Speechin' the summer away

When I'm writing my Original Oratory and I have a kickass topic and so many things that I want to say but

HELP I CAN'T FIGURE OUT HOW TO SAY THE THINGS

On Writing, or lack thereof

There is a certain silent sadness to the lack of writing.

Now, don't get me wrong. There was a lot of writing in my life this year. Essays, blog posts, journal entries - a lot of nonfiction.

But there is a comfort to fiction that cannot be achieved with such safe material.

Fiction is dangerous. It feels terrifying because creating is terrifying. It is a jump into the unknown, where there may be a safety net or a concrete sidewalk in the thick darkness. If it doesn't work, it hurts. But that analogy is a poor one, since writing fiction will certainly not kill you.

Fiction requires a certain freedom to the mind, a lack of preoccupation. My brain, when fuzzy with obligation, does not want to write fiction. In that case, my brain just wants to sleep. Or look at adorable cat gifs. Or just stare at the ceiling for a while.

Suddenly, I'm out of school and I can write again. This year, I began to doubt whether or not I was actually a writer. But I suppose, in a way, that being a writer is not a question of writing every single day on schedule. Being a writer is a matter of coming back to it. Of needing to come back to it. Of having the ideas curl into smoky rings of vapor until they condense into liquid and can no longer be contained. That is writing. It is a difficult love, but a fruitful one.

This July I venture into Camp NaNoWriMo, land of 1613 words each day and insanity. I'm excited and terrified. And hopefully, in August, I'll have a novel to edit.

The silent sadness is over, if only temporarily.

Speeeech

This happened a week ago. But whatever.

I had a speech tournament. My first.

It was a novice tournament, so everyone there was doing it for the first time, but it was still stressful. The night before I was utterly hyperventilating. But whatever.

I got up at 5:50 on last Saturday. (Yeah. Crazy, I know.) I put on my skirt suit and my makeup, packed a bag, ate a small breakfast, and drank some coffee. I got to school at seven and bundled into a car with three other sleep-deprived competitors. The driver (a parent) had gotten us munchkins, which was nice.

After an hour-long drive, we arrived at Most Catholicly Named School Ever, aka Sacred Heart. We put our bags down in the cafeteria/gym place (I really didn't get it either), then found an empty room in which we could do voice and body warm-ups. After that we returned to the cafeteria and checked the postings for where we would be competing. Then came the nerve-wracking first round.

For a first-ever round, I think it went pretty well. Nerdfighteria was included in the speech I presented, and one of the judges was a Nerdfighter  - I saw her smiling at me the whole time and, as I found out later, she wrote DFTBA on my ballot!

I was still nervous, though, and I was pretty much shaking when I came back to my seat. It turns out I got my lowest ranking in that round - third out of six places - but that's not bad either.

The second round was far easier, but my stomach kept growling at odd intervals. I was so tired that I hadn't noticed how hungry I was, and ended up having to surreptitiously stuff sunflower seeds in my mouth between speakers. That was awkward. But my speech went fine, and I got ranked second!

Then it was lunch/critically review your performance in the first two rounds with your friends/critically review other people's performances in the first two rounds with your friends/re-apply makeup/freak out all over again time. *cue elevator music*

Anyway, then there was the third round, in which I was also ranked second, and then we had time to sit around and do nothing/take photos with other team members. And then we went to the auditorium, where there were seniors who had competed in NFL (that's National Forensic League) finals, and they presented their pieces. There was a girl who did declamation just amazingly, a spectacular duo interp of Dr. Jekyll and Hyde, a phenomenal extemp person (where you're given like 30 minutes to prepare a speech and then you present it), and a hilarious humorous interp. It sort of made you think, "Why do I do this again?" but it was quite entertaining to watch.

Then there were awards for anyone who'd gotten first place, which I hadn't, and then we got our ballots, took a team picture, and went home. We were all simply exhausted, though I was vaguely hyper on the fact that two of the six people who had judged me were Nerdfighters.

People ask why I do speech, why I take the time to write and practice and wake up at 5:50 and give away my Saturdays. First, you get to talk all day, and people have to listen. Second, why does anyone do a sport or play music or make art? Because they like it, or because they want to get better at it. I love words. I love moving people with words. And that's what speech is all about.

Metaphors

When I read The Fault in Our Stars, I thought at first that Augustus was a bit crazy, doing things for their metaphorical resonances.

