Okay, so, FINALLY I have figured out the blogging stuff. It took forever, but now it is much more organized and is under my new e-mail address and is over at:

naomirthompson.blogspot.com

It will have such things as:

Peace. ~

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Eventually I will be moving over to a new blog. I have a whole set up of what I'll be blogging about (yay for organization!), and I already have been working on writing blog posts. There's just some life stuff I have to take care of first. Like finals. And other things. SO. Eventually I will move and be organized, but probably not for another month. I'm hoping by June 1 I can have everything up and running and set and stuff. I'm excited about a lot of it, and a little bit hesitant about some other stuff. Which is all very vague. BUT! I'm working on it and I'm excited for the future because I know it will get better. And there are so many things to learn and watch and be involved with and experienced and there are people to get to know and ALL THE THINGS.

I hope y'all are all doing well and I can't wait to get back into an organized form of living so I can get back into the blogging world that I have missed out on for so long.

Have a good next few weeks! For those with finals, good luck!

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 I have been pretty much only cooking and eating my own food. As a college student without a job and very little funds I have learned to be fairly creative in what I eat. Or, how I cook what I eat, I suppose. I mostly only eat pasta. I need pasta. When I don't have enough pasta I get super cranky.

Because I'm in a dorm I cook in a shared kitchen. This can be fun, because I get to meet and talk to a lot of people I wouldn't otherwise. This can be not so much fun because the kitchen is super tiny. No. Really. I'll get a picture later and show you. It's ridiculous.

And people have commented on how my food looks/smells delicious so I decided it might be fun to share some of the things I cook with y'all. First up is Skillet Pasta!

What you'll need:

Utensil Type Things:

• Skillet (or some kind of frying pan)
• A lid for the skillet (it doesn't have to fit perfectly - mine doesn't - it just has to cover a decent portion of the skillet)
• A wooden spoon (or a metal one, I suppose - I just prefer wooden spoons)
• A cutting board and knife
• A bowl/plate of some sort
• An oven - and a working burner
• Spatula (optional)

Food Stuffs:

• Oil
• Spices (I use: rosemary, oregano, garlic salt, and sometimes basil)
• an onion (if you absolutely hate onions you don't have to use onions)
• pasta (I use angel hair or fettuccine, but any kind should work)
• pasta sauce (any kind, really - I'm using red sauce here, but you could also use vodka sauce or other things probably)
• cheese (I uses goat cheese and a bag of mixed cheese)

Be warned: I don't use exact measurements.

First: put your skillet/frying pan onto a burner and put some oil and spices inside. Turn the burner on low. This, I find, helps your skillet/frying pan to have a more consistent heat once you start throwing stuff into it.

Second: cut up some onion (however much depends on how much onion you want - usually I use two slices) and throw onions into skillet/frying pan. Only. Not literally. Throwing food around can get messy. If you have really good aim, hey, go for it. If not: just slide the onions in gently.

Let the onions cook for a little bit. It depends on how not-crunchy you want them to be. The longer you let them cook, the less crunchy they will be.

Third:  pour some sauce into the skillet/frying pan. If you aren't good at eyeballing pour in a half a cup or a cup of sauce, depending on your portion size, and see how that looks.


Fourth: time for the pasta! If using angel hair/fettuccine I find it easier to break it up. Break it in half, and then break each half into half. This makes it easier to cook. 

Fifth: add in enough water so that the pasta is fully covered. Then cover with the lid and set the timer for about ten minutes.

 


 Sixth: when the pasta has cooked for about five minutes it's time to add the cheese! The image on the right will show you about how much goat cheese I use. For the mixed cheese I put in one or two handfuls (about half a cup?).

 

 Stir until the cheese is fully melted. Put the lid back on an wait another five minutes. Make sure you uncover and stir every minute or so to make sure nothing is burning or sticking to the bottom of the pan. If the pasta is still uncooked after five minutes keep uncovered and stir sporadically until it's ready. When is ready? It honestly depends on how you like your pasta. Just keep testing the pasta until it tastes good to you. How high/low your heat is will affect how fast/slow the pasta cooks. Also, the angel hair will cook much faster than the fettuccine. 

 This is about how it will look when it's done cooking.

Seventh: when the pasta is done pour into some sort of eating container. I use a spatula to make sure I get everything out of the pan. This also makes it easier to wash the skillet/frying pan

Eighth: wash your skillet/frying pan and wooden spoon and spatula (if you used one) and lid. Now, if you're in your own house/apartment, this is none of my business and whatever. Wash your dishes when you want to. This step is for college students. If you are sharing a kitchen with anyone, if the kitchen is not your private space, then wash your dishes. This is respectful to people (*cough* like me *cough cough*) who need to use the kitchen space and don't want to have to clean up your mess. Be an adult. Be a respectful person.

Ahem.

Ninth: Eat your food! I won't go into details, because I'm pretty sure all of you (or at least most) know how to feed yourselves. If not, ask someone else for help. I can't help you with that.

