And Finally

Less than a week before Christmas, my first semester of college at a Masters level came to an end, all assignments submitted, all the panic over and done with until the results officially come out in February. (I suspect the reason for the wait is actually because of the courses that have examinations after each semester, so we have them to thank for the delay in finding out how we did. Thanks guys!)

Despite the fact that being a Masters student is in some way supposed to be an indicator of maturity and adulthoodness (Blogger's spell-check doesn't recognise that as a word, but neither does it recognise its own name) we decided to go the way of the Undergrad. Namely, we went out for a few celebratory drinks.

Thirteen weeks before this, we hadn't even met each other. We had our orientation, in which we were commended on being mature, responsible adults, capable of the anticipating the challenges of adulthoodness. I might be paraphrasing. The point is that we were strangers, save for two trios who either (a) were in the same classes at Undergrad level or (b) were one year apart in the same Undergrad programme. That's about a quarter of the class entering with some sort of familiarity with someone else, even if that was just a face and a vague memory.

(Side note: as I mentioned in a previous post, one of my friends' girlfriends is actually sort of a neighbour of mine, whom I've never met. It also happens that someone else went to the same secondary school as someone else's boyfriend, the someone else originally from the States. And about a quarter of the class - at least - have some connection to Galway. We're not sure how to explain these small coincidences. Retrospectively, someone might say we were meant to come together as a class group, and I like to think that means we did/will do well enough after the programme to warrant mass-stalking of the group. Or just someone reading my blog.)

I could, once again, break down the thirteen weeks of the course for your reading pleasure, but it's much easier if you just read the previous posts about my progress in the Masters. What you'll find in there, aside from a brief overview of what I've been doing in the course and how sentimentally attached I've gotten to the group (on the few occasions we've gone out for drinks, I estimate I've been between 1-3 drinks away from "I love you guys!" Those of you reading this - that's how you know you've reached 100% completion in the game of Get Paul Drunk! Alternatively, just re-read this.)

[Insert incredibly subtle segue here!] 

No, today I want to talk about me, because eventually my egocentricity had to come to the fore.

Back when the course began, I hadn't considered much of myself. I didn't immediately introduce myself with "I've published 7 books on Amazon, and written a few more on top of that." I could have. The opportunity was there. Instead, I chose to talk about The Curve and my desire to get into publishing, and the fact that I come from an Education background but never managed to escape retail. Now, I want to talk to about another book - one I haven't gotten to actually read yet, but which I've taken part in a small section of a course based on the book: The Motivation Manifesto, by Brendon Burchard.

Early into the course, homework was set: write your own Manifesto. So I did. I'm not going to share the whole thing here. There are some things on it that are still quite personal. But the main point I want to make from it is the ending of what I'd written.

Life should be fun. Life should be full of joy. There will always be struggles. There will always be fear. But they don't need to define how you live. Let yourself be happy. Let yourself get to know people. Let yourself get hurt. It's all part of the adventure.

Okay, it's a little bit...dramatic? Sappy? I don't know. It's supposed to be something that keeps me motivated. And did it?

Well, as it happens, yes. Inadvertently. I guess putting it into words helped immediately. This is where we get a bit personal. Very early on, I got a feeling about one of my classmates - like, a vibe, not a crush. It's hard to put this into words - easier when drunk and talking with someone who knows him. The feeling said to me that I could be friends with this person. I won't name him. I'm sure my classmates know who it is. What was significant for me was that I hadn't felt this way about someone since I met one of my very close friends four years beforehand, and a year beforehand with pretty much everyone else from my Undergrad college I still talk to (including one who wasn't in my year.) I didn't get much of a chance for this to happen with other people, in fairness, but I hadn't felt something so certain in a long time.

And it was a scary feeling.

Historically, I'm not great at close friendships. I don't tend to be close in the right way. I know exactly why I behave this way, but when the other person doesn't, that's very difficult to deal with. So, I have a tendency not to talk about myself. At all. It's not healthy, I know. I didn't really break that habit until the summer of 2010, and not again until 2012, And then, nothing. Not until late October this year, and much more much quickly than any other time.

End result; more panic. More worry. It wasn't enough to talk about myself, if I wasn't sure it was the right idea. I promise that in due course this will all make a lot more sense, but the effective result of everything going through my head was a belief that I needed to alienate myself from that one person who I'd actually let myself open up, and who had been ridiculously supportive about the whole thing.

What happened next completely shocked me, and this really goes to show how far gone I'd become. A little bit of madness on a Monday morning was dealt with rationally and compassionately, and not with anger. Not with vehemence. Not with any sort of disdain for me having a freak-out in the same week we had deadlines for assignments. I hadn't thought that this specific person would react in this way; my fears were - and I suppose still are - founded on how I think everyone would react in this situation.

The conversation we had wasn't especially long - at least it didn't feel that way - but it was incredibly important. He talked me down from a freak-out, asked all the right questions to help me understand what was going on in my own head...and it seems like that was what I'd never experienced before. Historically, whenever I had a similar sort of freak-out (and it only ever seems to happen with people I feel like I'm getting too close to too quickly, because how unfair is it on me to dump any of my personal stuff on them) I didn't deal with it very well. It usually repeated itself on a regular basis. We're talking daily, here. But since Monday, nothing.

See, I didn't really pay much attention to the Manifesto I'd written for myself, despite the fact that it's within my eye-line so often. I didn't pay attention to a part near the top - Be Yourself. Be Honest. Be Open.

The thing is, I'm trying. I'm trying really hard to pay attention to my own Manifesto. I'm trying to be a good friend. I'm trying to be a good son, and brother, and uncle (as well as nephew, grandson, cousin, godson, etc.) I'm trying, and it's difficult coming from the point of view that getting close to people isn't necessarily the best thing I can do (there's a whole set of stories about that one, but basically things got better for a while when I started my Undergrad, and then plateaued until recently.)

I don't believe life should be spent alone. I'm not very good at practising that belief, but I carry it with me every day, and I try not to be alone when it matters, when it can be helped. It took a long time to get to this point. I definitely wasn't ready for this way of thinking a year ago. I wasn't ready for adulthoodness and the accompanying pressures, expectations, and maturity that come from it. Similarly, I was completely unprepared to make even one extremely valuable friend - valuable not because I'm allowed to talk about whatever's going on in my head, but because I'm allowed to just be myself and speak my mind, and even when our opinions don't match, they still fit. I'm not sure I can really count how many I've made this semester, and I can't quantify the good it's done me.

These past thirteen weeks have brought me almost entirely out of my comfort zone. I have practically no technical background that would have helped with the course. I didn't study art or the media at an academic level before. More significantly, more personally, I don't do well meeting large groups of people for the first time when the expectation is that I should be able to work with them. (The first three days of teaching placement every year were especially terrifying in that regard.) I haven't been in a new class group since 2009, and I've never started in a new educational institution without my twin brother. We've been with each other the entire way, from the first day of primary school to our graduation from Mater Dei in 2013. I was scared. I was nervous. And bit by bit, as the first couple of weeks went by, I started to get the vibe-feeling about other people. Bit by bit, I started to feel like I was in the right place. Finally.

