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Thrusty Knowledge!
2003-05-24 at 6:24 p.m.
*Celebratory Music*
Hey! This is my 100th entry! Woooooopie!
Okay okay, I know that compared to some other Diaryland-ites, it's no big whoop, but for me? It's huge!
I've always been into writing and stuff...since I was little. I started with short stories in around second grade, that I'm sure you could dig out of my parents' boxes full of schoolwork.
I still have no clue why they keep those, but... It could just be that they figure when they hit aroudn 60 they'll be extremely bored one day, and go, "Hey, remember that daughter of ours? No, the first one...do you remember what she was like when she was seven? No? Me neither...let's see."
Anyway, they're there, somewhere.
I loved writing. It was accepted back in second grade or so to write short stories, even when they weren't assigned, because we were all tiny, and we loved each other and never ever made fun of each other. So it was good...
But when we reached around fourth grade, people started realizing that I was a bit weird. I'd do work, extra work, that wasn't required, simply because A: It was fun for me, B: I wanted to learn, or C: Both.
Either way, I was quickly categorized as a derd. People still liked me, but I was "weird".
I kinda dropped off doing extra work in school because of it. But an opportunity rose at home.
Mom worked for a software/hardware/something computery company way back when, and they gave her a laptop to use for "Work Purposes".
Time passed, and the laptop became obsolete. So, the company gave her a new laptop. One that even came with Pentium *gasp* II! They just forgot to ask for the old one back.
So there it sat, looking sad and lonely, until I thought about it, and asked to give it a good home in my room.
Mom gave me the "It won't get on the internet very fast, and it won't run many programs" speech, and I promised her it didn't matter.
By this point (Fifth grade or so), I bet my parents had noticed my odd affinity for computer stuff: Website designing (nothing fancy, just regular HTML and experimenting with it), and TYPING. I loved typing. I was the class prodigy at typing.... *happy memories*
Anywho, I started writing immediately on that little laptop. How I loved it.
It was a magical escape for me. Not an escape from anything bad, persay, because my life was really not all that bad. But I just loved the feel, where I could simply dream and let it all out, and it was fine. To do that at school would be taken as geeky, but at home, in my room, in my bed, it was a haven.
And so I wrote.
Now, therein lied my problem. I have what I call TMT Syndrome. Too Many Thoughts. I have way too many thoughts and ideas flitting about my head as I write. I can write this story, and it'll go on, and be great, and interesting, and it'll be really close to either finishing up, or having a magnificent plot twist...and *pop*. Another idea. Completely unrelated, but wonderful in its own way would just fly into my head.
And of course, I had to write it down before it got lost forever in the depths of my brain, right? That would be horrible!
And so I'd just open a new window, and write that down. And then I'd follow with character information. And a description of the land. And then I'd follow that up with a short introduction paragraph...and before I know it the thing would already be three pages long. So I'd just keep going.
And going. And going. Until I had a full, drawn-out story. And then, as I would stop and rest my hands, I'd suddenly remember that I had that old story...all lonely and unfinished... and so I'd try to go back and finish it up. But the interest would be gone. And so I'd just add it to my collection of unfinished material.
I had a ton on that laptop. That never got finished. Very rarely would one get finished, but not for lack of ideas. Just...a lack of coherent ideas. But no matter.
I sold the laptop for 200 bucks later on. Really gooood deal. And now I write up here, all the time. It's not like I stopped, and I'm getting better at sticking to stories.
*glances away* Yeah, so what if they're all Buffy stories? Stop looking at me like that. It's creative writing....and not at all like,
"Buffy walkd thru the park and saw the hottiest hottest vamp in the ceemataree, Spike. And they luved each other and made out under the oke tree".
It's a lot like this journal. I mean, it's been pointed out by people who have been given my address by mom, that I really do write...differently. It's not bad, and it's actually pretty good from what I've heard, but it is kinda different. And it definitely adds to people's "There's no way you're 14" theory.
*shrug* I write what I want. And I write how I want. It's just me. I'm different.
Anyway...*glances up* that got incredibly off-track.
Ah yeah, why is this 100th entry such a big deal for me? Well, while I would write stories and stuff, I'd always try to keep up with a diary. ALWAYS. I've been attempting to do it forever. But I could never keep track. You can look on my old bookshelves...there's at least 5 diaries still there that I started, then got tired of, and went back and ripped all the pages out to make a new one... and never used it.
So, 100 entries is a big step for me. I've kept up with this piece of me for 100 entries... and I like it. I feel all accomplished.
So go me!
<-Ghost->
Quote:
"It's just in High School, knowledge was pretty much frowned upon. You really had to work to learn anything. But here, the energy, the collective intelligence, it's like this force, this penetrating force, and I can just feel my mind opening up--you know?--and letting this place thrust into and spurt knowledge into... That sentence ended up in a different place than it started out in. "- Willow
(Nobody can say that I looked that up.... of course I did, but...it's not my fault. I remembered the gist of it! *sigh* I feel so cheap)
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