Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Thoughts

So, this is a quote from Gilead that I'm puzzling over. I'm not sure to what extent I agree with it, but I like it:

"I am one of those righteous for whom the rejoicing in heaven will be comparatively restrained. And that's all right. There is no justice in love, no proportion in it, and there need not be, because in any specific instance it is only a glimpse or a parable of an embracing, incomprehensible reality. It makes no sense at all because it is the eternal breaking in on the temporal. So how could it subordinate itself to cause or consequence?"

That is to say, God's love isn't administered in proportion to how lovable a person is. Which makes no sense. And is kind of incredible.

In other news, it's the first day of class and my pants haven't loosened up yet. Ever have that problem? When I first put them on after washing them, I have to do lunges to get them to fit right, and even then it takes me a little while to feel comfortable. Then, by the end of the day, they're too loose and I have to pull them up all the time. I just can't win with jeans.

Hello, my name is Veronica. I wake up and think about God and jeans.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Story Time

Two words for today's story:

GIANT. SPIDERS.

Okay, so I live on the ninth floor of a large apartment complex, and my room is not supposed to be a bedroom. Technically, it's a den, which means several things:

1. No closet
2. Double doors
3. Balcony

The balcony is pretty much the coolest part of my room. It looks out over Evanston, and I can see as far as the Bahai temple, which GLOWS at night. Yep, my living situation is pretty sweet, especially considering how much mold grew on the ceiling of my dorm's bathroom last year.

The unfortunate consequence of the balcony is that there is a large sliding door that forms one of my walls, and any time you have an entrance to the outside world in a room, that means: bugs. And the only bugs that are crafty enough to make it to the ninth floor are spiders, apparently.

Two days ago I was up at three o'clock in the morning because I am deathly ill (well, not really. But it's really hard to sleep when your nose is burning all the time) and I noticed a quarter-sized spider descending from the ceiling. I think that's one of the creepiest things that spiders do. It has to do with the whole "let me slowly lower myself onto your head while you sleep" thing. Anyway, I had a mini little panic attack and grabbed my brush and hit it as hard as I could. It didn't die. It fell into the fibers of my really cool rug and disappeared. So I stood there like an idiot for about two minutes, staring at the rug to make sure it didn't reappear. Sure enough, it did, and then I beat the crap out of it with my hairbrush.

The next morning, I woke up determined to kill all the spiders, so I took a can of Raid onto the balcony and started to spray the top of the doorframe. And a few seconds later, half a dozen spiders did that slow-descending thing from the doorway, sort of like in the movies when SWAT lowers themselves from the ceiling on ropes to ambush the enemy, or whatever. One of these spiders...its body was seriously the size of a dime, which doesn't sound all that impressive until you realize I'm not even COUNTING the legs. Anyway, that one got caught directly in the line of fire and turned white from all the Raid I used because I'm a sissy and I was determined to kill this thing.

I haven't seen any spiders since then. But all that stuff they tell you about how spiders are good because they kill other bugs or whatever? BS. I would rather have other bugs. Bring on the flies, the ants, the gnats, whatever. They're annoying but they don't make me want to hop on a chair and scream. You know why? Because they don't move in that creepy spider way. And they have a reasonable amount of legs. Six? Sure. Eight? TERRIFYING.

Now I feel creepy crawlies all over me. Ugh. I'm going to make tea.

In other news, I outlined the rest of LL and did some estimations that confirmed it will be about as long as I suspected it would. All while sitting on the train across from three guys who were talking about...well, some unsavory things.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Side Note

I cook things!

I made sweet potato soup today, all by myself. Well, I had parental supervision. I have no idea what "translucent onions" look like, so I kept having to bug my mom about it. BUT STILL. It tasted good and I didn't cut my hand open or set anything on fire, so I'm calling it a success.

It's strange when your standards for success involve no bodily harm being inflicted on anyone.

Page 35

Every single thing I have ever written runs out of steam at page 35.

Except TM. But I'll get to that.

At first, when I realized this, I wondered what was up with page 35. Why does it suck so much? Or is there something wrong with me? But now that I've thought it over, I realized it makes perfect sense. Page 35 is just after all the characters and setting tend to be established, so right after The Beginning (or around there). And then I have to figure out how to transition from The Beginning to The Action, and for some reason...that is really freaking difficult for me.

TM was a weird case. First of all, I wrote seven versions of that story, all of which deflated after about fifty pages. I never expected any of them to amount to anything-- it was the story I was writing while I figured out what to do with my novel, which has since gotten filed and is collecting dust in a folder somewhere. When I finally sat down to write the version of TM that actually lasted, I wrote the Big Event first and continued from there, and then went back and wrote the beginning when the Brandon Heath CD came out (for some reason).

I never break from chronology like that. Apparently it worked. Maybe I should do it again with the thing I'm writing now. Now if only I could find a way out of this full outfit of sweats and do something productive.

Also, the guy who came to deliver...whatever he's delivering...just now probably thinks I'm an idiot. I answered the door wearing huge sweatpants and a giant sweatshirt with my hair all messy and didn't know what the date was and had no idea where he should deliver the furniture (right! furniture). Eventually he told me the date and I told him to put it in the garage, which in retrospect is probably not the right decision, but I had no idea what the man was saying. Then I went inside and lay on the ground and wondered why I have this tendency to make an idiot of myself on a regular basis. Oh well.

When I do finally manage to get dressed, I'm going to try breaking from chronological order and see if that helps me. I'll let you know if it does, because that will be a breakthrough in the fight against writer's block (which I have always maintained is just laziness in disguise...and that seems truer now than ever before, since I've been watching Top Chef for two days now).

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