Keep your 'lectric eye on me babe...

Waiting

2012-02-05T10:21:00.001Z

Don't ask, because I don't know. I was just making sentences.

Waiting

The feel of ink on the page, scratching out what it means to be real and in the world and in the moment.

Dust could settle, a window could open with a bang, a glass could break and you would see it, in an instant, no matter how long.

Write in a ledger, old but never used till now, after years of that aforementioned dust covering it’s spine, on a lost book shelf in the corner of a room of other lost souls.

But at least their pages had words on them.

At least someone wrote them.

Ledger was just made.

Made with a purpose never fulfilled.

But now it is, but different.

Not wrong, but just not right.

Its old home was a brick room across the ocean in a world where people paint how they feel on walls and shout what they know across streets.

Into the sides of cars with keys.

Into hearts through technology.

If the city did sleep, it would snore.

Rattling the moon in the sky till it almost falls.

Falls through many stars, it might one day, and crush the fair city.

And it’s fair children.

And it’s dark ones too.

Till they are all smashed into a small cube.

A cube that could fit into a giant’s pocket, if he wanted it to.

He could carry the world in there, next to his keys and wallet, till he found a place to spend it.

Spend the world in one night on the town, but not all in one place.

He’s so glad to see you.

Another giant with world pockets, he thinks.

He thought he was the only one left.

But here you are.

Polka doted, red sundress and Mary Jane’s.

Lookin’ cute.

As a button.

He kisses your nose and tickles your ear and offers you the world, what’s left.

“Here ya go, kiddo. That’s how much I like you.”

But there are no pockets in your sundress.

Anymore.

You can hardly keep it up.

Step up these kickin’ beats and twirl with me, if you know how.

Put that away, forget it.

Forget everything you wish you knew.

Don’t drink so fast, chum.

The carpet is soft under bare feet.

It’s cream and gold and rusts swirl underfoot, thank god for that.

I thought this was a roller-skating rink.

See, there, those kids just crashed into a wall on the far side, but they don’t seem to mind.

She is unbuttoning her blouse and he wants her to, but she stops.

You would too, admit it, Sparkey.

Without me, you need therapy.

But you look good in purple, so all is forgiven.

Not about coffee.

2012-01-23T00:18:00.001Z

Stuff that happened this month while I was in the USA visiting people:

Catfish had a mighty reunion. And ate their weight in everything.

My dad sent me 253 picture texts of our cat (he’s so cute) and it never got old.

I got a grown up drivers license. AND they let me smile. A little.

My mom made me breakfast a lot and I loved it.

I discovered that the most high school spot in all of Purcellville has been bulldozed. R.I.P Al’s Pizza.

I saw my little bro’s band play in Richmond and they were rad as usual. And learned a lot about what one does if they are to acquire fleas in their house (not me).

Realized that I am the world’s worst flight booker when I checked my return flight to London and realized that I had a 12 hour layover in Toronto.

Decided that I want to live in Philadelphia someday, officially.

Made some new year’s resolutions. Here they are:

~FINISH MY BOOK.

~Travel more in the UK.

~Read Nicole’s book, Ruby Dreams (and help her come up with a new title, although I like it, even if it doesn’t really make sense).

~Save money.

~Research getting an agent.

~Stop being such a downer.

I also realized that in 2011, I actually accomplished all of my new year’s resolutions for the first time in my life. It’s all in the wording.

I made some new friends.

I got to see all my old friends. It sucks to leave them.

Missed UK people.

Hung out with my parents a ton. They are cool.

Drove a lot. Which was pretty fun, till I got lost. As usual.

Got hooked on the How to Train Your Dragon soundtrack (thanks Nicole).

Ate more handmade candy than anyone ever should all in one night (thanks Nicole).

Had a beer and watched some football (good idea Nicole). How ‘bout them Eers?

Spent an evening with friends from Elementary school, college and Grad school, all in one place.

Extended my visa.

Got loads of sweet new tunes from Tiff and James.

Talked about books in a grave yard.

Realized that my grandpa is a much better/more committed writer than I am, for he writes in his journal every single day and I can’t even update my blog once a month.

Had lots of fun, then came back to the UK.

But all that is probably only interesting to me. What might interest you folks, if you like reading stories, is that I plan on challenging myself to a self titled Seven Day Story Challenge. This is because, as you can tell, I’m a huge slacker, and the only way I can ever get things done is by publicly challenging myself so that everyone will see if I fail.

So the idea is simple. I’ll write seven stories in seven days. They might not be good stories, since I’ll only have a day to write them next to all the other things I do in my days (I did get a new job, so that’s more than the nothing from before), but I’ll at least try to make them a little worth reading. Some might be short, some might be long, some might have beginnings, middles and ends a plenty, other might just be snapshots or little flash fiction bits. Many will probably be about people I know (all names shall be changed) or just things that have happened to me. Many may suck, but hopefully at least one will shine true, and after the week is up I’ll be able to fix it up and use it for something.

I am being trained for my new job this week (which is essentially my exact same job, just more hours, so don’t go asking), so I’ll probably try and start next week sometime, once things slow down and get back to normal. So stay tune. See, now that I’ve posted this, I have to do it. My blog is my bond.

See ya,

Maria

We all really did get good marks, we just thought we could have done better.

2011-12-10T00:01:00.001Z

E-mail written to my friends from my course after we all received our final projects in the mail, comments attached, many of which were disheartening.

Dear friends,

So, tonight I was going through old papers, trying desperately to find my original acceptance letter to Brookes, which I need to extend my visa (what the helllll?), and I found something interesting.

It's this paper Jim gave us in the beginning of the course, or whenever (I really can't remember), that we were supposed to fill out and put in a brown envelope with our name on it, which he also gave us, to be returned to us at the end of the course, which he forgot he gave us because I still had my envelope, and which everyone forgot to do anyway (now that I have an MA in writing, I'm allowed to write run on sentences). However, being the overachiever that I am, I of course did it and sealed the envelope and still have it today.

The paper was titled, "What I daydream about when I daydream about writing." I suspect we got this paper shortly after reading “What I Talk About When I Talk About Running,” the title of which Murakami stole from Raymond Carver's "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love." Anyway, the first line of the paper says, "You are here because you want to be a Writer (with a capital W). But what does that mean?" The rest of the paper has a list of questions about a daydream we are being forced to have about having a conversation with someone in which we tell them we are a Writer and they react and you feel something.

I got really excited when I found this. "This may just be the most revelatory document you will ever fill in," says the paper, and, not remembering what I wrote, I believed it. So I excitedly ripped open my envelope and read what I wrote, and almost threw it away in embarrassment.

It was so awful. Like, the worst thing I've ever written. Its self deprecating (surprise surprise: even in my daydreams I put myself down), clunky writing and not in any way creative. I am not about to type it up for your reading pleasure, so don't get too excited. That was the original intention of this e-mail; I thought I'd type it up and give us all a good laugh, but it's too bad for even that. It is quite possibly the worst thing I've ever written. It's a little story about me in an unspecified moment in the future, sitting on Easter Island and telling some girl my age that I'm a writer, and about how I still feel like an imposter saying that, even though at this point in my daydream, I'm a published YA novelist who does freelance travel writing on the side.

"When I tell people I'm a writer, I still feel like a child telling their parents that they are going to be an astronaut when they grow up, or better yet, a super hero with the power of flight. When I say to someone that I'm a writer, I feel like, in their heads they are thinking- sure she is. I've never heard of her, can't be all that good anyway." ~Maria C. Goodson, 2011

Not cool. The rest of the story goes on to revel that the girl I'm talking to is using her boyfriend for his money and wanted to escape him, so we decide that she can be my assistant, because who wouldn't want a total stranger to be their assistant? So she breaks up with her BF and travels around the world with me and we become fast friends. I write a book called "the Writer's sidekick" about our adventures and it sells millions. The last line is so cheesy I might actually rip it up so it never sees the light of day.

However, in a way, this was the most revelatory document I have ever filled in. Because, no matter how disappointed we all are in our marks on the final projects (although we all actually did really good and should probably slap our expectations across the face), I for one know I’m at least better now than I was when I wrote that “daydream.” So, I think I’ll keep it.

I hope everyone has a fun filled weekend (Happy Birthday Tom),

Love, Maria XOXOXOXO

It's all getting exciting now.

2011-11-24T12:39:00.000Z

Happy Thanksgiving.

Love, Maria

One more thing.

2011-11-19T11:49:00.000Z

My friends are weird.

One more tip for NaNoWriMo, as if you should listen to me. I'm at 27k and should be at 31k by the end of the day. So not happening. But somehow, some way, I will finish. And I will beat Nicole. I couldn't help it, we're totally racing again. It's just more fun that way.

Anyway, so my last tip (for now), is as follows:

Get dressed- It might sound silly, but it's an essential part of your day. For me anyway. If your anything like me, and have nothing to do all day but sit at home and write, take five seconds out of your day to actually dress for said day. Don't sit around all day in your PJs, as nice as that sounds. I find that when I do this, it makes me feel like I haven't actually done anything all day, even when I've written like 3,000 words, applied for two jobs, gone grocery shopping, and cleaned my room. This is probably a personal preference. I'm sure people who work 9-5 all week long look forward spending their entire weekend in the same moose print PJ bottoms, over-sized college hoodie and cookie monster slippers, and that's fair enough. But, if you are in life limbo like myself (and most people my age, penniless and fresh out of higher education) and everyday is a weekend, get dressed. This will make writing seem more like your job, which it should be if your serious about it, and less like a lazy day putting one word after another, where you don't see the light of day (my curtains are too cool to ever open) and only leave your bedroom to feed yourself, if that. Even if you are just putting on your baggiest, most comfortable pair of jeans (because comfort is key, even if you are dressed. Don't wear your going-out, super, extra skinny jeans that suck you way in and make you feel like a million bucks, because I assure you, they won't feel that way sitting at a desk alone all day. Not that I own jeans like that, but I have a good imagination) and changing out of one oversize t-shirt into another, the small act of wearing something you didn't sleep in will make your day feel far more accomplished.

Moving on. But not too far. I decided the other day that I want to write Two Truths and a Lie haikus. You know, that game where you tell two true things about yourself and then one lie, and your friends have to guess which is the lie. It's sort of a hard game to play, and you need to be fairly creative to make your lies convincing, and you can't play with people who know everything about you or it won't work. So anyway, I wrote one, here it is:

Celeb Encounters

Extra on West Wing.

Poured a beer for Chris Cooley.

In podcast with Ron.

Which is the lie?? Mom, you can't play, you know too much. It's also good if the three things all sort of have a theme, like Celebs, places you've been, things you've done. Like, I can say I kissed a boy in Virginia, I kissed a boy in Oxford, and I kissed a boy in Istanbul. Which is the lie??? It's a fun game.

OK, back to writing. Ciao, bella.

~Maria

Lots of things on fire.

2011-11-11T00:43:00.000Z

Rob's birthday cake, made, with love, by Basia. Not only visually stunning, but probably the best cake I've ever tasted.

This looks better small. Super blurry Jame and I.

Remember, remember, the 5th of November.

Zombies.

Tonight, Rose and I sculpted puppet heads out of polystyrene blocks in a room next to where Phillip Selway (drummer from Radiohead) was playing a charity concert, and listened to him through the wall. This is why I love Oxford; it's just so random.

Oh yeah, and Johnny Depp was in Oxford on Saturday. I didn't see him, it was all very hush hush, but still, that's probably the closest I'll ever get to him.

As I've probably mentioned, the reason for our sculpting of puppet heads is that Rose and I are taking a 6 month puppetry course at the theater where she works, the Pegasus Theater. Saying that our puppetry class is RAD would be an understatement. For one thing, the title of the course is Dead or Alive Puppets. That alone tells you it's going to be amazing. The teacher is fantastic and really passionate about puppets, referring to them as magic more than once in our first class last week. The class is mostly about movement. The first was all about watching how we walk, and the position of every part of your body, where your weight is distributed. Once we figured it out, we took rags and tied knots in them for limbs and made them walk, in little groups (one person for the body, two for the feet). It was absolutely amazing to see these completely inanimate rags walk across the floor like little people. You didn't pay any attention to the three people in clear sight, controlling everything. All you saw was this tiny person strutting around the room. The next 6 months are going to be the best.

Speaking of six months from now, we just got word that on May 10th, there is be a showcase for all the MA Creative Writing people at the Pegasus. Apparently, in the afternoon they are going to do a competition where everyone who wants to can read something to a bunch of judges, then the winners get to read later that evening in front of agents. Sounds terrifying and awesome, I'm glad I have so much forewarning. Also, speaking of my course, I could possibly get my marks tomorrow for my final project. I think I'm going to throw up.

Ok, I'm off. Nano is going well, but I'm really behind, more so than I've ever been in years past. I think it's because Nicole and I are not raceing. It looks like I need to race, I need that fear factor to keep me at it. But it's all ok, I'll catch up.

~Maria

The Amazing Adventures of R.R. Shackleton.

2011-11-07T00:31:00.000Z

Ultimate birthday present presented to R.R. Shackleton on the 4th of November, 2011, by Misses Rose Brettingham and Maria C.Goodson. This took agessss.

~MCG

How to survive NaNoWriMo

2011-11-03T14:57:00.002Z

Rose likes to draw, I like to color.

This is my 5th year embarking on National Novel Writing Month's November of writing dangerously, so I feel like I can write about it with some authority (and by some, I mean maybe a little, maybe). However, this year is the first time I'm trying to write well as well as just write, which is proving difficult. I know that's not what NaNo is all about, but now that I have a practically-completed MA in creative writing under my belt, sharing a holster with my good old BA from WVU in English, I feel like I should at least try to write well. Or at least write better, better than years gone by. Only December will tell if I've actually accomplished this, the soonest time any living soul will see any of it beyond myself. Unless you ask nicely.

Anyway: back to writing with authority. I've compiled a list of tips to help newcomers get through the month of November, in case anyone was in need of a tip or two. Here you go;

1) Stay off facebook- Impossible you say? Well yes, nearly. I'm on facebook right now, but I know I shouldn't be. Facebook is the root of all time-wasting evil, but it's also so conveniently useful and addictively interesting (sometimes, except when your pregnant friends are updating the world every centimeter they are dilated, from the hospital, in real time) that we just can't stay away. If you can help it, try. Try hard. Because the simple fact is that every moment you spend on facebook is a moment you could be, and should be, writing. I'm going to close mine right now.

2) Wake up early- This might be, for some, even harder than staying off facebook. I know I meet every morning with the same eagerness that one anticipates cleaning the toilet, pulling hair out of a drain and walking on hot coals. I am not a morning person, but in November I am. If you work everyday, get up at least an hour earlier than you normally would and write before work. If you do nothing all day, like me (besides apply for jobs and thinking about doing laundry), don't let yourself sleep in till 11 just because you can. I promise that reaching your word count goal for the day before noon is the best feeling in the world, and will make the rest of your day sparkle.

3) Use your time creatively- When Nicole and I were still in college, we carried our computers around with us everywhere. I'd write between classes, waiting for class, waiting for the bus or the PRT (which was usually late anyway, so that's lots of time there) or sitting in the Coliseum waiting for marching band practice to start. Just carry a notebook with you, everywhere (which you should be doing anyway) and write in every moment of spare time you have. I did NaNo during the busiest semesters of my life, once year when I had a full-time job, and am doing it now with mostly free weekdays, and time was always and continues to be the main issue. You need time to think, time to figure things out, time to stare at a blank wall, and time to write it all down. Basically, all I'm saying is that 50k in a month is going to take time, and if you don't have the time but you have the desire, you need to make it yourself.

4) Get all your friends to do it- In the past it was usually just Nicole and I, running rampant around Morgantown, racing to 50k. The next year we made a few more friends who did it too, which was really great. This year, I convinced a few friends from my course to do it too. It not only feels good to be in it with someone else, but it's also imperative to have other people on your back, pushing you forward when you just don't want to write anymore. I just met with my friend Rebecca an hour ago. We sat on her living-room floor for three hours, talking out our story plots, asking each other questions and figuring things out. It was SO helpful, I hope we do it again sometime soon.

5) Tell EVERYONE you are doing NaNo- So they know why you are blowing them off. Don't just revert to your hermit state without telling anyone why, or everyone is going to either send the search parties out looking for you, give you up for dead and start going through all your stuff, or just get really mad at you for not returning their phone calls. Just tell everyone you know that your writing a novel for a month, and that you'll see them in December, just in time for Christmas shopping. Then go back to blowing them off.

6) Do not get on blogger and blog about writing and neglect your novel- Oh wait.

I am currently doing nothing from this list, so I better go. Good luck to one and all!

