First & Last Lines Information

"Of all the things that drive men to sea, the most common disaster, I've come to learn, is women."

- from Middle Passage

• Charles R. Johnson (April 23, 1948 - ), an African American author who has written many different types of writing, and addresses many issues that involve black lives within his writing.
• Published 1990
• This story is about a freed slave who escapes from being forced to marry a woman who was paying Rutherford Calhoun's creditor to have them marry. He stows away on a ship that is headed to Africa to capture members of the tribe known as Allmuseri. The captain claims to have also captured the tribe people's god, which is enforced when a boy goes down to feed it and returns insane. After a series of misfortunes, the crew plans a mutiny, but don't go through with it, due to the fact that the Allmuseri taking over before the mutiny can take place. Calhoun convinces them to keep some of the white men alive to take care of the ship, but the captain commits suicide and the first mate says that a storm messed up the constellations, so he can't steer the ship. Calhoun passes out for three days after visiting the "god," and wakes to find that the cook, himself, and only a few Allmuseri are left alive. Before their ship is completely destroyed, they're discovered by another ship, which rescues them. This ship just happens to have the woman who was paying to have Calhoun marry her, and the man who was in charge of that. She's now being forced to marry the creditor, Calhoun resolves internal conflicts, and Isadora winds up marrying Calhoun after all.
• Personally, this book doesn't sound that interesting to me. I know well enough to not judge a book by its cover, and reading the summary has provided enough information for me. It sounds like something that would be a high school required reading for a class, and it sounds very similar to nonfiction, which I would care not to read. I prefer fantasy and fiction, and though this book doesn't sound bad, it just doesn't sound appealing to me. 

"He was soon borne away by the waves and lost in darkness and distance."

- from Frankenstein 

• Mary Shelley (August 30, 1797 - February 1, 1851) was the daughter of two authors, and married another one. She had many other writings, and edited a lot of her husband's work, but is most famous for being the author of Frankenstein. 
• Published 1818
• Told from the viewpoint of Victor Frankenstein for the most part, it starts with his childhood and how he and his siblings were encouraged to learn. He took a liking to the sciences, and goes to school for chemistry, and is also where he learns to bring life to things that aren't alive. To make things easier to replicate, Victor makes his creature larger than the average man, but didn't account for how this would make the creature look, which resulted in Victor's horror and fleeing from the monster, and the monster's feeling of rejection. Victor returns to find that his brother has been murdered, and suspects his creation, but can't prove it to the townspeople to save the life of an innocent woman. Victor then retreats to the mountains, where his creature finds him and communicates with him that he learned to read and write, and, despite knowing his hideous complexion, approached the family anyway. They fled in fright, and he burned the cottage and murdered William. The creature then demands a female companion be made for him, as he had the right to happiness, and promised that the two would disappear to South America, never to be seen again. Victor agrees to make a female, but when he catches the monster spying on him, he destroys her. The monster confronts him, and promises to be with Victor on his wedding night. He then kills one of Victor's best friends and leaves the body to be found by Victor when he returned to Ireland. Victor has a mental breakdown in prison, and then returns to his father when he is acquitted. On his wedding night, he prepares to confront his creation, but is shocked to see that the monster has instead killed his bride-to-be. After the deaths of so many of his companions, Victor's father died. Grief-stricken, Victor chases the monster up to the North Pole, but doesn't kill his creation.
• I've supposedly already read this book, as I took AP English literature last semester, and this was the required reading. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to read it because of the difference in the language and how big and fancy some of the words and how complex some of the sentences were. I didn't like it at all for the parts that I did read, and found it rather boring and hard to keep up with. While the summary sounds interesting enough, the actual book isn't. 

 

Kleptomaniac Robs a Plane

Author's Note

Some of you may like to listen to music while reading, and others of you may not, but for those of you that to, this is a song I was listening to while writing this. Anyway, enjoy!

I'm a robber. Burglar. Thief. Bandit. Pirate. Highwayman. Call it what you will, all of those terms are synonymous. I've always been one. I guess you could say there's irony behind the correlation between my hobby and my name, which also happens to be Rob. Although, it's not short for Robert, but for Robin. Which sounds even more like "robbin'," which is even more ironic. I get quite the chuckle out of it.