I add fresh basil to most of my dishes because I have an awesome basil plant that hasn't died yet.

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 I have been pretty much only cooking and eating my own food. As a college student without a job and very little funds I have learned to be fairly creative in what I eat. Or, how I cook what I eat, I suppose. I mostly only eat pasta. I need pasta. When I don't have enough pasta I get super cranky.

Because I'm in a dorm I cook in a shared kitchen. This can be fun, because I get to meet and talk to a lot of people I wouldn't otherwise. This can be not so much fun because the kitchen is super tiny. No. Really. I'll get a picture later and show you. It's ridiculous.

And people have commented on how my food looks/smells delicious so I decided it might be fun to share some of the things I cook with y'all. First up is Skillet Pasta!

What you'll need:

Utensil Type Things:

• Skillet (or some kind of frying pan)
• A lid for the skillet (it doesn't have to fit perfectly - mine doesn't - it just has to cover a decent portion of the skillet)
• A wooden spoon (or a metal one, I suppose - I just prefer wooden spoons)
• A cutting board and knife
• A bowl/plate of some sort
• An oven - and a working burner
• Spatula (optional)

Food Stuffs:

• Oil
• Spices (I use: rosemary, oregano, garlic salt, and sometimes basil)
• an onion (if you absolutely hate onions you don't have to use onions)
• pasta (I use angel hair or fettuccine, but any kind should work)
• pasta sauce (any kind, really - I'm using red sauce here, but you could also use vodka sauce or other things probably)
• cheese (I uses goat cheese and a bag of mixed cheese)

Be warned: I don't use exact measurements.

First: put your skillet/frying pan onto a burner and put some oil and spices inside. Turn the burner on low. This, I find, helps your skillet/frying pan to have a more consistent heat once you start throwing stuff into it.

Second: cut up some onion (however much depends on how much onion you want - usually I use two slices) and throw onions into skillet/frying pan. Only. Not literally. Throwing food around can get messy. If you have really good aim, hey, go for it. If not: just slide the onions in gently.

Let the onions cook for a little bit. It depends on how not-crunchy you want them to be. The longer you let them cook, the less crunchy they will be.

Third:  pour some sauce into the skillet/frying pan. If you aren't good at eyeballing pour in a half a cup or a cup of sauce, depending on your portion size, and see how that looks.


Fourth: time for the pasta! If using angel hair/fettuccine I find it easier to break it up. Break it in half, and then break each half into half. This makes it easier to cook. 

Fifth: add in enough water so that the pasta is fully covered. Then cover with the lid and set the timer for about ten minutes.

 


 Sixth: when the pasta has cooked for about five minutes it's time to add the cheese! The image on the right will show you about how much goat cheese I use. For the mixed cheese I put in one or two handfuls (about half a cup?).

 

 Stir until the cheese is fully melted. Put the lid back on an wait another five minutes. Make sure you uncover and stir every minute or so to make sure nothing is burning or sticking to the bottom of the pan. If the pasta is still uncooked after five minutes keep uncovered and stir sporadically until it's ready. When is ready? It honestly depends on how you like your pasta. Just keep testing the pasta until it tastes good to you. How high/low your heat is will affect how fast/slow the pasta cooks. Also, the angel hair will cook much faster than the fettuccine. 

 This is about how it will look when it's done cooking.

Seventh: when the pasta is done pour into some sort of eating container. I use a spatula to make sure I get everything out of the pan. This also makes it easier to wash the skillet/frying pan

Eighth: wash your skillet/frying pan and wooden spoon and spatula (if you used one) and lid. Now, if you're in your own house/apartment, this is none of my business and whatever. Wash your dishes when you want to. This step is for college students. If you are sharing a kitchen with anyone, if the kitchen is not your private space, then wash your dishes. This is respectful to people (*cough* like me *cough cough*) who need to use the kitchen space and don't want to have to clean up your mess. Be an adult. Be a respectful person.

Ahem.

Ninth: Eat your food! I won't go into details, because I'm pretty sure all of you (or at least most) know how to feed yourselves. If not, ask someone else for help. I can't help you with that.

I add fresh basil to most of my dishes because I have an awesome basil plant that hasn't died yet.

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...

It's just sitting there.

And I keep thinking about consciousness and zombie toasters (zombie's according to Chalmers, that is) and the fact that we don't believe that inanimate objects have "consciousness" or individual identities or selves or an expressable "I."

And I think how unfair that is.

And I think of the book Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls, where the main character can hear things like stuffed animals and doors and walls and people thinks she's crazy but she's not. Because she really can hear doors and walls and inanimate objects that we say do not have identities or any abilities to communicate.

And I want to know why.

And I want to push at philosophers and make them explain to me why this assumption is in place. Is it only because you cannot conceive of it? Cannot imagine it? Because I can. So many times I feel like a book is judging me, or a chair looks lonely, or a rock feels angry, or.... Is this merely me taking my own mental states and attributing them to inanimate objects? Am I just crazy? Am I just using language and feelings in ways that only writers use language and feelings?

