Fall, a Book & Ice Cream

I took the bus downtown today to a job interview.  It went pretty well and I think that lady liked me well enough, but what I liked most about taking a trip downtown, was taking the trip back. 

I ended up getting off the bus in Queen Anne, and I walked over to Kerry Park, where I took a few pictures of the skyline and then sat to read The Giver.  I haven’t read it since 6^th grade but I remembered loving it so I bought it used off Amazon.  (The used ones are the best since the pages are already crisp and smell a little dusty.) I’m already plowing through it at a phenomenal speed and it reminds me a bit of Thomas More’s Utopia.

I ended up pulling a bit of a Belle.  After I realized reading at Kerry Park wasn’t going to work to well, due to the various tourists having loud conversations around me (funny to think I used to be one of those), I picked up my book and began walking back to school.  Except I didn’t stop reading.  I kept reading, while I walked, and my nose was buried deep in my book. 

I wish I could say the leaves romantically crunched underneath my feet, but they more so squished than anything, due to how much rain we’ve been getting recently.  Regardless, it was still beautiful and hardly cold enough for a coat.

Follow me on Instagram @ea_carlson

At one point I remember looking up the street and seeing Molly Moons, a local ice cream shop with wonderful homemade ice cream.  I couldn’t resist walking in there and buying myself some, so I did just that.  Good ice cream is one of my week spots and I think I could eat it nearly every day if I had access to it.  My great-grandfather eats a bowl of ice cream every day and he’s 98 and still going strong.  Guess I know who I got my sweet tooth from.

After I purchased my ice cream, I put my book away and ate delicious mint ice cream as I walked back to school.  The temperature was perfect and I loved every moment of spending precious time on my own. 

I’ve realized that when I get time on my own, I’m happier and more willing to spend quality time with other people.  So today I took myself on a walk, with a book and ice cream.

Now I’m a happy girl.

Post-Book Depression

I finished two books yesterday.  No, I did not read two books yesterday.  I merely finished them, which left me feeling quite deflated.

For those of you that love reading, I’m sure you’ve felt the same.  The book wraps up, the characters are done moving forward, the story is complete and you’re left with… a closed book and nothing else to look forward to. 

I’ve taken to calling this post-book depression.  A lot of people cure this problem by simply starting up another book afterward, but they will always have the same results.  (Unless you’re relieved to finish a book.  In this case I’m just talking about the books that I really enjoy reading and find myself immersed in.) 

Yesterday I finished Mockingjay, the third book in The Hunger Games trilogy, so my depression was tripled when that ended.  When I read a series of books the characters practically become real and I feel like I’m acquainted with them by the time I reach the end.  Whether or not they actually die in the book, they still “die” when the book finishes. 

I also finished Girl With A Pearl Earring, which I had to read for my UCOR class.  It was more suspenseful that I thought it would be and I was sorry that it ended.  I would definitely recommend it to people who like historical fiction and it’s one that deserves a second read.

As soon as I finished it I set it down and just lay on my bed, mulling everything over. 

I couldn’t believe it was done.

I could believe I had read all of The Hunger Games books and had no more to read. 

All I felt was… emptiness.  (Of course, I’m exaggerating a bit because I’m absolutely fine now.)

Still, no one likes to see a good book end.

It's About Time I Told You Why...

This is my 100^th blog post.  To be honest, I had no idea I would make it this far.  When I started it, I never gave an explanation as to why I was blogging.  I felt as if I didn’t need one.  In a way I thought it was partially self-explanatory as to why you would start a blog and I wasn’t about to waste my words on that when I had a story to tell.  My very first blog post, My Room Wants to Eat Me now has 123 page views and 6 Hours holds second place with 115.

I think it’s fitting that I explain now why I’m writing, whom I am writing to, and what I’m trying to accomplish.  I suppose it all comes in the form of a story, as do most of the things I write about.  This one starts a really long time ago.

