Witching hour post
At various points since my last update, I made mental notes to blog about things that happened, events that transpired, narratives that merged, but it was too damn hot to go through everything in my Who Cares File, so I'll just go with a conversation Katie and I had on our way back from Kensington. While trying to de-stickify, we spoke of creativity, of breakdowns, and of the gap between dreams and plans.
Katie: Of the four of us, you are the most likely to succeed.
Me: What? For serious? You really think so?
Katie: Yes, so don't make an ass out of yourself.
Actually, I don't think she called me an ass, but she did say something about not letting her down. Or something to that effect. Hahaha. The point is, I was caught off guard. Maybe I should treat this as a thrown glove to my ego... some competition might do me good, get me back into the groove. Things ain't been the same since I left The Groove, but do I have the energy to stir myself from my apathetic funk? I don't really know, but maybe I should finish that query letter draft I've got saved under "Prudent Things to Consider." And maybe I should start brainstorming story ideas. And maybe it won't kill me to actually pick up a pen once in a while. Small steps.
(Speaking of things to pick up... Cat seemed to find this absolutely hilarious, so I dare everybody to click on this link: PENISLAND.NET.)
So now, aside from my compulsion to skim the mastheads of every magazine I touch for names I recognize, I am hunting for inspiration lost. I keep a gigantic crate of all the writing I did (ages 9-14), and sometimes when I need to remind myself of my roots, so to speak, I sift through the crap and have a good chuckle. I found a notebook filled with story outlines for an entire series called City of Riverbrooke. Enjoy the excerpts!
#11 - Running From The Truth
Holly Enders has caught Rachel Stewart in Alan Sterling's arms! But when she tells Joanna Kingsbridge, Alan's girlfriend, Joanna refuses to believe that Rachel, her best friend, has betrayed her. Holly concocts a plan to let the two girls confront each other, but what if her plan backfires?
Gina Marvin, Parker Thornton's insane cousin, is after Deirdre Gardiner. Deirdre stole the man she loved, and now Gina is out for blood. Only Parker can save her now... but to do so, he had to put himself in mortal danger.
If Edward Bellamy can't convince Christine Tarbell that he was friend, not foe, they'll both be doomed...
#14 - In The Name Of Friendship
Rachel Stewart and her car has toppled over the edge of a cliff! Joanna Kingsbridge can't deny her guilt... can she come out and admit the truth?
Christine Tarbell and Edward Bellamy are headed for romance, but Varina Maxwell tells them to beware. Meanwhile, will Stephanie Goldberg accept Gabriel Jones' gift of love... or refuse it?
Parker Thornton has just discovered the ancient curse on his family, forbidding his love for Holly Enders.
Evelyn, bitterness and thoughts of revenge staining her heart black, has wormed her way into Alan Sterling's life, the first in her plans to destroy Riverbrooke.
Aww... this is so Sweet Valley High. I dig it. Evelyn sets her nefarious scheme in motion in one of the "Ultimate Thrillers" and Holly ends up in a coma and Alan and Joanna get back together, I think. The series then got more supernatural because I loved Fear Street at the time. Rachel starts doing witchcraft, and Varina has to save everyone but nobody trusts her because they think she broke up Christine and Edward. And then some supervillain chick blazes her way onto the set:
#21 - Amulet of Hate
Parker Thornton conjures up a powerful amulet to fight Edlyn Winters' awesome powers. Little did he know that he had awakened the dreadful Girvan, guardian of the Amulet of Hate.
As Stephanie Goldberg and Gabriel Jones continue to fight the construction company for the freedom of Riverbrooke Mountain, they notice that the Amulet's power was beginning to spread.
Varina Maxwell realizes something terrible - Edlyn did not know how to control Girvan. Before long Edlyn has forgotten all about Parker and her revenge. She saw only the vengeful Girvan... her brother.
What business do I have in J-Skool again?
Anyway, for some reason I also found a few report cards in the crate. The comments are great. Mr. Phillips, my Grade 4 teacher, wrote that I'm "an excellent pupil who excels in academic tasks and challenges. She should be encouraged to participate more... and demonstrate to teachers that she is knowledgeable of topics under discussion." HAHAHA. Guess I could never learn to love participation marks.
"Ondrayuh continues to excel in all areas of language arts. She is to be congratulated on her mature, expressive, accurate writing style..." It's interesting, because I wrote my daily journal like a newspaper, chronicling (in columns!) the exploits of my classmates and adding captioned illustrations. Foreshadowing?
"Ondrayuh cooperated well in group work situations." Obviously, I love people.
