Science Fiction Novel Idea

I have been toying around with the idea for a science fiction novel based around the idea of a child being raised by wolves a la The Jungle Book. This is some of what I have written so far. It would call for some pretty serious research on genetics, but it seems like it would be a lot of fun:

Jayna balanced on the edge of the sewer catwalk, her thick woolen collar pulled over her nose. Cat-like eyes with deep brown irises and framed with coal black lashes peered over the fabric, narrowed and searching. A small orb emanated blue light, guiding her safely over the cracked concrete. All around her was the sound of water, rushing in the ravine, dripping from the ceiling. Her heightened hearing made it sound like a symphony of water sprites. It was a sound she’d heard all her life and yet it always entranced her.

Growing up in the underground tunnels had heightened all of Jayna’s senses, or perhaps they had always been heightened, she couldn’t tell. She’d lived below ground her whole life, only daring to go above once a week for sun exposure and fresh air, and then only under the strict watch of Dux.

                The story surrounding Jayna’s birth was uncertain, left with many missing facts. She’d been born, obviously, but had been in the possession of a government research group from the time of her birth to the time of her abduction. Exactly what they had intended to use her for, no one knew, especially not her guardian mother, Lila. Dux might have known, but his surly quiet kept questions at bay. He was protector only.

                Lila and Dux also lived in the research lab, two of a pack of wolves genetically enhanced by the government scientists so that they could communicate with humans telepathically. But the wild nature of the wolves could not stand the cages the calculating men and women forced them into and so they planned an escape. Again, Jayna could only ascertain vague details, but the feelings she could from Lila were red and tinged with screams. Jayna could only guess how they had managed to get by the research team.

                Lila told her that on their way to the sewers, the safest place from poachers and extreme weather conditions, they had heard her screaming. She was a pup, the closest approximation of age she could muster from the wolf minds, barely able to chew her own food and her thoughts full of abstract colors and sounds. It was the only show of pity they’d ever seen out of Dux, according to Lila. He broke into the room in which she’d been contained and grabbed the blanket wrapped around her in his scarred maw, carrying her delicately to the pack and laying her before Lila.

                “Raise her as your own.” He told her. She did not argue, or she would not. She had lost a litter of puppies while the scientists operated and she had the life-giving milk Jayna needed to survive. And she in turn gave her something to focus her mothering instinct on. She loved Lila, and she knew she loved Jayna from the warm, golden glow of her thoughts each time she spoke to her. They were their own little family within the larger community of the pack. Dux was the patriarch, his word was law. And so they searched the sewers, finally finding an old utility room that had caved in years before and making it into their nest. Fresh water flowed in from an underwater stream, no doubt the reason the roof had collapsed, but which provided them with two of their core needs, shelter and water.

                Now, she focused her senses on her surroundings, searching for any signs of alien life, anything out of the ordinary of the rushing water flowing underground or the musty draft blowing through the tunnel. Anything that may pose a threat to Jayna’s pack. She picked her way through the half crumpled sewer, jumping from broken slab of concrete to broken slab of concrete.

Searching for work with a college degree...

Growing up in a poor family, the idea of college was consistently pounded into my head as a necessity for getting out of the backwater town we lived in. And of course, college does provide that opportunity. You get to leave home, most likely for the first time, live on your own, meet people from all over the world, experience new ideas and new ways of thinking, and expand your mind. I am not the same person I was when I left for college five years ago. However, I still have the same job opportunities; zero. Unless, of course, you count the same general labor and part-time jobs anyone can aspire to. Which is honest work. I am in the process of trying to get hired on at a factory that makes car parts because I desperately need a paycheck and I'd rather have a labor job than no job at all.

But I went to college for four years, I was told repeatedly, not just by my family, but by trusted professionals and professors that I would be able to do whatever I wanted. Honestly, I should have taken those four years and worked somewhere just for the experience because I am quickly learning that experience is invaluable. And apparently my three years of work study experience does not count for anything. I have already been turned down for two jobs because of my lack of experience, never mind my academic accomplishments, and I haven't bothered applying to countless jobs because they list two to four years experience with management as essential.

"Why not apply for entry level jobs?" You may be asking. These had "Entry Level" in the job description, right above the "two to four years experience required."

It's tough out there. I wasn't in any clubs in college because I worked at my work study, focused on just graduating, and helped take care of my sick grandfather before he passed in 2011. After that I experienced severe depression, was suicidal and had to receive therapy and take medications. I am a lot better now, I still have bad days, especially thanks to the incredibly stressful and competitive search for a job.

I am lucky enough that my uncle used to edit resumes and went over mine. At least I have a professional resume. That can't hurt. But everyday I am more and more convinced I may have to move out of state to find a job. In Kentucky, there are hundreds of listings for farm hands. Very, very few other types of jobs, except for the national guard, coal mining (which is dying out in Kentucky as it moves farther east and deeper into the Appalachian Mountains), or government jobs which are almost cut throat competitive and it really helps to know someone on the inside.

I have been tossing around the idea of building a CV, just in case I come across a job that asks for one. Since I was an English major, I think a CV might better explain my college experience, I mean, I think employers would really like the fact that I took an upper level professional writing course but there is no place for that on a resume. I really, really wish Morehead State University had offered a grant writing course. We had a speaker in my senior seminar who talked about the growing need for grant writers as funding is increasingly cut back. If the course is offered at a university near you, I strongly urge you to take it. If one ever becomes available at MSU or if I move closer to a university which offers one you can be sure I will be doling out the tuition to take it.