A Brief Note on Saying Goodbye

Tonight I said goodbye to three of my best friends. Over the next couple of weeks, they're leaving the country, each for least one year. I've had friends leave before, but not three at once.

I could say it's easier having given them going-away presents and getting to see them one last time before graduation. I could say it, but I don't know if I believe it. It's certainly more real, now, since we've given them our gifts, but I don't think anything could make it easier.

Over the past four years, a bunch of us from various parts of the country have grown close. We've faced essays, exams, Friday morning lectures, Teaching Placement, weird masses, explicit films and bad hangovers together. We've celebrated birthdays and Christmases and completing exams. Now, though we face departure and new currencies and strange cultures and different timezones, we can still celebrate new beginnings. New jobs at home and abroad, new challenges academic, social and professional, new lives to be explored and survived and celebrated.

Life won't be the same with them gone, but even goodbye and good luck doesn't mean The End. We might not see each other often, any of us, but I don't believe this can ever keep us apart.

We're friends despite national borders and county lines, no matter how long it takes to get us all in the same room again.

Necessitea

Did you know that I liked tea? You know, aside from that blog post in which I showed Instagrammed pictures of cups of tea, and all those times I've mentioned tea here and on Twitter and Facebook and Google+, did you know that I liked tea?

It's an essential part of my day. I think I'd go mad without my tea. I almost did when I was in Taizé a couple of years ago. I survived on hot chocolate and water, and meals that I could only questionably be called food. (Or food that could only questionably be called a meal... a bowl of cold cocoa, two sticks of dark chocolate and an almost-stale loaf of bread smaller than my fist don't really constitute a healthy breakfast.)

The two things I craved most upon returning from Taizé were a cup of tea and a home-cooked meal. (That was both real food, and a meal-sized portion.)

However, tea isn't just necessary for my survival. I write with a cup of tea. In the summer of 2010, when I was writing some novellas, my busiest writing day consisted of a cup of tea for every 1200 words or so. It was a 10,000 word day, so you can imagine I drank a lot of tea.

And, of course, upon completing the writing of a book, the first thing I do is make myself a cup of tea. It's a no-distractions cup of tea, too. I don't bring my tablet with me. I don't carry a notebook. I just sit there and enjoy my tea, and maybe text a couple of people to let them know that I've written another book. Tea isn't just for survival. Tea isn't just for working. Tea is for celebration.

Tea is also a comfort for when life gets too hard, and a drink for watching quirky comedies, or for reading books. Tea is a drink for company, for family and friends.

I couldn't tell you how many cups of tea I have in a day. Once I get started, it usually gets quite difficult to stop. I'll finish one cup and begin making the next. In work, sometimes, I'll have tea left over from my break and it'll do me for while behind the counter. (This is really only when there are only two of us in, and I can't leave the register until the other person is back. Otherwise I wouldn't leave any tea in the cup - I wouldn't have a guarantee that I could finish it if I had to do something else.)

Basically, tea is a fundamental part of my daily life. I drink it when I wake up, when I'm writing, when I'm watching television or a movie, with my lunch, after dinner, when I'm reading, when I'm scheming, and often a cup or two before bed. I drink it all the time, and I'm not sure what I would do if I wasn't drinking it all the time. Tea is a necessity in my life.

Day 31: The Last Month Considered

When I look back at the last month, I see good times and bad. Actually, the "bad" are merely an absence of work. Compared to other times, that's not actually all that bad.

I got to see friends, which was nice. Between an on-stage comedy, dinners, the Zoo and the cinema, I've gotten to see a lot of the people I'm delighted to call my friends, doing things I don't always get the opportunity to do. In previous summers, I don't think I actually squeezed in as many days socialising as I did this month. Somehow, life never worked out that way. I'd like to think of this month as being the template for the next few months, at least.

In terms of work... while I did lose my ticket for the productivity train a while back in terms of The Blood of Leap, I did manage to write a fair few poems this month. I'm lucky that I have that this year. In the past, if I wasn't writing fiction, I wasn't writing. While I didn't submit anything this month in terms of poetry, I do have a list drawn up of where some poems are going. And I entered a competition, which was fun. I don't know when the results are out, but I'm glad to have even submitted something.

In the long run, things are still holding up well. I've written something every day - as this blog can attest to - which means my New Year's Resolution is still in-tact. The habit is getting easier to keep. Best. Resolution. Ever. Seven months in and still going at it.

Of course, I should also be celebrating the publication of The Hounds of Hell, and happy-dancing to the fact that it's sold already.

Next month, I have a lot to focus on. Between a family celebration and some friends leaving, and a possible haunted house excursion on the tables again, I'll definitely have enough to keep me socialising. This is aside from regular things like going to the cinema, and lunches with friends. I could also be releasing a wee ebook, but I still have to write a good chunk of it, and edit it properly. Still, it could be fun.

I've also got my poetry blog to launch. A poetry blog which I might make a poetry and prose blog. I'm thinking of making my website more of a static - but still interactive - place, with other sites hosting stories and poetry entirely on their own. It's a much better system, I think. I can de-clutter my site as a result of that, which is always a good thing.

Who knows, that might launch tomorrow if I get around to it.

Day 25: Reunion

I didn't do much writing today. Okay, I did nothing. I hadn't really arranged any time in the day for it to fit in, and didn't use the time I had arranged for other things exactly as planned. There was only one thing I really, really wanted to get done: a reunion.

This involved meeting in the city - at the Spire (where else?) - and going for lunch. Nando's was in order. It was my first time to experience the deliciousness of the ever-growing chain. A few years back, when my family went to Portugal, we acquired a taste for Peri Peri chicken. I haven't had a decent dish since. (My mum tried it once...it didn't work out.) Today, I was entirely satisfied with my food, enough so that I would return.

So that's good.

After dinner, the three of us went shopping. Well, they did most of the shopping. After a few minutes in a gift shop none of us had ever seen before, we ended up in clothing store after clothing store. I didn't really mind, until we ended up in the lingerie section of Penneys.

Let's just be clear: neither myself or my friend buying something for herself were comfortable being there. I was just glad I didn't need to have an opinion on any of it. It kind of helped that we joked about the episode of Father Ted in which the priests found themselves lost in the lingerie section with no way out.

Of course, I dragged them to the comic book shop. It would be rude not to. I was in and out in a matter of minutes - the perks of shopping with someone who knows exactly what he wants and where to get it - and we were off to wander about some more.

We found a couple of overtly religious preachers on our journey through the city, today. One rather large group of young men and women proclaimed their life-changing discovery of God. Somehow, even after four years in God College, none of us were able to listen to much of that. I think we've become slightly alienated from religion at the thought of academia. I'm sure it'll wear off if we don't run into too many preachers in the next few weeks.

What was more troubling was the man claiming the word of God on Henry Street, and turning all psycho-Islamaphobic-bigot on us. Wherever Muslims go they start wars, yadda yadda yadda... as if the US military hasn't been unnecessarily involved in some recent conflicts. As if Hitler wasn't a Christian. As if the British Empire in its quote-unquote glory days weren't devout Christians. When people ignore certain fundamental facts of history to further their hatred, and do so in the name of Christ...well, that makes being a Christian difficult.

