Saturday, December 18, 2010

Yup, you ended up in my novel.


Of course there are many reasons why I love to be home, especially for the holidays. However, I will have to say that my favorite thing to do while I'm home is this: have hot tea, the snack of my liking (tonight's dish is an apple), and write my novel. I only have the first 50+ pages finished because school keeps getting in the way, but I would have to say that working on it is the most relaxing thing I could ever do.

Then I started laughing. I'm literally sitting in my bed right now, cuddling up with my cat, and laughing audibly. Yeah, I'm that cool. The reason I'm laughing, though, is because I keep putting people from my real life into my book. I'm having people from my past become people of my present and throwing in people I both hate and love. No, not obviously exactly like it is in real life, but the characters reflect these people. I just find it easier to base characters off of real people. Maybe that's just me. But anyway, this is a fair warning to all of you who cross paths with me. More likely than not, you have been inserted into my novel.

I'm not the type of writer who shares book ideas, and I have more than one story that I'm working on, but if you're reading this, there is a strong possibility that you're in one. If one day they become popular, or if no one ever sees than but me, it doesn't matter. I will never tell.

I don't know the point of this blog except to share that I'm totally and completely blissful right now and that people should think twice before pissing off a writer.

:)

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Plastic beauty

So, I was rummaging around in my blog menu and clearing out things which I don't need, and I ran across this blog. I was intrigued by the title, so I clicked on it to see that I had not written anything. Only the title, only one thought.

So, I'm going to leave this without inserting my own opinions about it. I won't go into detail about my own life, feelings, and all that jazz because I want you to tell me what this means to you.

What is beauty? Why have we allowed other people to tell us what is and isn't beautiful? Why do we crave this familiar, cookie-cutter definition of plastic beauty?

I refuse to be mass-produced.