I've also been really tempted to go back to school and just work on my master's. I'm not entirely convinced it would help me in my job search because I still hold that EXPERIENCE IS INVALUABLE. But if I come up on the next semester with no job, you may very well see me enrolled in a program somewhere.

Job hunting is just so...complicated. It's like, there is an age old ritual to it that almost seems outdated. You send in your resume, they review it, determine whether you would make a good employee based on a piece of paper with only facts, no personality, no knowledge of potential, just a piece of paper that says where you've worked and whether or not you graduated high school/college. Then they call you in and interview you based on asinine questions of, "WHY do you want to work here?" or "What do you feel your weaknesses are?" I mean, that is no way to evaluate someone? But they have what you need so you spin. You say what they want to hear, they say what you want to hear, unless they turn you down, and then you start working for them and nothing is like what they said it would be, on both ends.

Maybe once I get a job I won't be so bitter. But until then, it is just frustrating and overly complicated. My advice, build the cleanest, most professional looking resume/CV possible, join a club in college and actively participate, pick up a part-time job and try to work your way to management, and basically say goodbye to any down time for the next four years. But four years of suffering now makes for an easier hiring process later and a more connected and enhanced social network. Don't be like me and spend your four years writing fantasy novels and crying yourself to sleep because you lost a valued loved one. Employers don't like for their employees to be human.

Split it down the middle...

Since I graduated in May I haven't really been able to wrap my head around the whole prospect of being an adult and getting some office job that I secretly, or openly, hate. I know I have to and I am in the process of applying to said jobs, because honestly I am so beyond broke it isn't even funny. Well, maybe it is a little funny. Lucky for me though, my siblings are generous enough to help me out until I can get on my feet. And for the moment I am just sitting here, typing this and watching the last few episodes of Firefly which, unfortunately, I had never seen until now. And it is amazing. It is seriously the space Western I never knew I was waiting for. Except for maybe Cowboy Bebop. Or Outlaw Star. I always get those two mixed up since it's been over 10 years since I watched both. Maybe while I have time I can watch them and get my references right, for once.

I'm noticing while watching Firefly how adorable Kaylee looks with her middle hair part and I am super jealous. I have a similar face shape but there is no way I could pull a middle part off without looking like a chipmunk smuggling nuts out of a grocery store. Which I have to battle enough with a side part. Most people who do the middle part end up looking like they stepped out of a Life spread from the 70's. It's a sketchy idea, that middle part. Works well when it does, does not work at all when it doesn't.

I suppose this post was pointless. Just really itching to write lately and all my creative ideas sort of go away whenever I try to articulate them. So I am just left with these disjointed bits of thought to share. I did have something I wanted to write specifically but I have already forgotten because, as I typed before, I am also watching Firefly and I am on episode 12 and I know it ends after only two more episodes and the movie. Such a good show, great writing, acting, the chemistry between the crew members is tangible and a joy to watch. Why did they ever cancel this show?! I mean, Even Teen Mom got like, 4 or 5 seasons and it celebrated teen pregnancy on a nauseating level. But this show, which shows strong female characters and honorable rogue gentlemen along with smart storytelling and an interesting and well-built world, this show gets cancelled after one season and pretty much screwed over when Fox decided to finally rerun it afterwards, showing it out of order. Ridiculous. It's the same thing as Kyle XY. A great sci-fi show, with decent actors, albeit not quite on par with Nathan Fillion, but what they lacked in formal training they certainly made up for in an obvious interest in the show and a desire to portray these characters the best way they knew how. And then horrifically acted shows on the Disney channel go on and on and on. I mean, Dog with a Blog? What? Who even thought that up? The mere idea of that should have gotten that person fired.

Maybe next time I will post something useful, maybe I'll discover a new recipe or cleaning secret or I'll finally buckle down and commit to giving creative writing advice, since I did minor in Creative Writing at university. More than likely however, it'll just be more of this. With the exception of a rant.

Last night I remembered why I am a Democrat...

Felt like I was being suffocated by a baby elephant last night and kept having weird spasms in my face and right arm that kept me up until 5 am. No point in going to the doctor. They'll just recommend more tests I can't afford. Oh, Canada, how I wish we had your health care system.:( Unfortunately here in 'Merica we only believe those with high incomes should be able to afford health care even though I work harder than a good percentage of those high income citizens and have more to offer this country if I could only be given the chance. Dear Romney doesn't want to give me that chance. He wants to push the poor down and close the door on them and only help the wealthy. If he becomes President any hope of me obtaining affordable health care will go out the window since he will be giving insurance companies full reign over pricing and who gets what coverage, including impending on my right to receive birth control at my discretion. I will not be able to escape poverty if a capitalism driven Republican takes office. And that is hardly what we would consider the American dream.

I have been having these pains in my right arm for weeks now as well as becoming extremely light headed and on several occasions almost passing out. It scares me and infuriates me that I am so hesitant to seek medical attention since I am already over 5 thousand dollars in medical debt, am a full-time college student with a 3.2 GPA and trying to help my low income mother and grandmother who have slaved away their entire lives just to achieve the small amount of independence they have, we own about an acre of land in the country but even that has been mortgaged.