I don't know.

But I wish philosophers would quit saying so forcefully that they know that chairs do not have identities or personalities or "consciousness" or anything at all they are just wood and cloth and little bits of metal nails.

Because we don't really know anything - now do we?

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...

It's just sitting there.

And I keep thinking about consciousness and zombie toasters (zombie's according to Chalmers, that is) and the fact that we don't believe that inanimate objects have "consciousness" or individual identities or selves or an expressable "I."

And I think how unfair that is.

And I think of the book Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls, where the main character can hear things like stuffed animals and doors and walls and people thinks she's crazy but she's not. Because she really can hear doors and walls and inanimate objects that we say do not have identities or any abilities to communicate.

And I want to know why.

And I want to push at philosophers and make them explain to me why this assumption is in place. Is it only because you cannot conceive of it? Cannot imagine it? Because I can. So many times I feel like a book is judging me, or a chair looks lonely, or a rock feels angry, or.... Is this merely me taking my own mental states and attributing them to inanimate objects? Am I just crazy? Am I just using language and feelings in ways that only writers use language and feelings?

I don't know.

But I wish philosophers would quit saying so forcefully that they know that chairs do not have identities or personalities or "consciousness" or anything at all they are just wood and cloth and little bits of metal nails.

Because we don't really know anything - now do we?

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Hey LamNams!

I thought I should let you know I'm making a bit of a change:

• My blog is now: naomiruthwrites
• My e-mail is now: naomirthompson(at)gmail(dot)com [more or less - I'm still in the midst of changing that nonsense]

I'm trying to grow up a little bit and:

• Be a tad more professional
• Learn how to write better
• Learn how to represent myself better

I shall keep you updated on any other changes! I'm looking forward to see what happens for the rest of this year. There's so many possibilities!

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Hey LamNams!

I thought I should let you know I'm making a bit of a change:

• My blog is now: naomiruthwrites
• My e-mail is now: naomirthompson(at)gmail(dot)com [more or less - I'm still in the midst of changing that nonsense]

I'm trying to grow up a little bit and:

• Be a tad more professional
• Learn how to write better
• Learn how to represent myself better

I shall keep you updated on any other changes! I'm looking forward to see what happens for the rest of this year. There's so many possibilities!

Add a Comment

So I've been running around WriteOnCon when I have time - because they are doing a PitchFest and it's super exciting. I'm working on my pitch for WhiteWashed.

And I realized how much I miss being part of the writerly world and posting in here and all I could think of was, "Dude, why did I stop?" and I realized:

Something happened. Something mysterious and I don't know what. BUT.

I didn't think I had anything important to say. It's like someone took a vacuum hose and stuck it down my throat and sucked out all of my confidence and worth as an individual self.

I don't even know. It's so not like me. I've always been fairly confident in who I am and that I have something important to say and share.

But. Something happened and all of that disappeared and I would pull up this blog - you have NO IDEA how many times I pulled up this blog - and I would stare at the empty screen waiting for me to burp words up onto and I would just think: there is nothing I can say. Everything has already been said. People have BETTER things to say than I do.

What is my life?

What if I'm just an object interacting with other objects that have the power to produce within me the feelings of a personality and really this "I" does not refer to anything at all?

But I have an amazing friend and she e-mailed me the other day and reminded me that: I can say things that are worth saying.

So. Will I blog more? I have no idea. My laptop died and won't turn back on. I don't have a job. I have no idea what I'm doing this summer. I'm taking 22 credits part of which is writing a thesis part of which is a heavy book reading independent study... And you know what. I'll tell you more about that later. Because. I can do that.

I can write in here when I want to about THINGS and about BORING THINGS and about EXCITING THINGS and I can have a sense of humor and I can not be depressed all of the time and I can not hold myself up to some weird kind of I don't know what that keeps me from doing anything and this has become one very long sentence of longness.

Now.

I'm going to go make pasta. I might tell you about it later. Because pasta is awesome.

And life is awesome.

And here is a picture of Norway:

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So I've been running around WriteOnCon when I have time - because they are doing a PitchFest and it's super exciting. I'm working on my pitch for WhiteWashed.

And I realized how much I miss being part of the writerly world and posting in here and all I could think of was, "Dude, why did I stop?" and I realized:

Something happened. Something mysterious and I don't know what. BUT.

I didn't think I had anything important to say. It's like someone took a vacuum hose and stuck it down my throat and sucked out all of my confidence and worth as an individual self.

I don't even know. It's so not like me. I've always been fairly confident in who I am and that I have something important to say and share.

But. Something happened and all of that disappeared and I would pull up this blog - you have NO IDEA how many times I pulled up this blog - and I would stare at the empty screen waiting for me to burp words up onto and I would just think: there is nothing I can say. Everything has already been said. People have BETTER things to say than I do.