Don't get me wrong. I know what it means to be a Christian. It's the people who hear this guy and somehow come to believe that it's about hating on others that I'm worried about. So, here are a couple of truths for you:

- Wars are started by people, sometimes over religion, sometimes over politics, sometimes over wealth, but no one group of people is solely responsible.
- The core message at the heart of Christianity is love, and I'm willing to accept that a lot of people who call themselves Christians can come to forget that, or are intentionally unwilling to see the love of others.

Of course, I didn't bring these things up while wandering about the city. It was much to warm out for that. Instead we walked away muttering to ourselves that he was a nutjob, until more exciting topics for conversation arose.

By the time I arrived home, I had intended on submitting some more work to various journals. That didn't happen. I ended up having dinner and watching more Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Tomorrow, I'm baking. But I'll definitely have to make time to do some writing, do some submitting, and start making plans with friends. Having a social life is fun!

Day 22: Unexpected Procrastination

Today, I took break from everything.

Some friends and I arranged to go to Dublin Zoo. We met in the afternoon, after picking up bags full of snacks and junk food (okay, it was ALL junk food) before heading in, where we wandered for hours looking at all the animals we'd seen the last time we had each been there. For me, it's been three years since a visit. Not much has changed, though they appear to be minus a lion (which is minus craic) and have changed the rhino, gorrilla and elephant habitats.

Naturally, I had to pay a visit to the red panda. Adorable as always, and sleeping lazily. We also went in search of the sloth. The epitome of the sin, they sat in a box, asleep, one on top of the other.

I think the lazy animals appeal to be because I empathise.

Anyway, I expected that to be my day. I thought we'd go the zoo, eat junk food, maybe go for actual food afterwards, then head home. And things kind of worked out like that. We did get food afterwards. But we didn't head home right away. We ended up going to the cinema.

From animals at the zoo, we went to Monsters University. My love of Pixar knows no bounds.

I can't remember the first film too well, but MU did not disappoint. It was a fantastic film, we weren't the only adults there, there was plenty of fun, and we get the college experience.

The only problem with all of this fun is that I didn't write today. I'm not even upset over that. Everyone has to take holidays every once in a while, and it's been a while since I've actually had a chance to spend a day with friends, mucking about and being tourists. I'd do it again in a heartbeat if it meant getting to see them.

The Results Are In!

Well, it happened. I received my exam results, and I'm finally free from the stress of those dreaded exams, coming out with an honours degree (and that's about as much about that as I'll say online).

There's something incredibly relieving about holding the final transcript of exam results that I don't think I can effectively capture in a few words. Four years of lectures, essays, teaching placements and exams, all down to one piece of paper - and this one's not even the degree! But the little piece of paper I received today doesn't say much about my time in college.

Yes, it reveals how well I did in my final year modules. Yes, it says how well I did in my research paper (incidentally, it was the best result on the page). And yes, it says how well I did in my teaching placement. But it says nothing about the amazing friends I've made in the four years that led to this day. It says nothing about the conversations over tea and spirits, sitting together at a dinner table or dancing like everybody's watching and we're the sexiest people to ever walk in the doors of whatever pub or club we've found ourselves in when the occasion struck.

It says nothing about the final curtain of my first performance in Drama Soc, or the lights going up on my own play. It says nothing about trips across the city for competitions, or fundraising for an important charity. It says nothing about bake sales and lunch time masses and inflatable slides suitable for a child's party, parked outside the canteen.

It says nothing about the scandals or the romances, the fights and the make-ups, meeting new people and saying goodbye to wonderful friends.

The results are in, and they say so little about what four years in college actually means. This was an opportunity for me, provided willingly by my parents. They didn't doubt my decision to go to this small college they'd never heard of. They supported me when I told them I was going for Drama Soc auditions in first year, and they sat in the audience when The Rest is Silence sold out in third year. They allowed us to have friends down at the house, hosting a post-21st-birthday-party party.

When they arrived home from work today, the first thing I did was hug them. I can never say thank you enough to them for everything they've done for me over the past four years, including all the worrying and the anxiety they went through, hoping that things worked out okay. From making lunches to ironing shirts when I was on Teaching Placement, or picking me up from the college when rehearsals in Drama went on too long; from allowing me to be upset that one of my best friends would be leaving the college, to supporting my choices in what I'd like to study in a Masters course in the future; there are too many things for me to be grateful for, too many to name and too many to think of, and I don't see myself ever being able to express it to them how much they mean to me, and how much these past four years have meant to me.

A little piece of paper told me about my academic results. Nothing can accurately summarise the results of the past four years on my life, on who I am and how I feel and think. There just aren't enough words, and I think I'm okay with that.

It'll Be Okay

Tomorrow, my college's website is going to crash. How do I know this? Because, historically speaking, it crashes every time exam results are released.

Yes, that's right, tomorrow is the day we find out if we passed or failed the Dreaded Exams. Some are calling it D-Day. Nobody is looking forward to it. Me? I'm trying to remain in denial about it for a while, which I think is perfectly acceptable for the time being. As it is, the results are in a state of being akin to Schroedinger's Cat; they are, for the time being, both a pass and a fail.

Fun, right? Damn scientists...

Anyway, in my move to Not Think About It, I'm going to get comic books. As I do every Wednesday. Yes, I'm treating it like any other day, even if it isn't. I'm even contemplating going to the college to collect my transcript, to avoid having to wait until Friday to receive it in the post (because I don't think the Irish postal system is going to deliver them by the next day.) It would be a relief, wouldn't it?

I'm not going to panic, though. I don't think anything good could come from panicking over this. Instead, I'll enjoy superheroes beating the crap out of each other. I'll read The Hobbit. I'll watch YouTube videos.

Basically, I'm going to have a ridiculously relaxing day, tomorrow, and I'm going to tell myself I deserve it. Simples.

It's all going to be okay. I've already done the hard work. I've already put myself in the position of worrying over exams. I literally cannot do anything now about the results, and so I'm not even going to pretend and try. Wish me luck if you want to, but as a friend of mine pointed out a couple of years back, luck can do very little at this stage.

To my fellow classmates, those in other years, I'm not going to wish you good luck in your results. Instead, I'd like to wish you a nice day, and encourage you to do something nice for yourself to help you relax. We've done our best, and our best is all we can do.

Peace, Love and Potter,
Paul.

It Happened Again

I don't know why, but I find myself struggling to figure out what to write a blog post about, again. I think it's the idea that I really only have half an hour to write it that's putting me off, because I can't just let my brain figure something out in the background while I do other things.

Part of me wants to write about Man of Steel, and why it was so much better than Superman Returns.

Part of me wants to address the fact that the weather is extremely messed up and not constitutive to getting anything done outside.

Part of me wants to talk about the fact that a couple of my friends are leaving the country for a while and I have no idea when I'll get to see them after they leave.

Let's stick with that one for a while. I've had an aversion to leaving home for a while, largely due to the fact that I make 90 euro a week, partially to do with the fact that I've never lived away from home. I think if I could fix one of those issues, I could probably do as my friends are doing - and as friends have done in the past - and leave the country and live somewhere else. Even just earning some money to build up a savings would be a good start on the financial front.

