Guatemala and book requests

About a week and a half ago, I returned from Guatemala. (And yes, I realize I barely mentioned I was going and I am very sorry.) It's just that this Africa trip has taken precedence with both funds and thoughts. The opportunity to go to Guatemala came up from nowhere, so I accepted without even fully comprehending it. A full five days after I came back from college, I got on a plane to Guatemala City, still slightly dazed.

When I got there, I was frustrated and feeling a bit useless. We were staying at a house there, so I hadn't been able to use my Spanish and I didn't even have a job yet (it was a medical mission trip). It seems like I always have this drive to be useful, but I was on a mission trip and I wasn't really feeling it. But God slowly began to teach me that his plan for me is much more than simply being useful. He wants to use me, but more than that he wants my heart. I finally did find a job--the eye clinic--and was able to use my Spanish, but I also rediscovered a calling for Guatemala. I have decided to intern there next summer for about a month and a half, and I can hardly wait until then.

I also have other exciting news: an agent requested the first 50 pages of my book (you might remember this anxious post about sending it in)! It was actually the only agent I sent it into, which is quite awesome but unlikely. Anyway, I spent July 4th (and part of the 3rd) ferociously copy-editing. I think I've probably read those 50 pages a total of 50 times. I'm not even going to look at them until I get any feedback, though, because I know if I do I'll see a gazillion typos. However, I am going to copy-edit the rest a ton...just in case something ridiculously unbelievable and exciting happens. I'll be sure to let you know.

Novel editing and the origins of "adios"

I'm not sure why this is, but it's extremely hard to rationalize doing homework when I have some fantastic scenes in my head just waiting to come out on paper. I mean, grades are just made of letters (and sleepless nights, of course), while this book could potentially be made of awesome. Of course, I haven't yet neglected my studies, but it's tempting. Very tempting.
At first when I finished my draft I wanted to throw up when I thought about editing it, but now it's actually kind of nice. The dialogue is much less awful now, and the scenes are flowing together better.
On an unrelated note: I just google image searched myself to see what a prospective agent might find, and I seem to have miraculously avoided the Internet. Except for a picture of my be-Chacoed (Chacofied?) feet that is the album cover for my piano music. Which I find extremely entertaining.
Since this entire post seems rather random and out-of-place, I should probably mention that one of my friends (who is actually going to be my roommate next year. Yay!) was wondering where the word "Adios" came from. "A" means to, and "Dios" means God, so I shot a finger-gun at her and said, "Adios." To God. I'll leave you to ponder the philosophical implications of this why I either study Spanish phonetics or write a scene.

Adios.

My brain is a hostage.

I must confess that I have quit a cappella club. I really did try to like it, since I adore singing, but I just couldn't do it. Instead, I've been going to Scottish country dancing club. I have yet to master the skip-change (the central step in Scottish country dancing), which makes for an interesting evening of Rosemary holding my hand and proclaiming in a British accent, HOP- two-three, HOP-two-three. Despite the embarrassment, it's really quite fun. Since I'm an idiot and raised my hand when she asked the everyone who had been to club night in class, I actually got to perform one of the dances for the class's enrichment today.
My novel is also coming along really well. I'm at 49,321 words, which is pretty impressive (50,000 words is the NaNoWriMo goal), considering that all my professors assigned huge projects, essays, and readings due around the same time. Of course. The problem is that I can barely make myself focus on the aforementioned work. My characters have taken my head hostage, refusing to let it think about anything else or do anything productive other than writing them. I have never written any characters as fleshed-out and real as these, and they genuinely haunt my head. When telling a friend about this "problem," she said something about the book not being real and I stared at her for a second. I'd actually forgotten that the entire story and characters only existed in my head (and in my computer, of course).
They are so real to me that, when I had to write something painful for my MC, I had to buy myself chocolate as an incentive. I've stared at people crossing campus that look remotely like my characters. I've broken down crying about the story and laughed out loud while crafting a joke. A difficulty (and blessing, sometimes) about being a writer is the intense capacity to feel. I feel everything my characters do, whether it be depression, rapturous bliss, or fury. It's wonderful and awful at the same time. Ah, well. The life of an artist.
On a different note, since I love causes but have next to no money, I was quite euphoric when I discovered GoodSearch today via NaNoWriMo. Basically, it's just a search engine that donates money to the cause of your choice for every Web search you make (and it's free!). Oh dear. I sound like an infomercial, don't I? Anyways, you should definitely check it out if you're, like me, broke but wanting to help out a cause!
Well, I'm off to write on my novel...I mean, work on my essays. Heh, heh. Oh! Before I go, I must bestow some wonderful news upon you. Instead of a cappella club, I went to a readers' meeting for my school's literary journal called Jeopardy! today. I think I'm going to be a reader, which basically means that I'll read submissions, vote on them, and critique them a bit for the magazine which sounds a lot more amazing to me than singing for an hour (sorry, a cappella. I promise I still love you! Will you accept my humble offer of vegan brownies and black licorice?).

