“Bingo games can’t last more than 5 hours in the state of North Carolina.” – John Green
Learning things about my new home all the time.
“Bingo games can’t last more than 5 hours in the state of North Carolina.” – John Green
Learning things about my new home all the time.
Saw this on WaynesWorldofBlogging.wordpress.com – hilarious and scandalous!
We’ve been here for almost a week now (hard to believe), and we have been able to experience enough of the locale to make a few initial observations about how life is down here.
There is so much to do and see here, I don’t see how we could ever get bored. This spring/summer, I’m looking forward to getting more into the music scene in the area, as well as exploring any farmer’s markets and summer festivals that might be around, and gearing up for college sports in the fall!
My eyes snap open at 8:33 am, and it takes me a moment to remember why I feel so happy and excited. Why there is bright sunshine streaming in through the window and birds chirping outside in early April. All of a sudden I remember, and then cannot wipe the smile off my face as I lie on my air mattress, taking it in all over again.
I moved to North Carolina yesterday.
Some highlights from the combined 30-hour trip:
We arrived to a mountain of paperwork at our new apartment complex, which included a list of emergency maintenance situations that are the ONLY reasons to call maintenance after hours. One, in particular, gave us a chuckle: “If you have no air conditioning and the temperature is above 85 degrees Fahrenheit, OR if you have no heat and the temperature is below 60 degrees Fahrenheit.”
Emergency. No heat. 60 degrees.
In our new place I have a room devoted just to my crafts (and Brandon’s computer. And guests who come to stay. But mostly the crafts thing.) We have more space than we’ve ever had before and we’re having a fun time figuring out what we’re going to do with it all. Between that and the sunny weather, I think we’re already half in love with North Carolina.
I have had glasses since I was in the second grade. While poor eyesight runs in my family, I have always wondered if my habit of staying up until two o’clock in the morning reading by flashlight under the covers did anything to add to the rapid decline of my sight. Currently, I’m at a solid -4.75, which, in prescription terms, means I have a tough time seeing just about anything.
Being a naturally indecisive person, going to the eye doctor has always been stressful for me. I sit down in that chair, successfully (usually) refrain from telling my doctor to ‘use the Force’ and ‘let go’ when he puts Luke Skywalker’s trench run targeting computer in front of my face, and then proceed to sweat profusely as he asks me over and over whether two absolutely identical lenses make my eyesight better or worse.
Ok, here’s the thing. I’m dumb. I don’t know anything about eyes. That’s why he’s the doctor and I’m the idiot in the chair making Star Wars references. Why is he asking me about what’s good for my eyes? For all I know, I could be saying the complete wrong thing and unwittingly propelling myself down the path to blindness by age 30. Shouldn’t there be some kind of tool that measures the size and shape of my eyeball, or a machine that can detect the health and number of the magical all-seeing tubers that wriggle around in the back of my head? Why do I feel like I’m doing all the work here, sitting the most important exam of my life?
Then, a week later (after agonizing over the size, shape and color of a new pair of frames for approximately two hours and then choosing the pair that looks exactly like my old ones), I pick up my new glasses and the nice lady working there asks me if they ‘fit’. If they ‘feel good’. Lady, I don’t know a damn thing about fitting glasses. What is it supposed to feel like? I guess it feels alright. Until the next day when I’m at work staring at a computer screen for 8 hours and there are deep red marks on my nose and a bruise behind my ear. I’ve been back twice since last Monday, and I’m still not sure they fit ok. Who has time for this shit? Why aren’t they taking measurements, like a tailor, or making a mold of my face, like a dentist does my teeth, and forming frames that exactly fit the shape of my oddly proportioned, non-symmetrical head?
All I’m saying is, it’s almost 2013. Shouldn’t there be a better way for doctors to do this than them having to rely on my fool self? It’s gotta be as frustrating for them as it is for me (case in point: my doctor shows me two lenses and asks me to pick which one is better. When I respond ‘number 2’, he says ‘….really….?’ in a very skeptical voice.) There must be a way to innovate this process so that the guesswork is removed, and I don’t lie awake at night, wondering if I really ought to have gone with option number one.
