, and writes fantasy in a way that's lovely. He's a wonderful writer; even though none of his books are my favorites; it's hard to explain. I just respect his writing a lot.

9. Nearly finished with American Gods by Gaiman, you see. The storyline is in a way dense--whirling off to long-ago tales and coming back to present-day; but it's rich, like a cheesecake of a book.

10. You know how once you hear about a book or an author, you keep hearing about it everywhere? The authoress this is happening with right now is Anais Nin. I have yet to read anything by her, though. I think I might have to.

11. I've decided I loathe furniture.

12. It's funny how you can look back on things that at the time you thought were so cool and realize that now, suddenly, you don't like it at all. This has been happening to me with: photos, especially those hipster-y ones; to some extent, Jonathan Safran Foer, who is obnoxiously smug in his interviews and whose writing is actually pretty gimmicky; and especially comic sans, which I thought was okay when I was ten. However, things that I used to not like but am now warming too: egg drop soup, freckles, and the color yellow.

13. I am actually superstitious of the number 13.

14. I am quite anxious about the Hunger Games movie. I'm actually quite pessimistic about it; it occurs to me that the strength of HG is Katniss' voice and internal monologue; and that this will probably not be translated into movie form. Also, I don't even like action movies as much; and I'm horrified at the thought of some terrible Disney teen actors being cast. Basically, I'm afraid of a botched job.

15. On the other hand, I've decided that Hailee Steinfield, girl-star of that the Coen's latest film, True Grit, would be beyond awesome from the role, and that I'd actually be a bit disappointed if she wasn't cast. I mean, this girl has got the acting chops- she stole the show during True Grit.

16. It's a good thing you only apply to college once, because I don't think it's humanly possible to do it another time. I'm not even sure I can do it this time.

17. I know too much British slang, and I have no opportunity to use it.

18. HAPPY HOLIDAYS, YOU LOVELY FOLLOWERS!

12.11.2010

reading rehabilitation: stage one (tales)

Lately, I haven't been reading. So I've decided to institute a reading rehabilitation program, in which I'll relive my reading life.

Today, I spent an hour or two uselessly looking for picture books and copies of Junie B. Jones or Captain Underpants, my 2nd grade favorites.

My house, in case I haven't yet mentioned, is a labyrinth of dust and dilapidated junk. Going looking for something is never a good idea.

I started with The Parent Closet.

The light broke a year or two ago, and we haven't bothered to get it repaired. Groping around in the darkness, I managed to hit my knee, elbow, and toe quite painfully against a stuffed animal, a wooden chest, and a stack of books. But I couldn't find the flaslight necessary to navigate more than a step away from the door. I decided to give up, since it was pitch dark, and we didn't yet have a hard helmet. Y'know, looking for picture books isn't exactly the way I want to head out.

So I turned to my room.

At some point last year, in a uncharacteristic fit of purpose, I organized my personal library alphabetically. By this time, basically all the picture books and early elementary favorites had disappeared, never to come back, into either the yawning abyss of my parent's closet or into the used book piles at my local library.

So I pawed over my bedroom, looking in dusty nooks and crannies. I retrieved two books: my copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales and a rather beaten up picture book called Tomie de Paola's Favorite Nursery Tales. I looked some more, screamed when I encountered a spider, retreated into the living room, and decided that I didn't want to risk my life anymore.

Right-o.

There it occurs to me that I did alright. These books I've found are tales that I listened to before I knew what words where, and perhaps this is chronologically first in my reading life.

But oh, Tomie de Paola has such lovely drawings. The book starts:

How am I to sing your praise,
Happy chimney-corner days,
Sitting safe in nursery nooks,

Reading picture story-books?

Among the tales, there's "Johnny Cake," "The Little Red Hen," and one of my favorites, "The Princess and the Pea," all lushly illustrated and written.

I feel happy reading these stories, only a few pages in length. And picture books are actually pretty well-written.