Bouldering, writing, and a cappella

Hello, friends. Sorry that I've been so sporadic about blogging; it's just that every time I sit down to write a post, I write a few lines, laugh at their corniness, and then shut off my computer. Despite my recent ineptness at blogging, progress on my novel is going really well (you know that one novel that I never mentioned in my posts? Yep. That one) and I'm at the proud landmark of 35,707 words. I started this novel in September and have not yet tired of it. For some reason, this one is so much fun to write and makes me laugh out loud and cry, sometimes at the same time (yes, I know I'm the author. That's beside the point). I wish I could tell you what it's about, but apparently it's not a good idea to put unlicensed material on the Internets for billions of eyes to see if one is planning on publishing it. (I know, right? Who would've thought?)
I have also become addicted to bouldering. In case you don't know what that is (and truthfully, a month ago I didn't either), it's rock-climbing in a  gym without a harness. It's dangerous, extremely difficult, and covers one's hands with perpetual calluses and blisters, but it's just about the most fun way to work out I have ever tried. The possibilities for creativity are endless: you can pretend you're a super-spy, trying to escape a flood, or were raised by apes. Personally I prefer the first option, since it's a little less stressful.
Anyways, these past few weeks, I have been going to a cappella club. I had a Great Plan that I would try out for the "Breakfast at Tiffany's" solo tonight, so I got all excited. However, when I arrived tonight they informed everyone that they'd cut one song out of the three for the concert. Out of "F* You," "Stand By Me," and "Breakfast at Tiffany's," guess which one they cut?
Yeah....
I would gladly have tried out for "F* You" if only they'd used the radio version--I mean, the range is perfect!--only, I don't swear. I still don't understand why it's cool to drop the F-bomb repeatedly throughout a song, but it's okay. They said that we'd sing "Breakfast at Tiffany's" later in the quarter, so I still have my hopes up for that shiny, beautiful solo! Eventually. For now, I'm just going to have to OooOoooO to my heart's content (gotta love altos). And even though I didn't get to try out, I was planning on it. That's pretty huge for me, the girl who won't sing in the shower for fear of someone overhearing. So that's something, I suppose.
I also am going to try to give blood tomorrow for the first time in a year, and then I'm planning on going bouldering after that, which may or may not be a good idea. Let's see what happens.

Pronouns

What I'm Listening to: Maybe I'm a nerd, maybe I'm not. You can be the judge of that, but I have a strong suspicion that writing a poem...and a blog post entitled "Pronouns" classifies me as a full-scale geek.But whatever you decide, try to read "Pronouns" without any sort of prejudice, academic or otherwise. Pronouns My skin salty and breaths coming fast I press the phone against my jaw. Incapable of terminating that last call. Somehow believing that loosening my grip on the cell phone Would mean letting go of you. But when I finally gave up and hung up You were still there. No longer we or us, two broken hearts stand apart. But quite too close for comfort. Afterwards we'll slay the lovers in our hearts And witness the death of a pronoun.

Writer's Block

What I'm listening to: Title and Registration (Death Cab for Cutie) I tried to write a poem today, but I ended up with half a sheet of scribbled-out purple characters. Gotta love writers' block. I think it's even transferred to my blog today (good thing it doesn't show how many things I've just tried to say). Oh well. Writers' block, just like everything else, comes and goes. Absolute (the book I'm trying to get published) sits on a dusty cyber shelf, waiting for the friendly comments of my editors. An unfinished English essay hangs on the thread of my imagination and yet another History project looms in the near future. Such is life--for me, anyway. But now I'm only stalling. Here's the second installment of After the Crash: The Curtain "You crushed your clavicle," says the doctor. His voice is grave. I ask him what that is. "Don't you feel it? Your collarbone." "Well, now that you mention it..." My voice trails off. I stare at the pink-and-white patterns on the ceiling. I notice my eyelashes are wet from fallen snow. The doctor tells me he can fix me. It will be easy. Just a quick surgery and then a cast. But I don't want to be fixed. I'm like an old painting, or a manuscript maybe. What was written was written and there's no going back. Of course, I know there's something wrong with me. But it isn't my clavicle or ragged arms. To admit it would be to acknowledge it. And then would come the fixing. Nothing's wrong wit me. "Can't I go home?" I ask. The doctor peers at me from under his owlish spectacles, and I decide to drop it. Tomorrow's Saturday, I suddenly recall. Sadness fills me like a dessert that leaves a funny taste on your tongue. I will spend the day in the emergency room. Or maybe the operating one. Flecks of white spatter the baby blue walls and it immediately reminds me of snow. I shudder. The wheels of of the hospital bed squeak methodically as the nurse pushes me along like the child I've grown up to be. She shows me to my curtained-off, ten-square feet of privacy and gives me a smile. I wonder how much she was paid to do that. Not enough, considering my condition. "What are you in for?" I ask the unisex curtain next to me. "Broken leg," it mutters back. "Clavicle," I say. The curtain tells me its sister once broke her clavicle. And that, by the way, his name is David. I cringe. Names. Names open people up. Names remind me of what I've tried so hard to forget. I hate names.