Much thanks to those who have kept up with me over the year! (You know who you are) Happy blogging everyone! 🙂
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
The new Boeing 787 Dreamliner can carry about 250 passengers. This blog was viewed about 1,500 times in 2012. If it were a Dreamliner, it would take about 6 trips to carry that many people.
So I meant to post early this week to say that the reason I’ve been MIA for awhile is that I’ll be vacationing in Tampa, Florida for a week! I am here visiting some friends until Monday February 4th. Last week, I was ice skating on the pond next to my house and it was 10 degrees outside and the following week I am here in Tampa, Florida where it was at least 70 degrees today! Just wanted to share some quick photos that I thought were amusing.
Here’s the BEFORE:
   And AFTER….
Haha! I am having a very good time. Happy vacationing for those who’ve decided to escape to warmer weather for a while! It has been fantastic!! 🙂
What’s for breakfast today? Or rather Brunch…(I never was a big breakfast eater.)
French toast with syrup, sprinkled with powdered sugar and orange slices. Yum!
Since I started this new job, I’ve been appreciating my weekends more and more, and lately it has become a Saturday morning ritual – where I’ve liked to make something special, something that I don’t normally get the time to make during the week.
My online creativity class emphasizes how important it is for a writer to have other hobbies and I agree! It’s refreshing, because it allows you to take a break from the pressure of writing, and all the anxieties that sometimes comes with it. (Writer’s block, time management, writer’s fear, etc.) Here’s how to start: find something that you find relaxing and fun and just do it!
Although I’m not the cook in the family, I like being creative and making food that looks and tastes good, well, what can be wrong with that? 🙂 This is my NEW hobby. What’s yours?
Happy Saturday everyone!
Dusk at Binghamton University’s wildlife reserve.
It’s early morning, and I really should be sleeping, but thought I would post my latest assignment from my writing class. It really is forcing me to stretch back into that creative mold and realize just because I’ve been to a few college classes, doesn’t mean that I am the expert that I think I am – sometimes I forget that we writers can get cocky sometimes. 😉
Anywho…the assignment was to describe a color and do this in the first person. (Pretend we are essentially the color.) The bit I wrote was a broad scope of how one color can be many, but I like the phrases I got here:
I am that periwinkle color of a forgotten sweater. I am royal, I am sweet, call me what you want; pop in your mouth grapes, a plum, hanging loose from the vine. I am everything that you want to go right in your life. Find me on the highway, stripped from its owner; a scarf blowing in the breeze. A dark, bleeding sunset, a midnight sky so inky. I am velvet, I am happy beams of ambrosia, lavender, freesia. The sparkle in a raindrop, no larger than a pin-prick. Find me soaring, the color of wind, grey and regal. Find me goofy. A bulky mauve dinosaur that everyone hates. Flowers in a field of straw, choking out the other plant life. Birthed by two colors, given life from two opposites, warm, cold, light and dark.
What am I?
Spending one of my days off as a couch potato since I don’t feel that brilliant, but FINALLY catching up on a bit of my wordpress reading today. I’ve missed a lot of great posts from some really great people and for that I am furiously reading and liking as many things as I can. 🙂
There are a lot of talented people out there!
On that note, whenever someone has a setting on their blog that has a person sign in before they can comment or like a post, it seems that either my browser, or my internet connection is not letting me like their posts. I sign in, and nothing happens! At first I thought it was Internet Explorer, but I have been using Firefox for a few months now, hmm…any thoughts?
So, there are many, many posts out there that I do like, it just won’t let me! Hmph. Here’s a song to make up for it! I’ve had this song in my head for a few days now. It inspires me to tell a story that is so beautiful and haunting at the same time…
Every writer has a moment where it all began. That point in their lives, where they were 10, or 14, or 42, where they realized that words can be something more than dots and slashes and letters on a page…that words can take you places.
For me it was a book called, The House on Mango Street, By Sandra Cisneros, which I read in eighth grade. The middle school that I attended had a new eighth grade teacher that year; a man from New York City named Mr. Van Dright. He was a bit unorthodox for an upstate New York school strict on curriculum and following the rules. He had long dark hair and grizzle on his face, who wore a leather jacket and drove a motorcycle when he wasn’t in school, who reminded us often how thankful we were to attend a school that was safe and clean with no metal detectors.