~Maria

Destruction of Wild Cats

2011-10-28T02:10:00.001+01:00

There is no telling where these pictures are going to end up. Blogger is still a mystery to me, after all these years.

Best thing I've seen in a while.

You can't come to Oxford and not take this picture.

Tolkien's tree.

Best picture ever. The grandparents in Oxford.

Remember when I said I'd blog all the time, now that my course is over? That was such a lie. I'd promise to blog more in the future, but that would probably be a lie too. I only really do it when the spirit moves me, and by that I mean the spirit of I-have-nothing-else-better-to-do. There is always something else to do, if it's better per say it debatable.

So here is a small collection of things I've written down in my little journal I carry around with me everywhere that I wanted to blog about in the past month. None of them on their own are really worthy of a whole blog post, or really of anything, but by blogging about them now I'll be able to cross three whole things off my massive list of things to do, which is all life's really about. I'm a slave to lists.

Thing one: Lame haikus with titles (which I don't think is really allowed), most of which were written at the bus station, waiting.

Non-autobiographical

My brother got the

music, the art, wit and eyes.

I got a head cold.

Maybe biographical

Urgent: Wanted NOW-

A girl who wears necklaces,

and reads fairy tales.

Dear Grandpa,

My Italian is

Mediocre at best, but

devo ricordarmi.
I cheated on that one by a syllable, shut up.

The loneliest man at bingo.

Sticky skin and a

flaccid handshake, smells of your

neighbor's old, wet toys.

You can't text message break up.

Text me, so I can

analyze your tone and miss

the truth; should just call.

Real men have pulses.

Keep your vampires,

diamond skin and spiky hair.

Sharp, no; give me soft.

For Alisha.

She came, she saw, she
wrote, she laughed, she loved, she danced.
She changed our music.

Don't go reading into any of those, they are totally random except the ones for certain people, like Grandpa and Alisha. I don't really think my brother got all the good genes and I got nothing (although he did get most of them) and the text message one is not directed at anyone, just people in general who let texts ruin their day. Although I was asked out by a vampire recently and turned him down. The undead are not my type.

Thing two: the aforementioned loneliest man at bingo.

The other day at work, a man handed me his money to pay for a tea towel or a post card of the Magna Carta or something covered in Victorian children's books spines, and our hands touched for the briefest of moments. This in and of it's self is not worth mentioning; it happens all the time. In fact, I bet that I end up touching hands with most of the customers who come into the shop, all except the ones who throw their money down on the counter, or the ones who just open their purses for me to take my pick (I should really be rich by now), or the ones who make no effort to reach their hands out toward me even a fraction of an inch so I'm forced to reach across the entire counter and then some, extend the full length of my arm to snatch the money out of their hand. That might make me sound lazy, but it's just one of those unwritten rules that when you pay someone, you actually give them the money, not just taunt them with it by holding it as far away from them as humanly possible and make them really work for it, even though in most cases, that person literally gains nothing by exerting the effort, seeing as, although they are being paid to stand there and perform the act, the actual money being exchanged goes straight into the till and not into their pocket. Such a person would get equally paid for just standing there; they could afford to stand there all day, playing pay-me chicken, waiting for the customer who's been living under a rock their whole lives to get a clue and actually hand them the money so they have leave to take their 30p post card and go bother someone else. But this is well beyond the point.

The point is this; I make a lot of hand contact in my job on a normal basis. Usually I don't even notice. Every now and then someone has serious BO, in which case I notice, but we have hand sanitizer behind the counter, so I'm usually fairly safe. However the other day, I encountered the loneliest man at bingo.

He smelled like old toys. The moment our hands touched, I wished they hadn't. His presence immediately conjured images of old toys, and not the ones we all loved nearly to death. Not the old dinosaur my brother loved so much all the fabric on his neck literally disappeared, not my old elephant made of a bed spread, not my American Girl Doll or our LEGOs or even my old, grubby My Little Ponies, covered in dark smudges of unknown origin. No, this guy made me shiver, cringe. I almost grimaced, but I managed to hold it together (that would not be very good customer service).

See, he didn't smell like my old toys. My well loved, faithful friends I will never have the heart to throw/donate/give away. This guy smelled like your neighbor's old toys. Not even your neighbor, you usually know your neighbors. It was more like a stranger's old toys. Because while sure, the My Little Ponies I have (at least I think I still have them, mother?) had undefinable smudges on them, it didn't matter. They are my smudges, they happened in my room, in my house, by my hand, me. They may be mysterious, but they are still familiar. There is no telling why a stranger's Barbie's hair is sticky, or why their Tonka trucks smell like raisins, or how all the facial features got rubbed off their Polly Pockets. Anyone who's seen Toy Story 3 knows exactly what I'm talking about. My teddy bear is warm because I have been hugging it, but I'll never hug a stranger's bear. I don't know where it's been (I know, I'm sure I've hugged many strange toys, children don't know what their doing. A toy is a toy, it's only later in life that they'll really think about what they were hugging, what they were pressing their faces up against. Then they'll cringe, mark my words. That, or they'll never think about it. Because let's face it, who really cares about this? Me, because I care about things that don't matter, remember?)

This man is not really the loneliest man at bingo, that's just what I named him. I'm sure he's the loveliest person ever, I believe he was polite to me and everything. Unfortunately for him, all I remember about him is the uncomfortable feeling his clammy skin gave me and the completely random memory of dirty play things. Poor guy.

Thing 3: Funny things learned from reading the dictionary one night with Rose in our kitchen on a Friday night. If that's not sad, I don't know what is.

These things were lovingly compiled on the back of a ripped open Turkish Delight box, because I was too lazy to walk the ten steps from the kitchen table to my bedroom to get paper.

Our favorite names for groups of animals that no one actually uese:

Murmuration of starlings.

Destruction of wild cats.

Pandemonium of parrots.

Crash of rhinos.

I hope to never be in a situation where I'd ever have to refer to a destruction of wild cats, unless referring to that adorable destruction of wild cats safely behind that high, electric fence.

I was under the impression that anything that flew, flew in a flock, but boy was I wrong. A murmuration just seems like a lot more work than a flock for some reason. Probably because of all the murs in the word. Flock is much more snappy. Murmuration sounds like the process of pickling a pandemonium of parrots or something. That word would never fly.

When discussing the plural forms of words such as syllabus, Rose stated that she thought a syllabus was a type of plant. If that were the case I would have had a jungle for a dorm room freshman year.

Subcutaneous means, under the skin. Gross.

And finally, can we please take a moment to ponder the exsistance of the silent P? Pterodactyl? It's just so illogical.

Alright, that's all. See you in a month. Just kidding, hopefully. Next month is NaNoWriMo (do it do it do it!), so you may not see much of me in November, as usual. That, or you'll see tons of me, because blogging sounds like a good way to procrastinate what I should be writing. We'll see how it goes.

The battery on my computer just died. And not in the plug-it-in-and-charge-it sort of way. It is plugged in, but it's not charging. Never will again. Not cool. So I basically no longer own a lap top. Fantastic. That's going to make November annoying.

Good night murmurations!

Beetroot

2011-09-29T15:38:00.002+01:00

We were climbing rocks on the coast of West Wales the other day when we realized that it was a year to the day that we started our MA course together. Not all of us became friends that day, only Alisha and I really (culturally thrust together when we heard each others accents), but we all met, exchanged curious glances, were aware of each others presences. There was no telling at that point that a year to the day from that stuffy attic room in the Tonge building, full of strangers crazy enough to want to write, that we'd be together in such a beautiful place, smelly puppy in toe, an MA under our belts and nothing but hopefully hazy futures ahead of us.

That day on the cliffs we were a man down, Charlie unfortunately couldn't come, but we filled his place (but in no way replaced him) with my right hand man, Rose. Even without Charles, it was a surreal moment. All the cliche things were happening, the waves were gently crashing on the rocks, Mungo (said smelly puppy) was barking at Tom and getting soaked in the surf, the sea breeze was throwing our hair in our eyes and the sun even made an appearance after two days of drizzle and mounds of muddy paths and wellies. Standing on the cliffs with my friends was much more significant to me than August 3rd, my one year anniversary of moving to England. That day came and went without a thought. However, I think realizing that it was a year to the day that the course started was more important because the MA was the entire reason I'm here. It was fitting too that Rose was there, my first friend, once and future housemate and one of the coolest people I've ever met; her presence completed it, brought my year right back around to that sunny September when I started, back when I thought I knew what I was doing, back when I thought I'd be home by now, back when everything was still foreign and I still hadn't seen Doctor Who.

Ps, I'm not making a new blog. This one is just fine. But from now on, I'm no longer major7th. I'm Maria C. Goodson; keep your 'lectric eye on me, babe.

New blog

2011-09-17T08:21:00.000+01:00

So yesterday, I was sitting in the Jericho Cafe, waiting for a movie to start at the Phoenix across the street where I was meeting a friend later. I got to Jericho really early, a few hours early, as I tend to do, so I got a drink and sat in the cafe to kill time. I ended up sitting there for almost two hours, making the above doodle/poem/legalpadartthing, listening to my ipod, and I came up with a new idea.

Really, it wasn't my idea. My buddy Rob was visiting the other day, and he was showing me all his music on the internet. He is alllll over the internet and asked if I had a blog. I said I did and showed it to him, and he asked me what it was about. I couldn't really answer that, what is this blog about? It's about nothing, like Seinfeld, but not as funny. I explained to him that the purpose of the blog was initially for a class, then just for fun, then an easy way to let my friends and family know what I was up to while in England. But, some of my posts do have points. He said I should make a new blog, the with-a-point blog. And I decided yesterday that this was a great idea.

More on this new blog later, I'm still trying to come up with a name. It should just be called MARIA C GOODSON THE WRITER BLOGGG or something like that, but I really like Keep your 'lectric eye on me, babe, so I might go for another Bowie lyric. Any suggestions? Throw um at me: if you feel inclined to comment, let me also know about your favorite line from any David Bowie song, if you have one. I'm still thinking Moonage Daydream, I just love that tune.

Ok, about to be late for work, as usual.

See ya later, party people.

~major7th

MASTER of the universe

2011-09-11T10:14:00.001+01:00

Hanging on my wall, above my desk, in case I forget that I finished.

Curtesy of Rose Brettingham (image) and Charlie Brassly (formatting).

You know you want to read it. Find me a publisher and we'll talk.

Or just ask and I'll send you a copy.

I wish I'd taken a picture of the actual bound final product, but I only held it in my hands for about the second it took to walk from the print center to the English Department building. Just take my word for it- it was beautiful.

My friends from the course got to our house on Thursday around 11am where we commenced freaking out about every little thing, comparing word counts (21,237, final) and figuring out the stupid, online turn-it-in thing we had to do to prove we didn't plagiarize. Come on Brookes; why would I spend tons of money to do this course, only then to plagiarize my final project, thus learning absolutely nothing and getting nothing from my degree?

After stressing ourselves out for no reason for a few hours at home, we split up into two convoys with separate missions; Charlie and I went to his house to use his ultimate photoshop to fix my cover and print his project and Alisha, Meg and Tom went to buy food for later. We all met up again, my project and Charlie's lovingly printed off and contained in a shoe box, at the copy center, a gigantic room that only allows students to stand in a tiny, smashed up area where all the hot air from the printers happens to end up, and we all were printed and bound. Meg went for comb binding, Alisha and Tom with tape, and Charlie and I went for wire, in case anyone was wondering (wire trumps tape any day, don't let anyone tell you otherwise).

We all turned in, signed off on our projects, got them signed off, received our official little receipts and were on our way. And that was it, my year in England worth of hard work and stress officially out of my hands and submitted. No marks till December, don't graduate till April. I hate waiting, but Rose found me this great quote for my bedroom wall about how patience is not really being able to wait, but "the ability to keep a good attitude while waiting." So I guess I'll try that.

In other news, everything is happening. I bought a plane ticket to come home for Christmas for a whole month, so get ready people, it's going to be good. I'm applying for some new jobs now that I'm officially allowed to work more hours. I still love my house, although not being a student is killing us tax wise. I can once again read and write anything I want. I decided that, when I move back home eventually, that I'm going to apply for an internship at the Jim Henson puppet workshops in either New York or LA. They have a headquarters in London too, but there are no internships there. I'm just going to try to ride this creative train till it crashes and I'm forced to get a real job. But damn the man, not yet!

However, speaking of jobs, I should probably get ready for mine now. Good old gift shop. I did make my life more interesting yesterday at work (I basically work all weekend long now a days, every weekend) by organizing/editing our postcard list. Sounds lame, I know, but once I'm done it will actually make my life and that of everyone else much easier, so I felt a little accomplished, for once.

The question now is this: what do I write next? Let's take a poll (as if you all know anything about any of these):

~Finish Talented.
~Write second draft of Beyond the Fold.
~Write scenes of/figure out new book idea, working title Existence.
~Continue with Practice Dating (might save this one for NaNoWriMo, since it's so fun and ridiculous).

So many choices! I think I'm leaning toward the second draft of Beyond the Fold (notice how I'm putting my titles in italics now, as if they were real books already) seeing as it's the closest to completion, and I love it with all my heart. However, I will probably have to take a break in November for NaNo, in which case it will be a tie between Practice Dating and Existence. Unfortunately Talented is going to have to take the back burner for a while, because I just don't know what happens next. I'm sure I'll figure it out as I'm writing the others, that's always the way of things.

Alright, I really do need to go to work now. Hopefully the completion of my MA also means I'll blog more. Hold me to that, faithful readers, because I do enjoy it.

Peace,

~major7th, MA of the universe

Reasons I like my new house.

2011-08-26T13:03:00.001+01:00

We have a bright blue kitchen.

My bedroom is the biggest I've ever had all to myself.

That's my bike out the window, getting rained on.

I live five seconds away from a cemetery. I did at my last house too; it just seems to always happen.

I can look out the window into my back yard and all my neighbor's yards while I shower.

Weird glassed in bookshelf in my room. Love it.

We are five seconds away from everything. Being out of milk is no longer the worst thing ever.

That blue door out my window is an outhouse. Doesn't work.

Things on Cowley road are open MUCH later everyday. This means I no longer have to starve on Sundays.

Did I mention our living room is also a panic room? It locks from the inside only.

I love my housemates.

I have a bed. Finally.

I got Shobha's printer to work that she left when she went back to Vienna. So, now I have a printer. I scanned these pictures with it the other day: FLICKER

I have enough floor space in my bedroom to make snow angels, if it were ever to snow in my room.

The end. Back to my essay. Alisha found all the problems in it last night for me, so now I just need to fix it. I'm dangerously close to being finished with my MA. Insane.

~major7th

Effects of staying home all day, trying to write an essay:

2011-08-20T19:33:00.001+01:00

Lots of facebook activity. First and foremost.

Books everywhere. On the couch, all over the coffee table, under the couch for some reason, on the shelf, under my shoe, in a tree.

Constant walks around the house so I can regain feeling in the lower half of my body.

I am ultra aware of the feeling/cleanliness of my teeth.

I ate way too many strawberries.

When I did venture outside to do things, nothing got done.

I noticed when a petal fells from a dying orchid, because I’ve been staring at it all day.

I hate the clothes I’m wearing, but am too lazy to change them, knowing as well that I’d just hate those too.

I feel fat. Sitting makes you feel fat. But I can't type standing up.

Am very aware of how pretty the sky is outside our living room window and keep taking pictures of said window, without moving from the couch.

I had the realization halfway through the day that I haven’t read nearly enough books to write about what I’m writing about with the authority I’m pretending I have.

If I hear the ice cream truck’s stupid song one more time, I’m going to open up a can. I think you know what of.

Number of e-mail received that were not facebook notification: 2. Number of e-mails received from my mother: 2.

I’ve started to notice a pattern in my itunes shuffle and I don’t like it (the pattern and the fact that I’ve noticed).

I realized I have three books, all with the same title, by different people, about the exact same thing, and I’m referencing them all to look like I have more sources. Poor plan genius.

My final project book is nowhere near as good in any way as the books I’m citing as my influences. But Connan O’Brien says it’s ok to fail, so whatevaaa.

Writing a blog/list of things from my day is ten times more enjoyable than what I’ve been trying to do all day.

The blog word count I’ve written in two seconds far exceeds the word count of the essay I’ve been writing for the last 7 hours.

I had to think way too hard to find the word ‘exceeds’ just then in my internal dictionary. “succeeds… …supersedes…superman….no…”

I feel guilty every time I read another author’s blog about being a writer because I have been reading about them and not being one myself.

My face feels dirty no matter how many times I wash it. I think I need a facial.

Can I reference I book I have not read, but own and intend to read, probably (definitely) after the essay is due?

How dare I compare my book in any way to books like Holes and Percy Jackson? That’s like comparing a rock to the Taj Mahal. Ordinary, driveway gravel.