To me, this election is coming down to two things, human rights and money. President Obama is not completely innocent. He is a politician. However, in watching the two candidates prioritize their arguments during the debate, Romney repeatedly turns to monetary issues, steering away from questions about women's health and others while Obama is only too happy and willing to approach those subjects with as much enthusiasm as issues of budget.

I am a Christian and a lot of my personal views would be considered traditional. I am pro-Life. I am. But I will not enforce my views on other women because I do not want their views enforced on me. Treats others as you would be treated. Oh wait, isn't that a Biblical idea? Yea, I think it is. A lot of what Jesus said would be considered liberal when taken in context. Jesus was not about monetary gain. He told us to love everyone and forgive those who trespass against us. He told us not to point out the speck in someone else's eye when there is a log in our own. I am not a judge. I figure I'll leave that up to God. But I do love people and I do not want to see anyone suffer as a result of our close-minded, backwards, money hungry government. There are more important things in life. Like education, equality for ALL, feeding the hungry, and making sure everyone has the same access to medical care, not just those with insurance. I have known doctors who refuse to see anyone uninsured, who turn out sick before they are better because they cannot afford the bed they are laying in. THAT is a sin. THAT is wrong. THAT I can judge. Our priorities as a nation are so screwed up. I am glad that President Obama is in office, I hope he stays for another four years. His policies are as close to humanitarian as we'll get, and we need a President who understands those human needs of this nation. He has my vote because he recognizes me as human being with needs instead of a dollar sign.

Making a Comeback

Wow, I can't believe it's been over a year since I last posted. I had high hopes for this blog. I had planned to use it as a platform to practice my writing, to share my insights, and as an emotional outlet. But, unfortunately, life doesn't care about your plans. How cliche, right? Yeah, I know. But often cliches say it best. My grandfather passed away August of last year and before that I had some physical and mental health issues. I was also suicidal. I had begun seeing a counselor who placed me on antidepressants when I learned that my grandfather had died. It was peaceful. He went out like he was falling asleep. But it still decimated me. I was on antidepressants and oxycodone, for pain for the health issue which is still undiagnosed but which I suspect to be poly cystic ovarian syndrome but because of my lack of insurance I am unable to verify. Everything was from my grandfather's death on is a blur. In fact, until the last few weeks I have not even felt alive. I've been immersed in this foggy reality, half existing, not caring about anything or anyone.

I have been severely depressed for over a year now, but with treatment and medication I have reached a level of understanding about myself and about life. I have to stop living for others, seeking their approval. I have to find out who I am and embrace it. I have to learn to love myself with no conditions instead of letting people enforce on me their conditions for my self-worth. I am a senior in college and this is my time to figure some important things out. Because when I am thrown out into the real world, there won't be any more opportunities to learn these things about myself. To learn to be comfortable in my own skin and in my own views.

Three and a half years ago someone I loved and trusted told me I needed to lose weight, as if my losing weight had anything and everything to do with how they perceived and felt about me. And for three and a half years I have looked in the mirror and hated every inch of myself for verifying what he said. I carved "FAT" into my stomach because I needed a physical representation of how badly his words had hurt me.

But I'm done with hurting and hiding. I am done with people telling me how to think and what to believe and what to do. I am done seeing myself as anything other than someone worth fighting for. I am going to forgive those who've hurt me, apologize to those I've hurt and get rid of those who persist in belittling my emotions and unique thoughts. And I am going to let go of the pain that has been dragging me under for far too long.

I'm making a comeback.

Magic Beyond Words

I just finished watching Magic Beyond Words: The J.K. Rowling Story and I am still in shock. It has inspired me exponentially that I'm not even sure I can put it into words. I have always loved J.K. Rowling and the Harry Potter series. She is one of my biggest literary influences beside Louisa May Alcott and Meg Cabot. But I had no idea her story, her true story, would impact me this much.

She overcame her mother's illness, an abusive husband, poverty, stereotypes, writer's block (to say the least)! She is so strong and driven and I aspire to be just like her now. She's my hero. She's amazing.

I know that the movie is not 100% factual and its creators may have taken some creative license, but the emotion behind the movie is real. The inspiration is still there. And you don't even have to want to be a writer to admire her. She stood firm in her beliefs. She had conviction. She didn't let fear keep her from doing what she really wanted. She is an example to us all to follow our dreams, don't listen to those who try to hold you back.

I was so inspired by her tonight. As I was watching the movie I was thinking, look at what she overcame! I can do that to! My circumstances and my past don't have to hold me back anymore, I can break those binds and fly away through my writing. And maybe, like J.K. Rowling, my past can help me mold my own future.

I've never been so affected by somebody's story as I was by hers.

Poetry Post: Grandpa

You held my hand when I was a child,

you could always make me smile

and when you’re gone

I don’t know how I’ll move on.

Your voice resonates inside my heart.

You were with me from the start

With stories to tell of a life lived well.

Some days only you could break my shell

I wish I could tell you what I mean

and everything you’ve done for me.

Hopeless I came to you, fatherless,

you saw the good in the oppressed.

