Okay, so the gnome story didn't turn out like I wanted it to. I wanted it to be this happy, fluffy little thing that was all cute and whatnot. But would it turn out that way? Noooooo... no, it had to be all sad and weird and not what I wanted. I hate when stories run off on their own and drag me with them. But whatever.

On a side note, I'm learning needle tatting, which is a form of lace-making. It's actually quite interesting - and a lot easier than crochet/knitting, to my mind. One needle, one thread, and one stitch. You just shape it differently according to the pattern. I'm trying to make a Christmas ornament at the moment (the picture is the ornament I'm working on) - not the easiest pattern in the book, but far from the hardest. It's not really pretty right now, but then again I did only start working on this today. Maybe this could be a new hobby for me.

I watch this show called Supernatural every Thursday with a group of friends. These clips are from the last episode, which we all basically died over. We're all a little in love with Jensen Ackles.

Well, this past weekend was fall party weekend and homecoming. Fun stuff lol. I honestly didn't do much... the weekend was kind of tame for me.

I did start a new story, though - it was jumping up and down and screaming, demanding to be written. I had to put down Baby Reaper to do it, I couldn't get it out of my head. This one is odd. It's about this girl named Miranda who goes to visit her grandmother and ends up having to deal with all this weird stuff like the gnomes that live in the chicken coops in her back yard and the woman named Valentine who takes care of the gnomes. I'm kind of excited about it, but I'm afraid it's going to be really really long like the Baby Reaper story (which I still haven't finished... need to do that.) But if I don't finish the gnome story before Tuesday (when it's due) I'm going to finish it by Friday or Saturday and send him the rest so we can talk about it all at once. Or that's my current plan, anyway. I'm going to laugh if I write an entire novel by next Friday.

I've decided I have a weird mind. Gnomes and baby reapers and poets who are afraid of the letter 'u'... Yes, I'm weird. But my mind is most definitely a fun place to live! Haha.

The picture is part of what inspired this story - these are the gnomes that live in the chicken coop.

This is a poem by Matthew Arnold, first published in 1852. We're writing a paper on it in my Victorian Prose and Poetry class, and I'm kind of in love with it - there's something there that pulls at my heart. My favorite lines are at the end, when the speaker talks about how he responds to his lover - how it helps him open his heart so he can really find himself. Gorgeous.

The Buried Life

Light flows our war of mocking words, and yet,
Behold, with tears mine eyes are wet!
I feel a nameless sadness o'er me roll.
Yes, yes, we know that we can jest,
We know, we know that we can smile!
But there's a something in this breast,
To which thy light words bring no rest,
And thy gay smiles no anodyne.
Give me thy hand, and hush awhile,
And turn those limpid eyes on mine,
And let me read there, love! thy inmost soul.

Alas! is even love too weak
To unlock the heart, and let it speak?
Are even lovers powerless to reveal
To one another what indeed they feel?
I knew the mass of men conceal'd
Their thoughts, for fear that if reveal'd
They would by other men be met
With blank indifference, or with blame reproved;
I knew they lived and moved
Trick'd in disguises, alien to the rest
Of men, and alien to themselves--and yet
The same heart beats in every human breast!

But we, my love!--doth a like spell benumb
Our hearts, our voices?--must we too be dumb?

Ah! well for us, if even we,
Even for a moment, can get free
Our heart, and have our lips unchain'd;
For that which seals them hath been deep-ordain'd!

Fate, which foresaw
How frivolous a baby man would be--
By what distractions he would be possess'd,
How he would pour himself in every strife,
And well-nigh change his own identity--
That it might keep from his capricious play
His genuine self, and force him to obey
Even in his own despite his being's law,
Bade through the deep recesses of our breast
The unregarded river of our life
Pursue with indiscernible flow its way;
And that we should not see
The buried stream, and seem to be
Eddying at large in blind uncertainty,
Though driving on with it eternally.