I STILL DON’T HAVE A BED I STILL DON’T HAVE A BED I’VE BEEN WAITING ALL DAY HOW LONG IS THIS GONNA TAKE FOR THE LOVE OF ROCKS.

Something positive: I’m starting to really like the title I chose for my final project. I can picture it on the cover of my book one day, all glossy. But not too glossy; I still want boys to read it.

I hate tea. Tea is just a thing to do, not something that matters. I’m going to go get another cup of tea.

THE LIGHT IN MY LIVING ROOM IS TOO DIM. I need a lamp.

In my desperation for adequate information on the topic I’m writing about, I e-mailed a professor at Cambridge, basically the coolest woman on the planet, my literary/academic superstar, asking for help. I’m never hearing from her, that’s for damn sure.

On normal days, the Indiana Jones soundtrack never comes up on my itunes shuffle. On days like today, itunes is left with little choice unless it wants to become repetitive.

Wrote two haikus:

My day: bought mirrors,

(neither magic) watched orchid

die. Wrote 1 haiku.

AND

Pink petals wilting,

Tried so hard ignoring you.

Clap, believe; please live.

Both about the stupid orchid dying on our mantel. No one should ever trust me to keep their plants alive. Number of plants I’m currently in charge of: 3.

Found this amazing illustration/little story in one of my ancient books on writing for children I got from the library the other day. I love it with all my heart, but the book neglects to cite it in any way, no reference anywhere to what book it’s from, who wrote/drew it or anything. Poor Oswald.


I just love it so much. Look at his little stash.

I only have 600 more words to write of my essay (could probably get away with 400, but let's not get too lazy just yet).

My phone has not rung all day. I'm so unpopular.

Back to it.

~major7th

Every book is a kid's book if the kid can read it.

2011-08-18T20:03:00.000+01:00

I stole this picture from Rose. And I stole the blog title from Mitch Hedberg. I have no original ideas.

Today consisted of sitting on the couch for the entire day with Alisha, working on our final projects. The internet man came, hooked us up, then left. That was the only time I opened the front door all day. It's been raining all day, that's my excuse. Yesterday our friends from the course came over. We spent 12 hours straight together, catching up and talking about our final projects. That's another reason for my lazy day I think. My brain hurts.

My project is getting dangerously close to being done. Well, the essay isn't, but the creative part is. If anything I think my essay progress is going backward; I'm sure that with every day I don't look at it, the word count goes mysteriously down. Yesterday was the first time all year that I've talked about my final project story with people and they haven't found a gaping problem with it. I think I've finally got it.

Now we're listening to Avril Lavigne, still not moving. It bothers me that I'm this content doing nothing. Granted, I did get a lot of work done today, I suppose I deserve a break. But that's the thing about doing anything creative; you're never done. Even with I finish the project, there is always another project. Even if I got a book published, there would always be another one. Finish a painting? Start another one. And who's to say when anything is finished anyway? Things can always be better, things can always change, sometimes it's hard to stop. It never ends, which is good, except that it leaves me feeling constantly like I need to be doing something. I like being busy, I'd go insane if I wasn't, but still.

I did come up with a title for my final project today. Drum-roll please...

Talented

Lame? Yeah, maybe. But I think it fits, because my whole story, at the end of the day, is about people having the things they are best at/are most passionate about, stolen. It's about what makes all of us special and how everyone has something they are good at. So yeah, I don't know. Give it like a day, I'll probably change it.

The other day at work I started writing haikus (I think the plural of haiku is actually haiku, but it looks too weird) to keep my brain from turning to mush. I think it did anyway. I wrote this one about living in Virginia in the summer:

It's too hot to live,

so let's play Xbox and dream

of Slushies or snow.

Lame, I know. But whatever, it passes the time. Note to future self: never take a job that makes you wish the day would end faster. Lifewaster.

I want to put up pictures of our new house, but I still don't have the right bed in my room, so I am waiting. Very annoying. I've been paying to live in the house for almost two weeks now, and I still don't have the right bed. We did get a coffee table the other day, so that's a plus.

I do have this one picture, of the front. Cute hu? My own little hobbit hole.

That's all for now. As you can see, I don't have a lot going on. And I'm a little brain dead. Back to work.

~major7th

Pretend I wrote this on August 3rd.

2011-08-08T17:28:00.000+01:00

I totally missed it. The day came and went like any other day in the history of forgotten days. August 3rd; my one year anniversary of moving to England. I missed my own anniversary. That's just silly. This, I suppose, is the part where I'm meant to talk about all the things I've done this year and how amazing it's all been and how much I've changed. Don't get me wrong, it has been amazing, full of tea drinking, writing, traveling, writing, friend-making, and writing. I guess I could reflect on all the things I've learned (after all, that's what anniversary blogs are all about, right? Reflecting), like how to plan trips cross country for less than £20, when to use the pluperfect tense and when to kill it, how to tap dance a little, how to get a job (tell them your amazing), how to write professional sounding e-mails in order to get what I want, how to properly house hunt and deal with incompetent people (I think I knew how to do that before actually).

And I have changed a bit, I think I'm a little less shy (the words think and little being the key words there), I really like the taste of coffee and not just the smell, I've recently started liking the taste of beer (only the cheap stuff) but still don't know (or care) anything about it, I like to dance, but only when it's dark enough and I no longer trust humanity to give me a break and try, for once, to not steal all my possessions. You should see me chaining up my bike all over town; I'm convinced every time that it won't be there when I get back. I could now lead a fantastic, nerd's tour of Oxford where a year ago I'd have paid money to go on such a thing, if one existed. However, as I sit here, making myself sick by trying to write this on a bus home from London, it is nauseatingly clear to me that I'm the same person I was August 3rd, 2010. Car sick; that's me. Constantly car sick.

Rose and I moved into our new house today, but we will be moving most of our stuff tomorrow. Our other new housemate, Isa, was there as well, and we all picked our rooms and checked it all out. It's a great little place, great location, weird back yard, homey. I got the second biggest room because Isa didn't want to live on the ground floor, which is awesome. Rose and I lovingly named our living room the Panic Room because, for some reason, it has two substantial locks on the door, but only from the inside. We want to get a Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy poster for the mantel, you know, the ones that say DON'T PANIC with the yellow smiley face. We'll see if Alisha and Isa go for it.

The house also has an outhouse in the shed (wwhhaatt?), a heavy-duty A frame chalkboard sign clearly stolen from a pizza place, weeds in the back yard instead of grass, and a blue kitchen. Also, no furniture. Isa's room has nothing in it at all, and my room needs a mattress. All of this should be coming this week (but really should have been there already), so hopefully by next week we will be living in our fully functional house.

I'm going backward here. Last week I had a lovely time visiting Margarette in Ramsgate, this time on the hottest day of the year instead of the coldest when I visited in December. It's a completely different place in the summer, absolutely beautiful.

But now I'm back in Oxford for, hopefully, the next few months. I've picked up more hours at work and I really need to finish my final project. Time's a wastin'.

Everyone go do yourselves a favor and remind yourselves of how much you love Simon and Garfunkel.

Alright, I'm going to go braid Rose's hair. Catch you cat's on the flip side.

± major7th

I still exsist.

2011-07-26T10:43:00.000+01:00

I think I do anyway.

When I was young, I watched Star Wars. I mean, I REALLY watched it. I soaked it up and thought that if I wished hard enough, it would all be real and I'd be in it. Every other day I was a Jedi in my head (the ones that can love), the other days I was a smuggler, sometimes a fighter pilot. I had sidekicks and missions, my fun was only hindered by the limits of my imagination, which I admit, used to be (and no longer is) fathomless.Imaginary space battles lead to tiny fan fiction stories of my own, which lead to other stories which eventually lead to where I am now.

And that's how I want to write my critical essay for my my final project. But I can't; that's the tone that always gets me into trouble. It's not critical and no where near academic. I could write a whole string of essays about how Star Wars has affected my life and writing, but really that topic and tone are neither here nor there. I guess I'll just have to settle with themes in YA lit and where I think I fit in (which could easily turn into an essay on Neil Gaiman and why I want to be him, and how I'm failing to do so).

BUT, that leads to a nice point that Conan O'Brien made in his commencement speech at Dartmouth College a few months ago. (Watch it watch it watch it watch it.) He said, among other things, this gem:

"It is our failure to become our perceived ideal that ultimately defines us and makes us unique."

Love love love. He went on to explain that he always wanted to be like the other great comedians who came before him, but completely failed to do so, but in the process became the comedian he is today. The whole speech was about how liberating failure is, at one point saying something about around the lines of how it's the greatest thing ever to have your worst fear realized. It was comforting to hear someone so successful talking to positivity about failure. So, in failing to be Neil Gaiman, J.K and Phillip Pullman, hopefully I'm becoming something else. Not something better, just different.

Shobha's empty room, Gav, James and myself saying our last goodbyes.


Jeffrey the skateboard/moving device of my own creation.

New topic. Lots has been going on, which is why I've been absent for so long from good old blogger. Sorry, to all two of you who read my blog; I'll try not to disappoint in the future. I was hardly in Oxford at all in the month of June, off on lots of awesome trips, and July has been spent packing up my house, being sad about it, hanging out with dear cousin Mary who visited last week, and seeing Harry Potter twice (once on opening nightttttt in London! Was spectacular; I've never heard so many people cry in a theatre before). I'm currently homeless, but not really, staying in Alisha's room with Rose until our new house is ready on the 8th. I miss my old house and my housemates, although I see half of them every day anyway (which rules), but I can't wait for the new place. It is so cool, just you wait and see.

Also, I now have a bike. I'm technically baby sitting Shobha's bike while she's back in Austria. It's name is Bart. Rose just helped me buy a shiny new bike chain for it today, so hopefully I won't get it stolen. I can't believe I've been living here almost a whole year and am just now getting a bike, that's just crazy.

Mary and I on Phillip Pullman's bench.

So basically everything here is different. Sure, I have the same job and am pretty much doing the same things (writing, reading, working, final projecting, hanging), but my location is different, most of my possessions are in my friend Charlie's garage and I have no reason to go all the way to Quarry Road ever again, which I won't miss. Besides all of that, it's the same old same old with me. However, the quality of my life is going to greatly improve in the new house. It's way closer to everything, cuts my walking time to work down from an hour to like 20mins, I can shop at the cheaper food stores, I'll never have to take the bus again, we have a kitchen table, a little yard, I have a bike and am about to live with my best buds; nice.

Sorry I have nothing actually interesting to write about for my triumphant return to blogger. I'll try harder next time. Now back to work, I have so much to do.

¬major7th

Don't get too excited.

2011-06-21T09:32:00.000+01:00

Not that I except anyone to get excited about my blogs, but encase you were, don't be. I have been super busy the last few weeks, and still am, so this is going to be quick and unsubstantial. I've got a house viewing today in our desperate search for a new place to live, all my housemates graduate tomorrow (I'm a stand-in parent for more than one), I've got reading and writing to do, and then get ready to leave again for Manchester on Monday to see TV on the Radio with the one and only Alisha. It's been raining and weirdly warm and I've come to the realization that my collection of books here is a real problem. I gave away like 30% of them only to find even more hidden in corners and on top of shelves and everywhere. However, a sizable stack are books that belong to other people, so that's sort of good. Guess I better read them and give them back!

In the spirit of book love, here is something presented to me by someone I wish to remain anonymous, but just know, this person is awesome.

The only thing I don't like about it is the way life is spelled. Other than that, it's gold. Stay tuned for my essay discussing the pros and cons of e-readers, it's in the works.

OK sorry for this teaser of a blog, more about more interesting things later!

~major7th

Ode to a notecard.

2011-05-31T12:57:00.001+01:00

In the shop, you watch

my every move; I watch too.

But you never change.

I love this note card. I've loved it since we got them in a few months ago, the new summery cards. She certainly is the epitome of summer with her amazing hat, brightly colored outfit, fantastic shoes. But it's not the colors that make me linger on the note bay, not her shoes that catch my attention as I refill pencil sharpeners and leather wallets. It's her.

Was she real? She had to be, once. The way she's sitting, the curve of her shoulders, the look of absolute contentment on her face; these are signs of life. Her hair is perfectly curled, short and trendy for today's standards (this is a photograph from a real book in the Bodleian, in case you were wondering. 1938), her eyebrows perfectly plucked, lips super red. A friend of mine says that you can tell a lot about a person from the corners of their mouths. Look at hers, they go so far up, like her smile will never go away, perfectly etched into her round face. I bet she even smiles in her sleep. Her top looks effortlessly tied in the back, like she's the kind of girl who just gets up in the morning, picks up a random rag, turns it into a shirt and pulls it off like it's nothing. The way she's sitting interests me as well; she looks like she's in mid position. It's sort of a shy position, her knees up like her shoulders, like she's in mid shrug. Her hands are in mid wring, like she just caught the eye of that boy she's been admiring on the beach for so long. But least us forget; she is just a girl. This picture was taken from the Monster Book for Girls, not women; a book for children. On the back it says it's one of many anonymous pictures, meaning the artist and subject will both be anonymous forever.

So yes, I suppose I have a crush on a note card woman. I think my sanity is slipping.

But really, this is normal behavior, for me anyway. I always tend to be interested in the idea of inanimate things having souls, coming to life and talking. Both my major book projects are about similar things, both along these same lines. My tutor even commented on it in my last class, that I seem to have this fascination with things coming to life, with imaginary friends and split personalities; people who are not alive, who don't exist. I like to make them exist. He's right and I wonder why.

I wrote a story for the course about a girl who still talks to her dead brother (two like that now that I think about it). I wrote one about a boy who decides he doesn't exist and creates an imaginary girl to take his place. I have a novel idea bout a person with a split personality, basically being ones own best friend. I'm a one trick pony.

Oh well. I honestly think that seeing Toy Story when I was 8 (ohmyGodIwas8whenToyStorycameout) had a serious effect on my psyche. Before that movie came out, I was already convinced that my toys were alive. I used to tell all my dolls and stuffed animals every night that even though I slept with Samantha (American Girl Doll) and Izabel (stuffed elephant made of old table cloths) that that did not mean I loved the rest any less. I had a serious concern that some of my toys would feel left out and think I was playing favorites. So no wonder I write what I write. They say to write what you know, and write what you like, and I guess that's just what I'm doing.

No wonder I love the movies Bogus and Heart and Souls. Toy Story 3 made me cry, like, real tears that hurt (ask Nicole, she was there). I talk all the time about the responsibility of YA authors, or anyone who writes for children, and I talk about it because it's so important. I'm living proof; the things I was into as a kid have 100% shaped who I am today. Assuring my stuffed animals of my equal and unwavering love lead to me falling head over heals for a woman in a note card. That sounded a little less crazy in my head. But only a little.

I wrote this blog because Beth told me too. Also, because I won't be around for the next 12 days. First London in an hour, then Paris the next day. On the third we're running off to Vienna to stay at Shobha's house for the rest of the week. I can't wait, and also can't figure out what I've forgotten to pack. I'm sure there's something.

~major7th

In case the world ends tomorrow...

2011-05-20T21:24:00.001+01:00

...I want to be remembered like this.

In case some of you were not aware, the world may or may not be ending tomorrow. So, I'll try to keep this nice and positive, in case it is my last blog post. I can see the internet surviving somehow even if the world ends. I feel like it's so engrained in the world, in every fiber of humanity's being that somehow, even when all the physical things that are supposed to keep the internet up and running are destroyed, it will still exist. The next generation will just have to figure out how to tap into it, and when they do, BAM, major7th at Keep your 'lectric eye on me babe will still exist, and thus, so shall I. I'm just securing my legacy here with this good old blog spot, or just wasting my time. Either way, I'm fine with. We don't have a TV, what else am I supposed to do?

About a month ago Rose gave me this post card to fill out for an art project that a girl in her class is going to do in the next few years. It said on the back, "I graduate in ___. Two years from then, I will be..." and we had to fill in the blanks. On the other side we had to write in our address in two years, if we knew it, and this person is apparently going to send the cards back to us in two years. Some people, I'm sure, wrote funny things, but I took it literally and wrote what I really hope I'm going to be doing in two years. Here's what I wrote, and this is the returning-to-the-USA version of my life. (There's a whole staying-in-the-UK version too, but that one is really unrealistic.)

"I graduate in 2012. Two years from then, I will be back in the States, living in Philly, writing away and trying to get published. Hopefully I will have a job I don't hate and will be well on my way toward, if not already financially independent."

That's all I really want, to still be writing and have enough money to live. That's all I need. I'm easy, in that regard, so hopefully this is not as unrealistic as my staying-in-the-UK plan, which includes either marrying for citizenship, making it big with the next best seller and or winning the lottery and buying a castle. I just want to write and not hate my job. I don't even have to like it, not at first anyway. I just don't want to hate it. That is it.