A greater man I’ll never know,

not Kings or learned men, just a John Doe

who saw the light in daily life,

who changed my world amid the lies.

One day when I have a son,

I’ll tell him of the very one

who’s name he carries with pride,

of that beloved man who lives inside.

2011 (c) Evelyn E. Gaerke

Relatable Character Building

I can't tell you the times I have picked up a book, read a chapter, closed it and never opened it again. Maybe it was boring, maybe the topic was one I had no interest in, or maybe the characters weren't at all relatable. Edward Cullen. Love him or hate him, he was perfect in nearly every way. He was polite, handsome, protective of the woman he loved, and all around the perfect boyfriend. But can modern day men relate to him? I seriously doubt it since the majority of Twilight readers are female. Men don't read the books and think, "Man, I know what he's talking about. Been there, done that." They more likely think, "I can't believe Stephenie Meyer wrote this and now I have to live up to this impossible standard!" But in all honesty they're thinking, "When's dinner?"

When developing characters, we have to remember to make them human, if they are human, and give them flaws. They have to feel insecure about themselves sometimes because no one feels on top all the time, except sociopaths. This is especially prevalent in YA literature. Teenagers experiencing anxiety and depression are at an all time high, so naturally when writing about them, we need to reflect the pressures they feel to look and act a certain way. No one is immune to peer pressure and bullying. Not even your characters.

While writing my NaNo novel for 2009, I had to keep reminding myself to keep my main character real. She had to feel pain and regret. She had to look in the mirror in the morning and not love the way she looked, but accepted it anyway. I kept subconsciously wanting to make her this perfect specimen of a female teenager. Completely uncaring of what people think of her, beautiful, a social butterfly without having to try, in other words...boring! Because if your characters start out without any problems, where do they go from there? A character should grow in some way. Maybe, they start out super confident and something bad happens and they lose their confidence, but then I guess it was a facade all along anyway. Give them flaws. Give them moles and freckles, give them an annoying laugh, make them just a little bit pudgy, Size 12 Is Not Fat, anyone? Its okay to accept the imperfect in your characters. Because that is what I want to read about. People like me.

Study people around you. Notice how they act in front of people. Then  watch them when they're alone. You might find some discrepancies. There's a story there. Story telling is all about characters. Without characters, there is no story. But with characters, there is always a story, if you unclench and let your characters show their true sides.

I know there are exceptions to this. But most of the time, I want to read about somebody I could meet in a grocery store or at school. Just a thought.

The Secret

This is a short story I wrote a couple of years ago for a theme contest. While I did not win, I do like this story and have often thought of expanding it into a full length novel involving mermaids. ;p Enjoy!

There he was again. That strange, beautiful boy. He was sitting in his usual corner of the cafeteria, only a bottle of water in front of him. He was tall, at least 6’2. He wasn’t muscular exactly, leaning more towards lanky. But he had strong hands. And now they gripped the bottled water. He leaned his head over the table, his curly, blonde hair hiding his eyes from me. But I didn’t need to see them. I had memorized them long ago. They were the cold gray of stone, and equally hard. And yet, deep within them, I could see the spark of warmth. Some undiscovered secret that I longed to know. But no one could ever get close enough to him to know. That’s just how things were.

            And then he lifted his head. And those stone, cold eyes that I had only ever observed from afar met mine. And I couldn’t breath. The chatter of the cafeteria faded from my ears and all was silent except for the beating of my heart. His eyes danced as they bore into mine and the spark I had always imagined was there, shone brighter than ever. I could see the warm being inside, quietly calculating, calmly observing. His lips quirked up slightly and I could see a refined sense of humor in him as well. So much inside, yet so little exposed to the world.

            My eyes were wide and had begun to dry out when I finally blinked. And in the half second of that blink the voices returned, my breath returned, and his hair covered his face once more, his stony exterior firmly in place. Had I only imagined that? Had I slipped into a daydream or merely a lapse of consciousness? My hands were gripping the table so hard my fingers had turned red at the ends and my knuckles were bone white. 

            “Are you okay?” Olivia, my best friend, leaned close to my ear and whispered. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

            I looked at her quickly before returning my gaze back to him. “I…I don’t know.” I admitted. “I think…I just need some air.” I pushed away from the table, my chair squealing on the tile, before I ran for the exit. I burst through the doors, breathing the crisp November air in gasps. I clutched my arms around myself and fell onto the stone benches that sat by the doors.

            I was trying to regain my composure when the door opened behind me. I tensed immediately. I could sense it. It was him. A strong, tan hand rested on my shoulder and I looked up. I met those grey eyes once more, and this time they hid nothing. I could plainly see the person behind them. He smiled down at me, a teasing, amused smile. One I had no choice but to return. He took the seat beside me, cradling my hand in his and averted his gaze across the busy interstate that ran beside the school, towards the western horizon, and beyond that, the sea.

2011 (c) Evelyn E. Gaerke

Research

I have had to spend many a night devoted to research for stories. For every piece of paper scribbled with a story idea, there is an equal for notes. I have done research on topics ranging from history, mechanics, politics, religion, science, etc. I once researched how to operate a rigid airship. Because that's what being a writer does to you. You want to tell stories, fascinating stories of adventure and fantasy, but we often live the most mundane lives underneath it all. I've never been on an airship. Not sure I ever want to ride one after my research, but I wanted to write about it.