I smile when I get to this part in The Princess and the Pea:
"Oh terribly badly!" said the Princess. "I have scarcely shut my eyes the whole night. Heaven only knows what was in the bed, but I was lying on something hard, so that I am black and blue all over my body. It is really terrible."
& also the mantra of laziness in Little Red Hen. "Not I," "Not I," "Not I."

The thing is, you can't go back and read a childhood book without remembering the years and times you've heard these stories, and loved them, and how ingrained they are in you, to have resided in your brain for so long. It's lovely, returning to them.


When I turn to Grimm's Fairy Tales (cover at left) I find a little surprise. It's my very first book review written on the last page. A one-liner.

"Hi this is Meg it is June 8 2002 and I am eight. This is book is sorta boring sorta interesting. I have less than a week until school ends. Fridays and Saturdays our my favorite days. I like sports a lot and I am really good at them. P.S. The reason I am writing this is because I want to remember what I was like in this grade." Then I have this bit where it says J3 M2 F1 A2 D1 N1 O1 S1. and then "Meg when you see this and wonder what this means I did this when I was 8."

Pfft. Counting how many months start with each letter? I must have been bored. (Here, I suddenly remember my habit of hiding messages just like this for me to find when I was older. I have a few tucked and hidden away in my room, I recall, but I don't remember where.) But what, since when is Grimm's Fairy Tales boring? ARE YOU KIDDING ME, KIDDO? I MEAN, FREAKING CINDERELLA'S SISTERS CUT BITS OF THEIR FEET OFF, WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT IN TERMS OF CLIMAX, HUH?

Thank goodness I came to my senses. I love Grimm's Fairy Tales so much. This book is beautifully illustrated as well. It's action packed, full of talking animals and magic and princesses and princes set off to find their fortunes, and quite a lot of true love. Also, castles.*

It's full of magical sentences. Literally. And also those typical fairy tale sentences. I flip through, reading bits and pieces.

"He took up plow, harrow, horses and all, and carried them home like a bundle of straw."
"Then the wedding of the Prince and Briar Rose was celebrated with all splendor, and they lived happily till they died."
"And he marveled at her beauty, her royal garments, and the start on her forehead."
"Queen thou art of beauty rare
But Snow-White living in the glen
With seven little men
Is a thousand ties more fair."

Oh, these tales. So wondrous. Ones we all know, in some form.

I don't have time to read all 362 pages of Grimm's Fairy Tales today. I have the rather pressing matter of finals to study for. But I'll be keeping it nearby, to read during lulls in the day.

It's hard to describe the feeling I'm getting, reacquainting myself with these tales that bring up memories every time I flip a page. It's a sort of fullness, I'm feeling. This sense that, somewhere, all these stories I've read and heard are still there, ready to be summoned. And the feeling that it's just amazing to know that in each of us, there are stories, waiting to be told and heard and remembered. That we carry them with us every day, and that we're millions of stories jostling each other, full of so many words and plots that aren't ours.

This is kinda my mini-epiphany of the day.

* I have a particular interest in castles, seeing as I intend to live in one one day.**
** What? It's a totally reasonable goal. Also, I have a lot of experience with dilapidation in my current house, so I'll do better than most with mold and creaky towers.***
*** DON'T LAUGH AT MY DREAMSSSSS.

12.10.2010

i'm sure you're all tired about me talking about getting my blogging-pants on, and then not actually following through, but here it goes

I feel like I've written this post several times before. It goes something like this: YOU GUYS I AM SUPER, LIKE SUPER DUPER SORRY & I WILL BLOG AGAIN SOON, AND OH YEAH EVERYTHING WILL BE LIKE IT USED TO BE.

Well, after a whole month of not posting anything, I'll be honest: I don't think I'll ever get back to those glorious months where blogging was at the forefront of my mind, where I raced home from school and switched on the computer first thing, catching up on blogs I followed and then proceeding to write my own posts. Those were the days where I spent two or more hours on the blogosphere everyday & loved every minute of it; loved talking about the books I had read that week, the newest thing in YA, what YA really is, what other bloggers were saying, what authors were saying, and arguably most importantly, what I liked about chocolate.

That just doesn't happen anymore.