So if the world ends tomorrow, and this is being read by the next generation of the world that has sprung up from my world's ashes and is just now discovering the internet and all that the former world once was (I'm sorry, really), I want you to know that I had a plan. I had a plan, and those amazing pink sunglasses. I had a plan, and a minor addiction to ridiculous sunglasses. Read the rest of my blog to see what else I was into, future-world-internet-discoverer, if you are so inclined. You will also see that I loved Neil Gaiman, loved living in Oxford, loved Star Wars, and loved everything that has to do with books and reading and writing. Also, you will see that I never did learn to spell, like to sometimes make up words, and enjoyed a well used hyphen. My long gone spirit will not be offended if you soon get bored, many do. It happens.

However, one thing that I am very glad happened before the end of the world is that I finally reached 50 followers. Thank you, 50th follower, you may go down in history as not only my 50th follower, but perhaps even my last follower. I promise future people, that I was not nearly as much of a tool in real life as I sound sometimes in this blog. It's all for show. What I'm trying to show exactly I'm not too sure.

We went to a poetry slam last night ('we' always meaning Alisha and I) and this guy preformed a poem about how lots of guys like girls with either big butts or big...you know...but that he likes a girl who reads. I fell in love with him a little bit. Then he did another one about teaching kids, and how worth it the job is, and I fell in love with him pretty hard. Then Alisha preformed her poem, and rocked the house. Watch it HERE, well worth your time. I'm so proud of her, I'm way to chicken to even get up and do that. Well done Alisha! Also note, future people, that I really loved my friends. All of them, all over the world, every one of them.

And my family. My mom sent me a package full of hand-made pillow cases for all my housemates. She is the sweetest; they are lovely.

I feel like, seeing as I made a big deal about the possibility of this being my last blog, that I should probably end with something profound. I've got nothing. The only advice I have for the future, if you are reading this on the cusp of remaking the world, is to just be nice. Be nice to each other and you'll all be alright. Be nice to the world too, don't mess with the planet or it will mess with you. Just to be nice might seem like really simplistic advice for a whole new generation of humans on earth, but as Jim Henson once said, "simple is good." I find it hard to argue with the creator of the Muppets (Google that one, future people, once you figure out how to use Google).

Alright, that's it for my Apocalypse blog. I'll see you on the other side of tomorrow, world, wherever that may be.

~major7th

angle

2011-05-18T12:44:00.001+01:00

I am so close to having 50 followers, sooooo close. Tell your brothers, sisters, second cousins twice removed to follow me. Because you know me, it's all about the numbers. (jokes jokes jokes)

Things have been feeling different lately. It's that awful feeling that things are changing, which is not always an awful feeling. Just in this case it is. My classes are over, now it's just up to me and my friends to keep on our final projects until September. It's the season of goodbyes. I am going to have to say my first round of goodbyes far sooner than I ever thought I would. Already said one on Monday, two next week, another in July. Why can't everyone I love just end up in the same country/town/city/wherever?

Change can be good and exciting, and usually I don't mind it all that much. But this time I'm not having it. I'm in a melodramatic mood, so I think I'll stop writing now.

Oh one last thing. A bunch of my friends and I got stories and poems into this little Anthology put together by the Brookes Creative Writing Society. So that's pretty exciting. Don't worry mom, I pre-ordered a bunch of copies for you. Sweet cover hu?

Over and out,

~major7th

My tea went cold as I read the news.

2011-05-02T10:40:00.001+01:00

This has been an extremely eventful weekend. Started with the wedding on Friday, then May Day festivities Saturday night into Sunday morning. Lots of reasons for people to get wasted. It smelled like vomit and chips as I walked through St. Clements on my way to the city at 5something am, and I won't even describe the things I saw. Your welcome.

It was all very exciting.

I wanted a crown of flowers SO badly. WHY didn't anyone tell me that's what you do on May Day?

Then, to top off the eventful weekend, I woke up this morning to my facebook newsfeed, full of people celebrating the death of Osama Bin Laden. Apparently, while I was sleeping, US troops were hard at work raiding his strong hold, which it took us ten years to finally find. He resisted, a firefight ensued, Bin Laden was killed. There was dancing in the streets of New York. Apparently couches were burned in Morgantown, as we do.

But it's all making me feel a little uneasy. I don't deny that this is great news, a big step toward getting us out of the war and ending the violence. However, I don't feel comfortable celebrating the fact that someone has died, no matter who they are. It does say, everywhere that I've read anyway, that the US troops raided his stronghold, but he resisted, meaning that they tried to capture him before they killed him. I would rather they had managed to capture him so he could stand trial for what he's done.

I can't help but think of one of my favorite Yoda quotes; "war does not make one great." You may think it's naive or immature to quote from Star Wars when trying to make a point about serious world issues, but just look at what that little green puppet is saying first. When you take away everything associated with where the quote came from, it absolutely rings true.

I am glad that Obama has delivered on one of his promises, I'm glad we are closer to ending the war, and I'm glad no Americans were killed, but I still don't feel right celebrating death, even if it had to happen. I can only hope that this whole event brings us one tiny step closer to bringing about a world where killing is no longer necessary to achieve peace.

~major7th

I wanna wear feathers and lace

2011-04-29T19:18:00.000+01:00

Yeah, I bought this.

Today I managed to catch a bit of the Royal Wedding during my lunch break at work. I went to the Vaults cafe, right next door to the library where Alisha works, just to visit and get a tea. To my surprise, they were projecting the wedding on the wall, so you know, because it was on and all, I watched.

I got there right after they kissed and sat there for the next hour, transfixed, while Will lead Kate down the aisle, into a carriage that I swear will turn to a pumpkin at midnight, drawn by snow white horses. I'm not going to say it was like a fairy tale, because that's disgustingly cliche (but it totally was). This carriage lead the newlyweds all around London where they waved happily to thousands of ballistic people, all waving Union-jacks and screaming. It was all very patriotic. Queenie was wearing a precious yellow outfit and Harry was looking at hot as ever. Oh Harry. I've been in love with him for some time now. Next year you'll be watching another wedding, probably called 'The Weirdly-Colonial Royal Wedding' as Harry and I bring our two great nations together, providing each other with the other half of what is without a doubt world-dominating citizenship, and thus allowing me to have a flat in Oxford, London, New Zealand, Lovettsville (that one will be a sweet little farm house), and probably New York, because that just seems like it would probably come in handy more than once. It may seem that I'm using Harry for his money, but I assure you this is not the case. It's true love, I just know it.

But anyway, you've got a while before you have to start preparing which 'Harry & Maria' merchandise you plan to buy (I'd recommend the afghan, already picked out the colors. Hint: it's fire-engine red). Today was Will's day, Will and 'I'm-no-longer-a-commoner,' Kate. She really said that, so I'm told. Her dress was lovely, and both she and Will looked genuinely happy, which was nice. I'd be stressin' man, if that were my wedding. I kept hearing, despite the poor internet streaming and acoustics of the cafe, 'My Country, 'Tis of Thee' playing, completely forgetting that we stole the tune for that song from the British National Anthem, and as a result being weirded out over and over again. However the thing that impressed me the most was the Royal Marching Band and the way they effortlessly cut 90 degree turns as one seamless entity, while still playing perfectly. This observation says a lot about me, which is in fact not much at all.

So the wedding happened, I saw some of it, bought Royal Wedding- The Mug, and continued with my work day. I'm supposed to be out drinking all night to celebrate the future of British Royalty, which is where I suspect all my housemates currently are (home alone for once), but I have too much work to do. I'll celebrate the wedding of the year by working on one of my stories, listening to Stevie Nicks' new album on RollingStone.com, and drinking tea out of the ugliest mug of all time. Sorry Mom, I'm starting to feel a little guilty about that. I'll get you a better one and keep this for myself. I have a weakness for ugly, dirt cheap things and this mug was both; I couldn't resist.

Watching the wedding at the cafe today made me think of all the other random places I've been while witnessing important world events. I saw the planes hit the Twin Towers on a TV in the Black Box (the drama room) in high school, lurking in the doorway so no one would see me skipping class. I watched Obama win the presidency alone in my bedroom in Morgantown, half asleep but 100% into what I was watching (it was like a movie). I sort of saw him get inaugurated in the Creative Arts building at WVU, but mostly just heard it because the live streaming was not working. I watched MJ's memorial service (yes, that counts as a world event) at work at Doener last year and totally cried while standing at the register, forgetting to pour someone a beer. I sat through Y2K with my family on our couch, all clutching our flashlights, totally disappointed that nothing happened. I'm sure I'm forgetting tons of others, but I'm also sure I saw them in equally strange places, adding to their significance.

Alright, back to work. I have to read the Bible this week, write tons of stuff as usual and go to work and stand around for seven hours. The most exciting part of my working day today was a woman asking if I was an American.

Her- You sound American.

Me- You got it.

Her- Where are you from?

Me- Virginia. You?

Her- Utah.

And that was it, because in fact, being from the same country does not necessarily mean you have anything in common besides that. She told me she just met another American just outside on the street, as if this is an amazing occurrence. It's not, we're everywhere, especially Oxford. Tomorrow promises to be somewhat more eventful. It's the day before May Day, which means that people will spend the entire day drinking, then drink through the night (places are open till like 6am), then if they don't pass out they will make their way to Magdalen College, the sober ones to listen to the choir sing from the tower, the drunk ones to jump off the bridge and into shallow water and break their legs. I'll go to work, go home, then wake up early Sunday to see the choir, and then go to work.

I'm having a hard time finding a natural place to stop this blog, so I'm going to stop it abruptly. Bye.

~major7th

Tell a stranger that they're beautiful.

2011-04-25T22:55:00.003+01:00

I am very unhappy with the world right now. That's right World, I'm talking to you. You are in big trouble.

Yesterday, a friend of mine was beaten up in the UK for being gay. Fractured elbow.

Then today I saw a video online I wish I could un-see. It was taken on a camera phone by the employees of a McDonald's in Baltimore while two teen girls beat a transgendered women so savagely that she had a seizure. All she did was use the ladies bathroom. The only one who tried to help her was an old women. The image of the woman clinging to the leg of the old women while the two girls beat her is going to keep me up tonight.

So, what the hell World? Why? How can this happen, how can this still be happening in the year 2011? I'm disgusted, I'm sad, I'm powerless, I'm shocked. I want to do something, but I don't know what. All I've got is this silly blog and 40some followers.

I know I'm preaching to the choir here, but just try and imagine the world (imagine yourself World) sans these people: David Bowie, Truman Capote, W.H. Auden, Leonard Bernstein, Ellen DeGeneres, Adam Lambert, Ian McKellen, Elton John, Andy Warhol, Laurence Olivier, David Sedaris, Freddie Mercury, Oscar Wilde, Joan Baez; I could go on all day. And my friends; where would I be without them? Joe, Max, JP, John, Todd, Meg, Aaron, Heath, Drew, Tim, Chris, David, Matt, Kristopher, and anyone else I'm forgetting (sorry if I am). The world would be boring, devoid of all color and music and art. I would have been very bored in high school and college without these people (seeing as a bunch taught me how to spin). Big Bertha in Lovettsville summers, Dorcy's Knob adventure days and creeper faces in all my pictures, glitter, Men in Tights in the car to Pittsburg, Twilight bashing online, Electrobeats at Doener, two birthday twins, writing weeks in Wales, prized Stevie Nicks CD, unforgettable 24th birthday (and 22nd for that matter). I would not be me, the world would not be the world, everyone would be missing out.

So, shape up World. STOP THE HATE. I'm FED UP with stories like this. I hope I live to see the day when people can love who they want and be who they want without violence.

~major7th

<p>&amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;~major7th&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;gt;</p>

I want to love you madly.

2011-04-23T13:11:00.002+01:00

Things keep happening; Literary Festival in Oxford (Phillip Pullman made fun of a woman's stupid question, awesome. Signed my book!), another article on the YA Fantasy Guide, fantastic new friends in Oxford and world wide, London a few times, Spring hit Oxford, the rain stopped. Two of my friends on my course and I were accepted to the Future of Feminism Conference in London for a panel topic we put together about the future of women in humor, the classroom and YA writing. We may not be able to go, things keep getting in the way, but it's still amazing we were selected from the hundred other applicants. I turned 24 and went to Istanbul. I got so many touching, thoughtful gifts and hand made cards from my friends here, making me want to cry and never leave. I have a tan. Well, I'd call it an English tan which would still be considered pale in other parts of the world. Finally had a English kebab, then a real Turkish one a few days later (guess which was better). Yesterday I painted my toe nails Mountaineer blue and saw Emma Watson at a cafe in the city, just hanging out with a friend. I played it cool, don't worry. I finally hit a good stride with my final project book (like yesterday, it's about time). Our house is full of Peeps. I spent an hour in Asia. And I came up with yet another tattoo idea. I want this tattooed on me somewhere:

"" Zembla, Zenda, Xanadu:
All our dream-worlds may come true.
Fairy lands are fearsome too.
As I wander far from view
Read, and bring me home to you."

It's from Salman Rushdie's, Haroun and the Sea of Stories. My awesome new friend Owen bought it for me for my birthday and I read it all on the plane to Istanbul, then re-read parts of it on the plane back from Istanbul. I know it's kind of long for a tattoo, so maybe just the last line. I love it.

My birthday was fantastic.

Jen came for the day. I wore my blue wing all night long.

Then Alisha and I went to Istanbul.

More pics HERE.

It was amazing.

Istanbul was unlike any place in the world I've ever been; cats everywhere, domed mosques dominating the skyline, fruit vendors, stuff vendors, juice vendors, Doener every five feet. I've never seen so many meat cones in my life, including when I used to make them for a living. Alisha and I were constantly covering our hair (number one travel tip for women; bring a head scarf) and taking off our shoes to go inside mosques. Men were always yelling at us to buy their stuff, everything from jewelry, clothing, spices, sweets, books, purses, Evil Eyes, shoes, tea, and anything else you could possibly imagine.

" Hey beautiful, gorgeous, baby. Look here, I am here, you found me. Can I help you? Just a moment, over here. Spice girls, Angelina, beautiful girls. You are sisters? Just for you, I make special price. Just for you. Remember me." I will.

We made a lot of empty promises ("Yeah ok, sure we'll remember you next time we are looking to buy a knock off Gucci purse, but we've gotta go.") and found out that American's are apparently not as friendly as Canadians. Not really the best way to start a conversation, but whatever. In our hostel we made friends with people from Turkey, Germany, Iran, Lebanon, and Hungry. Our friend from Iran, upon first learning we were American, said, "so, I guess we are enemies." This made me really sad, but he assured me he was kidding. We visited a palace with him the next day and now I really want to go to Iran.

Me, Saeed and Alisha at Dolmabache Palace.

Hostel friends are the hardest. I've met interesting people before in hostels, but never really made friends with them like we did in Istanbul. Most of them are on facebook, which makes it a little easier saying goodbye, but others you know you'll most likely never see again. You have to just trust in your memory and enjoy their company, while it lasts. Then it's goodbye, a heartfelt hug that lingers, bushy Turkish hair against your cheek, a shy wave, then your gone. Five day old friends = tiny heartbreak.

Alisha and I packed a lot into our five days. We visited most of the big places you are supposed to visit, went inside all the mosques that were free, mastered the public transportation and even haggled in the Grand Bazaar for some amazing deals. We took a boat tour around the Golden Horn and into the The Bosporus, stopping for an hour on the Asian side of Istanbul. We saw a four ton chandelier in the Dolmabache Palace, where sultans and princess used to live. No pictures, not allowed. Saeed (like in Lost, but a different spelling), our Iranian friend, kept trying to get me to sneak pictures, but I'm a rule follower, so I didn't. The whole city was fairy-tale-beautiful; my favorite kind of beautiful. (Not to be confused with the look of the new Red Riding Hood movie, which can best be described as fairy-tale-gross. Or, more accurately, why-does-the-world-need-another-Twilight-looking-movie?)

Alisha and I drank tons of Turkish tea in dainty glass cups with sugar cubes, tried our hardest to eat hummus with every meal and walked until our feet begged us to stop, at which point we ignored them and continued walking. We longed for anther week, month, even just one more day. Just one more tea, see one more cat, hear one more call to prayer, feel one more carpeted mosque beneath our bare feet.

But then it was back to Oxford. Two trams, two planes, a tube ride and a bus later, we were back at home. I want to go back.

That was a week ago. This week I've spent lying in the sun, reading, writing, hanging out with people in the sun, not going to work. I am bragging a little, sorry. (You can rub it in my face in a few years when I'm living in a box in Nicole's front yard.) Back to the 'grind' in a few weeks, work starts again and we have three more classes. The the course is over. I can't believe it.