Luckily we live in the age of information and almost anything we need to know is available at our fingertips (i.e. Google). For my Camp NaNoWriMo novel I decided to tell a love story about a high school senior and an ancient genie. While I know plenty about being a high school senior, I was drawing a blank on the genie part, aside from what I've seen in Aladdin, so I pulled up another tab and googled it. Wikipedia was my first option, as usual, and I clicked on the link where I was instantly transported to everything I need to know about genies, or djinn, from the etymology of the word to their religious connotation to what makes up their physical matter, fire.

Not only does doing research provide you with answers to all of your technical questions, it also sometimes provides insight to your plot or even inspiration for a storyline you'd never even thought of. Take my genie story, for example, not only did I decide I wanted the lamp to fall from the sky because some djinn originate from the air, but I also thought up the ending based on something I found doing research.

I know what some of you are thinking. Wikipedia? Where's the credibility? Wikipedia is actually quite accurate for a Web 2.0 invention. While there have been instances of misinformation appearing on some of the articles, it is usually resolved quickly. Not only are there millions of minds to draw from, the article informs you up front if there are any references, also helpful for finding more reputable websites. I've even had a few college professors who recommend going to Wikipedia to find sources, though most schools still have policies against using the actual site as a reference. And it reads incredibly easy, since it is written by everyday folk. So, you may find you understand a Wikipedia article much easier than a more technical source, incredibly helpful while researching my airships.

Whatever you're writing about, doing the research where experience has limited you can open up so many new thoughts for your story. Take the extra time, put in the effort and you'll see that your work will pay off in the future.

First Poetry Post! "A Friend"

I can't help wondering where you've been,
how you deal with these thoughts within.
Happiness so many take for granted
leaves us cold and disenchanted.

Alone for so long and drowning in silence,
I've looked for answers and found no guidance.
All the sunshine in the world
cannot appease a wounded soul.

Cast aside the past and indifferences,
we'll learn to heal and breach the distances.
You don't have to feel alone.
Pack your bags and come on home.

Life has been cruel until now,
tearing us apart, but I vow
to never lose sight of what truly matters
and take each day, chapter by chapter.

Though I may feel hopeless sometimes,
I know you'll never leave my side.
So, I'll dry my tears and try to mend,
remembering there's nothing better than a friend.

2011 (c) Evelyn E. Gaerke

Inspiration is a Fickle Thing

My entire life I have filled notebooks with ideas for stories. Not once has my imagination run dry when thinking about something I would like to read or see a movie about. When it comes to actually writing these stories, however, I’ve had a bit more trouble. Character planning, plotting, and conflict resolution have always been a bit harder to achieve. I know what kind of story I want, I know how I want it to end, but it’s the bits in between that I have to work for. I can find myself sitting at my laptop or with my notebook, a story idea fresh in my mind and sometimes even an outline, but when it comes to actually writing it, I draw a blank. Is it writer’s block? I’m not entirely certain anymore.

Then there are times when I won’t have anything planned, I’ll just happen to have a notebook or be at my computer and a story hits me and I just write. I can’t tell you how many poems and short stories I have finished this way, and my novella, and all my fan fictions. Pretty much anything I’ve had success with I have not planned. Now, I have had success with planned projects. For the past two years I have participated in NaNoWriMo (http://www.nanowrimo.org/) and I have completed my novels both those years (PhantasyCreator90, if you’re interested). I didn’t do any extensive planning for either, but I did have outlines which I stuck to fairly well.

I don’t know what the problem is sometimes. Maybe it’s that I’m not passionate about that particular project or I’m just a pantser, writer who writes by the seat of their pants. Whatever the issue, I’ve had to learn to just go with the flow and accept that not every project I think up will be completed. Which is fine, I have far too many ideas and completing them all would take YEARS! I am just going to focus on the projects I care enough about to keep my butt in my seat and write and maybe one day I’ll see success with them through my hard work. Who knows?

Casey Anthony: The Trial of a Lifetime

I really didn’t want to write about this trial. I didn’t want to hear anything about it. But as I was sitting in the eye doctor’s office yesterday, waiting for my grandmother, it seemed the whole world could speak of nothing else. The morbid story of a mother who possibly murdered her own baby in a very grotesque manner…of course it would attract all kinds of attention. My twitter feed has been chock full of various reactions of the verdict, most shocked and outraged, the rest exasperated by the media circus.

I think she was guilty, purely on her reaction at the trial. Upon hearing she was not going to be convicted for murder in the 1^st degree, she smiled and visibly relaxed. Her life would not be over. She still had something to live for. Except…she was on trial for the murder of her child, a very young child. And I saw no sign of heartbreak for the fact that her baby’s life was over and she’d been granted another chance. Maybe she was just relieved that she wouldn’t have to carry the conviction of the murder of her daughter on her shoulders anymore. Maybe. After all, who am I to argue with the jury or the judge? But it seems to me like it’s too soon for her to smile and be happy about anything. Her daughter is still dead. Her daughter was still viciously killed. Had that been my mother on trial for the death of me or one of my siblings, not even the verdict of not guilty would have made her smile. She would have been heartbroken. Crushed. A mess on the stand. She could not have endured the pictures of the baby’s corpse.

