It's Wrong

Homosexuals, that is. Obviously they're evil and out to convert everyone to their wretched ways.

Obviously.

Now, before you go off and start hating, this is not my opinion. It's my fathers.

I can't blame him for having opinions that differ from mine. I don't see why people being homosexual is wrong in any way. Love is love, and we're lucky if we can find it, no matter who from. Dad thinks "It's wrong." with no reasons as to why. I said that, with all the over-population that the world has, homosexuals aren't having children (generally. Also, I think that people can be homosexual for any reason they like, but I was trying to appeal to his sense of reason). He says that they adopt other peoples children and teach them ways that are wrong. I think the only kind of 'wrong' parenting is done by parents who don't love their children properly. If a kid has two moms or two dads, that shouldn't be a problem, so long as the parents love and support their child properly. If kids are being adopted and loved, that's a good thing.

And who's to say that he wasn't the one who was raised right? Because I'm willing to believe that he wasn't exactly raised in an accepting environment.

If being with someone of your same sex makes you happy, then there is nothing wrong with it. As long as your happiness doesn't require hurting another person, then there should never be something wrong with it. I don't know why it has to be such a big deal. Can't we all just accept eachother?

Tonight I'll be singing with my choir at an event hosted by my School's GSA (Gay Straight Alliance). And I am proud to show my support for them. I'm glad that my school is open and accepting enough to have such a group. And I think that it would be a good idea for all schools to have one, or an equivalent. By ignoring or hating what is different among ourselves, we become weaker. Acceptance and love, people.

I'm saying this as a straight female. I have a good friend who's a lesbian. My sisters best friend is gay. There's absolutely no need to feel threatened by the sexuality of others. We're all just people, ya know?

Music quiz/meme thing

Tagged by Qui.

List 10 (music) Artists you love, in no particular order, without looking at the questions below.  
1.Howler
2. Florence and The Machine
3. Mumford and Sons
4. The Rankin Family
5. Coldplay
6. Enya
7. The Corrs
8. Reba
9. Styx
10. Pink Floyd



Now for the questions!!!!! 

1. What was the first song you've ever heard by 6? 
Hard to say for sure. The first one I remember was Orinocco Flow though.
 
2. What's your favourite song of 8? 
Somebody

3. What kind of impact has 1 left on your life?
She's kind of my best friend. Just sayin'. Well, Brit is. Nick is not a girl, nor my best friend.

4. What's your favourite lyric of 5's? 
"I'm gonna buy a gun and start a war, if you can tell me something worth fighting for..."

5. How many times have you seen 4 live? 
Zero. They're broken up now. The sisters were touring a while back though.

6. What's your favourite song of 7? 
Toss the Feathers.

7. Is there any song of 3 that makes you sad? 
Thistles and Weeds can bring me close if I'm already a bit emotional and singing along as loud as I can. Weird, yes, but shhh.
 
8. What's your favourite song by 9? 
Crystal Ball.
 
9. How did you first get into 2? 
I think she came on Ray's i-pod when it was on shuffle.
 
10. How did you first get into 3?
Same, actually...

11. What's your favourite song by 4? 
North Country. Makes me feel feelings. Reminds me of the North.
 
12. How many times have you seen 9 live? 
None times.

13. What is a good memory concerning 10? 
Comfortably Numb and reading books. Yeah.

14. Are there any songs of 8 that make you sad? 
If You See Him, If You See Her, and Every Other Weekend.

15. What is your favourite song of 1's? 
Jack o' Lantern, Brittle Bones and Fox Eyes

16. How did you become a fan of 10?  
My dear brother played them a lot, way back when.


I tag your face.

We Have Come Together

-Insert Canadian Improv Games oath here-

I have beautiful, talented friends. I've just gotten back from Kitchener, where I watched the Tri-city improv tournament finals. I laughed, I cried (I did, but only once. Oh Brit!), and I seriously enjoyed watching the friendliest, most awesome competition ever. Improv is an awesome sport.

My school has an amazing team. They're creative, their funny, they're talented (Not to mention extremely good looking c; ) and they have so much heart. The whole time I watched the competition, I thought, "How could they not win?" They put themselves on the line, every time. And it paid off.

They won, but I don't know if they expected to. They were sitting so tightly together, wrapped up in a nervous hug. And when the other teams were awarded their places, they would jump up and cheer, only to return once again to their huddle. The whole time they were sitting holding hands, too. They're a family, they really are. When they were called up for first place, they were so excited and crazy, and in awe. They're going to Nationals!

And then, when they had been presented their medals, the other improv teams descended upon them to congratulate them and hug it out. That's why it's a beautiful sport. Everyone legitimately loves each other, even if they'd only met recently.