But lately I've found that I think of almost everything as a metaphor. Rain. Flowers. Light. Wind. Even a fly that was buzzing relentlessly about the room.

And really, like John Green said, many of the things we do have metaphorical meanings. Sports, for example, or any kind of winning or losing situation that makes someone come out on top. It's a way to justify our views of who's better or worse than anyone else.

Trains and stars are probably my favorite metaphors. Trains are always moving; they never stay in one place, and stars connect us all.

To me, that's beautiful.

Archaic Writings of Moi

I've been reading over my old poems. It's fun and it makes me feel like such a self-centered genius because I think, "oh hey, these are pretty decent!"

I also came across a story that I started in fourth or fifth grade. To be perfectly honest, erm...it's absolutely terrible. It is so very cliché and repetitive in the field of word choice. Not that I've made much improvement in that sense on first drafts, but when I go back and read it I think I might have spent more time choosing the font and formatting than actually writing. Whoops. 

But at the same time it's amazingly okay, because it's not much more than you'd expect from me back then. You kind of look at it and say, wow this is terrible. Makes you think of the fact that you're so much better at word choice, grammar, and just general story-making.

As for showing it to other people...I don't think that's going to happen anytime soon. *reads it over again* Yeah, I don't think it will happen...EVER.

Seize the Story by Victoria Hanley

If you are a writer, I encourage you to read this book. If not, well...you may still find it interesting, but certainly this is meant directly for "teens who like to write" as it says on the cover.

At first when I looked around for writing advice books I came up with some nice ones. Yeah, they're all nice. I haven't yet read the favorite recommendation of professionals that is Bird by Bird, but I've read Seize the Story by Victoria Hanley; that should count for something, shouldn't it?

On a side note, has anyone else noticed that "seize" is one of the 927 words in the English language that break "i before e except after c?" Because of those words, it is no longer taught in schools.

Continuing with the subject at hand.

So I was reading through all these things talking about writing and publishing, and then I came across Seize the Story. This is not only a helpful guide but also fun to read. Yeah, it goes into grammar and "show don't tell" and things like that, but it's not dry in the least. It's the only writing book I've actually bought besides Writer's Market. It's the only book I dragged along here.

So.

Open up your local library's homepage and search Seize the Story to make sure they have it. If not, get it somewhere else. But to any writers: I do encourage you to read it.

Freedom

Today I finished my homework reasonably early - at around 4:15 - so I decided to use my freedom here.

I tossed two cameras, two notebooks, and three pens into a bag, grabbed my key, made sure my cell phone wasn't out of battery, and informed my mom I was going to Park Hayarkon, which is a park around the Yarkon, a river that runs through Tel Aviv. "Yarkon" is related to "yarok," or green, since it is said that the water reflects the trees around it. This time of year it looks like watery mud, too dirty to see through but not dense enough to step on. However, I have been going there for as long as I can remember, and the park itself is beautiful.

It felt good to get out. Sometimes I like walking alone more than walking with others - I can linger over things that catch my fancy and walk fast if I like. It lets me notice things. I am a listener and watcher anyway, not as much of a conversationalist generally.

I was planning to sit somewhere and write - there is no shortage of benches - but I ended up just finding pictures to take and enjoying Golden Hour. I walked a little farther than I usually do, going down close to the dirty water and taking photos. The day was crisp, but not cold in the least, and clear - my favorite kind of day. I found a beautifully made wooden bridge - I loved its simplicity - and walked across. The boards were springy and I could hear every one of my steps echoing against the surface of the water.

On the other side of the Yarkon, I visited the fountain, where a few years ago my cousins and I made small boats out of eucalyptus bark. I found a hoopoe, which is the national bird of Israel, and made my way back across the river. I began to run, faster and faster. I am free. It was a clear day and I am not depressed. I am not depressed.

I am free.

Cups of tea: 34

Writing styles

Something I often do is have a story, write it for awhile, then abandon it. I dislike that I do this, but sometimes, years later, I will go back and continue, then re-abandon. That happened recently.

A few months ago, I read in Writer's Digest about a woman who writes scenes as she thinks of them, without any regard as to where they will end up in the stories. Now that I have abandoned yet another story, I have decided to try this approach. All too often, my stories get put away because I tire of writing exposition and I want to write scenes that I am more excited about. So this could be a good process for me. I have a story in my head. But only vaguely. This one seems like a good one to jump around in writing.


Cups of tea: 27