What is my life?

What if I'm just an object interacting with other objects that have the power to produce within me the feelings of a personality and really this "I" does not refer to anything at all?

But I have an amazing friend and she e-mailed me the other day and reminded me that: I can say things that are worth saying.

So. Will I blog more? I have no idea. My laptop died and won't turn back on. I don't have a job. I have no idea what I'm doing this summer. I'm taking 22 credits part of which is writing a thesis part of which is a heavy book reading independent study... And you know what. I'll tell you more about that later. Because. I can do that.

I can write in here when I want to about THINGS and about BORING THINGS and about EXCITING THINGS and I can have a sense of humor and I can not be depressed all of the time and I can not hold myself up to some weird kind of I don't know what that keeps me from doing anything and this has become one very long sentence of longness.

Now.

I'm going to go make pasta. I might tell you about it later. Because pasta is awesome.

And life is awesome.

And here is a picture of Norway:

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I have a lot of crazy characters. And I'm not just saying that. I have a lot of mentally deranged, unstable, people. I have characters with emotional problems. I have characters that could be labeled all kinds of disorders.

Why?

Because one, I think they're interesting. But two, I think we hide our labels. We  hide our instability. We pretend we're okay and we smile and we go to class. I have multiple friends who are depressed and on meds. And they don't tell people. I had a serious emotional/mental problem last semester with anxiety and panic and depression.

But shh! Don't tell.

Our society likes to cover up crazy. Take your pills and shut up and pretend. It makes the world uncomfortable. It makes us feel like we're no in control. It's messy and it hurts and we aren't going to talk about it.

But who doesn't have some sort of problem some time?

Why do we need to hide who we are all of the time? I hate it. It's something that I truly loathe. The hiding. The fearing judgement. The fact that people either ignore that you have a problem or they treat you differently.

Why?

We're just people. We're all just people.

I haven't been blogging much. I blame it on the fact that I don't have time, or I don't have anything to blog about, or blah, blah, blah, excuse, excuse, excuse. The reason why I don't blog much, the reason why I don't read blogs like I used to, has nothing to do with that. The truth is sometimes I don't want to get out of bed in the morning. The truth is sometimes I sit all day and stare out of the window and look at trees. The truth is life is a struggle and it's hard and sometimes your brain explodes and you spiral out of control and you pick up the pieces and have to start setting up new patterns.

And it costs you. Having your brain malfunction and your mood go paddywack crazy costs you. You don't find internships on time. You don't have readership up on your blog. No one knows who you are. No one comments. And you think about how this makes you look, and you wonder what you can do, and there's all of these things that make you feel so alone in the world.

But don't talk about it.

Don't blog about it.

Pretend you're okay, find a way around it, repress it and hide it and hope it goes away.

I'm getting better. I'm making lists. I'm finishing books. I'm writing more regularly. I'm blogging a tiny bit more (not much). I'm getting back into the blog world (so slowly) and I'm preparing for my second to last semester and hoping I can still find an internship and work toward a life after graduation.

So. My characters are going to be crazy. They are going to have mental problems. They are going to be psychotic, and abused, and sick, and sometimes maybe they won't be, but most of the time they will. Because that is what I am. That is what I know. And I'm tired of it being something that is not okay to talk about.

Get over yourself, world. Face your imperfections and accept it and move on with your life.

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I have a lot of crazy characters. And I'm not just saying that. I have a lot of mentally deranged, unstable, people. I have characters with emotional problems. I have characters that could be labeled all kinds of disorders.

Why?

Because one, I think they're interesting. But two, I think we hide our labels. We  hide our instability. We pretend we're okay and we smile and we go to class. I have multiple friends who are depressed and on meds. And they don't tell people. I had a serious emotional/mental problem last semester with anxiety and panic and depression.

But shh! Don't tell.

Our society likes to cover up crazy. Take your pills and shut up and pretend. It makes the world uncomfortable. It makes us feel like we're no in control. It's messy and it hurts and we aren't going to talk about it.

But who doesn't have some sort of problem some time?

Why do we need to hide who we are all of the time? I hate it. It's something that I truly loathe. The hiding. The fearing judgement. The fact that people either ignore that you have a problem or they treat you differently.

Why?

We're just people. We're all just people.

I haven't been blogging much. I blame it on the fact that I don't have time, or I don't have anything to blog about, or blah, blah, blah, excuse, excuse, excuse. The reason why I don't blog much, the reason why I don't read blogs like I used to, has nothing to do with that. The truth is sometimes I don't want to get out of bed in the morning. The truth is sometimes I sit all day and stare out of the window and look at trees. The truth is life is a struggle and it's hard and sometimes your brain explodes and you spiral out of control and you pick up the pieces and have to start setting up new patterns.

