Living on Writer's Block

As a reply to a Daily Writing Prompt I figured this one was going to be worth the time to tell about. I have a lot of things going on, and a lot of thoughts about all of them, so this might be a longer post.

First, I’m a senior in high school, and there’s a lot of great expectations. Not just from the people around me, however. I want to press and push myself to get some really good grades at the end of my last year at this school.

This school is my life. I don’t really remember a time when I wasn’t in this school, and it’s breaking my heart to think of all the ‘lasts’ this year entails.

Senior year is full of lasts.

Last drama production. Last Field Day. Last Mock Trial. Last high-school ball. Last year on the football team, the volleyball team, the x-country team, the basketball, the lacrosse, the track, the golf team. 

Last year in the Choir, and for some, in Chamber Choir. 

Sometimes, it’s the last year you’ll ever be in school. Sometimes it’s the last year you’ll ever talk to that one person, for good or ill. Sometimes it’s the last year you’ll ever be surrounded by this many people for this long. 

It’s a lot of last chances. Last chance to make up. Last chance to ace those tests. Last chance to get onto the team, or into the play, or onto the field. Last chance to mess up before your mess-ups start to really, really matter. 

So the question is, what do we do with this last year? How do we move on, step off the stage, and look back without too much regret? Without too much of a sense of loss? Without too much sorrow, or longing for the good old days? Without too much bittersweet sentiment?

The truth is, I don’t know. If I spent the last year of my life at high school savoring every moment, spent as much time with my class as I could, the pain at the end would only be all the worse. On the other hand, if I spent the last year of my life at this wonderful, amazing school alone, distancing myself, trying to cut off the pain of too deep an attachment, I’d regret that I didn’t spend more time with these, my people. My crew, my team, my other family. And frankly it’d be too late not to get deeply attached; this class is where I feel most at home, where the best memories of my life were made. Perhaps it doesn’t feel the same for everyone. Perhaps you have Senioritis and can’t wait to get out of here, into the wide world. Perhaps you struggle to get through a day without losing your mind, surrounded by shenanigans and absurd horseplay every waking minute. Perhaps you just don’t care for people. 

I can’t really understand that, and I don’t know how to respond. This is where my earliest memories are laid, where for my whole life, everything’s been centered around school. I’ve made and broken friendships, I’ve made choices (both good and bad, as well as very good and very bad, as well as just downright stupid), I’ve grown up here. Always, every aspect of my life has been centered around school, around my friends here, and I really don’t know how I’m going to move on without them. This place has made me who I am now. I wouldn’t feel this way if it weren’t for this place. 

This is my last chance. As much as I hate parting, I think, in the end, it’s best to carry on, and gather as many happy memories as I can.

And to all the other seniors out there, I give this charge — let’s all do it together. This is our last year. Let’s make it a good one.

… .. . .. …

On top of that, I have a job that takes four days out of my week, including Saturdays, leaving two afternoons free for homework. While I can manage the late nights, it takes its toll on me for sure, and I often end up dozing a bit after lunch time.

But I truly love my job. When I got it, I didn’t anticipate having the amount of affection I do now. My last jobs were food industry and I liked cooking for people, giving them something tasty and enjoyable. Now I work in a card game store selling MTG cards, and while I have no sympathy for the game or understanding or desire to learn it, I enjoy the work because I actually like the people I work with. In my past jobs I had some ‘close acquaintances’ but I don’t think I could ever call them friends. (But if they wanna reach out that’s fine.) At my current job, however, I am almost closer with my coworkers than I am with some of my own siblings (brothers specifically). Part of that I suppose is because I spend more time with them than I do with my own family these days, since more than half of them go to the same school I do.

I am truly grateful for this job; it’s easy on my body, it keeps my mind active and engaged and happy, and I actually like the people to the point that if I met them on the street I’d actually say hello. I’d never do that with my past coworkers, I’m sorry to say. Plus I don’t come home smelling like fast food every day. So all in all, it’s a big win.

… .. . .. …

And finally on top of all that there’s this blog, and many other stories I’m trying to write. I have barely any time right now but I’m still doing my best, brainstorming with friends across the country via text during free periods, sketching scenes in the Notes app during lunch, drawing out character ideas in the back of the classroom alongside my notes for the class.

I have one idea in progress right now for a story based on Beauty and the Beast. The difference is that characters are actually noble, and the ‘Beast’ actually has a spiritual/mental transformation as well as a physical one, and the ‘Beauty’ falls in love slowly and gradually instead of a big dramatic scene at the end (which, to be honest, is total hooey because she had to love him to come back for him, I mean really, just because you don’t say it doesn’t mean it’s not so). The whole thing is also set in a world where every living thing has wings (except plants because I don’t know how they would fly). I’m having a lot of fun figuring out the science and physics of it, but since apparently humans would need wings three times as long as the human is tall to just glide, I believe we’re going to need to get used to more magic than is merely in the ‘Beast’s’ transformation. Oh, and the whole thing’s also a collaboration with my sister, who’s actually a pretty good writer but hasn’t really gotten a lot done on anything, and my friend in another state who’s a really good writer with at least three books on her desktop. We just need to figure out a few things — such as a) how do we avoid Stockholm syndrome, b) what did the beast do to deserve transformation/ what does he need to do to change back, c) what’s the flippin’ plot gonna be??? I am actually at a loss on the last point. No ideas and I NEED ideas because this story is too good to loose. (Suggestions?)