"Ondrayuh is a keen student who excels and responds well to all math challenges, lessons and activities." I knew there was a time when I was good at math.
"She recalls vocabulary and grammar rules well." Oui, une bonne étudiante, c'est moi.
Mrs. Flood wrote:
"She has independent work habits and always does her best. Ondrayuh offers assistance to others when needed. She gets along well with everyone." Who the fuck is she talking about? lol.
"Her confidence in the gym continues to improve." I sound like a retarded kid.
"Ondrayuh is a keen participant in drama and demonstrates creativity and imagination in her presentations." DAMN STRAIGHT, woman.
And speaking of drama, this little scenario went down last night...
Crazy lady who lives in my house: I need to make my online employment insurance report.
Me: *hides in the bathroom and hopes she goes away*
Crazy lady: WHERE IS SHE?! Tell her to come out RIGHT NOW. Is she ignoring me? What is the meaning of this?
Me: *does breathing exercises*
Crazy lady: Ungrateful little wretch. What's the use of being nice to her? Next time I have roast pork, I'm not offering her any. What has she ever given me? When has she ever helped me?
Me: *tiptoes into room to find her sitting at computer*
Crazy lady: I need to make my online employment insurance report. RIGHT NOW.
Me: *clutches stomach and talks in a whisper-thin voice* Well, okay, first you take the mouse and then you click here to open this window...
Crazy lady: What's wrong with you? Do you have a stomachache?
Me: *nods slowly and painfully*
Crazy lady: *the snippy tone disappears, replaced by a look of mild contrition* Click where?
Half an hour later...
Crazy lady: Don't stay up too late if your tummy hurts! Go to sleep! You'll feel better in the morning!
Me: *strained and suffering, still clutching the belly with both hands* Thanks.
Crazy lady: *pats me on the head*
Hostility defused. Temporarily. She went to see her psychotherapist today, and I guess it wasn't very nice of me to hope that she gets run over by a bus on her way out of the building, now was it? On the other hand, I was super nice to Maximilia, who called me at 10 in the morning (when I was still passed out on the bed) to ask me for love advice. Because I'm such a relationship guru, right? (Then she called again to see if I wanted to go to the gym with her. I could not stop laughing.)
Regardless, that conversation led me to ponder paths not taken, so here they are, my alternate histories:
If my mom had immigrated elsewhere. At the time, she considered the States, England, Switzerland and Australia. Yes, I could've been American, but the more important issue here is that I COULD'VE BEEN BRITISH. Seriously, the repercussions of this decision are too wide for me to fathom. But they involve tea, scones, an accent and the handsome son of a wealthy earl.
If the family hadn't moved to the suburbs. That would mean growing up downtown, a real city girl instead of this half-existence in the ghetto. Haha. Childhood playmates - all different (and more racially diverse, I suspect). A best friend named Cecilia, who would steal my first boyfriend, likely a skater boy with sweaty palms. I would dress up as a doctor for Hallowe'en, and dream of becoming a nurse. I don't know how I'm coming up with this shit, but it sounds kinda cool.
If I'd gone to a different high school. The Can of Soup apparently had a reputation for maths and sciences, but my Grade 8 teacher suggested I go to Bethune to focus on more literary arts. God, could you imagine if I'd gone to Wexford? You know, I actually think that the Can kept me (reasonably) humble. Ondrayuh-from-the-block. Otherwise, I would've gone snobby, like planning-my-thesis-on-modernist-literature snobby. Oh yes, and I would not have met you, or you, or you.
If there'd been no Grade 9 Great Separatist Movement. I would be a fob. Possibly a really inch fob. At U of T. Studying biochemistry.
If I stopped taking drama after Grade 10. Well, that means no Drama Folk, and no drama = no high school. It really was thisclose, though. I was going to take CHEMISTRY, of all things. What would've defined me, then? Test tubes? Bunsen burners? Chemistry club? Did we have one? I remember Maximilia calling me up - I didn't even know her that well then - all like, "omg Ondrayuh, tell me you're taking drama next year because I think I'm all alone!" And I told her sorry. But then the next day I was sitting in science class letting my lab partner do the experiment, and I was like, "wtf? I don't know wtf I'm doing! ytf am I doing this?" And after class I went to the guidance office and picked up an option change form to change my entire freakin' life.
If I had gone to theatre school instead of J-Skool. I would be memorizing lines instead of line-editing, stressing out about stage directions instead of sources, costumes instead of CP style. I would be in the playwrighting stream instead of magazine, and I would hang out with neurotic theatre types instead of neurotic journalist types, date brooding actors instead of brooding writers. But the competition would remain, and the crippling self-doubt.
