I'll Be Back

On Friday, I will be leaving on a trip. I don't know when I'll return, or why I expect you to care, but I just thought I'd say so.

To Sara, I order thee to check your email if you still look at this. Tonight I plan to send something hopefully that will get to you there, and I would really appreciate it if you would just do that for me. I am utterly and completely alone right now, and though that might not make sense right now, it will when you read that email.

Other than that, I'm just checking in. My official new favorite song is now called Cut by Plumb and I'm obsessed with watching the Vampire Diaries. About the song, you should listen to it. It really touched me when I first heard it. Adios for now, sweet world.

Cass.

I Should Be Writing

...but I'm a little worried about my viewing and commenting on this blog. Seriously, I used to get 100 views per week! Now I'm lucky if I get 50 per month . . . and I know it's because of my infrequent posting and such, but I'd still love it if you gave me some consideration.

As for commenting, I'll need them if I am to continue blogging. I understand that's a little cleche but I don't care.

And I'll leave you with the synopsis of my August NaNoWriMo story, titled The Rebound with the following temporary cover:

Summer Hansen is the player of the century. Drop a boy, get a boy, drop a boy, get a boy . . . It's a never ending cycle. To add to her case, she's also only sixteen and has slept with almost every man under eighteen in the city. Everything is good.

That is, until Daniel Michaelson steals her trick before she can pull it.

Embarrassed and alone after getting dumped for the first time, Summer seeks sanctuary in the lap of sexy and alluring Hunter. He has enough sense to keep his mouth shut when hers is open, and doesn't mind being the rebound. She is content in his arms, until secrets build a wall between them, and Summer beings to wonder what is behind those mysterious jasmine colored irises . . .

Summer doesn't plan to stop until she has learned everything, but what if learning his hidden terrors hurt her more than it helps her? What if those secrets not only tear them apart, but Summer rips to pieces as well? Will her curiosity get the better of her?

Cass
All Rights Reserved

The Emotional Ties of Just Being a Writer

Today, I did something extraordinary. Amazing. I still haven't fully recovered from the feat. My heart pounded, my breath became heavy, and I lost all awareness of where I was, who I was, what I was actually doing. I was just in the moment, noisily tapping my fingers over the keyboard. What I wrote was important. I know later, probably next month when I edit it, I'm gonna go back over it and say God that was horrible. But right now, I don't care. Like Caspian, I didn't care. Right then, and right now, I just want to say how absolutely wonderful writing their first real kiss was.

There is such an amazing thing about writing. Some people, I know, write for others. To impress, to have something to brag about, maybe for money. Then there are the others, like me, who just write for the joy of being able to jot down a few glorious words down on paper, or, in my case, in a vastly large Word Doc.

Over the time period of two years (not a lot, I realize), I have learned much about writing, but one of the most important things is how just putting out a few words can affect you. You can think it all you want, even say it out loud, but until it's written, maybe in a little private place in your diary where you think no one else in the world could care about, it affects you. They can make you laugh, or cry. They can make you feel like you're there, like you're real, even though you're sure they just came from your imagination. Well, I got something to tell you. Your imagination isn't just your imagination. It's a whole other world, waiting for you to dive in and feel the welcoming embrace that comes with accepting your gift.

Then, before you know it, what was originally those few words written in a small notebook tucked under your desk during Geometry suddenly becomes a book. Something that gives you multiple feelings instead of just one. Imagination gave you a story that only you can tell. It wants it out there, in the word, changing people's lives and doing amazing things. But the truth is, it's going to affect you a million time more than it'll ever affect someone out there reading it. When you write, you put a part of you in there, for everyone to see. That crazy and insane emotion that came when you wrote a certain scene? You put it into the story, and it's for everyone else to feel andexperience. Maybe not in the same and exact way you did, but in a similar way. And let me tell you, it feels incredible.

Really, I have no idea why I had to post this. I think it was what I wrote. The emotion overwhelmed me, and I had to plug some of it somehwere else so it'd even out. I don't care if no one even reads this post. I just know this is out there as soon as I hit 'publish' and you're missing out if you don't read it.

Cass

Bad Me Wrote Some Excerpts

So I realize that I haven't been doing much on here besides excerpts, small posts, poems, and songs, but here's another. I PROMISE I'll get back to actually foing something constructive, in about ten days most likely, but until then you'll have to have in there with me. Because it's NaNoWriMo, so I have to finish. I started half a month late too, and I'll be gone for the last two days, so it's a bigger hurry. I hope you understand. I apologize.

Any who, here's the purpose of todays posts. Everything special that I did in that pretty curvy font ^-^

In my dreams, I was swimming. My back to the ocean floor, I floated across the dazzling waters. Unlike most nights, the moon refused to show its face, and instead the clouds, and some shining stars, flickered over the surface of the incredible mass of liquid.

            I smiled. In the distance, I heard someone rushing out to join me. When I turned upright to see who, it was the surfer from class. So much time had passed since then, I had almost forgotten about him. Only then did I get a good view of his true features—and how well they worked together to construct every expression.

            In a nutshell, he was breathtakingly beautiful. His hair, which was confirmed as a light golden blonde, was styled in the way of Leonardo DiCaprio, shooting backwards and to the side messily at odd angles, and somehow still adding to his appearance. Some of it swept forwards again, hanging into his face. Sea blue was the color of his eyes, which was no surprise judging by how attached to the sea he had seemed earlier. Besides his jaw line and hair, everything was fitted into a soft curve. Even the harshness of his tan seemed to be dulled to make him look better.