I'm jealous of the improv kids. There's no way in the world I resent them for their love and passion for what they do. I just wish I had that feeling of being so involved in something so tight like that. I'm friends with all of them, but I will always be on the outside of what they have. And that's all right. But I've realized, that what I really want out of life is that. That feeling of belonging, of love, and acceptance and comradeship.

I don't know. I just want something that meaningful in my life.

I'm completely bringing down this post with my obnoxious feelings. Allow me to do so some more.

I think I may have strong feelings of love and or attraction to someone. I'm not sure however, because I sometimes find it hard to figure out what I've fabricated and what I actually feel. I'm emotionally convoluted. And I don't want to risk my friendship with the guy if I'm not sure what I feel.

Dear readers, what do you do when you're in love? How can you tell? I just don't know how.

Ancient Monks Of Awesome

I promised I would share an excerpt yesterday, but I decided to have a social life, so I didn't get around to it. My friends are doing SCIENCE now, so I figure I'm good to get this done. Also, because they were here, I didn't get my 750 words done yesterday. I'm not sure if I'm mad at myself or willing to give myself a day off every Friday for sociability. Probably the latter, because I do like having friends.

Anyway, He's the excerpt. It's just a random bit of dialogue from page 14. Exciting!

“I’m kidnapping you, obviously.” Dan told her, straight-faced. “Get in the car.”

                “I have to pick up Jake from school and Graeme from daycare.” Gen told him, shaking her head. “I can’t participate in your antics today.”

                “Gen, you wound me so,” Dan complained, placing a hand on his chest. “Do you really think I don’t know what your every Friday looks like? I cancelled my antics for an evening at the castle. I brought  a few old western movies.”

                Gen shook her head, laughing, as she got into the passenger seat. “Why are you so great?” She asked, buckling her seatbelt. “It’s disconcerting.”

                “Practice.” Dan grinned at her, then pulled into the flow of traffic headed towards the elementary school.

                “You must spend hours just being great.” Gen commented. “Because it is a mastery of being great that you have.”

                “I learned the craft from the secret monks of awesome.” Dan said. “It was an arduous journey to their temples of righteousness, but well worth it. My greatness expanded exponentially.”

                Gen snorted with laughter, feeling lighter than she had all day. “I would attempt the journey, but, alas, I’d not survive.”

Sir Jake the Faithful

My dog is a nut. He's fifteen years old, and starting to look it. And the poor bugger lives for nothing except for my mother. He follows her around, pines when she's not home, and generally loves her and only her (Unless someone else has food, of course).

This week, my mother and my sister, Monica, have gone to Ottowa to see Algonquin college, where Monica intends to go to get her pilots license. Of course, that means that Jake's reason for living isn't home. When I woke up this morning, I saw Jake, lying motionless in Mom's room.

I just about had a heart-attack, which is a great way to start the day off. Jake wasn't dead, thank god, which I probably should have known (He sleeps like the dead, that dog. Seriously, he doesn't move for hours when he sleeps), because there's no way that dog is gonna die when Mom's not safe at home, and even then, if he goes, who will follow her around all the time?

Of course, with her not here, he's peed everywhere, and will likely do so some more today, because no one is home.

In other news, Spring has officially sprung. Not only on the calender, but in actuality. I saw flowers today. Purple crocus' and those little white flowers I've always called Snow Drops, but I'm not sure if that's the correct name. I'll take some pictures tomorrow.

Also, I kind of want to do those stupid facebook fill in the blanks quizzes/memes for my characters. Is that lame?

Also, I just noticed, I have ten followers now! Woohoo! And, because I am going to involve you all, do you have any pets? Tell me about them!

750 Words

I am beginning to work seriously on My Soul To Keep (Seriously, I need a new title. This one is lame.), and because I love (hate) myself so much, I'm giving myself a deadline. I am going to have my first draft done by July 21th. Done, as in finished, with a beginning, a middle, and end, plot points, character development, the whole deal.

How will I get this done, you ask? I will, from now on, be writing 750 words a day. That seems like a reasonably figure, doesn't it? I wanted to kickstart my manuscript by writing 10,000 over the break, but, because I'm lame and rarely stick to my goals, I only wrote 2000 over the whole week. It's not like I was doing anything else, either. I was just being lazy.

But no more! And, in case you care and want me to stay on track, I will be posting an excerpt from the story every Friday. This may be a decent, comprehensible excerpt, or a smattering of lines I like. I won't have the full 5000 or so words to choose from this week, since today is the first day of the challenge, but whatever. Maybe it should be every Monday? Whatever. Friday seems like a better day for blogging.