But this isn't really about me leaving home. This is about the fact that it'll hit in in August that two of my very good friends won't just be a bus ride away anymore. We can't make plans on a weekly basis to meet up based on when we're working. It's not that simple.

It's for those reasons that I'll miss them. Not because I won't see them very often, because that's always the case for the summer months as it is, but because it'll be difficult to know when I'll see them. The uncertainty is the worst part about it, because I can't just tell myself that I'll see either of them in however many days.

The same sort of feeling took hold last year when another good friend of mine left the country, and it's no easier the second time around to wrap my head around missing my friends but also being happy for them for why they moved away. Because I am happy for them. Delighted, in fact. That doesn't mean we won't all be upset when we have going-away get-togethers.

The Last Day

It finally happened. The last ever English lecture, and it was an indoor garden party. My college is bonkers.

It started off nice and relatively sane; we sat down, we took down exam guidelines, the head of the English department made jokes and told tales and poked fun at his recently injured colleague (also in the room). Then they started the raffle. And handing out drinks. And...well...

We all received probably the most obscure books in history (except for the one girl who received a copy of Treasure Island.) For our part, we gave them chocolate and wine. We're cool like that.

This all followed a week of reminiscing about our four years in college. We had a lot of good times, and we all remember the first friends we made, the first time we arrived in our 1960s block of a building, the first time we hung out with each other outside of college, the first mass (we're that cool), the first proper lecture with the aforementioned head of the English department, about Walt Whitman, featuring a five minute rant about furniture, and all the little events over our little history in the college. All leading to a garden party that wasn't outside, wasn't in a garden, and didn't get us drunk.

We are truly living up to the stereotypes of college students.

We have one more day of lectures tomorrow (two lectures before noon... it's really only a half-day). Then that's it. Nothing.

We've gone from bewilderment in Liturgy in first year to this, exploring the history of the Church, all manners of Ethics, philosophers from as far back as Sophocles, the major world religions, the sacraments, ecumenism, death, death and more death, poets that wrote about politics and race and sex and anthropomorphised dildos, reduced narratives, epic tales, a confusion of tongues, the psychology of children and the development of faith; fueled by coffee and tea and chocolate and crisps, jambons, hash browns, beans, curry sauce, mash potato and gravy and an inordinate amount of alcohol; tearing through books and panicking in front of our first students and each other, reaching out in the country to teach, to educate, to inspire, and to flee before it all became too real, and lectures began again; with couples coming and going and staying and loving, friendships formed and forged and demolished and put back together again, small families gathered from all over this Emerald Isle and every one of them genuine.

We are not meant to forget these things. We are not meant to put it all behind us. All the good and all the bad and all the times we held each other together, all of it was part of what brought us through these years. This place, however dated it looks from the outside, however much we might wish to be rid of the building and the work, it is a home away from home, a structure of emotional gravity.

So we celebrate. We celebrate the brilliance of our lives having met and joined and become one, a mingling of souls. We celebrate with one last night together, meals out, garden parties, last plays, last concerts, last lectures together. We celebrate while the air is still clear enough.

This is our little history, all leading to a last day, and the start of something new. Terrifying and exciting as it may be, we do not embark on our journeys alone. Our past is behind us, but we bring those wonderful characters from our four-year chapter with us into the next.

The last day is upon us, and with it the rest of our lives together.

Twin Madness

Back when we were due to start college again, my brother asked a few of us on Facebook one simple question: "what time are peeps heading in at?"

This is a simple question, and required a simple answer. Unfortunately for him, I was the only one online at the moment, and though I was in the same building, I still decided to respond. I do advise you click the links we each posted.

Me: PEEPS! http://junkfoodnews.net/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/JUST-BORN-MARSHMALLOW-PEEPS.jpg

Him: you have issues...

Me: MARSHMELLOW PEEPS! http://youtu.be/jPYXtzy1ExM

Him: yeah, a lot of issues...

Me: <3 br="br">
Him: http://byobworld.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/middle_finger.png

Me: http://i2.listal.com/image/products/1000/0007318863/books/cyanide-happiness-im-giving-you-robert-denbleyker.jpg :)

Him: http://i0.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/original/000/142/521/1309544936001.jpg

Me: http://cdn.memegenerator.net/instances/400x/20596176.jpg

Him: http://www.ereads.com/uploaded_images/distraction-758088.bmp

Me: http://500motivators.com/plog-content/thumbs/motivate/me/large/52-sense-this-picture-makes-none.jpg

(At this point, a friend popped in. We'll keep her name a secret, and call her Le Friend.)

Le Friend: lols at the twins! Imma heading in for lunchtime. Got things to do!

Him: now you're just being ridiculous Paul... so 12ish [Le Friend]?

Le Friend: emmmmmmmm maybe. have to shower and go into town for a few then college

Me: Now? http://media.fakeposters.com/results/2009/07/18/5x4z58noij.jpg

Him: alright cool. Ignoring Paul, what about everyone else?

At this point, the conversation nearly ended. But sure, it was good fun while it lasted. I'm fairly sure I annoyed him a little bit, but only insofar as he wanted an answer, and instead received undiluted insanity, sparked by the excitement of getting to see my friends for the first time since before teaching placement.

And for the record: yes, this is how I spend my time when I'm not in college or writing. Memes fo' life, yo.

The Things No One Has Seen

I've got a friend. Okay, I have a few friends. A few brilliant friends. But this one friend wants to see things no one else has ever seen. And that got me thinking: I might be insane, but when I walk down the street, go to a concert or try to sleep, I see things no one else has ever seen.

My imagination is weird that way. I'm not unique; I think it comes with the self-imposed job description of Writer, seeing things that aren't there but not in a trippy I'm-losing-my-mind sort of way. Something simple, like the way the sun shines through a white cloud, can set something off in my head. I like the way the particular whiteness of the light makes everything seem extra-real, like walking through a dream. It's a weird experience that only lasts a few seconds, until the cloud has moved just that tiny bit.

I saw two birds flying through the sky, a seagull and a blackbird, and I see Yin and Yang. It makes me think about balance in the universe. A scale isn't balanced without both ends weighing the same, and those two birds set off that idea about the scale, about two opposing forces being necessary in the world. (And a note for writers: you don't get away with writing a story without an opposing force.)

I went to a concert in the O2. There was an impressive light show, lots of lasers and whatnot, and it made an idea in my head click. It was to do with the sequel to Bliss, the Sci-Fi novel I wrote last year. The concert was in no way Sci-Fi. It was just this connection, and in making that, I saw what the book would show the reader, a beauty I can't describe without the context of the story to unfold around it.

And I think, why would anyone need to go anywhere if they just change the way they look at the world. Seven or eight years ago, when I started to write the first book I ever completed, everything changed for me. I looked at different things in the world for inspiration, from old weapons to Biblical texts, at images of mythological creatures to the regular people who walk the streets of Dublin, trying to figure out the world I was writing. I wasn't very good at it, then, but I was young and only starting out.

The point is that I was opened up to the particular beauty of the world that can only be experienced when you stop worrying that people will think you're crazy. I doodle a lot in class, a lot of eyes and faces and monsters made of black spindly lines, and I jot down ideas and words in the back of my notebooks, and all that time the lecture could be talking about anything interesting or boring but I'm too caught up in the images in my head to pay too much attention.