I think today Shobha and I are going to cut the grass in our back yard and iron clothes, two things I never do. I can hear my mother gasping in shock all the way over here.

Happy Easter!

~major7th

It's my Birthday

2011-04-09T09:58:00.001+01:00

I am 24 years old today, and that is totally weird. But cool, like weird-cool, or something. Not too sure, I've only been 24 for about 9 hours, so I'll let you know how I feel later about it.

Lots has been happening.

If that video works, which I suspect it may not, you should watch it. Remember that dance society I said I was in? We had shows this week, this is the one dance I was in. I'm the awkward one in the back, can't miss me. I'm sure my parents will be able to pick me out before the vid even starts, having about 8+ years of practice finding me on gigantic football fields, one out of 6 will be a cinch. But you really can't see me in this pic, I'm in the back. -->

SO I got another article up on the YA fantasy guide also, check it out. It's about The line between creative retellings and plagiarism.

The coolest part about that article is that there is a link to the bottom about other articles I've written. So, I'm like real now. Exciting.

OK, I've got to get going. Thank you to everyone who has already sent birthday wishes my way, including my parents and both grandparents- thank you for all the packages! Another one (from the Gattusos) just arrived five seconds ago, perfect timing! Love you all!

I should be reading.

2011-03-29T23:30:00.001+01:00

As per usual.

Since I'm currently cameraless (however can she survive?), I've had to resort to the webcam on my computer.

Card from my parents. I need a haircut.

She said I could open the card. I won't tell you what was in it, but I will say that it's contents mean I can buy the impractical purse I've been coveting. Thanks parents!

I have not been on here in a while, and for that I'm sorry, but other writing had to be done, so the blog was neglected. However, stay tuned for adventures. I booked flights/trains/buses to Istanbul, Paris and Vienna in the past few weeks, insuring the next few months will be filled with blog worthy happenings.

Like I said, I should be reading, so I better get back to it.

~major7th

Catfish Productions on Twitter, we've caved to the man.

2011-03-20T08:52:00.001Z

Alright everyone, Catfish Productions, the entertainment media company founded by Nicole and I in 2009, has entered the modern world. We're on Twitter. Gasp, I know, scary. I'm not going to say I was wrong, because I hate being wrong, but Twitter, so far, is sort of fun. At least it's fun when you follow people who actually have interesting news to post or things to say, and when you share the account with your friend 3000 miles away. That's super fun. AND every time I post on there (I can't bring myself to say Tweet yet, just so stupid), Nicole's new iphone buzzes and explodes. Something about that makes me smile. Bwhahahah.

So, I stand by what I said about Twitter taking over the world and melting our brains HERE, but I've been wary of a Terminator like future for a long time now (I think I used that reference already once before, oh well), so I think I'll be OK.

Promotional message time: Check out Catfish Productions on Twitter! Follow us or we'll start a rumor about you. Don't think we won't. Also, if you haven't already, like us on Facebook while your at it. Spread the social networking love everywhere there is love to spread. I'm not promising it will be worth your wile, but come on, take a chance on Catfish. If you love Catfish, Catfish will love you back, and you can never have enough love.

Alright, that's enough links for one day. Off to sort postcards.

Look at those faces, who can say no to Catfish?

~major7th

London

2011-03-11T11:15:00.000Z

So my awesomely creative housemate Rose has to write this 2000 word easy or story or something for her an art project (she’s a fine art major), and she decided to ‘write’ it by using other people’s cut out, handwritten words, pasting them together into her own original story. This means she needs a LOT of handwritten words, so I’ve been rewriting my random notes, compiling them in notebooks and then ripping up the original pages and giving them to Rose. This is something I wrote a few weeks ago on my way to London for the Save the Children conference, so I just thought I’d share. Why not right?

Traveling anywhere is a whole new experience without an ipod. I have experienced this before, but that was back when there was hope of getting a new one. This time is different, I’m broke. I’ve done the Oxford to London bus before without music, on those trips I had someone to talk to the whole way. It’s only an hour ride, hour and a half if there’s traffic, but still. Can’t read on a bus, what else am I supposed to do?

I can’t help but listen in on these two American girls talking a few seats behind me. Shoot me if I ever sound like that. “Like this and like that and oh my god like like like.” They are saying extremely generic things about traveling. It’s basically the same conversation Nicole and I had when we went to Wales, about who would pay for what, hostels, busses and planes. I wonder if Nicole and I sounded as annoying as these girls. I like to think that we don’t talk in clichés (“It will be such a good experience, like once in a lifetime!”), but then again, you never know what you sound like to other people. I’m just being mean (as per usual), I’m sure they are perfectly lovely girls, I’m just jealous that they are about to go somewhere new and I’m going somewhere I’ve been a million times. But then again, it’s London. I can’t get enough of London.

I’ve never lived in a big city, therefore there are no big cities I feel like I can really claim. As close to DC as I’ve lived my whole life, I know shamefully little about it. I’ve been there a ton, but never on my own, always following someone, depending on them to tell me what to do and where to go. However, I think I’m close to claiming London.

Every time I go I never have enough time. This is in a big way due to the fact that my Dear Friend Jen (yes that is capital worthy) lives there and I never want to leave her. But this is also because I love London. It’s gigantic, there is always something gone on, it’s beautiful, it’s old, it’s exciting. Transportation is incredibly easy, except on weekends. Even then it’s not bad. Last night I looked up which tube stops would be shut down, saw there were issues at Victoria where I usually get off and that the stop I was going to was closed, and found another way to get there. It came down to changing at one stop rather than going straight there, which was no problem at all. Streets and tubes are clearly marked, the streets are clean and there are statues abound (I don’t think that’s how you use that word, but I’m going to anyway); the perfect city for me.

Well, as far as big cities go anyway. I don’t think I’m a big city girl myself, more of a small city with easy access to countryside kinda chick. I’ve only ever lived in Lovettsville (the tiniest place on earth), Morgantown, (college town central, town being the key word) and now Oxford (the spires are taller than the city is wide). I have loved all of these places for different reasons, but one unifying factor is that they are all the perfect size, big enough that you don’t get bored, (well, aside from Lovettsville, but at least we had each other), but small enough that I never get overwhelmed. Big cities usually do this to me, the hustle and bustle scaring any fleeting sense of direction right out of my already scatter-brained mind, usually resulting in me getting respectably lost. But London and I, we have an understanding. I don’t littler in its streets (not that I’d do that anywhere) and it leaves me alone. That’s really all I can ask for in a city, mutual respect and understanding. This goes for people as well. If only people could be more like London, the world would be a…well not better place, but whatever. You know what I’m trying to say.

Now I’m not saying that London is heaven on earth or anything. It’s bloody expensive to live there or even visit (aw, look at her trying to sound British, how quaint), traffic’s mad crazy and you can never find a trash can when you need one (my pockets are full of wrappers right now), but you get that anywhere.

Other cities I’ve loved include Wellington, New Zealand, Boston, MA, Rome, and I really do love DC. I loved Paris as well, but I need to go back. I remember the big things we saw, but hardly anything about the atmosphere. Cities I need to see still, Berlin, Istanbul, Lisbon, Cairo, Chicago, LA (more of it anyway, and the list goes ever on and on.

And then I had to go to the conference, and it was great. If you missed it, you can read about it HERE.

Alright, it’s sunny so I should probably go outside. Don’t get used to this blogging every day thing, I swear it’s not going to last.

~major7th

Day 14, finally.

2011-03-10T09:30:00.001Z

There are a few things I should be good at by now. But I'm not. This list includes:

- Converting Celsius to Fahrenheit.

- Converting kilograms to pounds (forget the stone, that's not happening).

- Military time.

- Where things are.

These are the main things, there are many more that are not as important. These are just the ones I encounter just about every day and still can't do. Once the time gets past noon I have to count, I look up the temperature every time on a conversion site when I check the weather and, well the weight one is not really every day, but still enough that I should know it by now. It's not that I'm lazy, or that I don't want to learn it, it's just that they never stick in my brain, like spelling and all other languages. And I know there are easy was to math your way around them, but come on, everyone knows Maria can't do math. So, anyway, these are some things I need to work on.

As for where things are, I don't mean in Oxford. I own Oxford. Even when I don't know where something is, usually is someone starts to describe what it's around, I'm there. I mean the rest of the UK. I have no concept of where cities and towns are in England, even though I should because people are constantly talking about where they are going, where they are from, where they want to go. I just need to stare at a map for a while and remember. It's getting annoying.

It's class day, so I should be writing in the evening when I have something to actually talk about, but I'm not. I won't feel like it when I get home, and I should be working on my final project. It's really coming along, I'm pretty happy with it so far. But the further I go the further I am into uncharted territory. I have no idea how it's going to end. What beats the all-powerful? Besides love, J.K. owned that one. I have till September, so it's all good.

Alright, I've got things to do. I'm not sure if I've learned anything from this two weeks of blogging like I should of. Well, I did learn that I prefer writing in the morning to the evening. I think I write better stuff when I've just woken up over when I'm about to fall asleep. So that's something. Give it time, it will come to me.

~major7th

OH PS. how do I make some sort of banner thing for my blog? Auntie P and mom, I'm looking at you. I like the simplicity of mine, don't want to clog it up, but it could be fun to make a header sort of thing.

Day 13, in which i'm almost done.

2011-03-09T22:48:00.000Z

I will admit, I'm sort of stoked to be almost finished with my two weeks of blogging. Jackson Pearce did a whole month of vlogs once, no idea how she did that. And my blog is not read in nearly the same capacity as her videos are watched, so the pressure for her to be entertaining is even greater. I don't care if you all are entertained or not, this is mostly for me (that's a lie, I do care. Tell me I'm funny tell me I'm funny!). Anywho, I'm almost done, and then who knows when you'll hear from me. MAYBE NEVER AGAIN. Nah, probably next week.

I bought a book in Hay by one of my professors, James Hawes. It's called 'Speak for England', and it's sitting on my desk right now, spine toward me. Every time I look over at it, I read it wrong and it reads, "JAMES HAWES SPEAKS FOR ENGLAND" and it makes me laugh. James Hawes does speak for England, at least he should. That guy's fantastic.

Yesterday Alisha and I booked tickets to go to Istanbul in April for Spring break. This will be the first time I have had a real Spring Break, at least one where I'm not just going home and hanging out doing nothing. Not that I did not enjoy that, don't get me wrong, I love hanging out, doing nothing. But this will be cool too. I'm gonna get me a real Kebab and it's gonna rule.

Also, we noticed that flights to Berlin are relatively cheap, if we are looking to go in June. So, we might go in June.

I'm supposed to be writing about every day like it matters, but that's hard to do every day. Today I could have skipped. I walked 2 miles in stupid weather to the police station so I could tell them again what happened the night my bag was stolen, so they could actually write it down this time. Really, why did I call in twice if they were not going to record any of the information I gave? Not only did it take me an hour to walk down there, but then the cop who called me in was a half hour late showing up to meet me. That badge doesn't give you a free pass to life, you still need to leave early to make it places on time matey. Traffic is not going to part for you because it says 'police' on your car, no matter how brightly colored it is.

This is all I have to say today. I'm really tired. Also, if you can, watch this video about Planned Parenthood. It's so important America, seriously, DO something about it. It's all about education and aid, how is that funding cut worthy in any way shape or form? I really don't understand, I'd make a horrible politician.

~major7th

Day 12 in which I eat my weight in (British) pancakes .

2011-03-08T23:44:00.000Z

Writing blogs in the morning was a better idea. Writing in the morning was a better idea in general. Wales was great. I think it was the kitchen table. I would get up at 7, go straight downstairs and make some sort of hot drink and then spread out at the kitchen table, the morning light coming in the windows, the house totally quiet for at least a half hour till the next person came to join me. It was great. Here, I can wake up that early, but there is nowhere to go. I could sit in the living room, but it doesn't have a table. I could sit at my desk, but if I'm going to be up that early, I can't be in my room or I'll just get back in bed.

As my brother once said (or wrote or something), morning people are sketchy. I'm no morning person, but when I have a reason to be up, I can do it. If I have somewhere to go it's even better. All I need is another room of this house, some sort of kitchen table, and I'd be set. Whine whine whine, blame it on the architecture, but it's true. I still haven't read it (because someone left it in Philly after I lent it to her over Christmas, coughAlishacough), but Virginia Woolf wrote all about how we need a room of our own in order to write. She's so right.

Today is a very important day. First of all, it's International Women's Day. I celebrated by wearing as many colors as humanly possible, Alisha by adorning as many sparkly accessories as she could. I looked like a cartoon character and she looked like a princess, and no one noticed because this is Oxford. If there was ever a place to dress eccentrically, it's here. I've never seen so many guys pulling off bright red pants and suit jackets before in my life. Or old women with hair dyed crazy colors (like blue and purple and pink). Or girls in bright green, platform, combat boots with skirts. Basically, anyway you've ever wanted to dress can be pulled off in Oxford, England. It's a wonderful place.

The other thing that makes today great is that it's Pancake Day. "In the UK, Shrove Tuesday is also known as Pancake Day (or Pancake Tuesday to some people) because it is the one day of the year when almost everyone eats a pancake." In other words (as if simpler words were needed), Pancake Day is the day before Lent starts, so I guess whoever decided to make this a day was planning on giving up pancakes for a month. Interesting choice. Can you imagine a life where you eat pancakes so often to warrant giving them up for Lent? (I just looked up the word 'warrant' to make sure it meant what I thought it meant. It does, I don't think I've ever used it before.)

So, tonight we made pancakes. My housemates were sure to inform me before hand that we were making British pancakes, not American ones, which really means crepes, which are indeed French. That sentence could have been written much clearer, but it's funnier this way. Paddy and Rose made the pancakes and we put out tons of toppings like Nutella, peanut butter, chocolate chips, fried apples (my idea), warmed up sugary raspberries (also my idea), nuts, syrup and some other things I'm probably forgetting. OH right, duh, ice cream. My favorite. Needless to say, it was an amazing day overall.

I also decided something today, in the spirit of Women's Day, after meeting an Italian girl.

Alisha- (after the girl left) "All Italian women are so beautiful."

Me- "Yeah, I hate them."

Alisha- "Ha!"

Me- "Wait, I don't like that."

Basically, I decided right then to stop saying that. I say that all the time. Whenever I see a child who can sing really well or play the piano, I say that I hate them for it. Or if someone is naturally good at something that I try super hard to do and fail, I hate them. Girls with perfect bodies I tend to hate as well, also conversationalists, successful authors my age and basically all musicians. What's with all the hate? Hate's such a strong word, it always hurts, so why use it?

Why should I hate the Italian girl for being beautiful? Her being beautiful does not make me any less so. The fact that there are successful authors my age does not mean I will never be one (just that I'll have plenty of competition). Most girls with perfect bodies work hard for it, so why hate them? Hating them is not going to make me any fitter, I have to do that myself. Hating does not do anything but hurt and radiate out into the air, leaving you and everyone around you (if anyone can stand to be around you) angry. Sure, it's easier to hate (and it leads to the dark side), but it's just not healthy. Can't be good for the air either, all that negative energy. I bet that's really what's effing up the ozone layer. So there you have it. I'm giving up hate for Lent, and forever.

Lessons learned today:

1) I'll be needing a kitchen table if I'm ever to be a writer.

2) Women love pancakes.

3) Hate makes you ugly.

I feel like my lessons learned may be a little off kilter, but whatever. That's what happens when you wait till midnight to write a blog. Goodnight.

~major7th

Day 11 in which I drop some eaves.

2011-03-07T20:13:00.000Z

Yesterday I was sitting in a cafe on Broad Street, drinking something hot and writing a list in my notebook. Two girls were sitting at a table next to me, talking so loud I could not help but listen. Here is the story one of them was telling the other.

This girl (let's call her Babs) lives in a shared house, like basically everyone around here. This one women she lives with (let's call her Jewels) does not talk to anyone, keeps to herself and rarely leaves her room. Jewels has been living with Babs for about 6 months, about as long as I've been here. Babs does not know Jewels at all, they never talk, but when they are in the same room, Babs is friendly to Jewels.

All of this set up serves no purpose, it's just a trick to make you think this is a real story. It's not, it has no story arc, so I'll just skip to what happened.

So anyway, Babs found out that Jewels had been pregnant for the entire time she had known her, went into labor in the house, while everyone was home (I think they live with like 3 other people or something). Jewels then proceeded to exit the house, get a ride to the hospital by her boyfriend/baby-daddy, and had the baby. She then brought it back to the house, and Babs did not find out there was a baby in the house for ten whole days after it was born. No one knew she was pregnant, no one knew the baby was in the house, no one even knows Jewels. Now the land lord has found out and Jewels is being kicked out because there is a strict no-baby rule in the house.