And it costs you. Having your brain malfunction and your mood go paddywack crazy costs you. You don't find internships on time. You don't have readership up on your blog. No one knows who you are. No one comments. And you think about how this makes you look, and you wonder what you can do, and there's all of these things that make you feel so alone in the world.

But don't talk about it.

Don't blog about it.

Pretend you're okay, find a way around it, repress it and hide it and hope it goes away.

I'm getting better. I'm making lists. I'm finishing books. I'm writing more regularly. I'm blogging a tiny bit more (not much). I'm getting back into the blog world (so slowly) and I'm preparing for my second to last semester and hoping I can still find an internship and work toward a life after graduation.

So. My characters are going to be crazy. They are going to have mental problems. They are going to be psychotic, and abused, and sick, and sometimes maybe they won't be, but most of the time they will. Because that is what I am. That is what I know. And I'm tired of it being something that is not okay to talk about.

Get over yourself, world. Face your imperfections and accept it and move on with your life.

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My brain hurts.

I just finished an entire book run through of editing WhiteWashed. This is what my brain feels like:

Like a LOST plane crash.

I'm pretty sure it will all be ready for the Writeoncon pitchfest.

Right now? This is how I feel about my MS:


It's just so pretty. There are wonderful phrases. It makes me laugh. There's some intense emotional scenes. It has poem/song things. It's so gorgeous.

And I know tomorrow it won't be so beautiful anymore.


Instead I will be thinking: "What is this baby? This isn't mine." But then I'll learn to love it anyway, just like the Hunchback.

And then eventually an agent will get their hands on it.

"Noooooo!!"

And then an editor will get their hands on it.

Only, if I should ever faint, I hope some creepy man doesn't appear out of nowhere.

But for now:

"It's mine. My own. My Precious."

Now I just have to figure out the pitch part.

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My brain hurts.

I just finished an entire book run through of editing WhiteWashed. This is what my brain feels like:

Like a LOST plane crash.

I'm pretty sure it will all be ready for the Writeoncon pitchfest.

Right now? This is how I feel about my MS:


It's just so pretty. There are wonderful phrases. It makes me laugh. There's some intense emotional scenes. It has poem/song things. It's so gorgeous.

And I know tomorrow it won't be so beautiful anymore.


Instead I will be thinking: "What is this baby? This isn't mine." But then I'll learn to love it anyway, just like the Hunchback.

And then eventually an agent will get their hands on it.

"Noooooo!!"

And then an editor will get their hands on it.

Only, if I should ever faint, I hope some creepy man doesn't appear out of nowhere.

But for now:

"It's mine. My own. My Precious."

Now I just have to figure out the pitch part.

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Me: I don't really like animals.

Life: Really? You really don't like animals?

Me: Meh. Not really.

Life: *laughing evilly* So you don't like this? *sticks a wombat in my face*

Me: AWWWW. It's so cute! I want one!

Life: *bunts the wombat back to Australia* No! Wombats are not domesticated. Wombats can dig through concrete. Wombats could eat your face off and tear you limb from limb. You cannot have a wombat.

Me: Fine. I still don't like animalS. I just like A animal.

Life: Really?

Me: Yes.

Life: *laughs evilly* *pulls a quokka from behind its back* What about this?

Me: AWWWW. It's so cute I want one!

Life: *laughs manically and bunts quokka back to Australia* No! You can't have one! They're not domesticated. They are dying off and being eaten by cats and dogs and those other animals you disregard. You cannot have a quokka!

Me: *sobbing* Why Australia? Why? Why do you have such cute animals? I hate you forever!

Life: *runs off laughing in nefarious glee*

Me: *shakes fist* Oh, life, how I hate thee sometimes.

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Me: I don't really like animals.

Life: Really? You really don't like animals?

Me: Meh. Not really.

Life: *laughing evilly* So you don't like this? *sticks a wombat in my face*

Me: AWWWW. It's so cute! I want one!

Life: *bunts the wombat back to Australia* No! Wombats are not domesticated. Wombats can dig through concrete. Wombats could eat your face off and tear you limb from limb. You cannot have a wombat.

Me: Fine. I still don't like animalS. I just like A animal.

Life: Really?

Me: Yes.

Life: *laughs evilly* *pulls a quokka from behind its back* What about this?

Me: AWWWW. It's so cute I want one!

Life: *laughs manically and bunts quokka back to Australia* No! You can't have one! They're not domesticated. They are dying off and being eaten by cats and dogs and those other animals you disregard. You cannot have a quokka!

Me: *sobbing* Why Australia? Why? Why do you have such cute animals? I hate you forever!

Life: *runs off laughing in nefarious glee*

Me: *shakes fist* Oh, life, how I hate thee sometimes.

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It's not about what we want to do...

It's about what we decide to do.

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It's not about what we want to do...

It's about what we decide to do.

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She was drinking coffee. Bad idea. But she knew if she didn't she would go find alcohol - and for an alcohol intolerant person that was even worse of an idea. So the coffee worked as a distraction. For a few moments. Then it would all come back and she would reach for another marshmallow. The bag was almost half-empty already. She would eat one - or five - every time it came back. Every time she remembered.