That's what writing is all about: finding something in the world that matters more in that moment than anything else. No, there's more to it than that. It's about sharing that experience with other people. I don't mean like this, just telling you about that I do when I lose interest in a lecture for a few seconds to write down an idea - especially fun when the idea comes from two different lectures in a day and something about them just clicks.  Writing is about turning the experiences of writing down words and doodling into words that people can read to understand what you see in your mind.

That's why I write. Not just the things I plan on releasing into the world, but the stories I write that only one person in a dozen might get (a very particular dozen, too, though maybe that number is too big or too small.) I just want to share the sort of beauty I see in the world, even if it all comes across as being a bit weird. At the end of the day, I'm stuck in this city at least until I graduate college, and I get to see things no one has seen.

The world will be a crazy place when I finally get out to see it.

The Name's Frye!

Some consistent readers might be familiar with the concept I apply to keeping friends' names secret: I used pseudonyms. One of my friends went, for a long time, by the name Ferris Bueller. You know, because he was very much like him in my eyes.

What I didn't expect was that I would start considering myself Cameron Frye.

For those of you who haven't seen the film, Cameron is Ferris's best friend (I'll get to that in my life, later.) On the one fateful day - the day-off - Cameron undergoes a change in his life and expresses his frustration with his parents, specifically his father. While his life isn't exactly a bad one, it's not suitable for Cameron.

In much the same way, I disagree with my parents' views on life. To paraphrase Mister Frye, they're always pushing me around. I'm expected to do all the boring things in life when it suits them. It's the second part of that sentence that really gets me, because I totally understand that there are certain boring things in life that must be done. I get that chores need to be done. I just don't agree that my parents should decided, at this point in my life, when I do said chores.

I say "chores". It feels like an American word, to me. I've only ever heard it in American shows and my own head. Anyway, I digress. It's things like hoovering the house, or emptying the dishwasher, or sorting out the boxes of things that had been dumped on my bedroom floor while I was at college. These are things that don't have to be done immediately. Yes, the dishwasher needs to be emptied before the remaining plates and glasses pile up. Yes, the hoovering has to be done to stop the house looking filthy.

But the boxes on my floor? I didn't put them there. I had been getting ready to bring everything up to my room to sort out at my own pace, organising them as I went along. Now they're not only on my bedroom floor, they're in an incomprehensible order. I need to literally unpack these boxes of odds and sorts to put them away again. It would take a whole day, as opposed to the few hours it would have taken before.

These are small things. It's the rest of my life that's the problem. My parents have ideas about my life that don't concern my own free will or interests. I think every parent does it.

I don't think it's a secret that I want to write for a living. I know it would be hard to get to a point where that's possible. I accept that. But it's what I want to do.

The problem, of course, is that to my parents the writing comes second. To everything. Remember those chores? Yeah, they're more important than the chapter I happen to be writing, or the poem I'm trying to reconstruct. If it's not college writing, it doesn't count.

The director of The Rest is Silence had to ambush my parents to force them to promise to go to the show. They speak out it begrudgingly, like it's such a difficult thing for them to get in the car, drive to the college and watch an hour long play their youngest son wrote. An hour. That's it. It's purposely short because of the content. The lead cried during rehearsals. Heck, we all cried. Can't have two hours of that.

So, it would take two hours out of their night, including travel time. That's assuming they show up right on time and leave immediately.

And how does this relate to Cameron Frye? Well, that's where Ferris Bueller comes in. When we speak of my parents - heck, when we speak of either of our respective parents - we come to the conclusion that they're kind of insufferable and detrimental to my health. I think they drive me insane. A lot of the time he then takes it upon himself to talk me to the point of doing my own thing.

Now, this isn't a case of rebellion. I'm not about to kick my dad's car to crap. I'm not about to run off for the day for no reason other than the fact that my friend is bored. Heck, he works too much for that to even be possible. But it's a case of standing up for myself. It's about doing what I need to do with my life, and not letting them decide for me.

And as for the "best friend" thing. Well, I wouldn't claim to be his best friend. I know who is best friends are, for a start. I've spoken to one and I know where another lives (because he's my friend's next door neighbour...). I'm neither of those people. I don't expect to ever be called his "best friend". But we have a particular type of friendship that allows for a lot of honesty, a lot of philosophy, and phone calls at two in the morning. They're my "day-off".

I just gotta take a stand, right? Just face up to the people who think they're in charge of me. As my
pseudonymous name-sake says, "I am not gonna sit on my ass as the events that affect me unfold to determine the course of my life. I'm gonna take a stand. I'm gonna defend it. Right or wrong, I'm gonna defend it."

Just call me Frye. Cameron Frye.

All the Parties!

This has been one of those Reading Weeks that involved little-to-no reading. For the citizens of the Hallmarkian  Empire, Valentine's Day reared its vicious, consumer-focused head. Immediately following it was my birthday, more a product of my parents than Hallmark. Cue the parties.

Monday
The day before the V-Bomb hit, a group of friends and I got together for some drinks. We called it Anti-Valentine's Day. It's not a unique event, but our way of sticking it to the man was certainly more enjoyable than the Dreaded Singles of us sitting at home alone, albeit eradicating dragons and whatnot in Skyrim. Instead, we played Truth or Dare.

How horribly 1990s adolescents of us. Of course, ours was a 21st Century version: it was done using a Truth or Dare App. Society, you have lost your ability to exploit your friends and colleagues darkest secrets with the invention of Apps. Nonetheless, we did manage to have a lot of fun, while drinking too much and eating too much. Sure it's Anti-Valentine's Day; it'd be rude not to.

Tuesday
Tackling the Hallmarkian Empire once again, I settled into a day-long session of bitterness and banter with the Drama Society. Most of us are part of the Dreaded Singles, the Empire's biggest foes. For some, it's for lack of trying. For others, lack of interest. I don't know what to say about the rest. Heck, I'm not even sure where I fall in that system.

Regardless of whether we were a Dreaded Single or a Hopeless Romantic, we gathered around, chatted a lot, and ordered pizza. This was before the alcohol later that night, with which the Hopeless Romantic Singles drowned their sorrows. We piled into a car called Fearghus and drove to the off-licence, bought just enough alcohol that our livers wouldn't hate us for a week, and headed off to a house with two Hopeless Romantics, lots of bitterness and an attention seeking kitten.

A bottle of Captain Morgan's later - shared with a friend - I stumbled home. Actually, I got a taxi home, but Anti-Valentine's Day Part II ended, for me, at 3am. It was officially my birthday.

Wednesday
With my birthday on top of me - a heavy 21 years - we had some friends down at the house. I hadn't really planned on them coming down. One of them said to me before my brother did. Oh well! I still got to have people down.

Keep in mind I was tired at this point, but I was surviving on chocolate and awesome home-made burgers by my older brother. Hallmark got nothing out of my friends, but Forbidden Planet got themselves a lot of business. I had a few small presents, while my brother got a bag; the fun part was when I was pulling vouchers and money out of my gift bag and he could just sit there watching until I was done. Then they handed him his vouchers. Those kidders!

I suddenly regret sounding so 1970s American. Let's move on.