When I was young my Mom couldn’t keep the house supplied with enough paper, scissors, and tape.  I was often taking paper, cutting it up, and taping it back together in various forms.  Then I would color it or do with it what I pleased.  Most of the time I made little books and drew pictures in them.  During one instance I invested a day into copying an edition of Martha Speaks into a cut-and-taped paperback book that I had created.  I loved that fact that I could flip through something I had made and read the words I had written down.  It didn’t matter to me that the work wasn’t actually my own, I was proud of it. 

A few years later in elementary school I was part of Beat Street, the program that my school ran for kids that wanted to “publish” their own books.  I wrote and illustrated two during my first few years.  I don’t remember what they were called but I vividly remember the pictures.  One was about a rainbow, and the other was about my zebra beanie baby getting lost at a circus.  

In 5^th grade we were required to make an Autobiography, and in 6^th grade we wrote and illustrated a children’s book.  On the side, I wrote in my journal fairly consistently and often wrote poetry.  It seemed like I was writing all the time.  I was good at math and understood science well enough, but I loved to write.  English wasn’t necessarily my favorite subject (I think P.E. was in middle school, but that was everyone’s favorite) but I knew how to write.  In 7^th grade I won an in class competition for who could write the best patriotic poem. 

Middle school finished, and I entered the local high school.  My English class was dominated by technology.  We had fishbowl discussions by commenting on a blog and we were required to have a blog of our own, of which I’ve long since deleted.  The transition from paper to word document never appealed to me, and I continued to journal in a notebook.  Junior year I compiled a collection of my favorite writings from the year.  The project was a requirement and a lot of work, but every once and a while I enjoy going back through my binder and reading everything I wrote. 

My favorite things to write were the things I made up, or got creative control over.  I’ve always been a thorough essay writer, but my biggest passion was creative writing, which is why it has become my intended major.  When I was younger I wanted to be a waitress, a major league baseball player, a teacher, a vet, an astronaut… a lot of different things that didn’t pertain to writing.  Yet, here I am attempting to get a creative writing degree. 

Some of you are probably thinking this doesn’t have anything to do with why she started the blog.  I promise, it does.

This past summer before I left for school I was a nanny for Tricia, the widowed mother of two darling boys.  I learned a lot of things that summer, including the fact that I wanted to be able to write like Tricia someday.  She had a blog of her own and I read it every single day.  (Her current blog is The Thoughts and Writings of Tricia Lott Williford.  You should read it, she's going to be an author someday.)  Not once did it cross my mind that I should start my own blog.  Blogging had always been something I was required to do throughout high school, and I found it miserable that entire time. 

The week I was leaving for school my family invited Tricia and the boys over for dinner.  I wanted to be able to spend time with the three of them and my family before I left. 

After the boys and some of my younger siblings left the table, my parents and I began to talk to Tricia about her life and how the writing process for her book had been.  She had ideas for one and was starting to put it into form, and I was extremely curious how everything was going. 

The conversation shifted slightly and I found that Tricia’s next comment pertained directly to me.  “If you want someone to pick you up as a writer someday, you need to be writing every day and they need to see that.  Elisabeth, I highly suggest that you start a blog.” 

If I was going to listen to anyone about such a matter, it was Tricia.  I admired her, and still do, in more ways than I can count.  That night I created No Mercy for Mosquitoes and wrote my first blog post.  I felt silly writing something the whole world could see since I had no idea how anyone would react.  It’s amazing how far I’ve come.  It’s natural.  It’s a habit. 

And I’m writing my hundredth post… wow.  I have 18 followers and will hopefully gain more.  People from more than 30 different countries have read my blog and I have more than 7,000 page views in total.  This had gone way further than I ever thought it would.

I want to keep writing.  (I know that I will.)    

I really hope that I write something long enough to be called a book someday.

So that is why I’m blogging.  It’s practice.  And I love it.  

The Girl Who Gulps Her Tea

A lot of SPU students go home on the weekends, especially when we have an extra day off from school.  Which means I’m normally always ready to get off campus and go on some type of random adventure.

