Comfy Abyss

I need your HELP

Tue, 11 Mar 2008 20:53:42 GMT

I need your help desperately, readers and non readers of my stupid LJ alike.

1. I need SOMEONE just someone, anyone, if you know anyone who is a beta or ANYTHING to help me revise my short story. I decided to enter the spoon story into the creative writing contest that my school holds anyways (because I always told myself I'd submit), and the deadline is FRIDAY. Please, please help me. If you have ANY suggestions about it at all, PLEASE DON'T HESITATE to either make them here, or email me at rebanana@gmail.com. If you can, please base your revisions on these negatives that my story received: I need to fully develop my story, and make sure that it has a clear sense of purpose. I need a clear and logical progression of my story from beginning to end. I need to explain more about what she (Kate) thinks about her life and her marriage and her neighbor. I need to make the story less abstract, but still keep within the "show don't tell" mantra. Please please PLEASE help me.
A newly revised (by me) version of the story is here:

Kate wore a white dress that both confined and hugged her body. It was in this dress that she found happiness and an impending sorrow. After a long period of standing in a fashion that strained and straightened the bones in her spine, she was ready for a dance. His hand wrested on her ribcage, and for one moment he stopped to feel the warm pulsing of her organs beneath her bare skin. They stood in the kitchen, not facing one another, his back resting on the end of the glossy modern stove for support. She pushed her back into his chest and felt his voice vibrating against each single vertebra as he began to hum.
            As they moved through the still air, stirring the lifeless, the train of her dress flew away from her body, and landed again with a fresh breeze across her legs. Every once and awhile he would stop and scratch his finger against her ribs, and she would respond by picking up a spoon, turning it through each finger and synching the movement to his voice. As she did this, Kate caught a glimpse of her husband in the glinting shiny surface area of the spoon. They looked beautiful and so graceful together, even in the reflection of something so cramped.
            Kate's degree in literature was shed for a more demanding and important existence, her life in what she internally thought of as the dollhouse. She did not mind this new life, for it had become as much a part of her as the humming. She made it into a profession, organizing each spoon into a particular manner, manipulating them carefully as her dolls. She had cloth blankets for every metal spoon that had chilled her hand, and it was her mission to love them and keep each one warm, so she tucked them in under rags, newsprint, and unused napkins. Whatever measure it took to preserve them, Kate would take. She remained in the dollhouse, if only to do her job.
            Often times when Kate was working, dancing alone in the kitchen, or organizing the spoons, she would spy her neighbor peeking through the window parallel to the dollhouse. The woman's name was Ms. Greenberg and Kate pitied her because she was boxed in with no room to dance. There was a common knowledge that Ms. Greenberg pitied Kate as well, but Kate didn't mind the stares she received because for Ms. Greenberg there was no dancing, no humming, and no dollhouse.
            These things were constants in Kate's life. Every evening, she waited for him to get home, with her hands nervously clutching the skin beneath her ribs. Kate's dollhouse was always disrupted by his return; the dishes were dirtied and the spoons were bent and dented under his large fingers. However, he hummed while he disrupted, so Kate did not mind as much.
            "Can we dance?" she would ask him when the damage was done, and even when his broad back ached, he took her in his arms. These days a softer and gentler sound would emanate from his vibrating lips and nose, but his voice still made the spoons, and most importantly Kate come back into their livelihood. During these crucial times, Ms. Greenberg would stare into her dollhouse from the glass in a way that made Kate wish she had the protection of dark window shades. He never noticed. His mind only considered dull thoughts about his workday and they way Kate's ribs felt beneath his large fingers. He squeezed her freckled skin there and Kate saw them both in the reflection of a spoon. Deep within the curved metal was a strange form of happiness with an undertone of something unexplainable. Because of this, an unconscious fear crept into Kate's being, tucked away inside her organs for later.
            When he came home the next day, taking a spoon from its warm home in the utensil drawer to mix a glass of tea, he noticed her. The window across the way seemed five feet closer and Ms. Greenberg was reflected in the soft metal that he was about to stir his drink with. He bit and cracked the spoon between his teeth and began to hum.
          A week later, there were window shades fortifying the dollhouse, and Kate stood in front of them, counting each strand of black thread with her eyes. She had tried to dance alone, but did not consider the sharp edge of the damaged teaspoon that she had been cradling, and blood flowed freely from her hand. She picked up a napkin from the utensil drawer, and soaked up the blood in a trance. She could feel the vibrations on her back; he was behind her humming with a broken and gruff voice. "Hi," She whispered, her voice sounding weaker than she knew herself to be. His music as shaky and unstable as it was soothed her throbbing finger, but the intensity of the moment made her feel as if her organs had been trapped in hardened syrup like insects that remained immobile in their amber casings for centuries. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and protectively grazed her ribcage, not daring to peer into the unknown that was inscribed in a bloody and damaged spoon.
        After that, there was no twirling through displaced air. The only humming that could be heard was the sound of their son wailing night after night with a voice as strong as his father's once was. There were many days of still quiet and the spoons lay lifeless, scattered across every viable kitchen surface in no particular order. She squeezed the fat that lay lazily on her waist and looked outside only to notice a 'for sale' sign staked into Ms. Greenberg's lawn.

