Happy Chanuka/Kwanzaa/Christmas/New Year/whatever you celebrate!
But more to the point, one of my best friends, Vanessa, is going to guest post! =)
When Audrey first asked me to guest post, I was forming a post in my
head before I even accepted her offer (because, um, DUH I want to post on
someone's blog!) I don't remember exactly what my evil brain was cooking up,
but it was terrible and went something like this:
I'm not an artist. I can't draw or paint to save my life. I never had a
knack for instruments. I can't sing or dance or design or decorate. I can't
fold paper into pretty shapes or cut paper into pretty shapes. I'm not athletic
either. I can't kick balls, catch balls, throw balls, run fast, jump over hurdles,
swing rackets, do crazy tricks on four-inch beams, or do ten turns at once
while balancing on the tips of my toes.
It went on like this, until I started to say that I always had writing,
that I always loved writing, and writing was always there for me. And I'd turn
that into a pretty little inspirational sob story. But I couldn't, because that
is just totally FAKE. And wrong. Lies. False words that I'd put into my
graduation speech. (except for the fact it is not in any way possible I'll be
the valedictorian).
I don't mean to brag or anything, but truthfully, I'm not bad at
everything but writing like I was going to say. If I do say so myself, I don't
play the piano all too bad, and just two weeks ago I set my new mile-running
record (6:23 WHAT NOW PEOPLES?!). But I knew I couldn't just blog up Audrey's
awesome blog with my junky ramblings. So I obsessed over what I would write,
how I could turn this guest post into something cool, something worthwhile that
people wouldn't regret reading.
But unfortunately, I couldn't come up with anything, so you're just
going to have to put up with my aforementioned junky ramblings. I thought I was
going to write about...writing. How I love writing, how writing makes me happy,
and all that mushy gushy cliche blah-blah-blah. I like to think of myself as a
writer--I mean, I write. Not well, but I do write. And then, last night, or
rather this morning, when I was technically supposed to be studying for a
physics final that I took today and failed miserably, I knew what I was going
to write about. This. These wonderfully amazingly breathtakingly awesome junky
ramblings. Because that is what I write.
I could write an inspirational piece, if I tried.
(Which I wouldn't). I could write about how happy writing makes me, because at
least that's true. I could
even post some of my many many manyyyy stories that I thought was a fantastical
idea until I wrote about 2 pages and then my brilliant light was put out. But
the truth is, that isn't what I write. I write about everything that comes to
my mind, like whether pillows can be compared to iron in terms of brittleness
and why concrete is grey and whether it's valid to complain about something
that is wrong manner-wise but not breaking and rules or laws of any sort. And
even if no one else but me cares about that, the fact remains that I care about it, and that's what matters in my
writing. That I like what I'm writing, that I enjoy what I'm writing, that I
feel like the writing is my own and not gushy inspirational words put into my head
by my language arts teacher. Even though my writing sucks, generally has no
point, and no one understands it...it's MY writing, and for me, that's all that
matters.
Please see Seana J Vixen's blog, she has a Christmas contest that she clearly wants people to enter! =D
~Audrey
I think I get the pillows and iron thing... Like, if you have a really thin stick of iron, like as thin as mechanical pencil lead, you could probably break it, even though iron is super hard, since iron is brittle. But pillows are really soft, yet you can't snap a pillow in half because it isn't britte. So I guess the controversy is whether that's a valid comparison.
ReplyDeletePlease check it out, I tagged you for another award.
ReplyDeletehttp://julyaemmance.blogspot.com/2012/12/winterlicious-tag.html