Remember Chicago? Based on a true story. These things happen. OJ Simpson. See? The justice system isn’t perfect. They could not convict her for lack of evidence, no matter how seemingly incriminating the material they had managed to collect. I’m sure those lawyers, that judge, the jury, and every legal professional in the U.S. is just as infuriated and frustrated as all of those who believe her guilty. But they cannot convict her without undeniable evidence. The system we use to punish the guilty is the same system used to protect the innocent. Sometimes though, those two get confused.

I don’t like all the talk about the mother getting assassinated and such. It’s not for us to punish her. If anyone did murder her they would be stooping to her level. I’m sure she felt justified in her violent actions as well. Murderers often do. She’ll get her punishment in due time. The human mind is a fragile entity and I’m sure her actions will catch up to her, and it will drive her mad, a slow, tormenting punishment she can never escape from. Until then, we must remember to report instances of child abuse and neglect. So there is never a repeat of this again. Listen, look, and love. RIP Caylee Anthony.

Things We Need from a Movie

Over the years I have developed a passion for movies and I’m a sucker for anything with a half decent story line and relatable characters. Of course, I have noticed a trend in the most popular movies. Everyone has that genre that they’re particularly fond of, mine is probably romantic comedy, although I do love a good action flick. With each genre we need to glean a sort of impression in order to truly enjoy the movie.

For horror movies, the story needs to be terrifying and horrific, leaving you afraid to leave even the theater, because that’s why people watch these movies. They need to be frightened in a safe area, but not feel safe. Its all part of the thrill, you see? With action movies, we need to feel impressed. Explosions, fantastic stunts, and a fast paced storyline that keeps us on the edge of our seats until the very end are a must.

Romantic comedies should make us fall in love, laugh, and leave with silly grins that we can’t seem to shake off, just like romantic dramas should make us fall in love, break our hearts, and make us fall in love all over again; and comedies should keep a giggle at the back of your throat, afraid to take a drink of your $4 soda for fear of spewing it all over the person sitting in front of you. And with fantasy and sci-fi movies we should feel mystified and entranced by the strange ideas and creatures shown.

There have been movies that have changed my life, The Little Mermaid taught me to dream big, Moulin Rouge taught me that love is the greatest thing you’ll ever know, and Star Wars taught me that your destiny lies within your hands and not to be afraid of it. These are the movies that left me wanting more at the end, left me thinking about them long after the credits stopped rolling and the screen went black.

And then there are the movies I don’t think about after they end, but which amused me nonetheless in watching them, Clueless, anyone? These movies brought me temporary joy and relief from a busy life with far more downs than ups, but served no greater purpose than eliciting a giggle or a thoughtful “hm”. And that’s alright, because not every movie can be life altering, nor would we want them to be. Far too disruptive.

There are many who complain that the movie industry is losing its artistic capabilities and that they’re pandering to the ignorant masses but movies are first and foremost, entertainment. And we have to remember that sometimes it’s okay to see a movie and just enjoy it for exactly what it is. There will be others that will mean far more to people. Until then, why not enjoy something that just makes you feel good?

Artistic Expression

I've recently been feeling less myself than usual what with my grandfather's illness and some other personal issues, which has led me to feeling restless and irritated. I fidget constantly and sometimes I'll try to say something and forget what I was going to say. This has been especially obvious the past few weeks and I've been taking some personal time to try to center myself. The only effective method so far? Poetry. It never fails that when I'm feeling down or torn about some issue, I find inspiration and relief through poetry. I'm not a particularly good poet, nor am I ga ga over it. I like poetry, I like music, and I have favorite poets, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Dorothy Parker, and William Shakespeare, but I don't want to spend the rest of my life composing verses.

Therapists have been seeing success for years in introducing creative outlets to those who suffer from various mental anxieties, including children who have been abused, and with good reason. Creating something from seemingly nothing gives you an amazing feeling. When you are proud of your creation you experience a high you can't get anywhere else. You tap into a part of your brain where your emotions just take over and guide you and only writing, drawing, sculpting, etc can release these feelings. When you see a painting, no matter the skill level, from someone who put their entire self into it, you can't help but be affected. Its a completely right-brained capability that needs to be utilized more often than our math and science centered society allows.

Depression is at an all time high, mental anxiety disorders are being diagnosed everyday and people wonder why. I believe a good deal of them are caused by a stifling of emotions and that artistic side that allows you to expend these feelings in a healthy manner. Going through school, any attempts at artistic expression outside of the zero funded art department was frowned upon, even punishable by in-school suspension. My brother was an artist. He loves to draw, has since before he could write. But teachers were constantly harping on him about drawing in class and completely dismissing that drawing was the way he coped with the bullying he suffered, not only from other students but quite often from the teachers themselves. I understand that teachers have a curriculum they have to adhere to as well as having to bend to the will of the school board, but there was no sympathy to the artistically and emotionally inclined.

I was no math whiz. In fact, I hate math. I understand the need for it. But I am no meant to use math in any future career. At least not the complicated math involved in algebra or calculus. But I loved to read and write. I used free time in class to work on fan fictions or small original stories and to read. But there was no place in school for someone like me. The library was only good for checking out books, but most people used it as a social hub instead of a quiet place to indulge in a delicious novel. I wrote, but there was no place in school to showcase it. At least not available to the entire student body. Really, unless one was considered "gifted and talented" by whoever determines a student's complete capabilities without actually testing each and every student, you were put aside and coasted through school.