I'm gonna do it.

Current word count 255/750
Not bad. It's only 10:22 am

Howl

I've been thinking about my story lately, and it's getting out of hand. But I will be writing it anyway, and figuring it all out later. I'm just sort of bumbling through it and procrastinating a lot. My goal for March Break was to write 10,000 words. I've written about 500. Whoohoo. And here I am, not working on it some more. I need to get my but in gear here. Lord.

Spring has sprung! The snow is almost gone, and I didn't have to wear a winter coat when I went out for lunch with Brittany today! YES! Suck it, Winter. I just want to sing and dance and be happy. So I did. I did some twirls and leaps on my way home from The Best Little Menu (If you live in Grimsby, check it out!). 

Speaking of singing, Howler is going to be recording an album this month! Brittany is pretty stoked about it, and for good reason. Howler is one of the top new bands in Niagara, and they deserve it. If ever you get a chance to go to one of their shows, do it up! It's worth it!

Brittany is one of my best friends. We started a blog together, which you can find a link to in the sidebar, and, though it has very little content right now, we're just  sort of throwing ideas around for a someday cafe. We'll probably have more collab stuff to follow, such as The Fox and The Crow (Which will be a collab art and writing book project thing) and, occasionally we sing together, which rocks. Brittany has a sweet voice, and we do a lot of harmony to songs. I might be doing some harmony stuff on the Howler album, so we'll see how it goes. If it doesn't happen, I'll be a little disappointed, because I just like being involved. It's fun.

Also, I love all of you that have taken the time to read anything I've written here. Seriously, even if you don't comment ever, I like to think you're out there, somewhere, reading what I have to say. I can try to be better at having opinions that matter to you all, but I basically just live my life and do what is to be done. You all rock.

Hunted

 Hey Everyone. Been a while, hasn't it? Sorry about that. I got distracted by the sledgehammer being constantly beaten into my head. Not for real. It's a metaphorical sledgehammer. It still hurts like a bitch though.

Because you're all such beautiful people, I have something nice for you. Here's an excerpt from the beginning of my novel project My Soul To Keep (I seriously need a new title. Help me out here). It's very vague.

Hunted.

 He flew through the trees, glancing back over his shoulder often, trying to catch sight of his pursuers. He could hear them, shouting to each other, he could see the glimpses of coloured light, ready to lance out and touch him, to drain him away. He ran faster, pumping his legs with all the power he could.

                His lungs burned, his chest ached. He was too weak to get away. One of their lights had hit him. He couldn’t shift to a safer form, anymore. He was trapped in his body. His slowly weakening, fragile body. Soon they would be upon him, and he would feel their teeth as they tore him to shreds. They would kill him, as they killed everyone like him. He had managed to evade them for years. How had they caught up with him now?

                He tried to remember the last time he’d felt safe. It had been so long. A face swam slowly up to the surface of his mind. A girl’s face, smiling at him, a tooth missing from her wide grin. She had been so young, and yet had offered him more protection than anyone else ever had. Offered him friendship, compassion. And then, suddenly, she had stopped visiting. He didn’t know why. He had seen her, walking near the path, wistful and sad, and then she never came back.

Would she remember him? She would be older now. She would help him. She had to.

                Could she be strong enough to protect him from the hunters?

                Maybe. A goal in mind, he sped up again, leaving the hunters behind.  He wouldn’t be able to keep his breakneck pace for long, but that didn’t matter. She would save him. He would be able to rest when he found her.

                For now, that was enough to sustain him. He burst out of the cover of trees, and onto the road and into a pair of blinding lights. 

Intrigued yet? I hope so!

Something New And Exciting

If you live in the Niagara region, you may have heard of the band Howler. They're pretty new, having formed last summer, and they've been gaining popularity ever since. They will be recording an album this spring. If you're interested in hearing the songs from their E.P, check out their myspace.

Brittany (Check out her art blog), half of the duo that is Howler, is one of my best friends. The other day, she was sick, and hiding in the green room, so I brought her tea and hung out with her all day. We started talking about a book project that we will be doing at some point (Tentatively titled The Fox and The Crow). This conversation turned to talking about her new album, and then to a possible Songbook thing.

Basically the Songbook would be a shortish story or group of short stories that relate to her songs. They would be sold alongside her albums. I'm pretty stoked about this project, so I hope it actually happens, ahaha. It would be such a cool project. Apparently she talked to her label manager, Timmur, and he thought it was a cool idea too. So we'll see!

I'm so glad the weekend is here. I need to do some serious catch up on homework, and get as much writing in as I can.

