August 9, 2014


Oh, the post script. I'm gonna do it.
Currently, I'm sitting in a completely empty university. The motion detection lights turned on when I walked by, the doors were all locked but one, and even the janitors are missing.
Sitting here I realize the path I'm on is the right one. It may not end how I'm expecting, but it's the right path.
I'm lacing up my boots, I'm stretching out my legs.
This is going to be hard. There are going to be long nights and writers block and tearing out of hair, but this is what I want to do. Write, full-time. I want to write stories and weave webs and touch people. I want nurses on their lunch break to sit down with my book and read a chapter. I want middle schoolers beyond their reading levels to pick up my books and challenge them. I want book enthusiasts to finish my book and think about it, mull it over in their head for the week to come.
I've never been able to communicate who I am very well. I'm a mixed message, a Gemini to the core. I think it's because I am more than just one person up here in my brain. There are thousands of lives, of people and personalities that exist solely in my mind. There has been a boy in my head since middle school, Adam with sandy brown hair and thin lips, that grew up from his small dreams in his town and now is serving a mission trip in Argentina. The sun kisses his skin, a light caress that leaves him bronze and summertime. Noelle is still traveling. She broke in her hiking boots, the blue stripe on the side long peeled off and missing. Her hair grew a couple inches, the icy blonde curls tangled in a perma-braid she wears everyday. She no longer cries for her mom, the cold woman who raised her is long dead, and instead adopted a boxer-mutt and wanders with him. Kira is still struggling with who she is. Physically, she hasn't changed much in my head. But she went from a close-minded naive girl to someone who is actually exposed to different people. She met a gay person for the first time in her life recently, the thought that men could love each other never entered her mind before that. She is slowly settling into where she is, adjusting to her new normal.
These people are real to me. It's impossible to explain, the sincerity of emotion that comes over me when I think about these characters I've imagined. There's been times I've thought of Noelle like she was a separate person, like I could text her and ask her how her travels are progressing. Or Adam, the shy middle-school president now serving his God in a different country. I would love to have a religious discussion with him, talk about what he thinks is going to happen when we die.
Everyone I tell that I'm going to grad school for writing is supportive. They nod, exclaim how no one knows how to write anymore and congratulate me on my path. Some mentally scratch their heads and change the subject.
There has only been one person holding me back from this path. And it's myself. I scold myself, telling myself that I couldn't be smart enough, or good enough, or old enough.
Well, fuck that.
I'm doing it anyway.

July 27, 2014


I think it's time.
I've never stopped writing- don't get me wrong. But it's time to close up shop here. It's been a weird four years, that's for sure. I found myself disliking when people mentioned my blog to me instead of enjoying it. I found myself comparing my blog to others- which is enormously stupid. I don't want to post publicly anymore, I just don't have the drive to anymore.

I'll leave it up- I want to be able to peruse my time in England, as I documented it fully and without reserve. I want to look at how my writing has changed, and what I was like through my college years. Four years is a long time to blog (even though in my last year I have only posted 8 times).

Here's something I haven't shared on here yet- I'm applying to grad school, MFA in Creative Writing.
I have a couple places in mind. Knowing me, I'll move to a new city and be bored, so I'll pick this back up. But for the last year I'm in Minnesota, I'll leave this blog how it is. Dusty, neglected and nostalgic.

One more thing: I'm working on a real-life novel. I have no idea when I'll finish, but when I do, I'll let you guys know.

Goodbye, it was nice sharing a bit of my brain with you all. Maybe I'll see you in a year, maybe never again. I loved every comment you left, and every piece of advice you shared.

There is something special about blogging. I post, with all the intentions of what the words mean and the stories behind them. But you don't. You don't know the whole story or the whole background. So you have to piece together who I am as a person, bit by bit. There are many women who I feel I "know" through their blogs. I know their kids, where they live, who they date. But I don't know them behind the words. I don't know what their voices sound like, or if they laugh with a weird guff-fa. All I see are the words in front of me, and what they choose to give. So I gave my words to you, dear readers. I didn't give you everything- I still have bits and pieces that are hidden from the public eye. But I gave you my words, and I'm thankful that you received them.
Words are powerful. Spoken words can be twisted and mangled, but written words are powerful in that they are permanent. They exist forever in their typo-ed form, black and white, concrete in our universe. Don't forget that. As print flits away and technology stays, people forget that writing is still an art. What I do, is art. I create and make mistakes and write really shitty stories. But I try again, and it always comes out different. Art is fluid, while words are frozen, the icy lake who, when spring comes, will melt on its own time, finally giving way to the fishers and the boaters.

I love to write, and I hope you enjoyed my writing. Below is a quote from the House on Mango Street, a book that literally changed my life. I got it as a reading assignment in middle school. And when I read it, it spoke to me. The words that Sandra Cisneros wrote paved the way to where I am now. Enjoy.