I spent this party sober, partially to give my liver a break, and partially to save myself some money. We watched The Breakfast Club, one of my favourite films of all time. After that, we played yet more Truth or Dare. With an App. I ought to ban that App. It was a good night, anyway, even if I was about ready to pass out from exhaustion from the day.

Friday
Yes, I skipped Friday. It was DnD day, not a party. This was the big day of the week, with the actual arranged 21st birthday party. I sat in the pub for over two hours waiting for the majority of my friends to arrive. In fairness, my secondary school friends and two girls I worked with made the effort to arrive earlier, but I wasn't drinking with them.

That was when the Drama Society, the first group of friends (and the same crowd from Wednesday) and my Meath friend arrived, all within ten minutes of each other. It was also when I lost control of when I was getting drinks (though I didn't have to pay for any myself previously.) The Meath Man covered the costs, and damn near did my liver in in the process. The result was that I struggled to stand up without leading against something and my face went numb.

I call that a success.

A group of us went back to my house afterwards, already heavily intoxicated. The Mammy and the Daddy had already set out drinks, which were hastily tucked in to by a number of the group. I avoided further alcohol at this point, and resolved to having what one of the girls calls a DMC with the Meath Man while he drank and smoked. I couldn't stand for most of it. I literally had to pick my moments wisely and appropriately, before collapsing back onto my seat (which was actually a sleeper in the garden).

I managed to walk around again after some time and a little encouragement, and two hours later the guests were leaving. Those two hours involved a number of broken glasses, lots of alcohol consumption, the breaking of a flower pot, a tour of the house (minus the bedrooms that aren't mine), more DMCs and a few falling people.

Le Conclusion
Overall, a successful week. But no study or reading done. Still, I think part of my education process involves having friends and having four parties in a week at least once. Further conclusions that can be drawn from the experience? My friends are crazy, my liver doesn't hate me, I can survive partying better than I first thought and I definitely want to continue living my life to the full.

And there you have it, my summary of all the parties!

__________________________________________

This blog post was brought to you by the letter H, for Half-Assed Hangover. I'm tired, my stomach feels funny (I can't tell if I'm hungry or full!) but I don't have a headache or any of the other features of a hangover. My body really doesn't like trying too hard, does it?

Life Moves Pretty Fast

I've been going through a rather reflective period of my life, of late. Okay, so I actually mean for the last six months or so, but who's counting? (Yes, I am... it's actually more than six months.) It's had me look at things in a different way, both friendships and this thing I call my writing career.

Way back in July, I got bored. I started to write a novel called Bliss (Have I mentioned that before?) as part of Camp NaNoWriMo. About half-way through the month, I stopped writing. I figured it wasn't worth it. I mean, I loved the book, but part of me just didn't see the point in trying to write it. To put it bluntly, that part of me considered giving up writing altogether.

I finally got my head on straight towards the end of the month, and in defiance to that niggling doubt ten days earlier, I started to write Bliss again, picking up where I left off. Four days later, I finished the required fifty thousand words for the month. More than half of that was written in the four days.

When I realised I could write pretty quickly and that, yes, things were worth pursuing, my head started going all over the place. I immediately set up the wordpress.com account that would host the foundations of my website.  Over the following month and a half, I got to work on articles, poems and a short story to put on the website. I enquired about newsletters and hosting and all the fun stuff that make websites fun, but they had to be free for the public (i.e. the people looking at the site) and affordable for me to justify the expense.

However, it was still only the start of August when a link to an article was posted on Twitter. I read the article, thought 'That was fun', then noticed two words down the bottom of the page: Writers wanted. I tweeted the writer of the article, he told me about the site - turns out he's the editor - and later that day, after my exceptionally nerdy cover letter, I had a job at The Phantom Zone. Go figure. In three days, I had finished an impossible fifty thousand words, begun work on my website and had my first ever writing job.

I thought, life just got pretty strange. And continued on as well as I could.

I wrote a play. Between getting the writing job and writing a few articles for it, and a month into college, I had gotten the whole play written and edited, which was no simple task considering what it's about (you know, depression, suicide... the usual stuff a debut play should be about!). That should have been enough for me, to have written my very first play. But no. I handed it in to someone wanting to direct it.

It's going on stage in a couple of months. What? I mean, what?! That made October pretty strange.

Of course, the fun was only really beginning. I edited a novella I wrote in the summer of 2010, Stepping Forward, and put up a sample download on my website. That same website, with the download, went live on September 11th 2011. The date was significant for the release only because of when I would be going back to the college (i.e. the 12th!). Go forward three months, and Stepping Forward was available in its entirety for download on Smashwords. During that week, I was also interviewed about the book.

In November (yes, I'm going back and forth, but things don't just happen overnight in my life, most of the time!), having gotten back from Taizé in France, I decided I would give NaNoWriMo an attempt. I didn't have a full month, I had a lot of work to do for college, and I had an unfinished manuscript. I resolved to finish Bliss. Thirty thousand words later, the first draft was done.

Come up to January, and I'm teaching. Now, part of this is to write reflective statements, but I don't really care very much for them. The teaching part was significant, though. I didn't think I would be able to do it. I thought the syllabus was much too complicated for me, but when I went into the class and kids began to learn things - and I mean, they were remembering dates and names for Judaism and the consequences of the Schism and taking a huge interest in Islam and all that other fun stuff - I really started to believe in myself as a teacher.

Of course, I did say this post was also about friends. So, significantly, I spent more time talking to friends in college. I have an awful habit of vanishing on people in college, I should add, so I was glad to be able to talk to people properly. Not only that, but taking part in Drama again meant I made yet more friends (the Drama Society has a way of doing that!). Add in the Writers' Soc and my inherent boredom in the morning, and through one mature student in first year I met over half a dozen others.

There's something to be said about mature students. Generally, they don't do clubs and socs. Generally, there are a few who just barely hit the over 23 mark and a lot more who are in their forties. These ones are mostly in their twenties. (Immediately less terrifying, because none of them are old enough to be my mother!) Since they didn't take part in any of the clubs or socs I did, I only really got to know them through proper human interaction. Mostly this was while blocking the smoke from a couple of cigarettes with a cup of tea (what can I say, I favour conversation over health - I just hate the taste of smoke!), but it meant I got to know some people who had a lot of real life experience (which you can only get after leaving school, unfortunately) and who made the decision to come back to college.

What this meant for my social life - which largely doesn't include a nightlife, because of the exhaustion of trying to keep up with third year and everything else I do, while having parents call me to come home for dinner - was that I had about a dozen new people in my life who were all that little bit quirky. (I have a theory that unless you're one of the ladz (yes, with a 'z') or you're a girl who loves shopping and WKD, you need to be a little bit quirky to survive my college. I'm more than a little bit quirky, but that's aside the point.

Now, remember that boredom I mentioned? The boredom back in July? Well, it was because I'd lost contact with a friend. (Boredom was the preferred mood, trust me.) Well, that same friend called me recently (okay, at four in the morning, and then again a couple of days later at twenty to six in the morning) and it's made me pause and think about life (hence this post.) During the first call, he had been watching Ferris Bueller's Day Off. If you're seen the film, you know the iconic line:

Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

Consider me looking around. I can't complain about life. Sure, there's always going to be something that could go wrong, but I've gotten to a point where I can deal with that sort of stuff, where it doesn't have to put everything on hold. (The teaching puts everything on hold, but that's expected when it's worth half my degree...) I'm happy, I've released a book, my play is going on stage, I have a writing job and my own website, and I have a whole load of fantastic friends to give me a reason to do it all, so I can finally show them and myself that I can do this.