Anyway, I've stolen many things, and have gotten away with it. Now, let me get one thing straight. You can't call yourself a robber if you get caught stealing. That's just not how that works. And to those of you who do get caught, you make it harder and harder for us better at it to do what we enjoy. People always seem to be coming up with new and improved ways to stop us. But for those of us who are really good, and I mean really good, we can get around it. 

I have a rather large box hidden in the back of my closet of all of the things I've stolen. There are some things I won't steal, like clothes or shoes, since they have those tags that are ridiculous to remove if you don't have the proper tools, which are a nuisance to carry around. Anyway, in this box, there's things ranging from little plastic animals to books of all genres. Sometimes if I'm low on money, I'll bring some of this stuff and sell it to some of the sleezier people that go to my school. Don't get me wrong; I know what I'm doing isn't right, but it's just become a hobby. And the thrill I get is very satisfying. A kid who grew up and still lives on the wrong side of the tracks needs to make a living somehow. Some people are dealers, others are gangsters, while others are thugs for hire or just the bouncer at the local bar. I don't know how my mother affords to send me to the private school I go to, but she does. And the kids there are desperate. They'd rather be in my shoes, I think sometimes, but they don't know that sometimes I go a couple days without dinner. It's not even like I come off as a kid who would be a klepto, which is probably why thrift shops and convenience stores and gas stations don't suspect me.
To make a long story short, I'll just give it to straight up. My friend Simon and I, we pretended to be pilots and stole the Airbus A380. Gotta get that feeling of being alive somehow, right? We'd never flown a plane before, but somehow we got it into the air without being suspected. I'm guessing Simon got into the flight tower and drugged the people running it, because no one seemed to think anything was wrong. 

Forward to the Future

• One of the many interesting ideas presented to us on Tuesday was the design process and how they consider different options and texts for their covers, and other photographs as well. Another one is how many photos they can take before they get the "right" one, and then how much editing that photo goes through until it's an advertisement photo or cover one. The last one is perhaps how they can track your computer's IP address if you visit a page to consider buying tickets, and they can send you a reminder to buy them. 
• A question I have is can they track your IP address with all of their social media sites, or just the one to buy tickets from? 
• A specific magazine I'd consider working for would be National Geographic, but I think for that magazine I'd be more interested in the photography aspect of it and being able to travel from place to place and see so many different things. 
• Oh, the places you'll be... 

a) 1 Year: I'd like to be in college, finishing up my freshman year at the University of Missouri and hopefully haven't changed majors or minors and be happy with who I am and still be in a healthy, and, unfortunately, long distance relationship with Kyle Brown. I'd also like to be somewhat started in creating YouTube videos for the public.
b) 5 Years: Successfully graduated from college with my bachelor's degree, and hopefully have a job, and if I don't, at least be looking for prospective ones. I won't have a lot of college debt, and still be in a relationship with Kyle. I'll be somewhat successful, and be happy with my life. I'll be excited to continue college for a master's degree in animal science. I'll be in the editing process of my book, hopefully. Perhaps written under a pseudonym.
c) 10 Years: Hopefully my book will be published and be successful. I'll be married with Kyle, and have a good job, and he will be happy too and have a job he likes. We'll have dogs and I'll get to work with animals every day and keep up with writing every day.
d) 50 Years: I'm not sure how to predict what times will be like in 50 years. By then we could figure out cryogenics or a cure for most fatal diseases, or the zombie apocalypse could happen. But I'd like to be a mother, perhaps, with a grandkid or two. I will have accomplished a lot in my lifetime, and still be married happily to the love of my life. We'll be living together in our house in the evergreens, curled up next to a warm, crackling fire place, our dogs at our feet and watching Harry Potter reruns.