On top of all this, Babs came home one night and a Police officer jumped out the door at her when she turned the key. She asked what was going on and he just said, "oh nothing to worry about," and left. Apparently Jewels called the cops on the baby-daddy because he took baby out for the day and did not bring it back till way later. Very interesting.

I sat there for a long time to get this whole story, and there are still big gaps in it. But that's the beauty of eavesdropped stories, they are never complete.

Then today, it happened again.

On the bus on my way home from work, I heard a couple sitting behind me kissing. Then I heard them whispering, trying to keep their bus conversation to themselves, not realizing that they were sitting behind a ipodless girl with a notebook.

Guy- "I'm prepared to die to never lose you."

Girl- "Never do this."

Guy- "Don't be scared please."

They spoke very quietly, and only phrases jumped out at me between bus stops, but this part I heard loud and clear. I gathered after some more listening that the man was from Portugal, and the women was from somewhere else entirely (sounded Italian). Neither of them spoke the other's language, but they both spoke broken English which seemed to have been enough to fall in love.

I wanted to turn around and see what they looked like, so when the bus stopped where I was getting off, I stood up and turned around to see if I could catch a glimpse. The moment I turned my head I caught the guy's eye; it was like he knew I had been listening the whole time. I quickly ran off the bus and did not look back, not even when the bus went past me. I expected him to be watching me still, silently accusing me of recording his most intimate conversation. I never saw the girl.

The funny thing is that this girl will probably never remember that bus conversation. This is probably the way the guy talks all the time, how his life is meaningless without her, so this conversation will probably fade into that place all our forgotten memories go. That space between where you left your wallet and what your homework is for next week; it's a wonderful place full of useful things. She will never find this bus conversation, but I'll never forget it. One person's loss is another person's gain, one person's insignificant moment is another person's accidental, eye-opening encounter.

I guess not having an ipod is not all bad. The world is much louder than I remember.

~major7th

Day 10 in which I'm back in Oxford.

2011-03-07T00:56:00.000Z

Left to right: Tom, Alisha, Charlie and me.

Back. I uploaded tons of pictures to flicker if anyone's interested, not only of Wales but also everything I've taken since I've been here that I've not put on Flicker yet. I'm major7ths (yes, with an s) on Flicker if anyone wants to take a look.

The last day in Wales was just like the rest, but with cleaning and lots of driving. We got up and wrote again, but soon our lives back in Oxford started creeping up on us and we had to leave a little sooner than planned. We cleaned the house from top to bottom and then (actually before) sat down to an amazing spread that consisted of all the food that was left in the house. Which was a lot. But we finished it all, and then headed on home.

I'm not going to go on and on about how great Wales was, you already know. I've gushed about it enough, no one wants to hear anymore of that. I'm back to Oxford now and back to my normal week. I have a book I need to read, lots of writing to do as usual and a ton of other little things I was ignoring while in Wales to attend to. I spent the entire day at work today, when not doing what I was supposed to be doing, making a massive to do list. It's pretty long.

This is not going to be the most interesting of posts, I apologize, but I do have boring days too, even if I do live in the magical land of hobbits and tea. I also have a mindless job and a kitchen that always needs cleaning and a room the size of a shoebox that I still can't manage to keep tidy. Life's basically the same wherever you go.

Rose and I hung out for a while tonight, catching up. I fell asleep at around 9 last night, so we did not get to talk about our weeks. We decided that she is going to come to the States and visit me sometime next year, and that we are going to go for either an east coast extravaganza tour, bumming couches from all the people and family I know scattered around, or take my car and hit the road out West. I've always wanted to do that anyway, so I vote that, although east coast would be cheaper. Oh well, we have lots of time to decide.

BECAUSE also, Alisha and I decided the other day that we really want to come back here for graduation, which is not until something crazy like April 2012. Then Meg said we (meaning my writing buds) should go to our graduation, then hit the road in Europe and go on a massive road trip that a way. Where all the money to do these things is going to come from I have no idea, but whatever, I'll figure that out later.

One bit of cool news, I was informed that my article on the YA Fantasy Guide made the top ten most visited pages on the whole site for the month of February (number 8 to be precise) which is pretty amazing because a) I'm an unknown author and b) it was only up for about a week of February. I am pretty happy about this news.

But now I need to go to bed. It's far too late and I have to be up far too early.

~major7th

Day 9 in which I'm super happy.

2011-03-05T08:03:00.000Z

For no real reason in particular. Yesterday was another really good day. Up at 7 again, writing writing writing writing all morning, slowly joined by the rest of the troupe. For lunch Meg made Peanut Butter Stew and then we wrote wrote wrote wrote while it cooked, taking turns stiring. Yesterday was a really good day for food. We laid it all out on the table and had a family meal, chatting about how far we were in our stories, what we were having trouble with and how to fix the problems. I realized half way through the day that my main character was boring. If I'd realized this at home on my own, I would have just gotten depressed and not been able to fix it. However, in this magical little house in Wales, I am not alone, so my problem was presented to the group and promptly fixed. Now he's got an attitude. It's so simple, but I could have never done it alone.

This is the life. If you've ever wanted to write a book, or are writing a book, or have plans to write a book, do what I'm doing. I strongly believe no one can do it alone, and it's far too much fun being with people to ever do it any other way.

After our gigantic lunch (we constantly make too much food, but then manage to finish it all anyway) we got back to work for a few hours and then set out on our daily outside excursion. This time we took a walk to the castle, because any self-respecting town in the UK has their own castle. It was cute, but we got there too late and could not get in the gate. Meg lead the way and we took a walk through the woods along this path that ran along the edge of a steep cliff with a river running through it. We took pictures of light coming through trees (Tina's favorite) and talked and laughed. Lot of laughing has happened this week.

Alisha and I agreed in bed last night that we've known a lot of fantastic people in our lives, but none quite like this group. We are all so vastly different with this one unifying thing in common, but we all get along extremely well.

Once we got back to the house it was dark, we watched the sun set over the fields on our walk back to the village. We split in the house, some cooking some not and set to it. I helped cut veggies (we've all been vegetarians for the week, since Charlie and Alisha both are) and then snuck away to fix up my character. We ended up cutting too much vegg which resulted in two massive lasagnas, and for once we didn't finish. The other is waiting for us to dig into today.

That night we hung out at the house until we ran out of recreational drinks, at which point we skipped down the street to the local pub (where we ate the first night) and hung out till 1.30am with the locals. We talked about books and drinks and eventually, which is always the case, about relationships. We shuffled home when the pub closed, skipping back to the house, and sang in the kitchen. Alisha debuted her slam poem to the world (the world of the kitchen) (it was fantastic, by the by), Charlie read to us, and we eventually made out way to bed.

I don't want to go home today.

I love Oxford, and I love my housemates, but I think we really need at least another day here. However, we're out of food (all that's in the fridge is lasagna), I'm out of clothes (been wearing one pair of jeans all week) and we all have lives to get back to. Curse my job tomorrow, because I want another day.

Dispite going to bed in the 2.30-3am region, I got up around 7 again, woke up Charlie and got straight to work. My character still needs fixing (if you read the name 'Dorian Slate,' would you roll your eyes?) and we have to clean the house so Meg's parents let us come back. I really want to come back.

"I know it ain't easy,
giving up your heart."

~major7th

PS- remember when I used to end all my blogs with a quote of some sort? Maybe I should bring that back. That one is from Adele's new album, a song called 'One and Only.' The whole album is amazing, go get it now.

PSS- Nicole, I've talked about you so much this week that I don't have to say 'my friend Nicole' anymore.

Day...what day is it? Can't remember. Oh right 8.

2011-03-04T07:48:00.000Z

Very productive yesterday. I was up at 7 like I said, wrote a few thousand words, ate lunch, messed around for another hour or so, then we all went outside to play. I really don't have much to say today, for real.

We went out to this mountain range to take a walk yesterday as our daily get-out-of-the-house-because-it's-sunny excursion. It was an easy walk up, not like my normal 'I climbed a mountain and then died' stories. I got some amazing pictures at the top because the sun was setting, lots of good silhouettes and sunsets. It was a little freezing, but worth it.

Back at the house Tom made risotto and we all just hung out all night talking. We played the Spotify game where everyone takes turns picking the next song to play. Good game, that's the kind of game I like. Eventually Alisha just ended up taking over the music, as usual, but her taste is fantastic so no one minded. At least I didn't anyway.

No deep revelations yesterday, just a really good, perfect day. Today is our last full day, I'm trying not to think about it. But, like everything, I can't. It's like how I'm trying not to think about where I'll live after my lease is up in July (which I should be thinking about now actually), about whether I'll try to stay here another year or not, if I'll have enough money to do that, or where I'll work if I decide to come home. I've been worrying about these things since the moment I got here, and it's a real drag. I want to just be here and stop my mind from being somewhere else, but it does it's own thing.

Alright, going to go try and channel those thoughts toward a story about a boy Pygmalion, his Galatea, and the dude trying to mess it all up. That story's come a long way.

~major7th

Day 5-6 and the beginning of 7 in which I’m in Wales having too much fun to blog.

2011-03-03T11:08:00.000Z

Fixed the internet!

So I’m reading Go Ask Alice right now, by a still unknown author. It’s unknown because it’s a real diary of a 15 year old girl in the 70s who did acid and it has lots of incriminating things in it about her and her family and friends. Apparently anyway, I just got to the day she does acid but had to go to sleep. Alisha and I lay in our double bed, reading and drinking tea, covered in a quilt speckled with little pink flowers, like an old married couple.

The whole point of that intro is that I know I’ve failed the whole diary every day blogathon challenge I presented to myself, but as far as my assignment is goes I don’t think I’ve failed. Alice does not write in her diary every day, no one does really. There are very few people who actually manage to write every single day, at least in a diary. I wrote almost a thousand words of story yesterday, so where’s time to write in a diary? Anyway, life gets in the way always, but I’m not going to feel bad about it (excuses excuses, watch me justify my failure. Very good at that). I’m just going to write when I have time.

Brief aside pertaining to not blogging every day: it’s not the healthiest thing to do anyway. I mean for me right now it’s pure laziness, but we were talking about this the other night. We talked about how there are so many things to occupy your time online that are seemingly social, like facebook, twitter, blogger and those sorts of things, that some people spend more time online living than they do actually living, and then can’t actually interact with real people. This is depressing, and along the same vein as my little twitter rant the other day. It is very interesting how the internet has changed everything in our lives so drastically in the last ten years. Just in my lifetime we’ve included terms like ‘facebooked’ and ‘friended’ into our every day vocabulary. ‘Tweeting,’ ‘sexting’ (yes I meant to type that. Sexting is sexual harassment or just flirting via text), and ‘vlogs’ (video blogs) did not exist when I was born (did texting?). Almost everyone relies on a GPS to get around, we look up words on dictionary.com instead in an actual dictionary and research projects have become drastically easier. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m a avid facebook user, and obviously I blog all the time, but I like to think that since I’m aware that the internet might be eating my brain and that we are heading fast toward a Terminator like future, than it won’t happen. Or it still might, but I’ll know it’s happening, and although society won’t listen to my warning, at least I’ll be able to form my tiny little group of friends and family, who will inevitably be the last remaining survivors on earth, and thus reform society. All you guys can join too, since I just warned you, but just remember where you heard about it first.

(PS, would you capitalize words like facebook and tweeting? I did in the last blog, but I just don’t know if they have become main-stream enough to make it necessarily correct. I mean, facebook is a noun, so it probably should, and so is twitter, but tweeting is an verb, so I’m not sure.)

I’ve been out of Oxford for two days, we have three days left, and I already want to stay longer. For one thing, I love these people. Writing friends are the best, because you can talk for hours about writing and you never once encounter that glazed over look in the other person’s eyes that happens when they are trying hard to care but in the end just don’t. And I don’t have to feel bad about that, again, because it’s just not happening. Nerdy fun time is being had by all. “being had,” hah, my professor would have a bone to pick with me for that one.

Short little catch up on what we’ve been up to. Tuesday Meg picked us all up and we drove to this town right on the border of Wales and England called Hay on Wye which is known for the number of used book stores that grace it’s streets. There are so many that it has become a sort of book lovers paradise and tourist destination (for nerds anyway), and as such we were in heaven. I’ve already decided I am going to retire in Hay and start my own bookshop, anyone want to join? There were literally more bookshops than there were other shops, it’s probably a little difficult to actually live there since, although you can feed your mind for eternity with books, you can’t actually feed your body. I managed to restrict myself to only four books, (once of which was Go Ask Alice) which I deem quite an achievement. That night we arrived at Meg’s house, settled in and went to the pub for food because it was too late to go anywhere else.

This house is amazing. Three bedrooms, red carpet on the stairs, a jukebox and a gramophone, stars on all the ceilings of the bedrooms and a huge kitchen with a table and chairs, perfect for writing and hanging out. I could easily stay here forever.

Yesterday we started writing. We wrote all morning, but my time was cut short because I’m an idiot and left my power cord UK adapter at home, so my compute died really quick. Luckily Charlie had not left yet, and neither had James (just left the house for the day I mean), so with their powers combine I now have it and my week is not ruined. After working most of the day we drove to the beach, although it was freezing, and took a walk.

Now it’s today. The guys and I said we were going to get up at 7am to start to work. I was up at 7am, but it’s now almost 8 and the guys are just now joining me. I better get onto it.

~major7th

Day whatever

2011-03-02T22:28:00.001Z

I can't do this anymore, because a) I don't have any internet in Wales (the house hates my computer and won't connect) and b) i'm having too much fun. More on it all later, if your lucky. But I assure you, I am still writing every day, seeing as that's why I'm here.

You are just going to have to trust me.

~major7th

Day 4 in which I counted.

2011-03-01T01:39:00.000Z

I spent 7 hours today counting merchandise. I can't wait to go to Wales.

Then I sent a full hour running around to every stationary/school supply store in the city and Headington looking for a monthly planner. They had no weekly/monthlys, no straight up monthlys, no nothing. Here is how the British like to view their month; one week at a time. Every single planner was a weekly. They like the weekly format so much that even when you find a monthly, it's written with every day in a straight line down the page in columns, not at all like a normal calendar. The only time it seems to be appropriate for a month to be displayed in the classic calendar format is in a classic calender to be hung on a wall of a kitchen, study, bedroom or all-purpose recreational room. Never in the form of a little book that goes in a purse or backpack. That would be outrageous.

I got so fed up with not finding what I wanted, refusing to settle, that I ended up buying a small sketch book with no lines and making my own. It's going to be awesome when it's done, but I'm sick of drawing lines with a ruler, so I'll have to finish later. I have sharpie all over my hands and lots of inking still to do, but it's really shaping up. Was this the most productive use of my time tonight? Not at all. I should have been packing for Wales, cleaning my room, working on my stuff, basically anything but making a planner. But I like to be organized (and clearly procrastinate), so to me, this was time well spent.

Rose made lasagna tonight and it was about five inches deep, full of cheesy goodness. I could have eaten the entire thing, but I was raised to share so I refrained.

This is basically it. That was my day. Counting, planner frustrations and lasagna. OHOHOH and I was awarded a Liebster Blog Award by the ever lovely Lynz. To explain what this is, I'm going to do what Lynz did and pull a copy-paste:"Some time (in the recent past), somewhere (rumor has it that it might be Germany), someone (I guessing he/she was named Liebster) decided to do something nice for a whole lot of bloggers and started the Liebster Blog Award.

It’s an award you receive, but it is also an award that you give. If you receive a Liebster Blog Award you are asked to choose 3 other bloggers and send them one as well."

Thank you so much Lynz! I'm glad you've enjoyed this old thing, it's been fun. I'd like to thank Nicole Bartow for probably peer pressuring me into starting it up again in college, although it was so long ago that I don't even remember how she managed to convince me. Now go check out Lynz's blog!

As for my nominations, that was a tough one. I judged them based on content, dedication (aka frequent posting) and fantastic and ever changing banners. I also realized, when looking through the blogs I follow, that a great many of my buds hardly ever update anymore. What gives? I mean, I'm not really one to talk, I've had my months of inactivity too. Anyway, no one cares, on to the winners (not in any particular order):

First of all we have my mother at deeroo designs. She talks about me fairly frequently, so what's not to like? Just kidding. She's also an awesome sewer, quilter, blogger and overall sunny person. Her blog oozes positivity, something the world needs more of.

Second is my aunt at foobella- What Good Luck! I don't want to seem like a looser for only picking my family, be assured that I picked based on the strict criteria listed above and blogger's relation to myself had no factor in the decision making process. Foo's blogs are always filled with art, adventures in plumbing and funny anecdotes, the recipe to a good blog.