And although this unique teacher from the city was forced to resign before the following year, what I remember most about him was that he was an artist. He had that look in his eye of a person who had stories to tell. He showed me, although he probably doesn’t know it, (a very insecure and shy fourteen year old at the time,) that books and words could be something more, you just had to dream them.
“In English my name means hope. In Spanish it means too many letters. It means sadness, it means waiting. It is like the number nine. A muddy color. It is Mexican records my father plays on Sunday mornings when he is shaving, songs like sobbing.” (Cisneros,10)
This is from a passage in the book entitled, “My Name.” I remember him reading it to the class that day. What does that mean, he asked us. A name like the number nine?
Perhaps it was because I was obsessed with names. Wondering what it would be like if I had a different name – to separate myself from the ten other girls named Amanda in my school. (I really did graduate with about 5 of them.) Perhaps it’s because later on in the passage, the narrator goes on to describe her name, “as if the syllables were made out of tin and hurt the roof of your mouth.” (Cisneros, 11)
Up until that point in my life, I’d never given much thought into the meaning of words, how with a simple sentence you can describe your name as muddy and we know how you felt about whatever it is you were talking about.
My own writing as of lately, has become its own kind of muddy and I thought I’d take this time to go back and remember where it all began. How words can have inspiration just by how they sound in your mouth mixed around with a word or phrase that can have nuances of meaning. How something simple can change the way you think and view the world. Muddy. Muddy. Muddy.
Nothing was as clear to me as those words on those pages. I wanted to write muddy too.
Well, still getting battered by the hurricane up here in upstate, NY and probably will until tomorrow evening, (the wind outside right now is terrible!) Can feel the cool air blasting through the cracks in the windows and downstairs in the basement the water is creeping slowly across the floor as it seeps into the house…
The power went out for about four or five hours and we broke out the candles. Ate dinner to candlelight, wondered at the silence when all the humming of machinery is turned off and I cradled my phone to my chest and then sorrowfully shut the power off to save the battery for tomorrow.
I did grab my camera, which was fully charged (and clung to that – yaay an electronic device!) and was able to take some pictures of the storm.
Was playing around with the light settings and got this…(I am not a photographer by any means but like taking good pics as well as anyone), but imagine my surprise when I got this!
Anyway, well the power came back on an hour ago, we turned the TV on to check out the news and I thought I’d share these pics. I’m a tad nervous because I have to be out and about tomorrow – so fingers crossed!
Prayers and thoughts go out to those that were seriously impacted by this storm!
I saw a trailer for the new movie “Life of Pi” so I, of course, had to check out the book by Yann Martel. I downloaded it on my nook and am I already on the tenth chapter. Some of my friends on Facebook complained that it was a book they were forced to read their first semester of college; that it was confusing and boring and no one understood what was going on half the time.
As I am hardly a quarter of the way into the story, I cannot say much about the actual story just yet, but what I am impressed with, is the writing and the depth behind the words that are being said. I don’t often read novels that have significant meaning to them lately, (I know shameful of me) but when I do – I make sure they are good ones.
Although I am very impressed with the author’s intelligent writing, I can agree that the narrative is long-winded and the first person narrator takes forever to get his points across, whatever they might be. As a reader, however, I am trusting that there is a point to this story and am going to follow it faithfully on as I am anxious to see what happens. The author himself has promised a story that will make you believe in God, and perhaps that is a hook just like any other. However…
View from overlook at Harris Hill, NY.
My creative writing teacher in college always encouraged us writers with a Latin phrase, “In medias res,” which means in the middle of things. It is a literary technique that some writers use to grab the attention of their readers by starting off their story in the middle of the action, or near the end. The result is very little exposition, but it is an exciting technique, because it allows the reader to experience what is happening to the characters they are reading about; and as a writer, you are forced to show your readers what is happening through action and various sensory details.
Life of Pi does not do this.
Well, at least not yet. There is an opening chapter with a brief glimpse of what the first person narrator thinks about certain things, and some of his experiences after something traumatic has happened to him, but it is mostly telling. It also reminds me of some early nineteenth century literature, where the narrative just goes on and on and on, because of some unforeseen need from the narrator to express something very near and dear to his or her heart and nothing can stop the flow of conscious thought.