By the time this past weekend hit I was exhausted.  Probably because I was sleep deprived from my 36 hour California visit the weekend before.  Also, I discovered that on Monday I had missed the opportunity for test corrections in Bio, and I had missed a reading quiz in my UCOR class.  I wasn’t very thrilled about the fact that I wouldn’t be able to make up either of them.  Then on Wednesday I talked to my Daddy on the phone for an hour during the time I should have gone to one of my classes…the week dragged on and on until I finally came to the end of it.

Since it was President’s Day weekend nearly everyone left to go home.  Even people out of state left to go home, leaving me wishing that I had planned to go home.  Home is a thrilling word when you seem to be alone.

Except I wasn’t.  There were still people staying on the floor and in the dorm for the weekend, so it was just a matter of finding something to do and I didn’t feel like leaving to go anywhere.  I ended up walking down to the gym to go to the last home basketball game of the season (which we won) and the night was still fairly young after that ended. 

About midway through the game I brought up the idea with Taylor of heading back to the dorm after the game, putting our pajamas on, making tea, and reading.  She thought it sounded like an excellent idea, so that is exactly what we did.

In fact, we ended up turning it into a floor activity and inviting anyone else from the floor that hadn’t gone home for the weekend.  We turned the lounge into a comfy reading space by placing the couches and chairs around one of the tables.  We turned off the bright ceiling lights and instead used various lamps to create warmer lighting.  And we all brought a comfy blanket to curl up with. 

The night ended up being incredibly relaxing and exactly what I needed.  I drank quite a few cups of tea, ate more biscotti than I should have, and even snacked on some popcorn.  Plus I managed to get several more chapters into the second book of the Hunger Games Trilogy.

Occasionally someone would ask a question or say something that would spark conversation, but we would quickly continue reading once again.  One of the girls joined us and painted her nails while another crocheted and a third did homework.  In totally there were about 9 of us that stayed in there for a couple of hours doing.      

I was sitting on a couch between the two Taylors on our floor.  The sophomore sat to my left and the freshman (my best friend) to my right.  At one point Taylor, to my right, turned and asked, “Do you always gulp your tea so loudly?”

Everyone stopped reading and started laughing, while I smiled.  “Yes?” I replied, confused.

I didn’t realize that I swallow loudly.  Or gulped for that matter.

Apparently I do, and apparently it’s loud enough for her to hear and for it to be distracting.

I guess that makes me a tea gulper of sorts.

How… unladylike.  

Someday I'll Have a Book

Last night I was reading for my UCOR class.  It was late and I had endured a rather emotionally tiresome day, but I was quickly able to immerse myself into the book and pick up where I left off in the storyline.

Before I knew it I was along the seashore chasing seagulls, admiring the beach houses, and painting.  I was standing in a room walking through sculptures and taking part of an art show.  I was there, or I might as well have been. I had fallen into the pages and become a part of story.

It’s as if the words were coming out of the page and dancing before me.  My imagination has always been this way, which is why I love to read.  Reading a good book is way better than watching a five star movie, that’s simply how I function.

The other day I watched Lord of the Rings for the first time.  So far I’ve only watched the first movie, but I was thrilled to discover that Bilbo Baggins’s home is exactly as I had envisioned it when I read the book.  I love it when the world I read comes alive and is transformed how I see it.  Which is also why it’s hard for me to read a book and watch the movie—it will never match up exactly. 

Anyway, last night I was reading and captivated by the story.  I loved that the author spent the time to create a world that I could step into.

Which made me realize, this is why I want to write.

I want to write so that other people can step inside a world that has been created by me, planned and executed with a certain style, transformed into something beautiful and moving. 

I can’t wait to get to that point.  I simply can’t wait.

However, I’ll have to wait and take general requirements before I get to take all the classes that will count toward my major.  But that’s not going to stop me from writing all the time.  I’ll write no matter what classes I have.   

Someday I’m hoping I’ll have 300 pages of something that people will want to sit down and read from start to finish.

Someday I’ll have a book. 

P.S. One of my best friends just came in a exclaimed, “You’re blogging again! Yay!”  (I feel the same way; it has taken far too long for me to find a captivating idea that I feel compelled to translate into words.  I’m glad I’m back.)