I've digressed, but my point is, there are so many people with stories out there, or with paintings or sculptures etched into their minds, songs they hum in secret. But nobody will ever hear or see or read them. And maybe that's how some of these people like it. But as somebody with a story to tell and nobody listening until now, I feel like my 13 years of primary and secondary education could have provided me with some kind of outlet. And maybe, just maybe, if we taught tolerance of the arts in school people would become comfortable expressing themselves and they could learn to be happy. That's all I want.

The View from My Window on a Thursday Night

A few weeks ago, while I was still in school, I wrote a short piece as a writing exercise. I thought I'd share that for a blog post. :)

College campuses are stereotypically portrayed as social hubs, the genesis of wild, Greek parties and drunken excursions and like quite a few stereotypes, this has a basis in fact. But let me present to you a slightly different view of a college campus at night.

Its about 10:30 p.m. and the sun has been set for a few hours now. It is most definitely nighttime, the witching hour is right around the corner. The street lights illuminate the sidewalks just enough to find your way around campus with an almost eerie, orange glow which casts a strange tint on one's skin when they walk beneath it.

There are three dorm buildings directly outside my window and there are lights on in every building and quite a few rooms. For a party night there seem to be a lot of people staying in. Of course, finals are next week. I see a group of people gather on the porch of one of the dorm buildings and light up their cigarettes in unison. The smoke rises from their heads in curling streams. They kind of look like a hamlet of houses with smoking chimneys from cozy, little fires built within. I wish they wouldn't turn to nicotine for stress relief but its better than drugs and alcohol so everyone lets them be.

Night is the only time you can ever really see how lonely some people are. I see lone figures trudging along the sidewalks, shoulders bent, feet dragging. They look like they are carrying the weight of the world and I can't help but think, 'I know exactly how you feel.'

A car with the bass on its stereo turned up all the way just drove by. I can feel the beat in the base of my stomach. Its a very unsettling feeling and I wonder how they can stand it when it bothers me all the way up on the eighth floor? I assume they're doing it to impress someone but really they're just announcing how obnoxious they are. I mean, at that decibel, is it even music anymore?

Other than that, its a pretty quiet night. The stars twinkle sedately in the sky, the creek has settled into a comfortable rhythm after the run off from all the rain we've had. Its nights like these that bring out the philosopher in me. I can't wait for the sun to rise tomorrow.

Current thoughts about this: My college has announced their plans to ban smoking from their campus starting in July. I seriously doubt that's going to go over well. I mean, a LOT of students smoke. And with the work the professors load us down with can certainly drive one's stress level through the roof. I expect protests and such, or at least many murmured dissenting opinions. As for myself, if they would only ban smoking on the sidewalks to and from class I would be happy. Its hard for me to walk and breathe smoke in from the person's cigarette in front of me and I'm usually wheezing from it when I get to class.Another thought, not really related to college; I wish the American version of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone hadn't changed it to Sorcerer. I love the Philosopher aspect of the creation of the stone. Sorcerer, to me, translates to wizard and the book's full of them. Just saying.

Unwritten

I've been struggling with inspiration lately. As far as poetry goes, I'm fine, but anything above the length of a status update has had me stumped. I know I'm not the only one to experience this seeming drought of the imagination, there are hosts of YouTube videos and blog posts concerning just this, but it can seem like you're all alone when its happening. I can't help but question everything, my eating habits, my level of exercise, how much TV I watch, how many people I've talked to that day, ridiculous things. Finally, after not updating for a few weeks, I knew I had to post something, so why not talk about writer's block?

I've found I experience it more when I am the least productive. When I had my work study in my college's English department, I wrote all the time. I have a notebook filled with at least seven novel ideas and a couple short stories. I would think of a brilliant idea in class and scribble in the margins of my notes. And while cleaning or doing homework, words would just come to me like water from a faucet. There was no limit. Since school has gone out and I don't have a job, I've been busy taking care of my grandmother, visiting my grandfather in the hospital, and keeping up with the summer reruns. And I find I have a lot of spare time in the afternoons and nights...of which I take no advantage of. I have a notebook I carry around in case inspiration sparks but nada. I've been working on some poetry and I have come up with a couple more novel ideas, but what's an idea without follow through? Just scribbled words on a piece of college ruled paper. Easily disposed of.

I have two fanfictions I need to complete, a short story I would love to have done before my creative writing course in the fall (squeal!!!), and a novel I would love to have halfway finished before school starts. Luckily, http://www.nanowrimo.org/ is hosting a summer session of its notorious 30 day novel writing event, complete with message boards, encouraging e-mails, and a social network of like-minded individuals, all at my fingertips. I'm hoping to use this time to a.) jumpstart my summer writing and b.) finish this novel idea I've had percolating for a couple of years now. I've completed two novels using this method and a half a novel which I may go back to some day, so I know its effective, if a little stressful.

Other than that, my summer is looking pretty empty. What are your summer plans? Leave a reply in the comments, I'd love to hear from you!