She kept telling herself it wasn't that bad. Nothing had actually happened. She was fine and she was safe. But that refrain kept coming into her head and parading like a demented mechanical chicken. My car was on fire. I could have died.

She had taken a long bath and had bought new clothes (well, they were used, but still, new to her) to put distance between herself and what had happened. Also, to get away from the burnt car smell that clung to her like a needy boyfriend.

The car ride had started out well enough, except for the delay. She had taken a wrong turn and ended up in Pittsburgh. But she had pulled out her map and been able to find her way back to 79 South. It had been about an hour out of the way, but it could have been worse, and she had been able to figure it out all on her own without a GPS. Just an old beat up atlas.

That's when her car started acting funny. She had gone to the nearest gas station, just to be sure. Everything looked fine. All fluids where they needed to be, no leaking, tires good.

I should have called my dad. But she hadn't. It had driven without problem for about an hour. That's when the smoke started. And then the panic. She dialed home. No answer. Her dad. Still no answer. Mom? Yes. She was driving but would call back. She hung up.

It smelled like smoke. Like a lot of smoke. She was just thinking of getting out of the car when someone pulled over in front of her. A small white car. A man jumped out and ran to her, so she rolled down her window.

"Yours car is on fire. You need to get out."

The panic. The waiting. The continual phone calls. Fire fighters pulling stuff out of the back of her car and tossing it aside while they tried to cool the car down. It was too hot. There was so much smoke. This isn't real. This doesn't happen in real life. But it was happening. Later, car dropped off at a shop, waiting for her dad to pick her up, she walked through the dollar store and felt nothing. She was walking. She was standing. Her eyes were open. But no sense data was coming through. There was nothing. Just a floating body of white noise. So she got a hotel room and took a bath and put on her new clothes and called her grandmother.

That's when the shaking started. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if worse things had happened to her. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad it she knew she could afford a new car. Or if she wasn't alone in West Virginia.

She took another sip of the coffee she wasn't supposed to be drinking and reached for another marshmallow. She waited for her dad to come and for the shaking to stop.

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She was drinking coffee. Bad idea. But she knew if she didn't she would go find alcohol - and for an alcohol intolerant person that was even worse of an idea. So the coffee worked as a distraction. For a few moments. Then it would all come back and she would reach for another marshmallow. The bag was almost half-empty already. She would eat one - or five - every time it came back. Every time she remembered.

She kept telling herself it wasn't that bad. Nothing had actually happened. She was fine and she was safe. But that refrain kept coming into her head and parading like a demented mechanical chicken. My car was on fire. I could have died.

She had taken a long bath and had bought new clothes (well, they were used, but still, new to her) to put distance between herself and what had happened. Also, to get away from the burnt car smell that clung to her like a needy boyfriend.

The car ride had started out well enough, except for the delay. She had taken a wrong turn and ended up in Pittsburgh. But she had pulled out her map and been able to find her way back to 79 South. It had been about an hour out of the way, but it could have been worse, and she had been able to figure it out all on her own without a GPS. Just an old beat up atlas.

That's when her car started acting funny. She had gone to the nearest gas station, just to be sure. Everything looked fine. All fluids where they needed to be, no leaking, tires good.

I should have called my dad. But she hadn't. It had driven without problem for about an hour. That's when the smoke started. And then the panic. She dialed home. No answer. Her dad. Still no answer. Mom? Yes. She was driving but would call back. She hung up.

It smelled like smoke. Like a lot of smoke. She was just thinking of getting out of the car when someone pulled over in front of her. A small white car. A man jumped out and ran to her, so she rolled down her window.

"Yours car is on fire. You need to get out."

The panic. The waiting. The continual phone calls. Fire fighters pulling stuff out of the back of her car and tossing it aside while they tried to cool the car down. It was too hot. There was so much smoke. This isn't real. This doesn't happen in real life. But it was happening. Later, car dropped off at a shop, waiting for her dad to pick her up, she walked through the dollar store and felt nothing. She was walking. She was standing. Her eyes were open. But no sense data was coming through. There was nothing. Just a floating body of white noise. So she got a hotel room and took a bath and put on her new clothes and called her grandmother.

That's when the shaking started. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if worse things had happened to her. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad it she knew she could afford a new car. Or if she wasn't alone in West Virginia.

She took another sip of the coffee she wasn't supposed to be drinking and reached for another marshmallow. She waited for her dad to come and for the shaking to stop.

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SO, a long time ago my sister taught me the basics of painting. This was over five years ago when I was in highschool and only wanted to write and was not really interested in any other types of artistic expression. Or. That's how I remember it. I could be wrong.

BUT, so, my sister Rebecca of Awesomeness, taught me the basics of painting and we used watercolor. I dabbled around with some painting and drawing after that. (Heehee, dabble is a funny word.)