Ferris Bueller, you're my hero.

Must Be Christmas Soon

It's that time again: we've had out Christmas party at college, we're off for a month... and we've all got to get lessons prepared for January. God I love December.

But seriously, I've been trying to find ways to make it neither boring nor stressful. I'll settle for it not being boring. With a Gothic Journal due in tomorrow, along with revised plans for lessons, I've got my work cut out for me. However, we've got some plans in place to make sure we don't completely ruin Christmas with work. Basically, dinner plans in Westmeath. Nom nom nom? You betcha!

But that's not all. Oh no, not at all. This coming Thursday, December 15th, will see the release of my novella Stepping Forward. I wrote it last summer in a mad rush, and I'm delighted with the result. I'm still thinking of what to do to celebrate. A free copy of the book to the first X people won't really help: it's going to be free to everyone as an ebook!

It's a fun book, mostly. I mean, it has a lot of elements that might completely confuse some people if they're not used to me, but I hope that doesn't happen. It's a learning experience, anyway. I've never seen a book like this in the shop (you know, that book shop I work in...) so it's either because no one wrote one like it, no one known well enough wrote one, or publishers deemed the idea and format too bad to even consider. We'll see.

I've also got an interview lined up because of the book. That's fun! I mean, I've answered the questions already, but it's not online yet. It was only a short little piece, but it's a fun bit of publicity. I'll be sure to link it just about everywhere I visit on a regular basis (i.e. Facebook, Twitter and Google+), so you can't miss it!

And yes, while I am aware that the holidays will be hectic, I'm really loving the idea of getting a book out. I won't have to worry about costs or anything like that, or about selling enough copies to make end's meet. This is published for fun and to get something out there. I want to share my work, and I really believe in the book.

Now, I need plenty of rest before the madness of tomorrow! God I love college work...

An Experience of Taizé

I won't be writing a whole four-day journal of my trip to Taizé, but I can at the very least give you a brief overview of it. It started in the airport, with thirteen of us meeting at half four in the morning on Wednesday. Tired, groggy and a little bit cranky but excited, we made our way through Terminal 2 towards tea and breakfast. Shortly thereafter, we were on a plane to Geneva.

Yes, we had to go to Switzerland to get to Taizé. This confused us for a while - not as much as getting lost in the airport confused two of us when we got there, mind you - but it soon became clear that the two hour bus journey to Taizé was still an acceptable mode of transport. By the end of the trip, it was a blessing - the Germans have to, today, take a bus home; it will take them about sixteen hours.

We stopped for lunch along the way, which really helped, considering we were too late for lunch in Taizé. If you don't know, by the way, it's a tiny little village in central France where about 100 Brothers live in simplicity, visited by thousands of people every week for prayer and work. There were only about 500 people there when we arrived, since the busiest period of the year had passed.

Our rooms held six people each: six students per room and the lecturer in a room with other people. It was literally a case of there being enough room for a single square shelf, three bunk-beds and space to walk to each bed in relative comfort. Of course, knowing we would need pillows would have helped. Pillows, knives, forks, wellies... okay, the list goes on a bit.

The daily routine was actually okay. I expected a lot worse, to be honest. We had prayer three times a day, which consisted of singing a lot of songs, mostly in languages we didn't understand, and a reading by a Brother. Following morning and afternoon prayer, there were meals. Supper was before evening prayer, but after a workshop.

Between ten and twelve, we worked. For some, it was easy - very quickly cleaning the bathrooms or making signs - and for others it was a little more strenuous - raking up ten bags' worth of leaves or putting tent floors into storage, piled ten foot high and weighing more than we would have liked. But it was fine. Except for the rain and the German splashing us with muddy water.

At three, there was a Bible study meeting. It wasn't fun, to be honest. We've already studied the Gospel of Matthew in college, and we arrived half-way through the week, so we were in a group by ourselves. Still, it was fine. We survived it.

When we weren't praying or at work or at a workshop or Bible group, we were free to do as we wished. This consisted of going to see Brother Roger's grave (the founder of Taizé, killed in August 2005 during evening prayer), visiting the Source (a very lovely lake), going to the Crypte (where there was an altar for mass), going to the two shops (one where we could buy hot drinks and chocolate, one where we could buy books and postcards and, in one case, a dozen pieces of pottery) or just resting in the dormitories. There was also a lot of music played by The Moceans, who found a lot of excited German and Swedish teenagers to adopt as fans.

Work and the hot drink shop gave us a chance to talk to new people. I got to meet a lovely American girl, Cristina, who's travelling around Europe at the moment. We're meeting up when she gets to Dublin, for milkshakes, or possibly something a little warmer. Dublin's a little colder than Taizé... There was also a friendly Canadian called Tom, who I didn't get to say goodbye to. Thankfully Cristina agreed to give him one of my business cards, so maybe we can keep in touch when he gets back home (he's going to be in France for another four weeks, though!).

Then there was the Germans. They were only outnumbered by the Swedes in Taizé, but they were a lot easier to talk to (mainly because they had befriended Cristina already and had become fans of The Moceans). So, we got to talk to a lot of them. I don't know half their names, but there's always the chance I might get an email from them, or they might add me on Facebook. I'd like that. Aside from the sign made for the band, the Germans also supplied another great memory: Haribo. They love them. Michael, Laura and Dorithia were hilarious when they got to eat them. They also sang at (yes, at) Cristina and I in German. That was hilarious! I love the Germans!


So, yes, it was a fun trip. We're all exhausted, and we had a highly emotional Friday evening prayer, but we got home safely. Now we just have to write a whole project about it. That'll be fun, too, right?

Neglect

Dear Blog,

I'm sorry I neglected you of late. Things have been busy and strange in varying proportions lately, and finding the time to come and write something has been at the bottom of my list. But then I decided, even though I have a dozen other things to do (okay, four, three of being read a book), I'm writing now. Are you happy?

So, the website is going well. I thought it wasn't getting as much traffic as I'd wanted it to, until I accidentally clicked "Old version" on Google Analytics, and it showed me a pageview total. So I added that to the New Version and now I'm happier with the amount of traffic I got. It's certainly a lot better than just visits. I do feel like a bit of an idiot for not noticing this sooner, of course.

College... well, college is college. I've got this trip to France coming up in a month, but I don't know for the life of me how much it will cost. I'm guessing my bank account will hate me for it, though. It won't talk to me for weeks, I'm sure. In the meantime, I've got to read lots of books. Those three I mentioned earlier? Well, one is God is Love Alone. The guy who wrote it set up the community in France we're visiting. The other two are novels on our Gothic module, but we get to pick which two we write about.

But I did set up a Writers' Soc. I think I mentioned that before. The problem, initially, was that no one really contributed to the meeting much. So Pinkie and I - that's her blogger name, not some kinky and/or strange nickname I'm giving her - set out a full plan of deadlines and whatnot. We have another meeting on Monday, when we can tell people writing for the new magazine - The Scribbler - when the first deadline is. That'll be fun!

