It’s Banned Books Week.

It's a good reminder, I think. Even though America is a good country to live in – frankly, I'm just thankful that I'm safe, healthy, and in school – there are still serious flaws. I won't get too political here, but that first amendment is there for a reason.

With that being said… how is it possible that this week exists? How is it possible that this week someone who claims to be in Christ called Speak "softcore pornography" because it has two rape scenes? We should be worried. We should be angry. This country was founded so that people could say what they wanted without being prosecuted for it. And THIS IS STILL GOING ON? Does not compute.

What really makes me mad is that books with good, wonderful messages get roasted by the "moral guardians", and then all the other media gets away with this horrible, horrible stuff that's has no blanking point. I'm talking about the senseless violence and sensuality we see on TV and in movies, and hear about in music. At least in books there's a point. There's a deeper meaning. If there wasn't, the scene wouldn't exist.

I can hear you now. "Uh, Qzie? They don't exactly get away with the stuff. The moral guardians do get upset with them." Then where's Banned Music Week? Where's Banned TV Week? Banned Movie Week?

Yeah. Exactly. OK, I need to calm down before I make someone angry at me.

Some writers have made it their goal to be on this list someday. If they make it, I can only hope it's for showing the public the truth.

I was downright chatty this week. Holy cow.

You have to understand how weird this is. I'm never this wordy. Speaking of words! Sometimes when I get bored, I like pulling out a notebook and writing about whatever pops in my head. Which is only a little dangerous. :) Like so:

One word. Viva. It's like a little revolution if you say it right. Listen how it charges the air. Viva. It's more electric than electricity. It's light. It's free. Say it. Mean it. You see?

Love is an odd word. All you need is love. All you need is love, love, love. Love is all you need.
"Love's not something you feel. It's something you do."
"Someone else said that before."
"Because it's true."*
Love has no charge in its sound. It's too fluid for charge. Too soft for revolution. Too strong for electricity.

Lull. It’s a nice word on paper, but when you say it, it almost gets stuck in your teeth. Like you have to lull it out.

Wonder. There's something magical about this word. Best said in the summer, at night, surrounded by fireflies. It's a promise and a question. It whispers what if and maybe. It's the glimmer in the dark.

*That was part of our discussion at college and career last week. :D Actually, that's where I'm headed right now.

(PS: I'm not claiming I have psychic abilities, but...)

Because I adore The Princess Bride.

Late night clickables. I even created two new tags for this post: ...the aforementioned phrase and Books of Legend. Because if The Princess Bride isn't a Book of Legend, well, then the universe is out of whack.

Matt Mikalatos is giving away said Book of Legend. Go. Run. I mean click. CLICK. Here it is again!

http://mikalatos.blogspot.com/2010/09/books-i-love-win-copy-of-princess-bride.html

Because I'm too tired to write an actual post...

...here's a flash fiction I wrote for Workshop. It's called "Distance", but a better title for it would be "On Getting Your Neighbor to Come Out of His Freaking House". But that one's long. :)

--

Gabe sits in front of me. Pissed. It’s too early for this, he thinks. Too early to be five feet within another human being. The crabapple lines he’s sporting around his eyes spell that out. You would never believe that he’s only been alive for twenty-something years. More like ninety. His joints even creak. What twenty-something is as rusty as the Tin Man?

He’s going to help anyways. We got walkie talkies and a flare gun. Thank you, Internet. Now we’re going to kill the point of you.

The only things missing from this scene are the tinfoil hats. Across the street, the lights betray the neighbor’s worry. Or his jealousy. Weird kids, sitting on the roof. With a flare gun. Don’t forget the flare gun.

“Niner-niner. Come in, niner. Or tener. Whatever. Are we on the radio yet?” Gabe doesn’t think I’m funny. He’s lame. “Someone’s gonna call the police on us. We’ve got a flare gun, world, and we’re sitting on a roof. Ah- haha.”

Gabe rolls his eyes. Too tired to comment.

The neighbor reappears in the doorway. A cat slips out, but the door doesn’t close. “Hey you! With the door!” I grab the gun and hold it up in the air. Showing off a bit. “Whaddya think of this?”

Gabe punches me in the arm. What are you doing, you idiot, he’s saying. Ever hear of safety first? He’s the one who agreed to come up on a roof with the thing. And me. That’s not exactly safe. And what’s he doing hitting me when I’m holding the beast?