And you know what. I lied. I was always interested in drawing. And music. I'm just forgetting my childhood. Forgive me.

BUT a few years ago I sort of gave up on painting. I still drew stuff, mostly stick figures. I was obsessed with stick figures. I tried to figure out how legs would like while running, how to make stick figures squat or sit cross legged or hug. Arms and legs go all over the place while people hug, and when you just have sticks it can sometimes look ridiculous. BUT I had pretty much given up on the paint because I didn't think I was very good, and rather than failing, or investing time and money into something I wasn't going to be good at, I just hid my canvases and my easel that my parents bought me for Christmas and I quietly pretended that I wasn't interested.

These were my first two paintings that I did on canvas. They're as "book covers" for the first book series I ever (seriously) wrote. I graduated early just to write these series. But I was younger, and I didn't know how hard the publishing world really is, and I was so full of hope and silliness. I am still planning on doing something with Lands of Earac on day. It will just be a little while. I still need to edit it and stuff. BUT, that's what these paintings were from. And then I quietly set them on my bookshelf and went on with my life, doodling and dreaming and writing and learning.

THEN... Last semester I had a new roommate. I have mentioned her before, and I will probably mention her quite often. You know how sometimes there's a turning point in your life and there's that one person who was there during that turning point and they helped you through and they were there for you and they changed you in a vats number of little tiny penetrable ways? That was my roommate. She painted. She was the catalyst that got me painting again.

And, of course, I don't actually have a picture of that first painting that I did, BUT, it was a found art painting. It was my diagram of the universe using buttons and string and chains and shiny things. And I found something out. I really, really like painting. AND I could paint without having to be fancy or do people or animals or living things. I could be abstract and crazy because I am abstract and crazy. SO. I started making paintings for friends' weddings:

 And then as gifts and then I realize... Hey. This is like mixing scrapbooking and painting together. AND my sister gets paid to scrapbook and my brother-in-law gets paid to paint SO, what if I could actually do this for fun, and as a small business? So I started gathering together paint and canvases.

A few days later my mum and dad had to go to a birthday party and they were saying, "We don't know what to get as a present, because the kid has everything already." Kind of joking around I said, "Hey, you could pay me and I could make something. You would just have to gather random nominally flat objects from the party and I could make a commemorative painting."

Then I got home that night to a cup full of birthday stuff and monies. *le gasp of happiness* SO I made this:



SO now I'm thinking about calling it Second Time Charms, as per one of my friends suggestions. Eventually I'll be able to also make things like wind chimes out of bottle caps and painted boxes and things. BUT I like the idea because it's a tasteful and unique way to preserve memories without taking up space and allowing easy access to look at it. You just have to put it on the wall. And I've also made ones as presents where I just use elements that remind me of that person. For my brother I made one with random rusty things, because, he likes random rusty things:


SO it's something that can be designed specifically for you for whatever you want. Birthday parties, graduations, weddings, bat mitzvahs, bar mitzvahs, or ramadan parties. Or Arbor Day parties. If you want it done as a memorial you just have to send me elements from the event. Invitations, candles, cut-off bits of tablecloth, centerpieces, whatever. OR, you just have to tell me that someone like nature and flowers and I'll work with that. I'm really hoping this is something I can do for reals, because I like doing it, and it's fun, and it not stressful, and I think it's something that isn't really out there right now. But I think it's something that could be nice for people to have.

SO. That is Second Time Charms, by ELM. (That's my painting name.) If you have any suggestions just let me know :) I appreciate all y'all. Hope you're having a good beginning of September!

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SO, a long time ago my sister taught me the basics of painting. This was over five years ago when I was in highschool and only wanted to write and was not really interested in any other types of artistic expression. Or. That's how I remember it. I could be wrong.

BUT, so, my sister Rebecca of Awesomeness, taught me the basics of painting and we used watercolor. I dabbled around with some painting and drawing after that. (Heehee, dabble is a funny word.)

And you know what. I lied. I was always interested in drawing. And music. I'm just forgetting my childhood. Forgive me.

BUT a few years ago I sort of gave up on painting. I still drew stuff, mostly stick figures. I was obsessed with stick figures. I tried to figure out how legs would like while running, how to make stick figures squat or sit cross legged or hug. Arms and legs go all over the place while people hug, and when you just have sticks it can sometimes look ridiculous. BUT I had pretty much given up on the paint because I didn't think I was very good, and rather than failing, or investing time and money into something I wasn't going to be good at, I just hid my canvases and my easel that my parents bought me for Christmas and I quietly pretended that I wasn't interested.

These were my first two paintings that I did on canvas. They're as "book covers" for the first book series I ever (seriously) wrote. I graduated early just to write these series. But I was younger, and I didn't know how hard the publishing world really is, and I was so full of hope and silliness. I am still planning on doing something with Lands of Earac on day. It will just be a little while. I still need to edit it and stuff. BUT, that's what these paintings were from. And then I quietly set them on my bookshelf and went on with my life, doodling and dreaming and writing and learning.