6 Word Memoirs

1. All black, all white, no gray.

2. Imagination infested teenage mind lacks sleep.

3. You are more than your brilliance.

4. What do you mean, "I'm dead?"

5. Things we burned in our fire.

6. Dream of heaven, wake to hell.

4 Tidbits of Wisdom

- "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening," Robert Frost

I'm not exactly sure why I like this quote. I like poetry, but I've never been the biggest fan of it, and often struggle to understand the deeper meaning of it. Perhaps because I relate to the fact that, even though this seems like a good place to stop or pause and survey the scenery, the traveler has much more to accomplish before they can do that.

- Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, J.K. Rowling

I'm a troublemaker. Or perhaps more of a trouble magnet. Take your pick.

- Save Rock and Roll, Fall Out Boy ft. Elton John

If you've listened to even one Fall Out Boy song, or just read the lyrics on any lyric website, you'd realize what a great lyricist Pete Wentz is. Their songs have the best quotes to be derived from them. This is one of my favorites, because it is saying to remember that you shouldn't be defined by what or who loves you back, but rather by what or who you personally love. 

- Unknown

I don't know what this is from, I just found it while searching through the Internet for blog-worthy quote pictures. But I think it kind of brings back the idea of how stories can be passed down from generation to generation, or how even when written words have the capability of being destroyed, the spoken ones will always be there. 

Author's Note:

I'm sure you're wondering why there's just four, and, well, that's only because I wanted to pick four.

Memorable Passage

I'm sure those reading this have no doubt that my memorable passage will be from one the Harry Potter books, and they would be correct. There are many great quotes that have been derived from the rustling pages of these famous books, and have been used for many things, including Pinterest pictures.

However, my passage is one of the lesser quoted ones.

"A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley...He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: 'To Harry Potter - the boy who lived!'"

This passage is very important for many different reasons. One of those is that this is the beginning, where it all happened. This is Harry Potter's remaining family, to his and the audience's great distress. This displays Albus Dumbledore's complete incompetence, and one of the many reasons I highly dislike the old professor, who is also the favorite of many. But this man left Harry Potter to grow up in an abusive home, one where he knew he was not wanted or loved, where he was the punching bag for his cousin, and where he knew nothing of friendship. Perhaps this is why Harry is more humble when he discovers of his fame in the wizarding world, because all he's ever been told is that he's not worth anything. We'll never know what would've happened if Harry Potter's parents had remained alive, and he continued living with them as he grew up and went to Hogwarts. What would family visits with Petunia and her family be like? We'll also never know what would've happened if the adults who knew about Harry Potter before he went to Hogwarts had stepped in on the abuse of him at the Dursley's household, and taken him under their wing. In another passage, Harry states that Hogwarts is his home, and returning to it every September 1st is his returning to home. This is also the origination of his famous title, "The Boy Who Lived." The boy whose mother's sacrifice delivered his life to still be intact after Voldemort's attempt at murder. The boy whose legacy would live on in not just the wizarding world, but the muggle one as well. 

Writers as Readers

2. What genres (types of writing) interest you? What specifically about this genre interests you? Why are you drawn to science fiction books, for example?
Some examples of my favorite genres are mystery, fantasy, science and historical fiction, thriller, horror, young adult, and all around fiction in general. These interest me because they aren't real, and can distract from the realness of today's society. It also allows for abnormal things to occur or just happen in general.

5. Have you ever picked up a book and been excited to turn the next page, then the next, then the next? What book? Why couldn't you stop reading? Is there a book you had to just trudge through to finish?
Yes, I have had this happen. Many times. Sometimes I would stay awake until the wee hours of the night reading just so I could finish the story, or not have to stop from knowing what happened next. As I said, this has happened with many books, but some I can think of were Percy Jackson and the Olympians (I've only read up until the fifth one, so no spoilers please), the entire Harry Potter series (of course), the Chemical Garden trilogy (here's the first book), and the first book of the Artemis Fowl series (which happens to be the only one I've read). I couldn't stop reading because they were just so interesting and caught my attention, while still keeping that whole mysterious feeling about it. Yeah, I've had some books that I've had to trudge through to finish, like the Divergent series. Though sometimes if I do this, and then go back to read the series later, I can get through it faster.