She waited.
When she heard humming in the kitchen, she ran into the dollhouse with a purpose, expecting to find every spoon back in its comfortable, confined place. The humming sound came from a small person, who stood against the ancient stove, nowhere near reaching the top. Still, and despite everything, there was a new kind of movement in the air. She held his weighted body in her arms and his hands found her ribs as he leaned against her softness. It wasn't until after she started rocking him in her arms that she found the teaspoon, lying dented and bent back on the kitchen table. The child took it in his hands, astounded at the way his mother's face looked in the rotund mirror image in front of him

I really need your help, any help is appreciated. This is not me being insanely proud of my story, but this is me feeling like my story sucks and wanting it to at least be able to compete with the other short stories.

2. I have to decide between taking AP English and Honors Philosophy as Literature next year. Tomorrow is when I have to finally decide. Which would you take, based on this:

AP English- Pros: AP credit, I don't necessarily want to take English 101 in college. We read a lot of books independently, here are some of the works: Oresteia, The Flies, The Wall, Medea, Gift of the Gorgon, Hamlet, Pride and Prejudice, House of the Spirits, Meridian, One Hundred Years of Solitude, and a hell of a lot of poetry. I love reading, I love literature, I love poetry, and I love English in general (I'm destined to become an English major). One of my best friends who I am similar to academically says it is a generally easier AP class and that she loves it, it is a lot of fun and they only write like three papers per term. (This is really shallow, but I also want to have taken at least three APs before highschool is over)
Cons: A lot of analytical writing, which isn't my strong point. According to my teacher it's hard and your grades will go down by at least a letter. I might not get English credit in college. Its a lot to do with my AP euro class and other electives. This class may not be too exciting for me.

Hon Phil Lit- Pros: I've never taken philosophy before, its new and exciting. I'm very interested in philosophy and know almost nothing about it. We'll read works by: Plato, Aristotle, Leibniz, Spinoza, Descartes, Berkeley, Hume, Kant, Kafka, Juan Rulfo, Herman Hesse, Annie Dillard, Sigmend Freud etc. There isn't as much writing in Hon Phil Lit as there is in AP English. The teacher is supposed to be really, really good.
Cons: Wouldn't get AP credit. Don't know anything about philosophy, therefore how would I know if I like it? According to my good friend I shouldn't take it, its hard you have to be really into it to like it. We still have to write (clearly) and our papers will count more and will be harder because there will be less.

What do you think? I know its at the end of the day going to be my own decision, but just based on that what do you think?

Thu, 19 Jul 2007 18:45:16 GMT

I'm home.

Its never been suckier not being in Europe.

Off to the Czech Republic! and Poland! and Germany!

Tue, 26 Jun 2007 20:43:31 GMT

So this may be my last post in awhile, unless I get a hold of some laptop or something in a internet cafe. I'm going to Poland on Friday, which is so exciting, because I've never been out of the country in my life. I am so excited, and also nervous, just because it's a strange concept to me that I'm going to a place where everybody doesn't speak English, and they speak languages which I do not know (it would be a different story if I was going to a Spanish-speaking country) and also I'm going to the places where my History course this year basically TOOK place. So its all going to be so real for me.

If I didn't mention it already, Prague Summer is a program that my school does, led by History teachers, and it's basically an "elective" course in another country. We get 2.5 credits for it, and the grade will show up on our college applications. The academic part of me is SO excited, because I'm a HUGE History nerd, and every time I think of all the history I'll be doing (Yes--- no math, no english... Just history) I get SO nerdily happy. Plus my FAVORITE teacher leads this trip, Viggy, who led the Close Up DC trip. Also, my 9th grade history teacher, Cho, who is such a hilarious man even though he hates EVERYONE. Oh, how I missed Cho all these years...

So first I'll be going to Krakow, which is really exciting. But basically the way the trip works... I'm going to be up for 36 hours, then I'll get some sleep after those 36 hours, and THEN I'll get a nice day in Poland, and THEN the day after, I'm going to Auschwitz-Birkenau. Which. Is. Overwhelming. I can't exactly put into words how I feel about it, and I don't really know how I'm going to feel being in a place where hundreds of thousands of people just like me were murdered brutally. The actual spot. Like we'll be visiting the crematoriums. I am so worried. I can't even begin to predict how I'll feel. If I were in Poland 60 years ago, I'd be there. Or somewhere like it. Its so hard to even think about what its going to be like.