Whew, it’s been a long few weeks since NaNoWriMo started, and a lot has happened. I turned 23 and enjoyed a lovely birthday trip to the Cape with my boyfriend. I helped to organize and participated in a massive pub crawl throughout the town of Burlington (for an embarrassing picture of me in a dress, tiara and gun, click here.) And, oh yeah, I’ve also written 28,694 freaking words of my story so far. For those of you who read books, that’s 86 pages. In two and a half weeks.
Needless to say, it has been a marathon of writing, and without a doubt this week has been the hardest. I’m tired, I’m still not entirely sure where my story’s going, and it’s tough to sit down every single day and write for two or three hours after a long day at work. However, that being said, it has been extremely fun and rewarding too, and it’s gratifying to know that I enjoy writing enough to have stuck with it this far. Taking on any kind of big challenge like this is scary, especially when you’ve told everyone you know and some people you don’t that you’re doing it. There are a million reasons not to do it, to talk yourself out of it – your life is busy, you don’t have the time, you’ll try next year. But life is short and before you know it, six years will have gone by and you’ll still be giving yourself the same tired old excuses I’ve been giving myself for the last six years I haven’t participated in NaNoWriMo.
There comes a point when you just have to look yourself in the eye and say, “you know what? You’re right, this is scary, and I might fail horribly. But it might be awesome as well, and I might find I’m made of stronger stuff than I thought.” Succeeding isn’t even necessarily the important part of a challenge like this one – yes it’s great if you do succeed, but even better than that are reasons like:
1. It’s fun.
2. It’s an adventure
3. It’s fulfilling
4. It’s something creative and challenging that is not sitting watching tv until it’s time to go to bed.
There are lots of reasons to participate in crazy, difficult challenges, whether it’s climbing a mountain, running a 5k, starting a business or writing a novel. We all have that dragon we want to slay, that hurdle we want to overcome, and the fact that we’re all unified in that is a pretty comforting thing.
Below is an excerpt from my novel that I’ve had a chance to edit – please let me know what you think, whether you love it or hate it!
The men sat in a loose circle, and the sound of their raucous laughter reached her even from a distance. As she approached, she could see the thick bands tattooed around their wrists and throats like chains, impossible to miss in the bright sunlight. Some were the deep green of sea foam, a few the dark blue of the ocean before a storm, three were brown, and one was red as blood. None were striped. Criminals. She hugged Skoot close to her chest and then plopped him on her shoulders to leave her hands free, resting the right one lightly over the pocket carrying her knife.
Where were the guards?
As she made to pass them, the men turned to look at her, abruptly stopping their conversation. She kept her head high and her eyes straight ahead as she walked, ignoring the tattoo her heart tapped against her chest.
“Wot we got ‘ere?” growled a low voice. She glanced to the right. Brown bands – a child molester. “Pretty li’le fing, ain’tcha?” A few of the men laughed. Ava stiffened, her whole body rigid, listening hard, but keeping her eyes firmly set ahead and not breaking stride. Skoot bared his teeth, his fur standing on end.
“Wos your name, darlin’?” the man cackled, drawing jeers and laughs from his fellows. Ava did not answer, but continued on her way. “Oi!” he yelled, and this time she heard him get up. “I said, ‘wos your name!” She whirled around to face the group and forced all the authority she could muster into her voice.
“My name is none of your business, scum,” she said fiercely. She eyed the man up and down. He was dirty, wiry and strong looking. Not huge, but definitely bigger than she was, and with six mates behind him besides. “How long have you lot been aboard – four months?” she sneered. “That means I outrank you, so you’ll leave me be, or the guard’s’ll have you belowdecks so fast you won’t have time to take a last look at the sun.” The men whistled and laughed, and her harasser looked back at them with a smile.