7. What was the first book you remember reading? Why does this book stand out in your memory?
The first book I remember reading is actually a series, the Magic Tree House. These books are still being published, with the most recent one being Balto of the Blue Dawn, released January 5th, 2016. I think I liked them so much because I could relate to wanting to be taken away to another world by reading the books out of Morgan Le Fay's library. These books stand out in my memory because of their uniqueness to other children's books, as well as they were the main books I had read aloud to me, and the ones I learned to read with.

8. What is your favorite book or series? Why is this your favorite?
If you know me at all, I'm sure you already know the answer to this question. But I'll answer it anyway. My favorite series is the Harry Potter series written by J.K. Rowling. I discovered it around 4th grade. I'd always known I didn't really fit in with the other kids in my class. I didn't go to public elementary school; I went to a private Lutheran school, and had been going there since preschool. There were about 20 kids in my class, but by the time I left after 5th grade to go to Carver Middle School, there were 15: 11 girls, four boys. Although I'd practically grown up with these kids, I wasn't seen as one of them in their eyes, and was always the one who didn't have a partner. So as I started to realize these kids weren't going to accept me, books became my haven. I was the kid with 5-6 books, or more, stacked on my desk, and I'd be reading them all at the same time. At least one of these was a Harry Potter book. The world created by Rowling offered me an escape, and I felt at home with the golden trio as I walked with them through the halls of Hogwarts time after time.

12. Do you think that someone who reads a lot might become a stronger writer? Do you think we pick up vocabulary, sentence structures, themes, etc. from the books we read that come out directly or indirectly in our own writing?
I do think that someone who reads a lot will become a stronger writer. Especially if they're visual learners. I do think that we pick up all of these things from the books we read, especially if a lot of them are of a certain genre. And these things we've picked up from reading peek out at the reader from our own writing.

13. Do you think you'd ever write a book someday? Do you know what it'd be about? How would you want to be described on the "About the Author" at the front of the book?
I've considered this many times over, and I think I would like to write a book someday. I just wouldn't want to make it my main career at first. It'd be hard to live off of a salary that doesn't exist. I have no idea what it would be about, but I am writing something of the fantasy genre. There's no telling if that would be published, though. I'd like to be described very vaguely, with just the basics. The readers are more interested in the story than about me.

Pillow Talk

I've always read that it's healthier to replace your pillow every month or so. But then again, it had been statistically proven that statistics were often exaggerated to prove people's and company's points.
My mother being the hypochondriac she is, she abides by this rule and many others that she's laid down for herself and our family. But I've managed to keep a small secret from her for these 18 years now. I'm sure it wouldn't be a big deal if she found out, but then again, I've been wrong before.
Ever since I was little, I'd had...odd dreams. I'm not sure how I'd describe them. They're not fortune telling or anything, just simple dreams. They're liable to change, and that's to be expected.
They started when my mom brought home the new pillows for the month, barely keeping all of them from falling out of her tiny embrace. I was the last to claim mine, but I guess that was what fortune had in plan for me. That night, as I lay in bed with my new pillow, I had some strange thoughts, but shoved them to the back of my mind with more force than probably necessary as I punched the pillow to plump it up to make it more comfortable. I began to drift out of consciousness, the fingers of sleep reaching up to drag me into the depths of unconsciousness.

That's when the visits started.