After that I'll be going to Prague on a REALLY long bus ride... And Tory and Jenny will be on the road with me. Exciting. I don't know half the people on the trip... So I suppose new friends... Hopefully?

Thennnnn I'll be going to Dresden, Germany (the place that got totally annhilated during WW2) and then I'll be going to Berlin, Germany. Wow.... I can't imagine what its going to be like. I know I'm so lucky to be going on this trip:-)

So yes. That is the first half of my summer. Many pictures for ya'll to see when I get back. Love and have a great summer!

Addison Montages: Phantom Rings

Mon, 09 Apr 2007 00:29:21 GMT

Her phone rings.

For some reason she is in a pair of grey sweats, a ratty Yankees tee too. She is curled up on the cold wooden floor. Her suitcase in front of her, a dark green abyss of clothing, piled up high. She runs her fingers through her hair, and then swipes them by her eye; pulling down wet tears and mascara on the way.

Her phone rings again.

She deserves a second chance. He used to come home at night on her birthday. And she would lay there, eyes closed tight with expectation. He would lie with his back towards her, sighing gently, shutting his eyes. As if there was nothing to talk about, as if everything was fine. No, they were not fine; she wanted to scream out loud. These screams would ring in her head for hours, never letting her fall asleep. He, however, would drift away and she would be left cold. That’s why she deserves a second chance.

Her phone rings persistently.

She folds everything into her bag, the lace, the cotton, the woolen memories. There’s her wedding band, lying flat on her ring finger. Long and elegant. Skillful. She’s got her mother’s fingers and she’s always regretted that. She regrets when she can’t do anything about it. Regret is her wasted emotion.

Her phone rings. She wishes she had disconnected it while she had the chance to.

She doesn’t know how she feels about leaving New York. The window is open and she can hear life: the cars honking, the ambulances going to her hospital, the ethnic curses, and the ringing. In Seattle it’ll be so different. When she opens her window, Derek’s window, she hopes, she will hear other life, alien life: birds and crickets, the mowing of fresh grass. She doesn’t know much about Seattle, but when she can actually fall asleep, she has these odd recurring dreams of bears and lumberjacks and they make her shiver. Because he likes Seattle. And Seattle is not New York. Addison is New York. Seattle is… Seattle is that woman who Derek has spoken briefly about over a staccato signal.

Her phone rings. She doesn’t need caller ID to know that it’s not Derek.

Their phone conversations have been very brief since he’s left. Mostly to say that he’s safe and she doesn’t need to worry, he’s had an affair of his own. So there. She stays curled up on the floor. She’s almost done stuffing her life in [more than one] suitcase, medical journals and all.

Her phone rings. It’s the last ring; she’s counted. He won’t call back again. He’s too proud. She’s too proud to pick up.

But not too proud to fly across the country, get on her knees, and plead for her husband to come home.

Her phone stops ringing. Silence. No. Not silence. There are still these phantom rings in her head, and she knows she’s not going to get rid of them. She regrets not picking up the phone.

Aaah.. Two posts in a row!!!

Fri, 23 Feb 2007 05:02:14 GMT

So I'm not going to tell you what I thought of the episode tonight... I'll just leave you with a tiny part two (part one and a half if you will) of my zany childhood series... If you haven't checked out the first one... Well you should, but you don't need to to get this.

Maybe if it hadn’t happened she would be a different person. She often wonders about it when she’s trying to go to sleep, with Burke breathing softly next to her. She wonders if she’d still be a surgeon.

In a way it was a good thing. His death. It was a good thing. She wouldn’t have learned what needed to be learned.

There are other nights when she wishes it never happened. Nights when she can’t fall asleep (she’s always been somewhat of an insomniac). Nights where all she wants to do is go into the hospital and cut people open. Cut, suture, and repeat. She can’t explain why it gives her so much pleasure… The sight of blood… Gore and accidents. It brings her back. Why does she love reliving that moment? She figures she must be crazy.

The sight of blood has never been more traumatizing to Christina Yang as it is in this one moment. This one second, where her father is on the ground bleeding, his body shielding hers. She can’t breathe. She wants to scream but she can’t. She’s trapped and her dad is bleeding. She shuts her eyes. Tries to drown out the shrill sirens that are coming closer and closer. When she shuts her eyes, all she sees is red. She’s shivering. She can’t comprehend what’s just happened.

What’s just happened? A thirty two year old man by the name of David Yang has just saved his nine year old daughter’s life, in turn, sacrificing his own.

Onlookers are shocked, but when they go home it’ll just be a story. A story they anxiously retell to their families. A story that fades away as years, days, even seconds go by.