Last, but not in any way least is my friend Tiffany at Bhavana Yoga and Massage. Tiffany translates her passion for yoga and her superior understanding of the field in her blog, sharing tips for chasing away the winter blues through back bends and the overall power of yoga toward a better quality of life and living. Keep it up Tiff!

Congrats! And ps, one of the Liebster rules states that you are in no way obligated to pass it on if you don't want to, no biggie. It's just a little fun thing to let people know what else is out there.

So, the theme of this week seems to be Maria staying up far too late when she has to get up really early. I'm at it yet again, I just can't say no to watching a movie with my housemates, even if the question comes at half past 11. But it's all good, I'm off to Wales in the morning to hang out with my friends, write my little heart out, and pretend that it's my actual career already and that I'm famous enough to afford to go on these little writing vacations as often as I want.

TTFN, tantalizing tomatoes fight ninjas!

~major7th

Day 3 in which I start with no point, but gradually find one.

2011-02-28T00:21:00.000Z

I am drinking the biggest cup of tea right now. Seriously, it's as big as my face. Clearly we need to run the dishwasher if I'm using this mug. The other day I was standing in the kitchen, making tea and looking out the window into the garden and the air from outside wafted in through the window. The smell of it reminded me of summer, last summer in particular, and I asked myself, "since why did I start drinking tea? When did I start thinking of the back yard as a garden?" So much has changed. Next thing you know I'll probably be watching football every night and eating Marmite. Not likely.

So, day 3 of blogging for two weeks. Good thing I posted about the conference earlier today, otherwise nothing much of interest would be up today. Two in a day is allowed, by the way. But that does not mean I get to skip a day (I’m making up the rules as I go).

Today was as boring as yesterday was exciting. I went to work, counted postcards and note cards for 6 hours straight, and then went home and blogged all night. That was my day. It rained a lot, but never when I was outside, and nothing was open because it’s Sunday. I made it home in record time, almost exactly a half hour, chatted with James and Rose, but for the most part spent the whole evening in my room. Which is a mess. But I just cleaned it. How does this keep happening. I neglected the question mark because it’s not really a question. I know exactly how it happened.

Tomorrow I have to get up at the crack of crack, be at work at 8:30am, and stay all day counting again. Counting counting counting. When you count things for so long, you sort of forget how to count, then you daydream in the middle of counting and lose your place and have to start all over again. I hope I get something big to count, like mugs or wallets or basically anything not made of paper. I think I’m hurting my eyes looking so closely at card stock for so long.

There is one thing I have to talk about actually. Twitter. I don’t have one, and this is the first week ever where I’ve felt like this might be a bad thing. However, there are two sides to Twitter, both of which I have drastically different opinions on. I feel that if I’m going to join Twitter, I need to make sure everyone knows what I still don’t like about it. Because, what I think matters, right? Not really, but whatever, it’s my blog, so on here it does.

Alright, so Twitter. Here is why I’ve been avidly anti-Twitter every since it first Tweeted its way into popular culture. Initially, Twitter was just a website that consisted solely of people’s status-like updates about their days.

“OMG I’m brushin’ my teef, it’s gonna be a good one!”

While no one can contest the importance of good dental care, I just don't care about this. And for a while, this is all it was. People posting 140 characters about their everyday lives, many times using poor grammar, and vastly uninteresting. At that point in time, and up in till this year, I was very turned off by the idea of Twitter.

What's the difference between Twitter and blogging you ask? For one thing, I can't contain my opinions in 140 characters, I'm far too long winded. For another thing, not a lot actually. In this blog I write about my every day life, at least that's how it started, back when I was fairly certain that no one was reading it anyway. It was just for me, just a little fun. Then I started learning more and more about writing and loving it more and more, (well, I loved it before I started this, but started learning about non fiction more) and my blogs started having more of a point. Not every time mind you. Those of you who have been with me from the beginning know very well that sometimes I just blog to read myself write.

Anyway, now I use my blog for a few things. I use it to keep my family and friends in on what I'm up to while in England. I use it to write about things I feel strongly about that I want other people to read and think about. And occasionally my blogs have very little point at all, and are purely for fun. I try to be funny sometimes, but usually if someone laughs, it's was a happy accident on my part. None of these things would translate through Twitter, unless I updated a million times a day. But that would be so fragmented. I like telling fuller stories, and blogger gives me the space to do it.

Another issues I have with Twitter is basically the same one, but from a different angle. I worry about the whole 140 character restriction and what it's doing to the world. You may laugh, may think that's a silly thing to say, but think about it. Many people would look at my blog about Save The Children next to a 140 character post about, I don't know, say about carpet cleaners, and read the carpet cleaners post instead. Why is that? Besides the fact that this imaginary person may just have a desperately dirty carpet, it's mainly because many people don't have the attention span for reading something longer. Restricting people to 140 characters cuts a lot out, and people are starting to like things better this way. I read a secret on PostSecret's blog that said something along the lines of, "I'm starting to think in 140 characters or less." This is not funny, not even a little bit.

Children are starting to have shorter and shorter attention spans due to video games and TV. Even games on the Wii that get you to move around are not nearly as beneficial as good old fashion playing outside. Are we growing a generation of people who think in 140 characters, who stop voicing their opinion because it is to wordy? Clearly there is no place for me in this world. This blog is ample evidence of that.

This is why Twitter never appealed to me in the past, I like words too much to restrict myself to so few. However this past week has opened my eyes to a whole other way to use Twitter that I had never really thought about. NETWORKING.

There are SO many people on Twitter. If you post something, you have the potential of reaching thousands of people with your words, depending on how many followers you have. My article was posted to the Young Adult Fantasy Guide last week (which I'm still super stoked about and will probably mention a million more times, just to warn you) and I've been told that it's generating lots of buzz on Twitter. What buzz? Where? I'm missing my own buzz! I can't believe I made buzz and I can't even take part in the discussion. Because that's one thing Twitter seems to be very good for, conversations.

Another reason for getting on Twitter is still the same reason, but again, in another way. There are communities on there, communities of writers, readers, activists, just about anything in the world you are interested in is represented on Twitter somehow. You just have to find it. If you want to do anything creative especially, networking is one of the most important tools you can have in your utility belt. Right next to the retractable zip cord, but to the right of the throwing stars. Never underestimate a good throwing star in a sticky situation.

All this being said, it seems almost silly for me to not have a Twitter. SO although I still have major issues with it, I'm in it for the networking. Facebook is for the fun, Twitter will be for the contacts.

Alright, so now that I've talked myself into getting a Twitter account, who wants to teach me how to use it? All those #s and @s just look like curse words to me, so clearly I'm going to need a little help.

Time to sleep. Dreams of giant tea cups with fangs dripping Marmite dancing in my head. Gross. So much for sleeping.

~major7th

Save The Children Blogging Conference

2011-02-27T17:58:00.001Z

Sometimes I get so warpped up in the fantasy of my life that I forget about the rest of the world. Sure, I know bad things are happening everywhere, but they are in the background to me, things that don't directly affect me so therefore can be put aside while I write another chapter or read a few more pages or drop it all and go watch a movie with my housemates. Especially lately, with the crap week I just had, I admit that I've spent a lot of time thinking of myself. I wish it wasn't true, but it honestly took going to the Save The Children conference to snap me out of it, to remember that there is a world outside of the comfort of my life, one that needs constant help. Spending five seconds in the presence of such passionate and selfless people made me want to drop everything I am doing and go help their cause, and you all know how much I love what I'm doing.

For those of you unaware, Save The Children is a charitable organization that gives aids all over the world. They focus on child poverty, children's rights, education, health, hunger and protection as well as give aid to children in areas devastated by all sorts of emergencies. Basically, they are givers. They give their time, energy, money, love and support to children who need it, enabling the next generation of the world to live and fulfill their full potential. These are very, very good people.

The day kicked off with a few talks from the leader of the Save The Children global campaign, Adrian Lovett and the Director of Emergencies, Gareth Owen. Lovett set the the scene with an awesome quote from a lady with an awesome name (which I will be using), the founder of Save The Children, Eglantyne Jebb:

"We need to make known the facts in such a way that captures the imagination of the world."

I don't really think I need to say that I love this quote, but I will anyway. I love this quote. This might just be my new motto, new mission statement for life, or just new favorite quote. I'll decide later. Right now I'll just love it.

Gareth Owen talking about Haiti.

Gareth Owen talked a lot about the things Save The Children does when emergency strikes, like natural disasters. He talked about the power of blogging and social networking, how one person sitting in their living room on a laptop has the power to reach millions of people with their words and their message, if written in a passionate way. I am going to use the word passion a lot in this blog, bear with me. Yes, I have heard of a thesaurus, but none of it's synonyms do the job in the right way ('zealous' just sounds scary, not loving).

Love this guy.

I love passionate people. I collect them, in my head. They inspire me. I love hearing people talk about things they love. I believe that Gareth Owen may be one of the most passionate people I've ever had the pleasure to see speak. He talked about how he is severely inpatient when it comes to saving childrens lives. He said that he gets incredibly frustrated when things cannot be done immediately, when children affected by disasters have to wait one single second for help. You could see it in his face how much he loved his job, and he told us so as well. He said that he has the greatest job in the world, that he wakes up every day excited that he gets to spend his day saving lives. He spoke of the power of hope, how hope goes a long way when all else seems lost. When people only have the clothes on their backs and each other, just smiling and showing that you care can lift them up like magic. The world needs more people like Gareth Owen.

Next we had workshops. I chose the one about how to become an activist through blogging, and that's exactly what it was about. They showed us examples of successful campaigns such as the It Gets Better Project started to support LGBT kids and assure them that it's ok to be themselves. The workshop was basically about PR, about ways to get your message out to the world in creative ways. I grabbed another good quote from the workshop about being a follower:

"The first follower is what transforms a loan nut into a leader."

Super, super awesome people.

You never think about it, but this is so true. The first follower gives the leader all their power. Without that first follower, a leader is just a person trying to do something that no one cares about. Showing that someone else cares makes other people care. All of this just made me more and more interested in PR.

Masterclass with Melvin.

After this was the masterclass with Melvin Burgess. There were about sixty people at the conference and only eight won spots in the masterclass (not that all of them entered for it, but whatever, I'm just telling myself that most of them did). I had to write a blog about what I was born to do and submit it. All blogs were judged by Melvin himself, and I am extremely grateful he chose mine. Part of our prize was the chance for Mr. Burgess to read a few pages of whatever we were working on and get his advice and comments (how cool is that?). We sat in the room and he talked about writing for teens, about his books and about writing in a voice that is not your own. He answered questions and we talked about having the confidence to write. When asked how to get that confidence, he replied that you have to just write. Just do it, there is no other way (Jackson Pearce agrees too. Click HERE for her fantastic 'tough love on writing' vlog). He also talked about writing about tough issues in books for teens like sex and drugs and abuse (things he has written about a lot and gotten crap for) and said this:

"There is no such thing as a 'too difficult' idea, only poorly expressed ones."

He stressed the importance of keeping things simple, because the simplest forms of expression make the biggest impact. He referenced George Orwell. You can't argue that Animal Farm is genius.

Such a small group, best (and only) prize I've ever won for writing.
And ps, that's a painting of Eglantyne Jebb on the wall in the middle.

After the masterclass, Melvin talked to the whole conference in his keynote speech. "It's all about the kids," he kept saying while talking about his trip to the Congo with Save The Children. He told local kids Little Red Riding Hood and The Three Little Pigs in exchange for their own folk stories and formed a sort of collection. The kids liked The Three Pigs the best because he got so animated when the Big Bad Wolf huffs and puffs and blows the house down. Burgess said we are all creatures of stories. I like that. I like being a story creature. That's what he meant by that right? No? Oh well, he's right however you spin it.

Keynote speech.

Burgess also brought up some interesting facts about writing for teens. He said that if you were to make a movie about teens today that was realistic, about the sort of things that teens actually go through in the world, that teens would not be allowed to watch it. But they can read about it, interestingly enough. His book Junk is described as Trainspotting for teens, and as such got a lot of negative press. However the newspapers were the only ones who seemed to care, he never received one hate letter in the mail. Not a single one.

I love my camera. Thank God it wasn't stolen too. And I love Melvin.

And that was the end. I had a lovely dinner with Jen at a pub down the street and headed home, back to Oxford and my fantasy life. I sat down to work on my final project for a little while last night, but felt a twinge guilty. I felt guilty that I was sitting there, comfortable and well fed, writing about magic and crazy things when there are kids out there with no food, no homes, and absolutely no magic in their lives. Thoughts like this will make you crazy.

BUT, then I remembered this fantastic video a friend of mine posted on facebook last week. It's a presentation by John Stevenson, Director of Kung Fu Panda, all about being creative and loving what you do. I've never done it before, but I'm going to try and actually attach the video to the bottom of this blog. Anyone with high speed internet out there (sorry parents) should really watch this, it may be long, but it's well worth it if you have ever embarked on anything creative, or if you have ever had to choose between doing something you love and something that makes you money. I loved this video so much I literally took notes from it, wrote down quotes and hung them on my walls. Whatever works.

I swear this relates to what I was just talking about, wait for it. In the beginning of his presentation, John Stevenson talks about when he was young and how he saw all the awful things happening in the world and wanted to do something about it. He said he would actually get depressed because there were so many causes to support, so many bad things he wanted to help fix, but he felt powerless and ended up not doing anything. However, he decided one day that the way he could make the world a better place was by doing everything he decided to do in life 100%, and thus make the world a better place by putting all of himself into his projects and putting creations into the world that were as good as they could be. Just watch it, it's fantastic.

So while all I can do right now is blog about the importance of Save The Children from my bedroom in Oxford, I can do it to the best of my abilities and maybe someone else might read it and be inspired to help. I can spread awareness, and make the world a better place by writing my book as well as I can in the hopes that one day a young person (or adult, or old person, or martian) reads it and it makes them smile.

Now go out there readers, go do a good deed, go watch this video, go donate money to any cause you feel believe in, go act, go write, go blog, go tweet if that's what your into, go create. Go make the world a better place, as Save The Children says, by doing what you were born to do and doing it as well as you can. Go be passionate.

~major7th

Video Games - E3 2011

Day 2 teaser in which I only allude to what I actually did today.

2011-02-26T22:17:00.000Z

I have so much to say I can't get my head around it all. I'll write a proper blog later all about Save The Children and how awesome they are and the blogging conference and Melvin Burgess later, so I can do it justice, but right now I am going to write about some other general things. I wrote pages of notes today on my way to London, in London, at the conference, during breaks, about London, all over the place.

I discovered today that I am in fact living like a 100 year old women because I do not own an Iphone or have a Twitter account. I've been very anti both of these things, but today I felt a little left out when every single person around me at the conference was Tweeting or however you say it while the conference was going on. I had been sitting down for about five seconds talking to people and my picture was taken and put on Twitter ("Oxford-bird not on Twitter" as I'm now known. If I get on Twitter, I might have to use that). This was the most well documented conference of all time, which was to be expected since it was all about the importance of social networks to raise awareness and connect people. But because I did not possess the proper technology, I was so not connected. For the first time ever I felt silly sitting there, taking notes on a yellow legal pad. I'll never give it up, there's nothing better than a legal pad, but I still felt like I was using some sort of archaic technology. I was taking pictures with a real camera that was in no way also a phone and wrote people's names down instead of adding them instantly online. How positively stone-aged!

Although the focus of the conference was social networking, I was still a little annoyed that people were literally Tweeting as they talked to me. Conversations went generally like this (from what I observed): "Hello, nice to meet you, what's your name on Twitter?" People were adding each other or following or whatever it is you actually do on there before they even knew each other. I guess it's a different beast than good old facebook and knowing the people in real life is not as important, but it seemed a little strange to me. Again, maybe i'm just old fashioned, I don't know.

My mind raced in a million different directions today, which is the sign of a good conference, all of which I will write about tomorrow. However one thing I will leave you with is a quote that one of the speakers put up in regards to getting people to support your cause, or getting people to do anything:

"If you want to build a ship, don't gather people together to collect wood, don't assign them tasks and work, but instead teach them to long for the sea." ~Antoine de Saint-Exupery

I like this a lot. Basically, all it comes down to is passion. People need to have passion for what they do/make/support, or nothing will happen. I met lots of passionate people today, all of which I will write about tomorrow.

~major7th

TWO WEEKS OF BLOGS

2011-02-26T01:57:00.001Z

Do you ever have one of those weeks where you doubt you can actually function as a member of the human race? Where everything goes wrong to the point that you start to think that maybe this 'being a grown up' thing is really not for you? That's what this week has been like for me, until today. Here was my week in a nutshell:

~Last Thursday: received possibly soul crushing feedback on final project idea in a workshop by someone who actually matters.