I'm not sure how I knew where I was, or that I knew it was safe, but I did. It was a cozy little place that I woke up in. At least, I think that I was awake. Maybe it was just a dream. Anyway, I sat up and peered around, though the lighting was dim, it was enough to see that it was one of the only pieces of furniture in the room. This tuned me into the fact that it was indeed not my own room in which I had fallen asleep. The other piece of furniture was a large chair that had it's back towards me, but I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me it was occupied. Pushing back the heavy covers, I climb out of the bed and move slowly towards the chair, trying not to make any noise. As I grow closer, I realize the light source in the room is coming from a dimly lit fire in front of the chair. But it's burning low and there doesn't appear to be any wood to stoke it and bring it back to life.
My slow steps final bring me to the side of the chair, and, though I'm nervous about who is occupying it, I realize I'm not afraid. Looking down, I see a girl, not much older than I. She was wearing casual clothes, and was slouching in the chair casually, but her legs and arms were crossed tightly, and she jiggled her foot with apparent anxiousness.
"C-Can I help you?" I finally stutter after a few silent everlasting moments.
"Duh," she snorts, and uncrosses her arms to dig in her pockets for something. After another few heartbeats she fishes out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and holds it up. "Do you mind if I...?" her voice trails off and she shakes the box to replace her words. I shrug. It didn't matter; you couldn't get secondhand smoke from a dream, right? She nods approvingly and plucks one out with precision, then leads forward to light it from the dying embers in front of her. Taking a deep drag, she exhales and closes her eyes as a thin stream of smoke is emitted from her mouth.
"I need you to do something for me," she began, balancing the cigarette delicately between strangely pale fingers. I don't answer, but watch her expectantly, knowing somehow that she'll continue on with or without being prompted. "My brother. He doesn't know where I am. I need you to tell him."
I raise a confused eyebrow, and look around the room. "Where exactly is here?" I ask, and she shoots me a look that makes me feel like an ignorant child.
"He's looking in the wrong places. Tell him to search behind the bar on 4th Street, will you?" she takes another drag, and, shoves the cigarette towards me, motioning for me to try it.
I reach out and unwillingly pinch it between two fingers, and ask, "Who is your brother, though? What is going on here?" Putting it between my lips, I inhale and start to hack up a lung. The stranger smirks as she removes the cigarette from between my fingers and replaces it between her lips. She takes another puff before letting out a deep sigh.
"My brother is Arthur Reynolds. Goes by Artie. You'll find him at the local police department, probably looking like a he hasn't slept or showered for a couple of days." With that, the last of the embers died out, and I was left in total darkness. You know, the kind of darkness where you can feel it weighing down on your shoulders. I make my way slowly back into the bed, and hide under the covers. Somehow, I know that the girl isn't with me anymore, and I'm growing fearful of what could've taken her place. But I don't have a chance to find out, as sleep takes a forceful hold of me again.

Over the next few weeks that I slept on that pillow, I had more visits. Not from the same person. I used the information provided to tell those I was sent to what message I was given. It wasn't until the last few days of the month that I started to think I was being visited by the restless spirits who wanted redemption, or something.
When the time came for the pillows to be replaced, I decided not to throw this one out. I hid it in my closet, and, at least once a night, I try to sleep on it to see if there are any messages for me. I just hope that I keep falling asleep before I can find out what's creeping in that blackness.

Dream Thread

"It starts peaceful, but isn't that how everything begins?"