Love you. Seriously. : )

Slapshots

Alright. I don`t know a lot about Hockey, father/son relationships, figure skating or divorce. However, I do know a little about Gabe and the violent shadow people living in his head, and if you missed out on that, please direct your attention to Sabotage. I've rewritten it since, but whatever.

Slapshots

Gabe skated over the ice, the cool air whipping over his face and arms.  He went fast, covering the distance from one end of the rink to the other with a few strides, then swooping around the ends. He could hear his heart drumming, the only sound besides his breath and the metallic sound of his skates on the rinks surface.

He stopped, sending a spray of ice up onto the boards.  He glided over to the bench and grabbed his water bottle. He drank, and then paused, surveying the dimly lit rink. There was one net, floating alone at the far end of the ice. He picked up his stick and a bucket full of pucks, and made his way to the center of the rink.

He fired the pucks at the net, the crack of impact echoing loudly.  When the bucket was empty, he collected them and began firing them off again, this time from the blue line. A good half of his shots ended up outside the net now, but he continued until the bucket was empty once more. He paused a moment, before skating down the rink to collect the pucks once more.

“What team do you play for?” A voice asked from the stands.

Gabe looked up, startled. “What?”

There was a man, sitting in the third row, watching him. “What team do you play for? Downsview Flyers? Mulgrove Lions? You’re not university, I’d recognize you.”

“Neither.” Gabe replied.

“You play for one of the big cities?”

Gabe shook his head. “I don’t play.”

“Come on, kid, with a slap shot like that, teams would be fighting for you.” The man looked flabbergasted, unable to understand.

“I don’t play.” Gabe repeated.

“So you mean to tell me you’re here, in the middle of the night, practicing a god know how many miles an hour slap shot, for fun?”

“Yeah.” Gabe shrugged.

“How’d you get in here anyway? Do you go to this school?”

“My Dad’s the coach.”

“Really?” The man leaned back, scrutinizing Gabe. “You’re Levi’s boy, and you’ve got a slap shot like that, and you don’t play? Pull the other one, kid, it’s got bells on it.” He laughed harshly, the sound echoing. “There’s no way Levi would let you not play.”

“He can’t exactly force me.”  Gabe said bitterly. “And he’s not thrilled that he can’t let me tell you.”

“Ah.”

Gabe looked at him and waited, but the man didn’t say anything more.  “When I asked him if I could get rink time here was probably the best conversation we had.” He said. He immediately wished he hadn’t. The man’s expression changed from incredulity to sympathy in a matter of seconds.

“Your Dad is one of my best friends.” The man said. “He never talks about you, not really. Just in passing. I remember a few months ago, he was pissed because you were in a figure skating competition.” He paused. “I figured that you were a nancy boy, not a six foot tall kid with one of the best slap shots I’ve ever seen.”

“I just sort of got roped into the figure skating thing.” Gabe shrugged. “I was helping Luce with her routine, and her instructor asked me to do some work with the advanced class, doing lifts and stuff. I wouldn’t have done it, but Luce convinced me.”

The man laughed. “Your little sister always seems to get her way. I’ve only met her a few times, but you can tell she’s stubborn.”

Gabe smiled. “Yeah. I don’t get to see her that often, because she lives with Dad, so I agreed. Dad came to the show thing they put on at the end of the year, and I did a routine with the top student. He couldn’t even look at me afterwards.  Just asked if he should have brought another thing of flowers for his ‘other daughter’. I just about punched him. I would have, but it was Lucy’s night, not mine. I wasn’t going to ruin it for her.”

The man was silent for a few minutes. “You don’t talk a lot, do you?” He asked. When Gabe looked at him questioningly, he continued. “If I asked you the right questions, you’d probably tell me your life story right now.”

“No, I-“

The man held up a hand to stop him. “I’m not judging. I can tell you’re one of those kids who doesn’t have a lot of friends, and you’ve got a lot of anger built up, and nowhere to vent it. So you come out here to deal with everything when it gets too much. You run over everything in your mind, imagine that those pucks have your fathers face on them. That’s how you deal with it all, ain’t it?”

“I guess so.” Gabe admitted.

“Hockey is where I went too. I played on a team, mind.” He paused. “Why don’t you?”

“I got in a fight with a kid.”

“So? That’s normal. Encouraged, even.”

“I broke his nose, knocked out a few of his teeth, and I think I might have cracked one of his ribs.”

The man let out a low whistle. “That’s some serious damage.”

“Yeah.” Gabe snapped. “I know. I don’t want to do that to someone else.”

“Then don’t.” The man shrugged.” Simple as that.”

Gabe clenched both hands around his hockey stick, his knuckles glaring white from his skin. “It’s never that simple.”