"They are the only ones who understand me. I am the only one who
understands them. Four skinny trees with skinny necks and pointy elbows like
mine. Four who do not belong here but are here. Four raggedy excuses planted
by the city. From our room we can hear them, but Nenny just sleeps and doesn’t
appreciate these things.
Their strength is their secret. They send ferocious roots beneath the
ground. They grow up and they grow down and grab the earth between their
hairy toes and bite the sky with violent teeth and never quit their anger. This is
how they keep.
Let one forget his reason for being, they’d all droop like tulips in a glass,
each with their arms around the other. Keep, keep, keep, trees say when I sleep.
They teach.
When I am too sad and too skinny to keep keeping, when I am a tiny thing
against so many bricks, then it is I look at trees. When there is nothing left to
look at on this street. Four who grew despite concrete. Four who reach and do
not forget to reach. Four whose only reason is to be and be."

May 19, 2014

A Conclusion

This post is a long time coming.
I'm graduating college.
And it doesn't feel real. After this summer, I will be a post grad. Alumni. A college graduate.
What can I say about it? What do I need to say about it?
I've typed this post 2, 3, 5 times already. For me, an introduction of a paper is easy. A thesis: easy. Body paragraphs, citations, bibliography: easy. The conclusion is the hardest part. I know what I have to say, and I know it has to end. But how do I say it?
College is a finite amount of time. 4 years if you're lucky, 5 if you change your major once or twice.
4 years to live on your own. To buy your own groceries. To worry about money, and rent, and gas.
4 years to make friends and lose friends. To have love and lose that, too.
4 years to soak up knowledge. To listen and take notes to these people that want to teach you.
4 years to make connections to people you would never encounter.
4 years to make mistakes. Big ones.
4 years of hangovers and parties. Of sleeping in and staying up all night.
4 years of not knowing the answer.
And after those 4 years, overnight, you have to know. You have to be an adult. Get a job, find a partner, get married and have kids. Or be an entrepreneur. Or travel the world. You just have to know.
But here I am, and I'm still floating in the womb. My cookin' time isn't done. I'm not ready to be born into the world yet. But the contractions are coming and there is nothing stopping it but time and nature.
So, you open your eyes to the bright world and you cry out, and you decide to live. And you decide that those 4 years are not the best or the worst years, but 4 amazing years of your life. You will remember them always. You will cherish the people you meet. You will grin at the memory of a professor of Shakespeare, or a teacher of rhetoric. (And you'll swear at the bills that come in the mail.)
So yes, this is a conclusion. It's a closing of a book. The story is ending, the climax is done, and the characters need a finale. But don't forget to pick another book up. Maybe this time, it's blank. And you have the power to fill those white pages with whatever you want. Maybe it's not blank. Maybe you "know" how the story will unfold.
All I know is, that this is a conclusion. But it's not the end.

May 1, 2014

Blue Sky

Sometimes life is a really blue sky. This is a picture from a sunroof in a car, zooming down the highway. Blue sky for miles, not a single cloud.
In Minnesota, winters are long. Like, Game of Thrones long.
We forget what sweat trickling down your neck feels like. We forget about shorts and tan skin and sunglasses.
This winter has been really, really long. But it's also been great. I've made new friends and new acquaintances. I've tried new things and gone to new restaurants. I've explored Duluth more, really gotten to know the culture.
I've discovered that quietly, without me realizing it, that I've built a life here. A whole life that I could easily and comfortably slip into.
But you know me.

April 30, 2014

-life is like a greasy piece of pizza-

Nauseating, but oddly satisfying.
{I got a Sam's club membership for free. Guess how many time's I've gone. Guess.}

April 22, 2014



I love when people get really, really, into books. A book series, a favorite classic, I don't care.
Here are things I know books do:

Help your imagination. Books are literally a public little window into the author's brain. You get to interact and experience this whole dimension that exists in the person's brain. Like, holy shit.

Help your vocabulary. I know I wouldn't have the vocabulary I have if I didn't read so much. There are so many words in the English language, and they are all beautiful. (Even moist. I don't get people's repulsion with that word.)

Help you understand the opposite sex. I'm not a dude. I don't get it. I don't own a penis and never will I. So I love reading books in first person present tense with a guy as the main character. I get a cool insight on a (albeit, edited) version of a guy's brain.

Help you be cool. Dudes/chicks dig someone who reads. Forreal. It's rare in this time and age to find someone who actually enjoys reading. One time, I went on a date with a guy and he told me he hated to read. I didn't go on another date with him. Is this snobby and exclusionary? Yes. Is it something I require in a mate? Absolutely. No shame.

Books are seriously the best thing ever. Dialogue! Imagination! Fancy words! Hunky dudes! Badass girls! Wizards and magic and zombies and a thousand things that will never happen in this world. Escape to the land of your choosing, have fun. Reading is a salve to your soul.

ALSO if you want to see some bookshelf "porn" (don't worry, it's safe for work) CLICK HERE.

April 16, 2014

Life Through a Fish Eye

{my papa}
I recently got a holga fisheye film camera. Plastic, made in China, the works. But what's really fun is the lens is detachable, letting me play with it with my iPhone. I want those small magnetic lenses specifically for iPhones , but ain't nobody got money for that.
*cough* My birthday is coming up, though... *cough*

Life here is busy. School projects are all coming together at once (as they usually do). Comm classes are almost always back heavy, so around finals week is when my sanity begins to run out.
I'm going to Bonnaroo again! This time I may share some pictures.... but I always say that, don't I?