“Did you ‘ear that, boys? She outranks us!” He howled, turning back to her. “The guards won’t care ‘bout no jumped up brat like you. Looks o’ you, you don’t live much further up the hill from us. On’y ones gonna care ‘bout you is ol’ mummy and daddy.” She backed away.
“I warn you, I’m armed.” She said, her hand hovering over her pocket. He scratched his scruffy chin, considering her. Then he smiled, and reached for her.
In a flash, Ava’s knife appeared in her hand and sliced upward. With a horrible cry of pain and rage, the man fell back, clutching his face. He lifted his hands and Ava saw the deep gash she had cut across his left cheek and part of his nose. Blood ran down his face and over his mouth, and he spat it out before standing up again.
“Why, you li’le bitch!” he roared, starting forward. Ava backed away, her knife still in her hand. Her mind raced as she searched for a way out. The other men were standing now, some looking excited, others bored or nervous. There was no where to run. She squared her shoulders, preparing to fight. Suddenly, a shadow fell across her face, and she looked up to see the biggest man of them all standing in front of her – the one with the blood red tattoos. He was facing her attacker.
“Enough, Asher,” he said.
Something in the giant’s deep voice seemed to stop Asher in his tracks. He glared around the man’s back at Ava, still trying to stem the steady flow of blood from under his eye.
“Did you see wot that effing slut did to me face?” he yelped, using a dirty sleeve to mop up the blood. The man folded his arms.
“Yeah, I did. I also heard her tell you she was armed. Seems to me you deserved everything you got.” The man shifted his weight and Ava could clearly see Asher’s face, now as red from anger as from blood. He spat a gob of bloodied saliva, directly between the giant’s two green leather boots. Ava wondered where he had gotten boots like that.
“You lookin’ t’ rumble ‘ere, Nord? You think them tattoos makes us scared o’ you?”
“‘Us’?” He said. “Exactly which ‘us’ would you be describing?”
Asher glanced to his left and right. The other men remained seated, leaving him alone in the middle of the alleyway to face the giant. He turned back, less certain now, but not ready to back down.
“It seems to me,” Nord continued. “That there is no one here but the two of us. So this is what is going to happen. The girl is going to leave here with me. You all are going to stay.”
An ugly look twisted Asher’s already gruesome face. His cheek and eye now looked puffy, and the cut had developed a dark crust. “Why do you get t’ keep th’ girl?” he pouted. “She’s got a lot of fight in ‘er, and I’d love t’ teach ‘er some proper respect.”
Before Ava could think to be afraid, Nord had flexed one humongous fist and connected directly to the side of Asher’s face not covered by Ava’s cut. He landed on his knees, and a tooth skittered away across the uneven ground. Blood flowed afresh, this time from Asher’s mouth. He still managed to spit out a string of impressive swear words. Nord leaned down so he was inches from Asher’s ruined face, forcing him to look him in the eye. He quailed.
“You don’t get to take her because she’s not yours to take. I’ve claimed her now, and if I ever see you near her again, you lose more than just a tooth.” He looked up at the other men hovering nearby, watching. Nord raised his voice, “and that goes for all of you.” He straightened up and turned, leaving Asher in a messy puddle on the ground, cradling his aching face in his hand.
“Come, follow me,” he said to Ava, and, not knowing what else to do, she obeyed. As she followed him toward the end of the alleyway, she looked back at Asher. He glared at her.
“Your li’le friend won’ always be around, bitch,” he called. “An’ the mo’ ‘e’s not, I’ll be there.” Ava shuddered, and hurried to catch up to Nord’s long strides. She had no idea what to say to him, still unsure whether he meant her harm or not. He was new to the island – she would use him to get her safely away from the thugs, and then, if need be, she would lose him in the labyrinth of the city. Though he was larger and definitely stronger, no one could match her knowledge of the island.
After about ten minutes of walking, they had left the alleyways and come to a more secluded part of the city. Nord turned. “The name’s Nord Bastrom. Do you know how to spit?”