“No? Why not?”

Gabe glared at the man. The man glared back, challenge in his gaze. “I don’t want to put myself in a situation where I would be likely to hurt someone.”

 “You look like you want to hit me right now. Why don’t you?” He laughed. “You seem to have a low opinion of your self-control.”

Gabe snapped the stick in half and tossed the pieces to the ice.  “That was one of those ‘virtually unbreakable’ ones.”

The man gaped at him. “But-How?-Did-“He stopped. “Shoddy workmanship. Probably made in China. The material was compromised because of the stress you put on it from shots.”

“Whatever.” Gabe shrugged, and returned to picking up the pucks. “You’re welcome to try, if you’d like.”

There was silence as Gabe finished gathering the pucks and the pieces of his broken stick. He placed them on the bench, and started laps of the rink again. The arena filled with the silvery sounds of his skates pounding against the ice. The older man didn’t say another word until Gabe had untied his skates and was putting on his shoes.

“How often do you come here?”

“At least once a week,” Gabe answered. “Sometimes three or four times.”

“You want to run through drills with the team, at all?” He asked. “They’ve gotten complacent. A younger kid showing them up might get them to work harder.”

“Sure.” Gabe shrugged. “If I’m not busy, anyway.”

“I’ll talk to your Dad about it, and get him to give you a call.”

“Sounds good.” Gabe paused. “Can you tell him I broke my stick? I’m gonna need a new one.”

“Sure, kid.” The man looked like he wanted to say something else, but Gabe didn’t give him the chance.

He walked out of the arena, into the warm night air. He looked back at the building and shook his head. If his father called, he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to answer it. Maybe it would feel good to play hockey properly again. Maybe it would help him to talk to his father. Maybe there was nothing wrong with him, maybe everyone had the same violent impulses as him. Maybe. But Gabe never was one to take a chance on maybes.


PS. Downsview and Mulgrove are both fictional places. They're from My Soul To Keep.

Progess (Or Lack Thereof)

I heard the train go by a few minutes ago. It's funny. I never heard it once throughout the whole winter, but it's suddenly back again, as familiar and regular as ever. I think I'm beginning to pay attention again, which is a good sign. The train makes me think wistfully of the summer, when I'd sit in my window and listen to the frogs singing and the crickets chirping, and the rapid percussion of the trains passing through. The spring is coming. I can smell it in the still cold air, see it in the glass edged puddles, hear it in the tentative chirping of the returning birds. I don't think I've ever been so ready for winter to end. Let the ground thaw! Let the grass grow! Let the rain fall and let the stars touch the earth. Let the warm breeze catch me and take me away.


I've been thinking about writing. Not in the sense of, I should write something down. More in the sense of why I do it and why I don't. I mostly write when I want to create something. But lately, I've been wanting to create music. I'm hopeless when it comes to instruments. I'd like to learn to play the piano, but opportunity offers me no venue to try. All I can do is write the words and make a tune in my head. It inevitably gets kept to myself. Not only that, but the words sound all wrong. I never was much of a poet.

I digress. I've mostly been thinking about reading versus writing. Anyone who knows me is aware that I am an avid reader. I love having a book with me, I love the feel of pages between my fingers, the words that paint pictures behind my eyes. I love getting caught up in a story. So often, however, I will leave my own writing to read someone else's. In my own writing, I have complete control. I can create worlds, change them and destroy them in a heartbeat. The story is mine to craft. I should be more invested in the lives of my characters. If I want a story, wouldn't I be better off to work on my own?

We live in a world where everyone and their mother wants to become a writer. Obviously I am no exception. I think, in general, we undervalue the importance of the reader. When someone says they write, but never read, it makes me want to lock them in a library for a week. How can they take themselves seriously as writers if they don't take other (published and successful) writers seriously? I may be guilty of occaisionally ignoring a tantalizing new read for my own work, but rest assured that I've abandoned my writing for a book much more often.  I'm not sure if this is a good thing. It just is.

I need to make time to fit in all the things I need to do. I should crack down on my wasted hours doing nothing on the computer. Yes, facebook is all lovely and shiny, but it won't do my homework for me, or write my stories for me. It is a yawning canyon into which I am throwing away my free time. Not just facebook, mind, but the entire internet.

I guess this means I need to get organized. I suppose I should begin by doing my homework, no matter how dull and boring it may be. And then, I will write. Then, if time permits, I will read a few chapters of Stolen.

Speaking of reading, do any of you, my readers, faithful and fleeting alike, have blogs (tumblr, independent website, whatever) that you'd like to share with me? I'd love to know what you all do. Drop me a comment with a link, and I'll check it out!