But for the little girl in the car, the girl whose name is Christina Yang (a fact the onlookers will never know)… Her life is this moment. It is forever changed, forever affected.

Fri, 16 Feb 2007 03:09:30 GMT

What the fuck?

Fri, 09 Feb 2007 03:10:21 GMT

oh my god.
that episode of grey's anatomy.

wtf!?

(will explain more when i'm less overwhelmed)

ps. who else thought little creepy blonde girl was Izzie's daughter. i know, i know, out on a limb, but she reminded me so much of Izzie. If her name is Hannah, it IS izzie's daughter. (also it would be a good time for Izzie. Izzie no longer has Alex, Denny, or George, she NEEDS someone. a meaning in her life.)

But whatever it probably isn't.

Actually, me editing, I didn't think the episode was that great. I thought it was better than last weeks episode which was so farfetched (minus the Maddison sex, I LIVE for that stuff). It was a little over the top once again. And the symbolism was a little weird. My friend thinks that the little blonde girl somehow stood for Meredith, and that the woman with the missing son was obviously a mardyr because she was spread on the table like Jesus. Okay, so I didn't go THAT far into it, definitely not. The whole drowning parallel thing is stupid. Meredith can fucking swim. (Okay so what are they going to say: That Ellis Grey was too busy being a bitch to spring for swimming lessons?) My friend pointed out that she could've broken her back or something, but really. Come ON, Grey's writers.

I think Izzie was in the worst situation out of all the interns. I felt thorougly bad for her the whole episode. But honestly, I wasn't looking at this episode like it was going to be more intense than the bomb episode, because thats what they ALWAYS say. And it's almost never true anymore. Stupid viewer-whores. As if they already don't have enough viewers.

In other news-
I've been working on my Grey's fic, Perfect Memory, and it's been getting good response which is good. Wooo. And TRYING to work on my non-Grey's fic (Aka I have like what 60 pages in Grey's and 3 pages in Non-fanfic)

I got back my practice ACT test Aka the plan test, which is the test that tells you what you should be when you grow up
In reality its pretty lame and doesn't help all that much, but here's what I got in scores. I was pretty impressed because it really did show me... Or who I think I am anyways.

Okay so I scored:
99% reading, 93% science, 89% english, and (gulp! embarrassing) 57% math.
Okay, I'm not THAT bad at math, but I seriously had no time to think and guessed at all the questions. In my defense it was about 10 minutes to do 50 problems.

It had this lame thing that said that if you were ready for college. As IF. But this is how it worked
Below: Not ready for college courses
At: Ready for college courses
Above: Ready for advanced college courses.

I got Above in English, Reading, and Science and of course, Below in Math.

Then comes the fun part.
What should you be when you grow up?
I scored in the People&Ideas area.
Apparentally I should go into these areas:

Medical Diagnosis & Treatment
Social Sciences
Applied (visual) Arts
Creative & Performing Arts
Applied Arts (written and spoken)

And apparentally I can be: Physician, Pathologist, Dentist, Vet, Nurse Anesthetist, Sociologist, Political Scientist, Economist, Urban Planner, Artist, Illustrator, Photographer, Interior Designer, Writer, Musician, Singer, Dancer, TV/Movie Director, Reporter, Columnist, Editor, Librarian.

Basically that covered most of the things I want to be (ish). So I'm pretty glad about my results, even if it is a lame test. Sorry for sharing that with you, but I think it's really interesting how people score on these things. But everyone knows standardized tests are complete bull.

Wed, 07 Feb 2007 00:41:39 GMT

Agh. I am sick of this whole relationship thingy.
On facebook you're either "In a Relationship" or "Single" (the rest doesn't really matter).
It's so annoying that my friends are coupling off like bees on fucking honeycomb (did that make sense) and I'm still single. I know EVERYONE feels this way, but goshgdhdshhsdhsdsd.
Also it doesn't help that my group of friends has no straight guy friends. But whatever, whatever!
I'm just TIRED of being social. *curls up into antisocial ball*

On the flip-side I had a very "good-looking" past two weeks. So much that yesterday, I decided to go into the bathroom with a blowdryer and GASP, blowdry my hair. I know, I know, horrifying. I never blowdry my hair, it always dries naturally because I don't really need to blowdry. But I decided, why not take advantage of this good-looking week? Then I did something sad and decided it would be significantly COOL to see how my hair looked while it was being blowdried [read: model shot with blowwwy outy hair), so I brought my camera into the bathroom.

The pictures came out really really good, but alas, I am very very ashamed.

Vanity sucks.

I went to Olivia's today with Tory and decided that it must suck to have divorced parents.

In other news, I am so sore because of my intense workout with Liz yesterday. Why must we work out to stay in shape!? WHHHHHYYY?

This was such a lame post. I am most definitely staling my hour-long spanish homework.