It was a reoccurring dream of mine, and if you asked me what it means, I wouldn't be able to tell you. I'm shoving my way through a throng of people. I can't see their faces, but I have a strange sense that they lack them, or at the very least, they're expressionless and empty. The crowd never seems to end, but I keep going anyway. I'm not sure what I'm following, but I know that I have to keep going this direction. I'm beginning to resist the strange urge to continue in the opposite direction of the strangers. As my mind wanders, I begin to notice things. Like, even though I'm headed upriver in the ever flowing stream of people, there never seems to be an ending. Nor does the crowd thin out at all. An image drifts to the front of my mind, and somehow I know this is the person I was following through the swarm of people, but lost them. I'm not sure how to describe this person, but I'll try my best.
It was a shadowy figure, rather small, almost childlike. There's no way to discern if it's a female or male. Its eyes are a darkly glowing amber, pulsing with life. The shadows seem to be rolling off of the character in waves, and melt into the air. I have no idea what this thing is or where I'd seen it before, but I know it's important to me. After I think this, the thing beckons to me, and I can see what might be an attempt at a smile purely from the fact that there's the soft glimmer of white teeth below the amber eyes. It turns and walks away and I feel myself start walking again, almost in a trance.
I've had this dream so many times, I know what's going to come next, but there's no way to stop the inevitable. The pale, almost gray hand that I was dreading reaches out with strange catlike agility and slaps itself onto my shoulder and tries to pull me towards it. I resist to some success, but the owner of the hand just uses me as leverage to pull themselves to me instead.
"You must go back."
I turn to the owner of the hand, who is peering at me with wild eyes that twinkle with a wildness. "You can't go on," he presses, clenching my shoulder between meaty gray fingers as he says this.
"Get off of me," I mutter, shouldering his hand off of me and pushing forward. He steps towards me and suddenly the sea of people are gone. They've just...disappeared. I look around in astonishment, although I'm not sure why; I've been through this dream too many times to be shocked by this action, but it doesn't appear to have lost its luster yet.
The man limps forward, reaching out at me again. "Please. This isn't a safe place for someone like you," he seems to be begging with me, pleading for something...what, though?
I shuffle backwards, wary of him. "Leave me alone," I start, putting up both hands in a defensive motion, and cast a quick glance around, looking for something, anything.
I seem to have caused something in the man, as his crazy eyes widen and his jaw slacks to open his mouth into a slight ovular shape. He begins to back up slowly, before turning around and performing a limp sprint that I can't help but snicker at, even in this situation. But that is cut short when I realize that he can't possibly have been running from me. I freeze, and I know the thing that had appeared in my mind was behind me. I don't know how I knew. Maybe because, as I might've mentioned before, I've had this dream before, but I don't think that's the reason why. I don't know what possesses me to turn around either, but I do.
The figure is practically right behind me, give or take a few feet. Its pulsing amber eyes bore into mine, and I'm transfixed. I can't be sure how long the two of us stand there. I'm not even sure if this thing is standing, or floating, or if it even has legs to begin with. I'm sure to any passerby, the pair of us would be a sight indeed. But this is my dream, or nightmare, or whatever it is, and there aren't going to be any passersby.
What could be a minute later or an eternity later, a slow grin crawls its way across the face of the shadow creature, and the ground below me begins to tremble. Slow at first, but then the ground begins to tremble more. It almost seems to be resonating from beneath the stranger. Of course it would be.
Suddenly and without any warning, a crack just wide enough for me to fall through, shoots out from the creature and opens its maw beneath me. Internally I'm rolling my eyes, because only in this dream would that happen. But before I know it I'm falling. As I get farther and farther down, the crack widens up, and I wait until it's just wide enough to brandish my secret weapon. Unfurling my wings, I quickly spread them wide to catch the air and drift my way down, or wait for the danger to pass and fly back up.
"You really think you can cheat your way out of death?" A lilting voice snarls into my ear, and even though there's no one around me, I know its the thing that caused this in the first place. Before I process that thought, I feel a searing pain across my back. It takes me a moment to register what just happened, but once I do, I let out a bloodcurdling screech as I begin to topple faster into the yawning darkness below me.

"As I fall, I thought nothing would catch me."

 

Author's Note:

This story is not told from my own point of view, nor is this a dream I've had.

Song of the Caged Bird

Feathers

   line the bottom of the cage

Eyes

   Stare blankly from between bars of yellow

Freedom, freedom

Sunlight

   casts light on the dust floating in the air

Wind

    playfully tugs on wings and feathers, beckoning

Freedom, freedom

Noise

   cries of family and friends beg for you to come play

Songs

   dance along the soft wind that whistles through fallen feathers

Freedom, freedom

Black

   the color of captor's hearts, imprisoned souls, of loss

Golden

   the color of the setting sun, of feathers, of freedom

Freedom, freedom

Life

   brought by freedom

Death

   brought by the song of the caged bird

If I Were in Charge of the World

If I were in charge of the world

I'd cancel math class,
public speaking,

long waiting lines, and also
dentist appointments.

If I were in charge of the world
there'd be less expensive college educations,
cream soda, and
nap times for all ages.

If I were in charge of the world
you wouldn't have the common cold.
You wouldn't have graphs.
You wouldn't have homelessness.
Or "You're too young to be sad."
You wouldn't even have depression.

If I were in charge of the world
a plate of French fries with chipotle mayo would be a vegetable.
All animals would have loving homes.
And a person who sometimes forgot to eat breakfast
and sometimes forgot to smile,
would still be allowed to be
in charge of the world.