~Last Friday through Tuesday: Stressed, worked and reworked final project idea, looking at it from every angle humanly possible, trying to force it into working. Failing daily.

~ Wednesday: Finally worked out my idea by talking it out with my friend Charlie, wrote it all down, mapped it out, drew a plot arc and everything. Typed it up.

~ Wednesday night: Went to poetry slam at a local cafe, had entire backpack stolen which included my little computer, external hard drive, camera, ipod, American phone, planner and two notebooks full of ideas, one of which i've had for five years.

This is just me looking at all the bad parts of the week, the parts the mind seems to remember the best. Thanks a lot mind, give me a break whydon'tcha? I've been over it and over it, trying to tell myself that all that stuff is just stuff, that the ideas are still in my head somewhere, and that it will be ok. Today I finally started to believe myself.

I drank a cup of coffee with Shobha and Rose today in the kitchen and said to them, "drinking coffee makes me feel very adult." I think this is because the smell of coffee reminds me of my parents, of how they would always get me to make them coffee for them, which just involved pouring it and putting in the milk and sugar. I would complain, like I do, but ultimately I always did it, wondering how anyone could drink juice comes from beans.

So, I kick-started my grown up day with coffee, then sat down to work. I worked all day on my final project, typing up everything I could remember from what Charlie and I talked about and from what I furiously wrote down on scraps of paper in the cafe the moment I realized my bag was gone for good. In a way, not having my big notebook of ideas was freeing. I still wish I had it (there were other story ideas in there as well), but one of the major problems I was having with the story was that I had the hardest time letting go of the story I had made already, of the one that did not work. This way, without it in front of me, I was able to let it go and make something new out of my old characters. I think the idea morphed a lot today from what I came up with Wednesday, but I also think it transformed for the better. It was freeing.

I feel better now. I'm excited about my story again. I worked and did laundry and cleaned my room and listened to Opera and sent e-mails and did all sorts of things grown ups do.

Oh, and I forgot to mention, I got published! You can read my article HERE on the Young Adult Fantasy Guide. I may be writing for this fine site in the future as well, so stay tuned.

If this blog seems rather disjointed, that's because it is. It's about 2.30am and I have to get up in a few hours to go to London, and I can't quite seem to get my paragraphs to relate to each other.

This random London trip just came together today as well. Busy day. I got an e-mail from the Save the Children Blogging Conference letting me know that I won a spot in the masterclass with Melvin Burgess. I called work, sort of begged someone to cover for me, and because I have the greatest co-workers in the world, my wish was granted. So off to London I go, at 6am, which is nearing at an alarming pace. I am literally writing this from bed, and here's why.

This week in my Writing Lives class we talked about journal writing. I love journal writing, thus the blog. Our assignment for the next two weeks (because next week is reading week and thus, no class) is to keep a journal and write every day. We were instructed to write every day about our days as if every single thing we do matters, as if we know someone will read this in the future and look back on our lives and see the importance in our every day lives. I find this really interesting because the act of writing a journal is an extremely private thing, and by writing it with the idea in mind that someday it will be read by someone takes that privacy away and changes the things you are likely to write, taking away what makes a journal a journal.

I decided that if our assignment is to write as if every day matters and as if someone is going to read it, why not have someone read it right away? SO, lucky you, I'm going to write all my journal entries in this blog for all the world to read, so that they really do matter. I would warn you that this may be an extremely boring two weeks for you, hearing about my every day life, but luckily for you I'm going to Wales on a writing retreat next week. Things are bound to happen.

But for now, I need to go to sleep. I'll see you tomorrow.

~major7th

PS. I think this blog sort of comes off dreamlike. You know how in dreams, you drift from one section to the next and at the time it makes perfect sense, but later when your remembering it you don't know why? That's how this felt to me.

SIGN THIS

2011-02-19T11:07:00.000Z

Before you do anything else today, before you have your coffee or do your early morning sit-ups or think about what you are going to do on this glorious Saturday, before you do any of that, read this and sign it:

SUPPORT PLANNED PARENTHOOD HERE

This is super important. I realize we're broke and they are just trying to make up for it, but honestly, find another way. Planned Parenthood is important, leave it alone! I think the government needs more creativity, there has got to be another way to figure out this whole debt problem. I mean, I don't have the answer, but I still refuse to believe this is the only way.

Thanks friends. Now onto less important things. Like my new tattoo idea.

This way, the next time someone asks me why I don't own a Kindle, all I'll have to do is smile sweetly and hold up my wrist. I thought about a few variations of this idea, of 'I (picture of a heart) books', and 'I love books', and 'I LOVE BOOKS' and the grammatically correct 'I like books.' I even thought for a split second of doing 'I <3 books,' but as much as I like joking about emoticons on here, I don't really think I want one on my body forever. Punctuation marks correctly used, sure, but not an emoticon.

One of these days, this is happening. Till then i'll just get someone to write it on me in sharpie like this (this one is Shobha's handy work, because I can't write on my own wrist with my left hand) and try it out. It's already washed off and I miss it, so this one might be the one. We'll see, it's not like I have the money for a tattoo right now anyway.

It's been a good month for me and mail. These snowman peeps I got for Christmas from my grandparents, but I couldn't fit them into my suitcase so mom mailed them to me. They are too sugary to eat on their own, and that should really tell you something since it's coming from me (I LOVE MARSHMALLOWS), so Rose had the idea to make hot coco. Great idea, and rather adorable.

This my dear Kelseykins sent me the other day. Thanks Kelsey! I'm keeping that lid forever.

Alright, worked yesterday, today off, work tomorrow and the next day. Yesh, lazy grad school Maria is not used to this much structure in her life. But I love it. And I'm actually not lazy, for once, i've got 15 million things to do today. Not the least of which is writing a story about characters and stories put in a drawer and then set on fire by their author, as I was told to do recently with one of my stories. It will have a happy ending, I assure you.

Readysetgo!

~major7th

heart shaped emoticon

2011-02-10T10:52:00.001Z

I know that the card companies made Valentine’s Day. I also know that you shouldn’t have to have a candy selling ‘holiday’ in order to treat your significant other to all the romantic benefits of being in a relationship. Why pull out all the stops for that one day? What about all the other days of the year? I know, I get it. The actual St. Valentine (of which there were several, says Wikipedia) didn’t even have anything to do with love. He was a martyr; one of them got their head cut off for whatever reason. So while the act of being martyred does involve a sort of love, love or passion or commitment to whatever you are dying for, there are still little connections to the real Valentines through history and the day we all know now that makes most people either roll their eyes, get upset/depressed or stress out to find the perfect thing for that special someone.

So yes, I understand all the reasons why everyone hates Valentine’s Day so much. However when I get a package in the mail from my Grandparents with an adorable stuffed lion in it, I find it really hard to find anything wrong with the day or the sentiment behind it.

Yeah yeah yeah, maybe I’m just buying right into the card companies plan to take over the world. In fact, I am, because every February I get excited for the day despite the fact that I’ve never had a boyfriend for Valentine’s Day. Instead of getting all depressed, I can’t help but get happy. It’s not just a day for couples; it’s just a day in general to tell those in your life that you love them. And sure, you should probably tell them that all the other days of the year too, but what’s the harm in having a special day to go the extra mile? I honestly don’t see the harm in it. I mean if you think about it, the same can be said about every single holiday. If you’re going to be all cynical, which I don’t think is a super healthy way to live anyway, you could say that every holiday was designed by the man in order to make you spend your money on stuff no one needs, a chance to celebrate materialism and kill trees with cards. OR, (and this might be too radical, I know) you could all just shut up, fold a piece of paper in half and write I LOVE YOU on the front, xoxoxoxoxoxo on the inside, and give it to someone. Done, day over, stop complaining. I mean, it’s a day about love for goodness sake, just go with it!

And for all the single ladies out there (I hope I just got Beyonce stuck in everyone’s heads), I don’t want to hear anything about this so called ‘Singles Awareness Day.’ If you care enough about being single to be depressed about it, then everyday for you is Singles Awareness Day. This I cannot help you with.

Alright, rant over, for now anyway. Dear friends scattered all over the world, I love you! When I’m rich and famous, I’ll buy you all ten pound chocolate hearts (vegan ones for the veggie eaters) and cards full of glitter so you are covered in sparkles all day (more in the boy’s cards, hahah) and forced to think of me any time the light catches your hand and blinds you. It’s going to be that kind of glitter that’s really tiny and gets stuck in your pores (you all know the kind I mean), and then ends up in your hair, and stays there for a week, possibly resurfacing years later. That being said I think I’ve probably deterred any of you from buying my first book to try and stop me from becoming rich and famous. I’ll buy you yachts too, don’t worry.

In other news, my computer ate my itunes, and for some reason didn’t like the taste, preventing me from downloading it again. It probably got fed up with me playing the Avenue Q soundtrack on a loop, interrupted occasionally by Adam Lambert, and just snapped. (“ENOUGH is enough Maria! Get better music taste!” ~ Murry, my computer. So harsh…) Some sort of something about not having the right blah blah blah to install it, which is clearly a lie because I used to have itunes and used it every day. I still have all my music files, just the program has vanished. Honestly, I’m not surprised. It was only a matter of time before something happened with my computer. This is probably the longest I’ve ever gone without a computer problem, and this is not even a debilitating problem, just an annoyance. Anyway, if anyone knows how I can either a) find itunes again or b) download it again, please fill me in.

I finished my brick of Dickens last night, leaving me with more knowledge than I ever cared to have about old Charlie and subsequently no reason to read any of this books having just had them all spoiled for me. I spent the week reading about why he killed so and so and what was going on in his life when he was writing about whatsit going down, only just realizing last night what this was doing to me. I HATE having things spoiled for me, but in my frenzy to finish the brick I did not even notice it was happening. Blast!

Alright, I better get ready for class now.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

LOVE, major7th

Hit by a brick (of Dickens).

2011-02-05T16:11:00.000Z

So today it hit me. And by today I mean literally ten seconds ago. Regardless of when, it just hit me that I am, although covertly hidden under the title ‘society,’ on a dance team. How did that happen? I am still trying to work tap classes into my schedule and just started learning a dance that Alisha choreographed, just for fun. Before, when I was just in tap, I could pretend I was still just a random girl learning the motions from the shadows, not really a part of it. However now, being a part of two dances, I can no longer deny it. I’m on a dance team. Here’s why this is funny.

We used to make fun of the dance team! In high school anyway. Why? Because I was on the color guard, the most unpopular and unrecognized form of visual art of any high school, and that’s what we did. Made fun of people. Mostly it was the cheerleaders we would ridicule, pretending that what they were doing was so below what we did (I’d like to see any of the guard attempt to throw a girl into the air and then catch her again). However back then, and to be honest, still now, it was somehow important to make fun of the more popular, prettier, bendy-er girls in order to feel better about ourselves. Before you gasp in shock that Maria could ever be so mean, take a moment to recognize that everyone does this. Yes, you do too. At heart, we’re all bitches.

But now here I am, in the Oxford Brookes Dance Society, barraged daily by at least 1.2 million facebook messages about classes and socials, t-shirts and tickets. The girls I previously believed to be stuck up and snobby (because I was jealous that I couldn’t kick my leg over my head like they could. This blog all is about honesty.) have turned out to be very sweet, hard working and welcoming gals. Sure, they like to party, and wear belly shirts, but to be honest, if I had abs like that, I probably would too.

So, I’m sorry dance teams of the world! I should have never called you sluts behind your backs. I was wrong. Hear me universe? I was wrong, and you better be listening, because I’m not saying it again. The moral of this blog is this; watch who you judge, because life is funny, and you never know when you might become the very thing you previously scoffed at.

~major7th

Ps, Oh yeah, forgot to mention. My course started at last. Very excited about it despite the fact that I have to read a 580 page brick about Charles Dickens this week having never read any Dickens in my life. Final project ahoy!

BAM, i'm purple!

2011-01-31T18:19:00.000Z

What was I born to do, asks the Born to Write, Save the Children Blogging Conference? Well, I can tell you what i'd like to do. You know, write. But was I born to write? No way. I wouldn't have nearly as much trouble with spelling if I was born to write. I would have never been put in the team-taught, super slow English classes in Middle School if I was born to write. But, then again, what does it even mean, to be born to do something? Is anyone born to do anything? When I was younger I was convinced I was born to get the TV remote control for my parents. "That's why you had kids isn't it?" I would ask. They just laughed at me, but never denied it.

I don't necessarily think that what your born to do is what you happen to be good at either. Like, if people said Bobby Darin was born to sing or Michelangelo was born to sculpt and paint (Bobby Darin was actually a mistake, so really he was not even meant to be born at all). If this were the case, I could say I was born to procrastinate, start projects I never finish and occasionally dress silly. When I think of people born to do a certain thing, I think of people providing a service, like if they were not born, so and so would not happen, or be saved, or created. SO in that way, I guess Bobby Darin was born to sing. Born to struggle through his 37 years of life with a heart condition, give us beautiful melodies and then die young. So what does it all mean? Oh no, not another silly identity crisis based on nothing (see previous blog post on horoscopes). How am I supposed to know when I'm alive if I don't even know what it means to be born to do something? 'What's my purpose?' (Oh Princeton. That little puppet and I have a lot in common.)

Not being able to figure out what I am born to do plagued me for the last few days. Plagued is probably too strong of a word. More like it bugged me. A deep bugging. But, today I figured it out while checking the signage in the shop.

So, when one checks the signage, that just means going around and making sure all the signs and labels for all our products make sense, are in good shape, not repetitive, or think of ways to make them better. Usually i'm clueless, but today when I hit the children's bay I felt inspired.

There were no signs about the Very Hungry Caterpillar games and puzzles, or the lovely editions of the Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen and The Secret Garden OR even anything about the awesome Little Red Riding Hood pop-up book. This bay is normally over-looked and it's products rarely sell. So I decided to make some new signs, thinking that maybe if there were an exciting sign, someone might be more inclined to buy a puzzle.

I divided the stuff into games and books. The books were then split into 'classics,' and 'fun new titles.' The games turned into 'Adventures with the Very Hungry Caterpillar' and 'Imagination Builders' for the other fun things. When it came time for me to explain myself and my new sign designs, I started getting probably a little too animated about how awesome our classic books were and how cool I thought these Story World card packs were and the importance of imaginative play for kids. I got to the point where I could tell no one was following me or cared and could read in their glazed over eyes, 'God Maria, chill, you just had to make a sign.' Except in a British accent, thus not using the word 'chill.' That's when it hit me, I cared a lot about this stuff. And thus, I was born to care.

I care about a lot of things. YA literature and it's importance in kid's and adult's lives, the responsibility YA authors have to their audiences, imaginative play, beautiful book cover art, old buildings, red things, Harry Potter, Twilight (in an, I HATE IT sort of way), remembering things, taking pictures, graveyards, banned books, movies and how they make you feel, soundtracks, Star Wars. I'm asked often when I start to ramble on about things (mostly Twilight and Star Wars), 'but who cares about that stuff?' The answer is ME! I care! I care a LOT, because, to me, it matters that Bella Swan is a horrible role model, so I'm going to talk about it because I CARE about how she is affecting the youth of today, aka the next generation! I care that 'Lost' is over because I loved it, even when the plot got ridiculous, because it's characters stuck with me. I care about the Star Wars Prequels although I recognize and acknowledge their faults. I love them anyway because they are a continuation of the story world I love so much. I can't help it, I get so worked up about things because I care. Why? No idea. I just do.

I care about people too, sometimes too much. I think one of the saddest things of all time is when a little kids gets an ice cream cone and then drop it on the ground. I want to get them another one immediately, but even that wouldn't make that one awful moment of joy to devastation go away. It will always have happened. When we were little, I used to feel guilty whenever my brother would get in trouble, even when it had absolutely nothing to do with me. If a close friend is upset about something that I can't help them with, or is just having a bad day, I have a bad day. I'm a fixer, I like to fix things, including people.

There are SO many topics in life where I just end up saying, 'don't get me started.' On the flip side, of course, there are lots of things I don't care about at all. Don't get me started.

I feel so lame, being born to care. It's like having a super power, only it's the ability to turn purple on command, so good for nothing. Unless you're... no, there are no situations where the ability to turn purple would give you an advantage in any way. You could not even make it in the Blue Man group! Lame! One shade wrong.

So that's that. I was born to care about a great many things that many would deem unimportant or useless. But this is never true. Everything is important to some extent.

I would love to hear what my readership were born to do, all five of you. Just do yourself a favor and don't over analyze what it means to be born to do something. You can leave that to me, I've got you covered. Because I care.

~major7th