So maybe it's time to get back into the game. In tweenlit terms, Choose Your Own Adventure!
Katie: Of the four of us, you are the most likely to succeed.
Me: What? For serious? You really think so?
Katie: Yes, so don't make an ass out of yourself.
Actually, I don't think she called me an ass, but she did say something about not letting her down. Or something to that effect. Hahaha. The point is, I was caught off guard. Maybe I should treat this as a thrown glove to my ego... some competition might do me good, get me back into the groove. Things ain't been the same since I left The Groove, but do I have the energy to stir myself from my apathetic funk? I don't really know, but maybe I should finish that query letter draft I've got saved under "Prudent Things to Consider." And maybe I should start brainstorming story ideas. And maybe it won't kill me to actually pick up a pen once in a while. Small steps.
(Speaking of things to pick up... Cat seemed to find this absolutely hilarious, so I dare everybody to click on this link: PENISLAND.NET.)
So now, aside from my compulsion to skim the mastheads of every magazine I touch for names I recognize, I am hunting for inspiration lost. I keep a gigantic crate of all the writing I did (ages 9-14), and sometimes when I need to remind myself of my roots, so to speak, I sift through the crap and have a good chuckle. I found a notebook filled with story outlines for an entire series called City of Riverbrooke. Enjoy the excerpts!
#11 - Running From The Truth
Holly Enders has caught Rachel Stewart in Alan Sterling's arms! But when she tells Joanna Kingsbridge, Alan's girlfriend, Joanna refuses to believe that Rachel, her best friend, has betrayed her. Holly concocts a plan to let the two girls confront each other, but what if her plan backfires?
Gina Marvin, Parker Thornton's insane cousin, is after Deirdre Gardiner. Deirdre stole the man she loved, and now Gina is out for blood. Only Parker can save her now... but to do so, he had to put himself in mortal danger.
If Edward Bellamy can't convince Christine Tarbell that he was friend, not foe, they'll both be doomed...
#14 - In The Name Of Friendship
Rachel Stewart and her car has toppled over the edge of a cliff! Joanna Kingsbridge can't deny her guilt... can she come out and admit the truth?
Christine Tarbell and Edward Bellamy are headed for romance, but Varina Maxwell tells them to beware. Meanwhile, will Stephanie Goldberg accept Gabriel Jones' gift of love... or refuse it?
Parker Thornton has just discovered the ancient curse on his family, forbidding his love for Holly Enders.
Evelyn, bitterness and thoughts of revenge staining her heart black, has wormed her way into Alan Sterling's life, the first in her plans to destroy Riverbrooke.
Aww... this is so Sweet Valley High. I dig it. Evelyn sets her nefarious scheme in motion in one of the "Ultimate Thrillers" and Holly ends up in a coma and Alan and Joanna get back together, I think. The series then got more supernatural because I loved Fear Street at the time. Rachel starts doing witchcraft, and Varina has to save everyone but nobody trusts her because they think she broke up Christine and Edward. And then some supervillain chick blazes her way onto the set:
#21 - Amulet of Hate
Parker Thornton conjures up a powerful amulet to fight Edlyn Winters' awesome powers. Little did he know that he had awakened the dreadful Girvan, guardian of the Amulet of Hate.
As Stephanie Goldberg and Gabriel Jones continue to fight the construction company for the freedom of Riverbrooke Mountain, they notice that the Amulet's power was beginning to spread.
Varina Maxwell realizes something terrible - Edlyn did not know how to control Girvan. Before long Edlyn has forgotten all about Parker and her revenge. She saw only the vengeful Girvan... her brother.
What business do I have in J-Skool again?
Anyway, for some reason I also found a few report cards in the crate. The comments are great. Mr. Phillips, my Grade 4 teacher, wrote that I'm "an excellent pupil who excels in academic tasks and challenges. She should be encouraged to participate more... and demonstrate to teachers that she is knowledgeable of topics under discussion." HAHAHA. Guess I could never learn to love participation marks.
"Ondrayuh continues to excel in all areas of language arts. She is to be congratulated on her mature, expressive, accurate writing style..." It's interesting, because I wrote my daily journal like a newspaper, chronicling (in columns!) the exploits of my classmates and adding captioned illustrations. Foreshadowing?
"Ondrayuh cooperated well in group work situations." Obviously, I love people.
"Ondrayuh is a keen student who excels and responds well to all math challenges, lessons and activities." I knew there was a time when I was good at math.
"She recalls vocabulary and grammar rules well." Oui, une bonne étudiante, c'est moi.