But often, in the world's most crowded streets,
But often, in the din of strife,
There rises an unspeakable desire
After the knowledge of our buried life;
A thirst to spend our fire and restless force
In tracking out our true, original course;
A longing to inquire
Into the mystery of this heart which beats
So wild, so deep in us--to know
Whence our lives come and where they go.
And many a man in his own breast then delves,
But deep enough, alas! none ever mines.
And we have been on many thousand lines,
And we have shown, on each, spirit and power;
But hardly have we, for one little hour,
Been on our own line, have we been ourselves--
Hardly had skill to utter one of all
The nameless feelings that course through our breast,
But they course on for ever unexpress'd.
And long we try in vain to speak and act
Our hidden self, and what we say and do
Is eloquent, is well--but 'tis not true!
And then we will no more be rack'd
With inward striving, and demand
Of all the thousand nothings of the hour
Their stupefying power;
Ah yes, and they benumb us at our call!
Yet still, from time to time, vague and forlorn,
From the soul's subterranean depth upborne
As from an infinitely distant land,
Come airs, and floating echoes, and convey
A melancholy into all our day.

Only--but this is rare--
When a beloved hand is laid in ours,
When, jaded with the rush and glare
Of the interminable hours,
Our eyes can in another's eyes read clear,
When our world-deafen'd ear
Is by the tones of a loved voice caress'd--
A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast,
And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again.
The eye sinks inward, and the heart lies plain,
And what we mean, we say, and what we would, we know.
A man becomes aware of his life's flow,
And hears its winding murmur; and he sees
The meadows where it glides, the sun, the breeze.

And there arrives a lull in the hot race
Wherein he doth for ever chase
That flying and elusive shadow, rest.
An air of coolness plays upon his face,
And an unwonted calm pervades his breast.
And then he thinks he knows
The hills where his life rose,
And the sea where it goes.

I received my gown last Tuesday and became a member of the Order of the Gownsmen! So exciting. The ceremony was very long, and Jeremie kept laughing at stuff like the "bum-bum-bums" the choir did... which I must admit, was really funny, just in the very unexpectedness of it all.

Other than that I don't have much to report. I am REALLY busy - had a psychology exam, need to write two papers and read a book... and I need to write. I'm dying to, but I don't have the time. I mean, I do, a little, and I write when I can, but I need a full day of hiding out in the library, sneaking candy bars in for nourishment, writing full out for hours and hours. I feel all tense and stuff because I haven't done that in forever. It's like a muscle twinge that won't go away, or the clichéd itch that you just can't scratch.

Maybe I can squeeze in some time over fall break to chill out and just write. That'd be nice. I'm just always so busy when I go home... I feel like I haven't had a real break since August.

Sooo it's been a while. Life has been busybusybusy for me.

Had my meeting with Kevin today about the first part of my story - he liked it! Made me happy, haha. It's always a nervewracking experience, waiting for the first opinion. Now I must write more! I haven't gotten to the point where I can guesstimate how long it'll be, but I know it's going to be a bit longer than what I wrote for class last year. I also have this other idea that I really want to get to - I think I'll start working on that on the side, when I don't feel like messing with 'Baby Reaper.' Note to self - find a better title.

Anyway, over the next few days I'm going to be writing, studying for my psychology exam, going to the zoo with Ary and one of her Russian friends, going to see Iron Man at the SUT and the Freshman Showcase in Tennessee Williams, hanging out with my parents, taking my psychology exam, and getting gowned. My life is intense.

I've gotten back into reading raunchy romances. I blame Ary. She had me bring a bunch of the Nora Roberts books Katie and I share back for her to read, so now I'm picking them up again. I love them, but I feel kind of silly reading them, especially if I read in public. And reading them is seriously cutting into my study/writing time - because half the time I forget what I'm doing and end up reading for two hours instead of only reading two chapters and getting back to what I should be doing.

I end up with no time to breathe. Hopefully I'll survive past next Tuesday.