Everything is pretty much going well. The Rest is Silence is almost completed fully, and I have a deadline to hand it in by, so that will get me working better than usual. The only real problem I have in life is with one friend who doesn't really see me or anybody else as a friend. That sucks, right? I mean, that's downplaying it an awful lot, but it sucks. I wish I could make this friend see some sense, but that's not really possible when I'm not allowed say anything. It makes me feel like I did a couple of Mondays ago... when I threw up on the bus.

I won't tell that fascinating story again.

So, there you have it. Mostly life is good, and aside from the sucky situation with the friend who doesn't see me as a friend being the saddest thing ever, I'm happy. The first years are now finally around long enough that they're not just miscellaneous faces sardined into the building. Some of them stick out from the crowd now. Some of them are curious people I feel I should be talking to more but won't, because that's the sort of person I am (shy and timid, not stuck up and pretentious). I had that same experience last year, and when I started in college, and I think the only way to let those sorts of people into my life is to either (a) join a club or society they're in or (b) just let it happen. That's pretty much how I spoke to every single friend I have now.

Now, blog, if you'll excuse me, I have to pretend I have plans for the night.

Neglectfully yours,
Paul.

Once More With Feeling

The past couple of days have been... well, different. Finally getting a chance to talk to somebody (albeit only through Facebook mail), we came to a conclusion that for the time being we need space. There's too many things that need to settle before we can really talk properly, again, but it didn't feel like I'd lost a friend. I don't think I did, anyway. We've done this before, but this time it's really necessary. Yes, I was upset when it happened, but once I calmed down... well, I've been happy. It feels right, this space between us - we set it up, it didn't just happen badly and for no reason. Things didn't end.

To keep myself busy, last night, I started to edit a novella I wrote last summer called Stepping Forward. I'd planned to edit the first three chapters, but I discovered that when the time came to do it they were much shorter than I anticipated! So I just kept on working. And working. And working. And I finished editing the book.

I'd been fairly happy with the first draft, when I wrote it, and the one person that actually read it (the friend mentioned above) liked it, so when I finally tidied it up I was delighted! It's been over a year since I wrote it, first, and in the space of a single night I got the finished book together! I will probably be doing a cover for it at some stage, as I'm wont to do, but for now I'm calling that book finished!

This morning, I then wrote a scene of The Rest is Silence. I have a lot of work to do on that play, but my ideas for it are exciting. This morning's scene was probably one of the more challenging ones... though there are still some major things to happen that will require a lot of emotional energy from the actors! I hope they get what the play's about!

To bring the day to a close, I made a banner for my website. As I write this, there's a badly-done version sitting on the website. The lovely Lisa Sills is redoing it for me, and the results so far are great! I can't wait until I have something to show the world as being my official banner for my website. Sure, I didn't do the finished piece, but the idea behind its design was mine! People have given it some good feedback, so clearly I did something right.

Between now and Sunday, I have to finish up with everything on the site - that means hosting, a domain name, the finished banner and getting it all set up properly. It's going to be an exciting few days. The plan is to release the website on Sunday, when people will have access to everything I've been working on the past month and a half. This is my gateway into the world wide web, going beyond what I've ever set up. All the little bits and pieces of my life are coming together on this site.

Feedback on everything will be greatly appreciated! Until then... my thanks go out to:

• Rebecca Woodhead, for her advice in everything I've done of late. This is both advice she's given me personally and things she's written about in Writing Magazine. I couldn't have done this without her.
  
• Lisa Sills, for her help in the banner and her continued support in this project.
  
• The aforementioned friend, for everything before this website. I couldn't have put together so much if there wasn't someone out there who made me feel like it was worth it. No one else continually gave me the encouragement to write and to be myself like he did, without greed, malice or spite. The very last thing he said to me was the final bit of encouragement I needed.
  
• The friends who continually make me happy; the smartest girl in college who I can tell pretty much anything, the comic book girl who gets my little eccentricities, the Ninjas who make me laugh even when being in a bad mood is easier and the long-time friends I kept from secondary school who never fail to offer new and interesting insights into the world, none of whom have even begun to bore me after all these years!

This website is everything I could want it to be; parts of it were put together with my head, and parts of it were put together with my heart. Sometimes I fail to use either one of them, but not in this case. This feels like something has finally been done correctly.

Deadlines Approaching!

My website is, hopefully, being launched on September 11th. I have a lot of stuff to do between now and then, but I chose the date for one reason and one reason only: it's the day before I go back to college. I want to have the website up and running with content to view (and share?) before then, but I'd be too pushed for time to try get everything done before then.

Because I slacked a little the past couple of days, I have to play catch-up on my workload. I've got to write four scenes of The Rest is Silence, which will be no small feat, and that's only one of the many things I have to do. Thankfully it's also the only explicitly creative goal for the day, the rest being website work, editing, etc.

I have to finish editing a short story - the first short story that will be going on my website. That's my primary concern, because I don't want that section to be blank when I launch. The story is called Dear World, but I can't tell you much more about it without spoiling it. It's something I hope people like, that they can maybe connect to, but that I mainly wrote upon seeing a publication opportunity. It wasn't accepted, but then I didn't really believe it would be. I still like the story, though, so I'm posting it online. I just don't believe in posting on a website someone else set up. This is my baby, so it's staying in my house.

Once that's all done, I have to get some poems selected for the launch of the site. I'm not the best poet in the world, but some of the stuff I've shown people has been liked, so I'm going to share it through the website. I sometimes write with particular people in mind, other times I find the connection with a person after it's written. (Classic example in my novel Meet Sam was realising how much like Nick a friend from college was, who I didn't meet until ten months after the novel was written!)

To finish off my day, I have to type up articles for the website. I have five categories for non-fiction on the website, and each one needs a piece written in it by launch day. Of course, I need more pieces to post in the future, which is where next week's workload comes in. I have to write more articles, edit something, get more poems ready, and work on the banner. Still working that one out, mind you!

See, I have deadlines for a lot of stuff. All the basics for the website need to be ready by the 11th at the latest, but preferably the 10th. My play, The Rest is Silence, needs to be written, typed and edited by the time college starts back on the 12th. I'm not in until the afternoon, but I don't want to be working on it, then. I have a deadline list, and the play needs to be finished so I can write my novels throughout the college year, while continuing to work on the website and for The Phantom Zone, and then I'll get into the heavy planning stage of my X-Men story that I've been talking about on Twitter and Facebook; that needs to be planned in some details by December 10th.

I might be mad with the amount of work I'm taking on, but I wholly believe it's possible to do all of this. And hey, there's a reason I chose December 10th - Christmas break! I will finally be able to collapse, then, after a tiring first semester! (I'm not entirely sure of the date I'm off, but that's my deadline, anyway!) In the meantime, I have to get a lot of other stuff ready, before I even go back to college. I don't think I'll ever stop working, you know that? It's like I'd heard on the radio, and mentioned a short while ago, a professional does the work even when he doesn't feel like it. Thankfully I happen to know some amazing people who will make the winding-down periods in my life so much better!