Tales from My Childhood, Vol. 1

A child's only limitations are those imposed on their imaginations. Growing up in the country with two siblings and a close cousin right down the road offered me no end of play time and fun games. However, I found some of my most memorable childhood episodes are those involving only myself.

A movie came out in '96 or '97 by the name of Harriet the Spy, maybe you've heard of it? After watching it I took a great interest in spy work, since Michelle Tractenburg made it look so fantastical and fun. So I grabbed a handy little notepad, my mom's binoculars, some darkish clothes and unleashed my skills on my neighborhood.

Unlike Michelle's, my neighbors were extremely dull. I observed one fix the roof of a shelter he was building, another ride a bike down the road, and a third sit on his porch and sip Mountain Dew. Hardly hard-hitting stuff, so I had to spice it up for my notebook! I remember observing the bike rider as being very suspicious and most likely a military operative. The man on the roof also became a shady character with top secret military weapons hidden on his person and he was maintaining communication with the bike rider through a gadget inserted in both their brains. The man on the porch ...remained the man on the porch, though I remarked that perhaps his Mountain Dew had been poisoned.

I continued my spying in this fashion for a couple hours before my cousin came up and we started spying on boys instead, not half as interesting as the game I'd been so involved in before but I'd never have admitted it at the time.

The "Smart People Wear Glasses" Fallacy

I don't know how many times I've heard, "people who wear glasses are nerds", that they're typically the smartest people in school, yada yada yada. I haven't encountered as much of this at college as I did in middle and high school but it's always bothered me. I'm not saying it's a completely obsolete assumption but it is certainly not true of everyone who wears glasses. I've worn them since the fourth grade when my vision started going down hill. The reason? Part genetics, part Toonami (remember Sailor Moon, Tenchi Muyo, Dragon Ball Z?). Not constant studying.

I was a pretty average kid-intelligence wise-and hardly what one would call a nerd. It wasn't until I got my glasses that that stigma was slapped on me. Of course, later I took a great interest in reading and studying and I gladly accept that I am nerd, much better than "dumb blonde", right? I just wish people would think twice before assuming something about someone based on a superficial contraption.

I remember one time in high school, a teacher had put us into groups for an assignment. I was paired into what was arguably the dumbest group of boys in my grade so of course I wound up doing all the work. As they were copying the assignment, word for word, they were giggling Beavis and Butthead style that they would get a good grade because I was so smart. Now they had no way of knowing I was smart. They had never seen my grades and I was very quiet in all my classes. It was my glasses. Unlucky for them, the subject was not my best and I only half understood the assignment, so really I wrote down a bunch of random nonsense. I don't fully remember the grade I got on that assignment but I'm positive it wasn't anything above a C.

My point is, everyone has their strengths and weaknesses, regardless of what they look like or what you may think they're like based on a stereotype and if you depend solely on these assumptions, you could find you are way off base, as the group of boys did when they received their grades.

My first post...

I feel like the first post on any blog should be incredibly poignant, incredibly witty, or set up the stage for any following post. If anything, this post will be closest to the third.

I suppose I can start out by introducing myself and explaining why you should take the time out of your busy day to read what I have to say. My name is Evelyn Gaerke. I'm not afraid of saying this on the Internet because I have nothing to lose, except a four year old laptop that could die any day and a used Gamecube I bought a few weeks ago. Have at it. Anyway, I'm 21 years old and hardly the type of person to take advantage of it.

I'm a sophomore in college, thanks to having a lovely year off due to financial aid difficulties last year, but I can't really complain. It was a maturing experience, taking a break from school and I had a lot of time to do some serious soul searching. By the way, still searching. I learned that its hardly the kind of thing one can achieve in as short an amount of time as a year, but rather its a lifelong search. Anyway, it was a good bonding experience with my family.

I'm an English major and yes, I know the stigma surrounding it. I don't care. I'm not everyone else and my future is mine. I control what happens to me and trust me, I will not spend the rest of my life asking if you want fries with that.

As a blogger, it probably comes as no surprise that I'm an aspiring author. I love to write, though I'm not the most ambitious of people, I hope to publish a best-seller someday. I know, I know, Keep Dreaming. Trust me, I will. I've written a few novels, a host of short stories, and tons of poems, though hardly any of it is worthy of publication. However, a few years ago I did submit a short novel to PublishAmerica, a print-on-demand publisher (vanity publisher, though they deny it) and it was accepted as it everything else submitted. It was a pretty cool experience, despite the lack of credibility and I learned a great deal about publishing, such as, read the fine print. I won't tell you the title of the book in the hopes that you won't look it up. I wrote it when I was 16. Believe me. You can tell.

I live in Eastern Kentucky, in the foothills of the beautiful Appalachian Mountains and I wouldn't trade it for anywhere in the world as my home. I love it here. Everything comes together to form my very own Paradise. I can sit out on my front porch and listen to the birds serenade the sun, watch the wind blow through the trees which cover the rolling hills, and smell the flowers, the grass, anything but exhaust and stale air. There is power in the atmosphere here, something that blows right through you and elevates your mind above the worries of mankind. This is where I was raised and this is where I want to die.

Anyway, enough about me...and probably enough for this first post. I hope to get into some pretty interesting topics in the coming posts so keep an eye out and bear with me. I want to entertain you...I may just need some practice first!

Until next time, adieu!