Mrs. Flood wrote:
"She has independent work habits and always does her best. Ondrayuh offers assistance to others when needed. She gets along well with everyone." Who the fuck is she talking about? lol.
"Her confidence in the gym continues to improve." I sound like a retarded kid.
"Ondrayuh is a keen participant in drama and demonstrates creativity and imagination in her presentations." DAMN STRAIGHT, woman.
And speaking of drama, this little scenario went down last night...
Crazy lady who lives in my house: I need to make my online employment insurance report.
Me: *hides in the bathroom and hopes she goes away*
Crazy lady: WHERE IS SHE?! Tell her to come out RIGHT NOW. Is she ignoring me? What is the meaning of this?
Me: *does breathing exercises*
Crazy lady: Ungrateful little wretch. What's the use of being nice to her? Next time I have roast pork, I'm not offering her any. What has she ever given me? When has she ever helped me?
Me: *tiptoes into room to find her sitting at computer*
Crazy lady: I need to make my online employment insurance report. RIGHT NOW.
Me: *clutches stomach and talks in a whisper-thin voice* Well, okay, first you take the mouse and then you click here to open this window...
Crazy lady: What's wrong with you? Do you have a stomachache?
Me: *nods slowly and painfully*
Crazy lady: *the snippy tone disappears, replaced by a look of mild contrition* Click where?
Half an hour later...
Crazy lady: Don't stay up too late if your tummy hurts! Go to sleep! You'll feel better in the morning!
Me: *strained and suffering, still clutching the belly with both hands* Thanks.
Crazy lady: *pats me on the head*
Hostility defused. Temporarily. She went to see her psychotherapist today, and I guess it wasn't very nice of me to hope that she gets run over by a bus on her way out of the building, now was it? On the other hand, I was super nice to Maximilia, who called me at 10 in the morning (when I was still passed out on the bed) to ask me for love advice. Because I'm such a relationship guru, right? (Then she called again to see if I wanted to go to the gym with her. I could not stop laughing.)
Regardless, that conversation led me to ponder paths not taken, so here they are, my alternate histories:
If my mom had immigrated elsewhere. At the time, she considered the States, England, Switzerland and Australia. Yes, I could've been American, but the more important issue here is that I COULD'VE BEEN BRITISH. Seriously, the repercussions of this decision are too wide for me to fathom. But they involve tea, scones, an accent and the handsome son of a wealthy earl.
If the family hadn't moved to the suburbs. That would mean growing up downtown, a real city girl instead of this half-existence in the ghetto. Haha. Childhood playmates - all different (and more racially diverse, I suspect). A best friend named Cecilia, who would steal my first boyfriend, likely a skater boy with sweaty palms. I would dress up as a doctor for Hallowe'en, and dream of becoming a nurse. I don't know how I'm coming up with this shit, but it sounds kinda cool.
If I'd gone to a different high school. The Can of Soup apparently had a reputation for maths and sciences, but my Grade 8 teacher suggested I go to Bethune to focus on more literary arts. God, could you imagine if I'd gone to Wexford? You know, I actually think that the Can kept me (reasonably) humble. Ondrayuh-from-the-block. Otherwise, I would've gone snobby, like planning-my-thesis-on-modernist-literature snobby. Oh yes, and I would not have met you, or you, or you.
If there'd been no Grade 9 Great Separatist Movement. I would be a fob. Possibly a really inch fob. At U of T. Studying biochemistry.
If I stopped taking drama after Grade 10. Well, that means no Drama Folk, and no drama = no high school. It really was thisclose, though. I was going to take CHEMISTRY, of all things. What would've defined me, then? Test tubes? Bunsen burners? Chemistry club? Did we have one? I remember Maximilia calling me up - I didn't even know her that well then - all like, "omg Ondrayuh, tell me you're taking drama next year because I think I'm all alone!" And I told her sorry. But then the next day I was sitting in science class letting my lab partner do the experiment, and I was like, "wtf? I don't know wtf I'm doing! ytf am I doing this?" And after class I went to the guidance office and picked up an option change form to change my entire freakin' life.
If I had gone to theatre school instead of J-Skool. I would be memorizing lines instead of line-editing, stressing out about stage directions instead of sources, costumes instead of CP style. I would be in the playwrighting stream instead of magazine, and I would hang out with neurotic theatre types instead of neurotic journalist types, date brooding actors instead of brooding writers. But the competition would remain, and the crippling self-doubt.
So maybe it's time to get back into the game. In tweenlit terms, Choose Your Own Adventure!