“What?” she asked blankly, still not sure if she should be running now, or not. Was this some kind of trick?
“Spit,” he repeated clearly. “Do you know how?”
Update #1: My shawl won a blue ribbon at the Champlain Valley Fair! I couldn’t believe it when I saw it, all folded up and looking pretty under the Winner’s Circle banner – I felt like I was dreaming! I took my $6 winnings and had a grand old time at the fair with my friends Liz and Patrick, hanging out in the beer tent, eating all the foods on sale that were bad for us (this took up most of our time), and going on the ferris wheel which was definitely not terrifying.
Update #2: My shawl won a blue ribbon at the Tunbridge World’s Fair! This fair is a little bit different because they don’t give one blue ribbon per category, and that is the best entry. Instead, they judge everything on its own, and a blue ribbon simply means it was of a certain quality. (Red ribbon would mean that a few mistakes were noticed such as the ends weren’t woven in completely, and a yellow might be a bigger mistake like the seams were crooked or the blocking was poor.) My winning check (yes, check) for four whole dollars still sits, uncashed, on my dresser – I should probably head to the bank, get that puppy cashed, and go out and have a rip-roarin’ good time!
Update #3: NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) begins in 24 days, and I think I may pass out from fear/poor preparation. NaNoWriMo is a worldwide self-challenge where you try to write an entire novel of 50,000 words (150 pages) in one month, which means an average of 5 pages per day. This insanity occurs every November and has hundreds of thousands of participants from all over the world. The neat thing about it is the community aspect – you get emailed pep talks from prominent published authors every week, can be ‘writing buddies’ with fellow participants, and most regions have their own chapters that host all night write-ins at local libraries, or other kinds of group support. The purpose is not to have a finished, polished novel at the end, but to have all of your ideas down on paper, that can then be edited and spruced up later. I have wanted to participate in this for six years now, but decided I couldn’t commit to it until I was out of school and had more time. So this, being the first November that I’ve been out of school, will be my first attempt! I am very nervous/excited, and if anyone would like to join me in this “thirty days and nights of literary abandon,” a link to the NaNoWriMo website can be found here, and a link to my personal profile here.
Update #4: The Vermont Sheep and Wool Festival was so fun! It took place last weekend in Tunbridge, VT, at the same fairgrounds where the Tunbridge World’s Fair and my shawl were held last month. It was a bit rainy and muddy, but a sturdy pair of hiking boots and a good raincoat took care of both of those pesky little problems, and the rest of the fair was awesome. I used my usual method of taking a preliminary sweep through the whole place, jotting down items/prices I liked, and then at the end mulling it all over with my wallet and going back to pick up the things I couldn’t live without. This time that included some absolutely scrumptious yarn from Nightingale Fibers that was 70% baby alpaca, 20% silk and 10% cashmere, 1300 yards of lace weight for $32. I nearly fainted at that quality and quantity for that price. The stuff is soft as a cloud and comes in many gorgeous color ways – and if you’re not into knitting lace, they have plenty of worsted, sport, and bulky options as well, in addition to their heavenly roving. I chose the color Bluebell, and I can assure everyone that I will be paying these folks a visit again – one skein for an entire shawl!
I also got a wool/mohair blend for a Christmas gift I’m working on, and then walked by a booth at the very end that stopped me in my tracks. Looking down at me from all over the booth were dozens of gorgeous needle felted ‘paintings’, something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time. I bombarded the woman behind the table with excited questions for over a quarter of an hour, and then raced off to find myself some colorful bits and pieces of wool roving for felting purposes, which I found at Frosbite Falls Farm’s booth. They don’t seem to have their own website, but their information can be found here. The booth with the needle felted ‘painting’s’ belonged to Heartbeet Lifesharing, which is a farm in Hardwick, VT that works with residents in their community with special needs, part of which includes creating and selling the artwork. Which leads me to…
Update #5: I made this.
I apologize for the terrible quality of this picture – my camera is currently dead.