But, I've realized something, something I touched upon in me, blogging. Blogging has had too much of a positive impact on my life. What I'm doing now with the time I used to spend on blogging isn't an improvement at all. I'm, in effect, wasting my time looking at things (photos, TV, blank word docs), and not creating things or thinking actively like I did with blogging. Blogging really helped me grow as a reader, a writer, and a communicator--I was forced to think analytically about each book I read, picking over the faults and merits, pinning down what I felt after reading a book, why I felt it, and what the author had accomplished. Then, when it came time to write book reviews, I had to sit down, and figure out what language and what expression would communicate just what I felt, in an at least somewhat-appealing style. My reviewing improved as the months went on. So did my sense of a "blogging voice."

At one point, I was reading 10 books a week. Not reviewing all of them, of course, but readingreadingreading every time I exhaled, every free minute of the day, cramming in words whenever I could.

Then, I began to suffocate.

Books piled up. Books I couldn't get into, especially because I felt pressured to deliver with REVIEWS ON TIME, when oh heck noes, I couldn't think about that, I had school and friends and family and activities to think about.

Then, came my dislike of the repetitiveness. I got tired of posting memes, so I mostly discontinued that. I got tired of the way I was writing reviews. I got tired of YA. I got tired of sitting down and writing posts.

And now, I'm tired of reading.

I can't even bear to say it aloud. So I'll whisper it. I don't read anymore.

Reading has defined my life. I always was a reader. I read when I was unhappy or happy. I read because I wanted a story I could dive into. First it was magic, adventure, and imagination that had me addicted. Then it was a matrix of language, soft-feather language, soft-slow smooth language, strong-song language.

My attention span has a length of about 5 seconds now. I can't keep my eyes glued to the page. I close books more often than I open then. I say, "meh," when I read or "maybe later."

I can't bear it anymore.

It's like a huge chunk of me is gone, this word-loving reader writer escapist who had a second-home in books.

I have to do something to change this.

So I'm instituting a reading-rehabilitation program. I'm starting bottom-up. Slow steps, here. I think, first will be my old picture books, Junie B. Jones, and then Roald Dahl, if I can find them. Next, Harry Potter, oh yes. Then Diana Wynne Jones, oh how I love you, Ms. Jones. A period of YA, for sure. And some literature after that.

I'm reliving my reading life. & I think I would also like to blog about that. I think. I really want to follow through with this.

If you guys are still there, I'd be honored if you listened. I was thinking that perhaps I should move my blog to a different address--I feel overwhelmed by the followers, quite honestly--but I haven't decided.

At the moment, I'm going to stay at in which a girl reads. See if I can pump a little life and a little love into this blog.

Oh, and yeah. I am no longer accepting books for review. UNLESS IF YOU ARE DIANA WYNNE JONES. IF SO I LOVE YOU AND I AM YOUR SLAVE FOREVER, OKAY?

11.15.2010

dear sylvia

i finally got around to writing the first post in what i intend to be a series of letters to authors/ icons that i love. and i even threw in a photo i took at the bottom (i probably should have snagged something pretty from wehearit, but somehow, i felt this post should be all me.)

(p.s. imissyouguys&willtrytonavigatemywaypastthemoldofthisblogandseeifican'tlivenitupa little.)

phew, what a mouthful!

anywho.

***

dear sylvia:

i want to tell you so many things.

yesterday, i realized i would be done reading your journals tomorrow or this week or the next. finishing is like coming to the end of a long, beautiful journey. i’ve traversed across the pages of your words and your thoughts and your frustrations and your life for a few months now.

i’m not sure though, if i’m ready to end this journey.
you see, i’ve done something with your journals that i’ve never do with books.

i’ve savored.

i read slowly, each word forming gradually in my mind. i thought about each word you penned; the way you put these words together; and i realized what you were doing. you were making sure your writings didn’t just hold a surface beauty; similes or metaphors that punctuated the page but quickly were forgotten. instead, your words were held up, strengthened, fortified-- by your sense of rhythm and the music of your language.

and that is why i took my time—am taking my time—reading your journals.