The door stays open. Right now the neighbor’s thinking, What is that? What are they doing? They’re not doing anything weird up there, are they?

Well….

“It’s a flare gun!” I wave it like a flag. “If you come over, we’ll let you shoot it!” It’s a good offer. Get to hang out on the roof. Shoot at nothing. He can’t refuse that.

But he’s not coming. He’s just standing there, watching. He probably doesn’t believe me. Maybe he thinks the gun’s broken. Maybe he thinks it’s a real one, not a flare.

Can’t have that.

The blaze breaks the air. Gabe can’t believe I just did that. Neither can my fingers. I don’t think hearts are supposed to beat this fast. Just saying.

The neighbor closes the door. He’s probably calling the police now. In about twenty minutes we’ll know for sure.
--

We were supposed to be imitating Michael Davis. I think I failed, but the class laughed, which was kinda the point. It was funny because the teacher was trying so hard to find some deeper meaning and, as one of my classmates aptly put it, "It's about two stupid kids with a flare gun."

Still working on that book trailer. People have been looking at me funny while I film it. Whatever. :)

Chat later.

Three-Minute Fiction

This link comes to you through the grapevine... Jesi Marie heard about it from her writing group, and I heard about it from her blog. And now you're hearing it from me! Six degrees, right...?

So this morning's title will whisk you away to the Three Minute Fiction Contest. Basically what you have to do is write a story that's 600 words or less that starts with: "Some people swore that the house was haunted." and ends with: "Nothing was ever the same again after that." But the deadline is September 26th, so if you're gonna enter, write quickly!

OK. Good night, world.

Today is my little sister's birthday. :)

It always throws me for a loop when Laura's birthday comes around because she turns the same age I was at the start of the year (we're almost exactly 18 months apart). She's 20 today. We're celebrating with pizza and cupcakes. Yum. :) Anyways.

Some people on the NaNo forums have been posting pictures of their writing spaces. Another NaNoing blogger posted pictures of her space. Very cool stuff. So this is mine. It’s not much, but it’s something.

Yup, two whiteboards. The small one is to keep track of appointments, and the big one is for plotting. There are five pillows for prime comfortization, and the Build-A-Bear was a birthday present. My mom made the blanket. And the lamp’s light bulb is three years old. I have no idea how it’s lasted so long because it is on every night for several hours.

And that’s my writing space! Now it's your turn if you haven't posted pics already. :)

Something about GothNoWriMo

WOW. Busy weekend. Very busy. We had college and career on Friday night, then on Saturday, I was doing homework, on Sunday I was at church and still doing homework.

Now it's Monday and... still doing homework. Oy. It doesn't end.

No rants today. Too tired for rants. But I did write this teaser for Tramontane at about 2 in the morning last night... this morning... whatever. It's a bit weird because it's one half of a conversation, so you have to imagine the other half. Again, 2 in the morning.

--

Hello, Forrest. How can I help you today?

Rumors?

Sprau Tower does not have an eleventh floor. You can count them outside, see? Only ten floors. And then the radio signal. But that’s not another floor.

Nicola Grabinski? She didn’t disappear in Sprau Tower. People saw her leave. Uh, wh-who? Well… I did. That’s right. And so did several other professors. Trevor Blake, for one.

There is no underground burial ground of murdered students. Stop being so ridiculous.

There was never blood found at the fountains.

There was never blood found at the fountains.

Mr. Shafer.

Look, I can understand that you’re upset. Maybe you should schedule an appointment with Counseling. We have some wonderful people in the Psych department who would love to help you through this time.

You’re going to be a problem, aren’t you?

Yeah. So was Nicola.

--

I need to stop writing in the wee hours. Also, yes, this is taking place at WMU. Sprau Tower is very, very real, and very, very terrifying. (Mostly because I'm afraid of heights to an alarming degree.) The people and events are not real, though.

Writing this story in October. I've never tried to write horror before, so it should be fun! :D Meanwhile, working on a short story for Fiction Workshop. Right now it's called "Something Like Love". And as for that nonfiction piece... eh, I'll put it up after it's been through workshop.

So what's everyone out there working on right now? Plotting for NaNoWriMo? That's only 41 days away...