Perhaps I’m doing that now…hmm. Anyway…
While I think Martel’s style of narrative can be tedious to some, it is also thought-provoking. He says some amazing things. I’m terribly sure I’ve heard this somewhere before, but the author says in his introduction:
“If we, citizens, do not support our artists, then we sacrifice our imagination on the altar of crude reality and we end up believing in nothing and having worthless dreams.” (Martel).
How true! But I wonder how amazing would this book be if it were written with the idea of impressing its readers? If the action and scenery behind the narrator’s reflection actually mirrored his thought process? (Perhaps this is where the movie has numbed our mind with visuals.) Some could argue that it is not about the experience but what he or she has learned along that journey…
I, on the other hand, just yearn for a story where I am immediately scooped up and taken for a ride of a lifetime. A quick, sensory detailed read where I am lost in the character’s voice and story and cannot wait to see what happens on the next page. Perhaps this is why I love Young Adult fiction so much, because teens are not impressed with literature that confuses or bores them. They want that quick fix of great writing, of a story that wraps itself around your subconscious and you can’t hear or see anything else for a few days.
Perhaps the lesson here is no matter the style of writing, a great story is a great story, but a narrator should not bore its readers. They want to be entertained, they want to love the story that you are trying to tell. Don’t bury a great story in yards and yards of exposition. Show them!
I’ve been in a bit of a down mood today and no matter what I tried, (TV, music, chocolate)…I couldn’t seem to get myself out of it. So, even though I didn’t want to, I went for a walk down the road.
My doctor always encouraged me to exercise…says that it “lightens the load” in more ways than one, and not just physically…
Cow in the field down the road from my house. Why they feel the need to stare at people walking past them, I have no idea.
Cows ogled me as I trudged past. In my peripheral vision, I noticed the trees a burnt red and orange. I look down at my feet and see a brown, and black fuzzy, wooly bear caterpillar, creeping its way across the rough surface of the road. Bugs flew up at my face. Bugs! In the middle of October. The sun was warm on my green sweater and on my matching green headband, the sharp, cool air biting at my cheeks, which are pink from the air that doesn’t want to make its way into my lungs.
I thought about why I was upset, thought about the scenery around me. Felt my mood like it was a physical being, felt it weigh me down in my chest. Inside, I wonder and agonized: Am I good enough? Why do I feel so worthless?
And while I’m wondering why the black and white cow in front of me keeps staring and staring, something prompts me to turn around and I’m greeted with this view:
No matter how grey you feel inside, there is beauty still. As emphasized by this beaten down tree in the field I was walking next to and the rainbow soaring above it.
I don’t know what made me turn around; divine intervention, an epiphany? But I’m glad I did. It felt like one of those moments where I was faced with the reality of my situation by the visuals around me. And as corny as it sounds, it felt like a promise.
“I will not abandon you. You are not alone.”
There is still beauty inside, even though I felt so crummy. And I hold that warmth inside of me and I am happy still. Partially because of my walk, partially because of the air that forced itself in and out of my lungs, partially because of the scenery; because I know I am alive, because of the sharp air that pinched my cheeks awake. But mostly because I know that I am beautiful.
Rainbow above the burnt, orange trees.
I am beautiful mentally, physically and all the other ways in between. I am a beautiful writer, poet, woman, child, daughter, comedic and friend.
And when you learn to love yourself, you learn to love everything around you. I am worthy. I am a friend.
I am…me. 🙂
Well, today was a busy-work day on the blog. Decided to create a new Contact Me page where you will find an email address to contact me as well as a Facebook page. It’s up there. ^
I stupidly created a new Facebook account, not realizing that I only needed to create a new page from my current personal account…sigh. Sometimes the older I get the more I don’t understand technology. It used to be so much easier when I was younger and now all the sharing capabilities and networking and everything is starting not to make sense to me anymore. 😛
It’s all brilliant of course but it’s like trying to keep up with a race where the lead runner is always running too fast! The important thing is to have contact information for future reference, of course. And a way for your viewers to know what you are up to…etc.
Anyway, here is a link to the page I just created today: www.facebook.com/amandagreyfiction
And my email address of course:Â Â Â Â amandagreyfiction@gmail.com
Happy blogging people!
A. J. Morse 