And on top of THAT story I’m trying to write an apocalypse of vampires and that’s really fun but I’m so short on time. Want an excerpt? Sure!

This is where the leads meet:

She paused at the corner of the wall and took a deep breath, then ran out to cross the street. Instead she smacked into something warm and solid. She heard a grunt, and she bounced back with a cry, dropping to the ground. Gravel and rubble crunched under her as she put her arms up defensively. From above her came grumbling and some confused scuffing.

“Whoa! Wha— who the heck are you?” came a voice. She looked up. A man stood there, staring down at her in shock. He was young, and up in his dark blond hair was a pair of goggles vaguely resembling aviator goggles from one of the world wars. She didn’t have much time to process any more details because his eyes widened and he swore suddenly as her own eyes met them. “Not another one of you lot!” He jerked a black scarf up over his face and dropped a hand to the handle of a knife on his belt.

She flung her arms up in front of her again, hid her face in her shoulder, and yelled, “No! No, I’m human! I’m not a vampire!”

“Any vampire would say that,” he said roughly. He dropped into a crouch in front of her and grabbed her hood, ripping it back. Her dark hair tumbled down. His own eyes narrowed even further. “You have red eyes and black hair. Look like a vampire to me,” he said, swiftly pulling his knife from its sheath.

“I’m not, I swear! Look, do you see this stake on my back? Would a vampire carry its own weakness around like this?”

He paused and studied her, his eyes regarding her critically. He took in the dark layers of clothes, the bandana, the spear on her back and the blowpipe that hung from her belt, the pistol in its thigh holster on her right leg. “I guess vamps don’t wear that many jackets and stuff,” he said finally, sliding the knife into its sheath. “And I’ve never seen one with a blowpipe before.” He stood up and crossed his arms over his chest, staring at her suspiciously as she slowly lowered her arms and rested her hands on the road at her sides. “So who are you?” he barked out.

“Um — I’m a vampire hunter.”

“Wait — a hunter?” He looked skeptical. “You hunt vampires?”

Her eyebrows dropped and she scowled. I don’t like snark, she thought. “Yes, I’m a vam-pire hun-ter,” she enunciated carefully. “I hunt vampires. And I lost my team and I don’t know where I am.”

“You lost a team?” He scoffed. “How on earth does someone lose a team?”

“We killed some vampires, and then their friends all showed up and had a huge party, and we had to split up,” she said, her voice tight. Her arm was throbbing painfully.

“But how’d you lose them? Didn’t you have a rendezvous point?”

“Yeah, we did,” she said in a carefully measured voice, “With two others from our team. But I was being chased, and I ran into a part of town I don’t recognize.”

He rolled his eyes. “How do you not recognize it, it’s not a very big town.”

She ground her teeth together frustratedly, trying to ignore her arm. “Listen, I don’t know who you are or what your story is, but I also don’t really care. I’ve had to live on the move for the last three years since the world ended, and I haven’t stayed anywhere I know in a very long time,” she said. “So forgive me if your own little small-town street knowledge is not shared by everyone else you meet. I don’t know this town… at all.” She looked dismally at the ground, suddenly homesick for the small farmhouse she’d left behind. Abruptly she grabbed at her stinging arm, wincing. She looked down at the wound, gritting her teeth. “Dang it.”

He looked at the red stain seeping through the makeshift bandage. His eyes narrowed yet again. “Did they bite you?” The question was sharp and abrupt.

“No!” She looked quickly back up at him. “No, they didn’t! It’s a scratch. Like, from their claws. I’m not infected.” She slid away from him a little.

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure about that?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Suddenly she snapped. “Look, this really hurts and I’m tired and lost, okay, so would you PLEASE keep the snark TO YOURSELF!” She stopped, and dropped her eyes quickly, hiding the flush spreading across her cheeks. Sienna raised a hand to rub at the scar across her nose in embarrassment. She’d just lost it at a stranger. That’ll come back to haunt me, she thought wearily. He was speaking again. She looked up.

“Alright, okay, I get it,” he was saying, faintly annoyed. “You need help.” He looked away, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck thoughtfully while the other rested on his hip. His eyes crossed the street and traced the shattered edges of a ruined building for a long moment before he sighed heavily and spoke again, looking back down at her. “Alright — well, I don’t know where your team is, and chances are they’re in the same situation you are, so for all we know they could be dead.” He ignored the sharp intake of breath from the girl at his feet and went on. “My question is — are you desperate enough to trust me? I know a safe house if you’re that bad off.”

She froze, her eyes fixed on him. “Y-you’re serious?”

He looked up at the wall behind her and gritted his teeth with another sigh. “Does it matter? You don’t have much choice. It’s not safe out here… I’m sure even you know that. And if I can prevent you from becoming a vamp, it’s one less monster coming after me and my troop. So it’s really to both of our benefits for you to just stop wasting our time, and come along.”

“Well — alright, I guess,” she said sheepishly. Even after I snapped at you, she thought, turning a little pink. She let out a humorless laugh. “I can’t do much on my own out here, can I?”

He shrugged. “Probably not.” He scowled.

So yeah, that’s a piece of the vampire story. And it’s already fairly far along and I want to keep going but I’m low on time (as I said).

… .. . .. …

So yeah, there’s a lot going on. But I struggle on, like so many others out there with a heck of a lot more on their plates than me. Keep it up everyone!

Anyway…

Cheers, belb516