Final Post of the Year :D

Reading

Growing up, I was that kid who was always reading. During class, on the playground, walking home. Luckily, I got a life. But that doesn't mean I stopped reading or that I started hating it, no, it just toned down a bit. Having a "reading nook" has always been a dream of mine. They look so peaceful and calming and cute and just perfect. It seems like the most amazing place to just completely lose yourself in a magical kingdom or a cozy town or a raging war. I believe that forcing someone to read something that they don't want to is a sin. Yes, a sin. Books are meant to be enjoyed from the heart, but if you don't want to read it then you don't get that extraordinary experience. People who claim they hate books just haven't found the right one. Don't worry, you'll get there, and then there's no going back.

Blogging

10 pm. Sunday night. Guess what's due the next day? Yep, a blog post. That picture up there? Yeah, that's my reaction. It's not that I don't like blogging - well, actually, I don't, but that's not my point - it's just that I'm really bad at keeping up with updating it. I think the best part of putting my thoughts online is that it actually made me think about my thoughts. It made me realize just how weird some of my thoughts are... yeah... my brain is screwed up in some ways... hehe

Freshman Year

Freshman year is a wake-up call; you are a part of this world, this is actually happening, no turning back now. One of the hardest parts about living is living how you want to. As the godly being that is Kurt Cobain - the lead singer of the band Nirvana - said, "I would rather be hated for who I am than loved for who I am not." (This quote is so important to me that I even have it on a shirt.) So many people live their entire life pretending to be something that they are not. They are so afraid of showing their true selves that they hide behind a made-up mask instead (that's a reference to the picture). I don't want to be one of those people. Freshman year is when I actually started to understand and accept myself. Now, the only way to go is up.

A Work in Progress

"A Work in Progress" is a memoir written by Connor Franta. Connor Franta is a YouTuber who started his channel in 2010 and has almost 4.5 million subscribers on his main channel. I got this book on April 29th and on that date, I met the wonderous godly author himself. I may have cried a bit... okay a lot.

In this memoir, Connor goes through his whole life until present day. How he got into video making, when he found his love for photography, how he dealt with bullies, and so many other struggles he's had to go through. But this isn't just a memoir of complaints, no it shows how he managed to survive all of the hard times and gives advice on how to make it through similar events in your own life.

This isn't a serious book of advice, though. Connor has a very special personality that shines through all of his videos, and is also very apparent in his writing. He has sass, wit, and and an extreme uniqueness. So if you want to take a journey through a struggled life and learn some things along the way, I highly suggest Connor's memoir.

Something to Remember for Thanksgiving - Mary Schmich

Be grateful. That's what I got out of this column by Mary Schmich. Also, don't give up.

After reading this column, it's obvious to me that Mary grew up with a hard childhood. The main part of this "hard childhood" is that her family did not have a lot of money.

Kids these days are so used to getting whatever they want and going to whatever extremes they have to, even if that means rolling around the floor crying for an hour in order to get that brand-new remote-controlled dinosaur that growls in 5 different languages. But, not every kid is like that.

Those kids are the ones you hear about because your 7 year old brother came home and told you the story. Those kids are the ones who have all the friends - excuse me, "friends" - because everyone wants to be seen with the rich kids. But then, what about the other kids? The ones at the other end of the spectrum? The ones like Mary?

The ones with a real heart. At such a young age, Mary knew that her family had money problems, so she knew that she could not be getting all of the cool toys that the other kids at her Elementary school were bragging about. And frankly, she seemed to be okay with that.

Growing up knowing this meant that Mary knew how to be grateful, which is something that a lot of kids - and adults - have forgotten, or never even learned. People like this are the ones you want to be around. They are the ones who really care, the ones who would be there for you, not only for the first ride in your brand new car, but also for the first heartbreak you experience (and all the ones after that).

These are the real keepers.

Human

***yes, this was a fanfiction, don't judge me***

This story made zero sense, I don't think the author even understood it... In the beginning, it wasn't too confusing, but when the plot twist came in, it all went down hill.  The most confusing part about this whole story was when we were told that half of the things that happened in the story were just hallucinations... so where is the actual story? I don't think I regret reading this, because it's good to challenge yourself, but challenges are supposed to be overcome and that didn't happen. Maybe if I reread this book I'd be able to understand more of it, but considering I read it all in a day, I might want to take a bit of a break. Yeah that's basically all I have to say about this... bye.

Heavy Hearted Sunday

DISCLAIMER: I do not know all of the details of this incident, all I know is what I was able to piece together from what I saw, heard, and was told.

There was a pillow and an apple on the side of the road, there was a pair of boots many yards down in the middle of the street, and there was a large black car pulled up on the grass. There was the driver of the car pacing in shock, there was a female witness freaking out over what had occurred just moments before, and there were multiple men attempting to save the bloodied and bruised girl laying in the curb.

"She was standing on the edge of the road and she stared right into my eyes before walking out in front of my car." This is what the driver of the car that hit the girl told my dad about the incident.