THEN... Last semester I had a new roommate. I have mentioned her before, and I will probably mention her quite often. You know how sometimes there's a turning point in your life and there's that one person who was there during that turning point and they helped you through and they were there for you and they changed you in a vats number of little tiny penetrable ways? That was my roommate. She painted. She was the catalyst that got me painting again.

And, of course, I don't actually have a picture of that first painting that I did, BUT, it was a found art painting. It was my diagram of the universe using buttons and string and chains and shiny things. And I found something out. I really, really like painting. AND I could paint without having to be fancy or do people or animals or living things. I could be abstract and crazy because I am abstract and crazy. SO. I started making paintings for friends' weddings:

 And then as gifts and then I realize... Hey. This is like mixing scrapbooking and painting together. AND my sister gets paid to scrapbook and my brother-in-law gets paid to paint SO, what if I could actually do this for fun, and as a small business? So I started gathering together paint and canvases.

A few days later my mum and dad had to go to a birthday party and they were saying, "We don't know what to get as a present, because the kid has everything already." Kind of joking around I said, "Hey, you could pay me and I could make something. You would just have to gather random nominally flat objects from the party and I could make a commemorative painting."

Then I got home that night to a cup full of birthday stuff and monies. *le gasp of happiness* SO I made this:



SO now I'm thinking about calling it Second Time Charms, as per one of my friends suggestions. Eventually I'll be able to also make things like wind chimes out of bottle caps and painted boxes and things. BUT I like the idea because it's a tasteful and unique way to preserve memories without taking up space and allowing easy access to look at it. You just have to put it on the wall. And I've also made ones as presents where I just use elements that remind me of that person. For my brother I made one with random rusty things, because, he likes random rusty things:


SO it's something that can be designed specifically for you for whatever you want. Birthday parties, graduations, weddings, bat mitzvahs, bar mitzvahs, or ramadan parties. Or Arbor Day parties. If you want it done as a memorial you just have to send me elements from the event. Invitations, candles, cut-off bits of tablecloth, centerpieces, whatever. OR, you just have to tell me that someone like nature and flowers and I'll work with that. I'm really hoping this is something I can do for reals, because I like doing it, and it's fun, and it not stressful, and I think it's something that isn't really out there right now. But I think it's something that could be nice for people to have.

SO. That is Second Time Charms, by ELM. (That's my painting name.) If you have any suggestions just let me know :) I appreciate all y'all. Hope you're having a good beginning of September!

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Well, hello my lovely LamNams. I have not been around in forever.

I do sometimes post over here at Booksellers Without Borders NY. I'm supposed to be posting on Thursdays about Middle Grade books. I miss this past Thursday because I was in RA training all day. And all week. And I'm still in RA training. Fortunately we have the weekend off to kind of decompress and chill our faces off. It's been kinda' intense at times. Mostly just time-consuming.

SO, what have I been doing all of this time? I was working again at a small Playhouse (a musical theatre) in the Box Office. It was basically working in a shack in the middle of the woods while answering phone calls from old people. It was fun though. I worked like, 10-12 hr shifts though, so... I didn't really exist enough to be able to spend time over here.

This is My Little Box I Lived in This Summer

ALSO, I was trying to get together with ALL THE FRIENDS. I did get to run down and see my roommate (I think I will always call her that, even though she is transferring out to a state far away from mine, and we aren't technically roommates anymore because I am an RA and I have a room all to myself but... where was this thought going? I think I'm supposed to have stopped this parenthesis thought by now.) which was awesome.

Except the part where I got pulled over

AND, we had our giant family birthday, since since about five of us all have birthdays between the end of July and mid September.

WHAT ELSE: I went to BEA (did I already tell you about that? I don't know.) and so have been trying to keep up on my reading of ARCs and so forth.

This is just a small portion... The ones I brought with me to school

OH! I started painting again and I'm hoping to turn that into a small business, which I shall tell you about more at a later point.

SO FAR this is an extremely dull post but as I am - at times- and extremely dull person that is quite alright.

I AM going to be super busy this year with classes, and RAing (which means I am a resident assistant, and have to make sure all the Residents on my hall obey the rules and are taking care of themselves physically and emotionally, and whatnot.) annnnnd doing everything else that I always try to do.

From Hyperbole and a Half

I WILL TRY and write a post every weekend (Friday, Saturday, or Sunday) just to try and keep in contact with this side of the world, because I KNOW I've been losing touch all over the place and that makes me sad inside.

I HOPE to be around more often, HOWEVER, I am realistic and realize that PROBABLY won't happen. Because I'm a bum.

ANYWAY, I hope y'all had a good summer, and continue to have a good rest of the summer, AND I hope to see you all soon. I give hugs to all of you, unless you are creepy, in which case I give you a friendly handshake instead.

Only a Hand Shake for You. If That.

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