            He ran across the water, as if it were land, and didn’t so much as stick a toe in until he was beside me. He reached out to touch me, cup my cheek—

            —But I didn’t get to feel what it was like because my eyes sprung open. I think they wanted to see it for themselves, not in some creepy dream, but alas, there was no surfer in front of me. There was only Lara, and my crazy dreams, alone.

-and-

Caspian was in my dreams again. Honestly, it was starting to annoy me, since every appearance was only getting me more and more confused. Tomorrow, or the next day, or the next time I saw him, I would deny answers. Or from Lucy. She seemed to know. Tarren had to know too. Caspian had claimed to be good friends with him, and with him being Lucy’s boyfriend, if Caspian hadn’t told him, then Lucy would have. Either way, there was something terribly wrong with being lied to by two people you’d known since sixth grade.

            Back to the dream. It was exactly like it had started the night before, with myself floating across the surface of the water, far out in the sea, and Caspian walking over it to reach me, sinking down once beside me. This time, though, he didn’t try to touch me. In fact, he almost looked afraid to. The fear in eyes confirmed that.

            I righted my body in the water, turning into a vertical position in the ocean and I, confused, tried to figure out what was wrong. We didn’t speak. We just stared, into each other’s eyes, with such an unwavering gaze it should’ve been illegal. Such emotion churched under that soft exterior; I wanted to just reach inside and grab hold of them, so I could understand, because I certainly wasn’t anywhere near that at this point. I wanted to see what he was hiding, and unravel it fast.

            Yet, that soft outside still laid between the worlds of me and him, and he had an army of lashes defended. I wondered if . . .

            I kissed him. I leapt forward, grabbed his face gently with my hand, and I pressed his lips to mind. The best thing? Probably the fact that he kissed me back.

            As if he wasn’t thinking straight, he wound his arms around me, pulling me closer than we had been when he saved me from Marcus. In the cool water, there was nothing between us, nothing stopping us.

            I thought I had found what he had been hiding, what I had been hiding. I didn’t understand it as I thought I would after this, but I could identify it at the very least. That attraction. That feeling as if I knew him, as if he knew me. Everything about me. But most of all, that attraction. I didn’t have to say it, but I did anyways.

            Love.

That's all! Drive safe, be happy...It's summer! I even forgot about that for a moment. It's funny, because I plan to spend every minute this summer writing and editing. I'm afraid time'll pass so fast I won't be able to catch up! Lol (Laugh Out Loud)
Lol (Lots of Loud!)
Cass

Slow Posting . . . Sorry

If life was as empty as my hands, then there'd be no purpose. Luckily, it isn't, and though everything isn't clear, that's the thrill of living. Life is there to bring excitement, pain, longing, bliss, love, embarrassment, and joy. It teaches lessons, and gives us time to beg for forgiveness for our sins, as we make more mistakes in the process.

And that's basically all I got to say.

I don't know what to think yet. But read this:

The wind flew over the beach, sending ripples through the coarse specks of sand as the luminous moon reflected on the ocean waves. Softly pressed footprints walked out to the water’s edge, where I girl stood. The water climbed up to her ankles when she walked further into its depths.

            Something, someone called her back, but when she turned all she found was darkness. She wished someone was there to be with her in her final moments, but she was utterly and completely alone. Everyone hated her. Even her best friend.

            In efforts to rid herself of her old life, she started yanking on her necklaces. Some fell to the ground, embedding themselves in the sand to be found by another. Others dunk into the water, and were so light they floated away.

            The final one, through, trembled in her hands before she let go. Neatly scrawled on the pendant was, ‘The World is there to Push You Down. I was Made to Pick You Back Up.” It was from her mother. Brittney had picked it out with her Mom.

            The girl allowed a single tear to slide down her face and join the ocean, but just that one.

            She continued. The water was chilling, and shivers through her body that made it hard to move or function, but she pushed forward. She couldn’t give up now.

            The ocean called to her, and she loved the beautiful melody it sang to her with every step. The waves crashed right in front of her, and she almost smiled when one splashed her face, landing only inches from her outstretched fingertips.

            “Sorry Mom,” she whispered, and let the water engulf and choke her to death.

I love it, and don't. It seems imperfect. Needs help. I'll fix it later . . .

Never Surrender

I've seen so many writers quit after such a long run, several of them close friends. Why? Because of doubt. 'I'm not good enough.' 'I'll never make it.' Because of fear. 'Well, I won't try because I don't want a rejection, or better yet, no reply at all.' Because of 'no time.' 'I'm just so busy!' Each and every excuse you could give is nothing when you have talent. If you don't like it, sure, but if you do, then you sure as heck better be out there doing it.

I guess I'm not one to talk, though. I've used every excuse I listed up there--but no matter what I said I came back to it. Writing is my drug. Surrender to it, and fill your heart with it. Don't surrender to doubt, even if it is your biggest weakness.

Sorry for the lack of posting. I've been giving my other blog attention:

http://kayleewantspie.blogspot.com/

So yeah. If you don't like the annoyed, blame-the-world-but-not-myself tone, then don't go there, because that's what it is. Adios.

Cassie