i bought your journals in a humid summer day in a bookshop thousands of miles away from my home, plucked it from shelves of slim chapbooks and fat poetry collections. i’d already treasured the bell jar; lines like:

“If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I'm neurotic as hell”
&
“I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart: I am, I am, I am,”
have seemed particularly lovely; have meant something to me.

i thought the bell jar was a good book, but not mind-blowing.
i’d read your poetry, and loved it, loved it to bits. everything about it: your confessional style, your evocative imagery, your uncanny ability to make me physically feel your words.
i didn’t know what to expect from your journals.
i was underestimating you, ms. plath.

right now i am thinking of my strange habit of wanting to read you in the skies. on airplanes. your words have a other-worldly, incandescent feel to them, so i guess it makes sense.

but then i realize i read you under the soft shallows of the evening light as well. the pages yellow under my fingertips and the outlines of your words underneath.

“I am beating all my wings," is one of my favorite lines.

but before i go too long without really saying anything, i wanted to thank you. i turn one page and i read a line of yours and i feel something, i feel like i’m reading greatness. i mean it. your words make me feel like there’s something undeniably beautiful in the world that i should be looking for. your sudden-surges of brilliance—these particular, melodic lines—the ones that spring out every once in a while, that take me by surprise again and again—thank you for them.

i recently read ariel. i still feel mesmerized, somewhat disoriented, from the power of your words, in such a compact form. i feel like i’ve read something life-changing.

right, now, i have four words singing in my bones. they were all that i could think of when i stared out into the river.

sincerely,
choco.


11.02.2010

the madness that is NaNoWriMo

So, this is my first year trying out a little thing called NaNoWriMo. (read: the craziest month of your life up to date.) Basically. this entails beginning and finishing a 50,000 word novel within the space of November 1-30. Yeah, pure craziness.

It's only the second day and already my life has become a slave to NaNo. I don't normally think of myself of a competitive person, but right now, I can't bear the thought of losing this thing. Of hanging my head down and saying on Nov 30, "Yeah, I only got 30,000 words in." And seeing the word counts of my NaNo buddies (yeesh, one of the insane ones already hit 10k!) is making me step up my writing game, too.

Can I even begin to explain the change brought upon me by NaNo? Who needs Physics lectures when you can think about racing home and churning out 1k of your latest chapter? Who needs to eat when you can subsist on your words forming on the screen in front of you? Who needs anything in November but the insanity of NaNo? (uhh, okay, I definitely need Thanksgiving. But everything else? Socializing? Free Time? Sooooo overrated.)

Unfortunately, the thing I've noticed about myself as a writer is that if I'm writing one type of thing, I have little to no urge to write any other type of thing. It kind of goes like this:

1) do a lot of blogging, but not a lot of creative writing
2) do a lot of creative writing, but not a lot of blogging
a. Write a lot of poetry, but no prose
b. Write a lot of short stories, but no novel.
c. Write nothing but a novel.

Right now I'm right smack-dab at 2c. I think I'm going to pull out the big guns for blogging though; I have an idea for a series of posts that I'm excited about, so we'll see how that goes.

For the moment, though, I'm practically sweating out words. Pulling a plot out of thin air. Punching in words every chance I get.

It's a bit like being caught up in a tornado. A word tornado.

So, any of you participating in NaNo? Or can you, as a past participant, sympathize?
AND HEY, it's only Nov 2nd so you can still JOIN USSSS and not be too far behind!