Paramedics soon arrived at the scene and took over in keeping this teenage girl alive. After making sure the girl was breathing and putting a neck brace on her, the men lifted her onto a gurney, set her into an ambulance, and drove off to the hospital.

Once the girl was taken away from the scene, officers started to question any witnesses. This is when my family decided to walk back to our home because none of us had actually seen the incident take place.

---------------

It is hard to understand why things like this happen. We know nothing about this girl; maybe she has an illness and was not able to control her actions, maybe she had a hard life that she wanted to get away from, maybe she was just trying to cross the street but did not realize how close the car was. Life is hard, sometimes things do not go the way they should, but you should never give up. Make the hardships you go through make you stronger, do not let them break you. Remember that you always have friends and family that you can talk to and that with time, whatever you may be going through will get better.

--------------

this is a real event that happened just outside of my house. We saw a WLWT van pass by so there should be a 100% real story up on their website. Their story has not been published by the time I published this so I will just link you to their website: www.wlwt.com/news

My Life with the Walter Boys

I read this like three weeks ago... let's roll.

Alright so this book has two versions: The one written by the author when she was 15/16 and the one rewritten by the author which was edited by professional people and then published. Now of course, the 15/16 year old version is going to be worse than the published version, but it was free, so I read it anyways. The title of this story is My Life with the Walter Boys and I read it on *insert drumroll*

WATTPAD!!!!!! (wattpad.com)

Wattpad is my life it is so amazing asdfghjkl, but MOVING ON... This story is about a girl named Jackie Howard who's whole family died in a car crash and so, as her mom's last dying wish, she was forced to live with her mom's childhood best friend, who just so happened to have 12 sons. I read this in a day because I had started reading the sequel before I knew that it was even a sequel and it was really interesting, but I didn't understand parts of it so I had to read the first book first. Was that confusing? It felt confusing.

As soon as Jackie moved into her new home, she knew it would end up being a crazy adventure because, I mean, come on, how would living with 12 guys not be a crazy adventure? Some of the guys were absolute jerks, others were complete sweethearts. Some were extreme pranksters, others were super artistic. Some were obsessed with fitness, others lived half of their lives at the library. But two of the boys had a special interest in our main girl, Jackie. Is it weird to date someone that you live under the same roof with? Yeah, I'm pretty sure it is, but keep in mind that this was written by a teenager and yeah, we've got some pretty strange minds. So obviously the fact that there are two brothers with in interest in Jackie, it's going to cause some drama, and obviously because it's a teenage love story, She's going to end up with one of them. Which one, you ask? Well that would spoil the ending, DUH!

Fahrenheit 451: "Dover Beach" Scene Continuation

Excerpt from Fahrenheit 451:

"Mrs. Phelps was crying.

The others in the middle of the desert watched her crying grow very loud as her face squeezed itself out of shape. They sat, not touching her, bewildered with her display. She sobbed uncontrollably...

Doors slammed and the house was empty."

...

Mrs. Phelps stormed down the sidewalk, entered her house. What are these tears? Crying was for the small incompetent children, not for a grown woman like herself. She did not understand the "poetry" that Guy had read aloud, but it was completely unacceptable behavior for her to storm out the way she did.

"I was just confused," Mrs. Phelps mumbled to herself. "Confused... Yes, confused." But no matter how many times she would try to convince herself of that, she knew, deep down, that was not the case. Mrs. Phelps could not understand her own thoughts. It was as if they were trying to find something more, something that she was incapable of.

Mrs. Phelps decided that the best thing for her at the moment was sleeping pills, if her mind was running so wild then she just had to assist it in calming down. She did not know how many pills she popped in her mouth, nor did she have time to make it to her bed, for the pills worked so fast that she fell unconscious right in the middle of her kitchen floor.

----

The screaming voice of the front door alerting Mrs. Phelps that she had a visitor was what woke her up from her deep slumber. Mrs. Phelps quickly scrambled up from her position on the floor and attempted to pat down her hair and undo any rumples in her clothing before going to answer the door.

The man standing at the door was not a man she had ever seen before. "Hello, sir, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Se greeted kindly.

Instead of answering Mrs. Phelps, the mysterious man shoved and envelope into her hand and walked away so quickly that she barely even had time to blink before he was around the corner.

In her dumb-founded state, Mrs. Phelps forgot to close the door or even walk back into the privacy of her home before ripping open the envelope. There was only one short sentence in the middle of the sheet of paper that was inside of it:

Your husband  Pete Phelps has been killed in the war, we offer our sincere condolences.

Mrs. Phelps knew she should not care, she knew her, now late, husband, would not have cared if he was the one who passed, he would just move on to find his 4th wife. So why did she not feel the same way? Why did Mrs. Phelps find herself screaming and crying and her own doorstep, where everybody could see how crazy she semed? She would not have cared a day ago, but what changed?

Montag. Montag changed.