10.20.2010

the process of writing your personal statement

1. Not writing
2. Not writing
3. Not writing
4. Watching TV.
5. Not writing
6. Eating cheese
7. BLARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! You beat your chest in the manner of Tarzan. Grumble, grumble.
8. Break from staring at the intensity of a blank computer screen, in which you trace the route of dust particles floating in the air, and soul-search. You ponder: am I a coffee or tea kind of being?
You ask yourself: why am I incapable of writing an essay about myself?
You are stumped when faced with: What challenges have you faced? (First thing that pops into your mind: THERE'S NO CHOCOLATE IN THE HOUSE, EVER. Second thing: THIS DARN ESSAY.)
8. More not writing
9. You wonder if "eating a Harry Potter book" (well, not a whole one, and hey, you were eight and thus pardoned as a BOOK-MURDERER) is an essay-worthy topic.
10. Not-writing, again.
11. An idea slips into your mind. You feel it on the edges of your nebulous subconcious. You make a grab for this brilliant, life-saving IDEA born from INSPIRATION. IDEA leads you on, smelling of fresh cookies and strangely, pine. IDEA then escapes your desperate clutches, laughing as it runs away (with the last piece of cheese in its hand) and leaps into the more-nebulous mind of THE DOG. THE DOG looks inspired (you can tell from the angle its tongue hangs out), and immediately begins gnawing its tail off. You unfortunately, aren't. (The inspired part, not the tail part.)
12. You ask your parents: who am I? WHAT IS MY PURPOSE IN LIFE? Do you know what lies deep in my soul?
You only receive blank stares.
At least THE DOG trots over to the book shelf. (this is who you are, perhaps.)
13. For the second time that day, you ponder the meaning of your life. You have no answer for this.
14. You at last, begin to type. It is rubbish. This story and statement of YOURSELF begins with dead, alcoholic people who you've never met in your life. You begin chewing off your nails.
15. You fall asleep on the keyboard, full of confusion, with nothing accomplished. A normal day, in essay-writing land.

10.18.2010

me, blogging

So I've been thinking. Not nearly as much as I expected I would since my last post; I'm not coming into this post with my mind made up, a clear plan, a resolution. For all intents and purposes, I'm free-writing, going with the flow, here. The no-doubt rambly concoction that comes next is my mind making itself up for me, live.

I'll be honest. I didn't feel a heart twang, didn't shed a tear, didn't feel different this last week or so when I didn't update this blog and didn't even think about posting. It felt normal; my routine as a non-blogger, normal person who doesn't spend ungodly hours on the internet interacting with other bloggers or posting. I felt the same as always going to school, eating lunch, coming home, curling into fetal position at the thought of college applications, petting my dog, watching the latest episode of Dexter, and staring at the tangled mess of the short story I'm working on.

I didn't feel a huge hole in my life. More to the point; I didn't detect a hole in my life; a place where I'd ripped out the blogger part of me and set it aside. I wasn't hurt or anyway--as far as I could tell--negatively affected by my non-blogging state.

This made me think that this could mean two things:

1) Not-blogging is my natural state. I don't currently miss it, I won't miss it later on, and I definitely won't miss that heavy feeling in my chest from all the books I have stacked up in my room, waiting to be read and reviewed, slurping up my time, when I much rather be staring at the stars and wondering who the literary equivalent of Monet is (the too-pretty extravagance of his style puts it at Nabokov, I'm thinking); and then pondering the contents of my day.

2) Blogging is something I should be doing. I've learned so much. I've grown so much because of my blog; I've met so many cool people; I've learned to express my thoughts in some semi-coherent, tangible way that makes for a hopefully enjoyable read. What would I have lost this past year in learning and enlightenment if I had never started in which a girl reads and stuck with it? What will I be losing in the future if I throw away a blog that I've put so much time into, this little niche of mine in the internet world?

And I'm thinking right now: I'm not ready to give that up just yet. The good things that come from blogging.

The only thing is--since I'm spilling my brain matter, here (really, it's unedited thoughts--> computer screen) --is that, what I would like to blog about--random shout-outs to the world, one sentence blog posts, things I've stumbled upon and found beauty in--these things, I can do. Sort of.

There's one, huge thing I wish I could do with blogging: work up the courage to talk about myself. Look, I've been reading The Journals of Sylvia Plath in bite-sized snippets for a while now; and its beautiful. I know she never meant for anyone to read it, but I can't help admire the confessional writer; those courageous people out there that can spill their deepest thoughts without inhibition to strangers out in the world. I admire those of you who can keep diaries, who'll have the reward of coming back years later and witnessing how your mind worked at a particular moment in the past. I wish I could grasp this courage, find it somewhere.

But at the moment, I feel daunted. The vast number of you who follow me makes me think twice about posting something personal; and what's more I'm not a inherently exciting person: I haven't climbed to the top of Mt. Everest, saved anyone's life, or am even mildly efficient; I'm just me, a teenager wanting-to-know-more, wanting to find beauty and connections everywhere. And I'd rather crawl into a hole than post my writing here; (this is why I take such comfort in my teeny six-followers--strong writer's blog, nestled away in a safe, dusty corner of the interwebs).

But I think I'd like to try and not hold back so much, to share & muse & ramble more on this blog. It's what I've been doing in this post, and what's more, I'm enjoying writing this.

So I guess this means that I'm not ready to stop blogging, just yet.

I've been trying to figure out what stalled in which a girl reads, though.
Sure, it's been a loss of interest. But from the very first, I constricted myself, laid out ground rules: 1) I'd rarely, if ever, post about my writing 2) Nothing too personal 3) I'd book-review, and post daily.

I think that was a bad foundation to build a blog on.

So this is me, experimenting. Seeing what will come of a blog without restrictions or expectations. I want to try again. And if it doesn't work out, I'll just find someone much more awesome than me (shouldn't be too hard, tehe) to take over in which a girl reads.

Thank you to all of you who responded to my earlier blogging-crisis post. And thanks for reading my brain-vomit for the day.
<3 choco.

10.09.2010

the question of how to continue blogging

So, I sort of mentioned this in my latest post: I'm not sure if/how I'll continue to blog.
These last few months or so--after promising myself that I'd kick this blog into shipshape after a few hiatuses due to testing and vacation--haven't been going how I'd planned, blog-wise.

I've gone from checking my dashboard everyday, reading and commenting on hundreds of blogs, posting nearly every day--to not checking my dashboard often, not commenting, and rarely posting.

The question is--why?

Sure, I'm busy sometimes and I can't possibly blog when I get home at 10:00 P.M. from two extracurricular activities in a row and night classes and still have homework to finish. But that's not everyday--there are days when I could, if I really wanted to, squeeze blogging into my schedule (instead of writing or talking to my family). Those were sacrifices I was willing to make before--but not as much now.

The reason?

I've changed. (Not to be dramatic or anything). But I have. A year ago all I wanted to do was spend my life in Barnes and Noble reading one middle grade book after another. Today? All I want to do is pore over a few of my favorite books and deconstruct their sentences and figure out how the words fit together, and then try and write my own stories.

I mean, I've always had these interests, but they're starting to manifest more in what I read and why I read and how often I read. I'm not reading much, if any YA anymore--I've turned to obsessing over a few of (the same) literary books and trying to figure out how they work; flipping over the same few books and reading a few passages at random; reading poetry--in the time allotment usually reserved for reading YA.

This doesn't exactly make for prime posting material.

My life is becoming less and less full of reading YA books, and more and more full of studying novels, writing things, and watching TV and movies (as my passion for film grows). Right now, I'd rather post pretty photos or a poem or talk about the art museum I visited and what I ate for lunch and what I found laughter in today, than a book review everyday. Right now, I'd rather study prose than read things for plot.

Basically, my interests have shifted, and it's had the affect of me not having a desire to post what I used to post or make time to blog about something I'm not reading or currently as interested in.

That's not to say that next month I won't suddenly find myself itching to review YA books everyday. Who knows what will happen? That's why I'm hesitant to right away"put the blog up for sale" (i.e. set about trying to find a person who I feel confident handing the blog over to); or to say, "Hey, this is now an anime blog GET OUT YOU YA people!" (for the record, this is not my plan for the blog, haha.)

Anyhow, I'm sort of doing some major blog-reflecting right now. For the moment, I'll hold of posting (though I feel terribly, terribly guilty about the review copies and ARCs I've been sent and haven't reviewed yet; I will either review them eventually or send them to another blogger!). I'll be thinking and deciding what I really want to do with this blog, or if maybe blogging isn't right for me at this particular point in my life.

And I'll get back to you guys on this. I promise.

Have any of you gone through a similar thing with blogging? What did you do?