Locked-In

 Our tale is one of woe and murder at an overnight lock-in in the painfully generic Goodview High School (absolutely in no way inspired by a certain Fairview's name). This is a hallway from the school, speaking of omen and lonliness.

Mr. Stanley is the usually good-natured drama teacher. But one fateful night, he mixes up his pills by accident, and the clashing drugs drive him to hallucination, and eventually... murder. 

 This lovely pool is a part of the school's facilities, and at one point during the lock-in a girl named Stacey comes in for a late swim. Ultimately this is her demise, as she is stabbed and left to drown in the waters swirling murkily with scarlet blood.

Adam is the nicest guy in school, the one everyone knows and everyone likes. He's perpetually kind and driven--and eventually he finds himself thrust into the position of a hero. Throughout the night he endures much--being tossed out a second-story window is nearly his end. Maddie and he end up being the sole survivors of the massacre.

Tim is the sort of odd kid no one is really sure about. He's a bit emo, a bit withdrawn, loves contraband, and is admittedly a bit creepy. He is killed unceremoniously in a bathroom by a raving Mr. Stanley.

Maddie is the heroine of the story--a sincere, practical girl who's new to the school and the area. She sticks close to Adam, simply because she doesn't really know anyone else, and because he's nice. She and he end up being the only ones to survive the Goodview Massacre.

Kevin is the nerd. No one likes him very much--he's obnoxious, he's oblivious, and he tries too hard. The type of kid who's always in your face. He finds Tim, brutally wounded in the bathroom, and when he runs panicked to the others, blood all over him, they think he's the crazy one and tie him up. Later, he's found dead.

Rich fulfills the dumb jock archetype requirement for every high school story. He's arrogant, athletic, and not the brightest. He's Stacey's on-again-off-again boyfriend, but their relationship doesn't delve much deeper than physical. Death by a long fall.

Stacey is Rich's on-again-off-again girlfriend. She's not very nice, hides below caked-on makeup, and takes a while to pick up on things. Death by stabbing/drowning.

This film is definitely a horror/slasher film. There will be blood.

Indiana Freaking Jones

It was pretty hard for me to pick a favorite movie. It was basically between classic musicals (Singin' in the Rain, The Sound of Music), serious and deeply touching films (The Green Mile, The Shawshank Redemption), adorable animated pieces (Every classic Disney movie/ Disney Pixar movie ever), and breathtaking/sad masterpieces (Avatar, Titanic, The Notebook). 

But in the end, there's really no one to compete with Indiana Jones.

Okay, seriously. Look at that beautiful, beautiful poster, and try to name one thing more awesome/adventurous/epic/genius/sexy. That's right. You can't. Because Harrison Ford is a stud, and because Indy is the human embodiment of all things awesome.

Life is Just a Fight of Wrong and Right and Right and Wrong

 Recently, a song that has had a huge impact on my life is "Battle: Pt II" by Chris August. It's catchy and fun to sing and dance to, but there is a very serious undertone of wisdom and intuition that raises goosebumps. The song is essentially about how life is a struggle, but it's worth the fight. His lyrics are genius, his voice is lovely, and I could replay the song over and over again and never tire of it. I'm not sure whether it's my favorite song of all time, but it's definitely the song I think about most often.

It inspires me on another level, plain and simple.

Memoir Photo 7 - Naive Aspirations?

I've written a lot about my past. But memoirs are also about who we are today, and what we will become in the future, and that's a huge part of my life right now. I've even titled my whole blog after my sort of tentative but impatient mindset: Naive and Ambitious.

The picture above is of Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe. And if that isn't the most beautiful place I can imagine on Earth, I'd like to see what is. My childhood dreams of novelism and nature-studying have evolved into a want to be a travel journalist, seeing the world, writing about it, sharing glimmers of diamonds in the rough with the masses. This life was given to us for us to do something with it, and with mine, I want to experience the world and all its beauties and tragedies and secrets as much as I can. I know I'm young, and full to the brim with improbable dreams, but I know that this burning desire won't die down easy, and I know I'll fight for it to the end.

Memoir Photo 6 - Ballerina Viper

I was always sort of conflicted in that despite having a natural tendency toward sensitivity and daintyness, I wanted to prove that I was a tomboy, too.

That was why I eventually gave up ballet, which I loved, to play on the boy's soccer team (The Vipers) instead. Soccer was a big part of my life for years. It was my sport, what I dedicated myself to and pushed myself for. I played right up until we moved to Erie, which is about the time I would have been forced to move to a girl's team instead, and I always have regretted not continuing to play. Actually, I've always regretted not continuing to dance as well. I guess, although maybe I was once a Ballerina Viper, I won't ever be again.

Memoir Photo 5 - Writer from the Start

The combination of my isolated lifestyle in the mountains, lots of free time, and a love of stories and reading all culminated in my early discovery of my love of writing. I don't remember exactly what age I began (seven or eight, I think), but I remember that when we lived in Conifer I would wander down to my dad's office in the basement, climb into his giant rolly chair, and write fiction on his computer. I had my own folder in his documents for my creations. Most of them were about animals: two kittens knocking over the christmas tree (Mom sent that one out with our Christmas card), a little stingray who got lost in the ocean (that one right after I saw Finding Nemo), a researcher who discovers a telepathic ability to comminicate with wolves.

I learned very early on the rules of punctuation and sentence structure, and that's why middle school absolutely killed me: we were learning, at a very slow pace, all the rules I'd already discovered myself. I'm sort of a snob in that sense, I guess.

Anyhow, I decided when I was nine that I was going to be a novelist/naturalist when I grew up. I'm not certain that dream has entirely vanished.

Memoir Photo 4 - Bookworm

So, I used to be a really avid reader. It's only been recently that I've stopped reading, simply because I don't have enough time anymore, and the free time I do have I want to spend sleeping.

But when I was small, I raised myself on books. I taught myself to read (more or less) before preschool, and when my little brother was born and I was six years old, I remember reading a chapter book (Harry Potter?) in the car on the way to the hospital. The extensive vocabulary and voice I was exposed to via fiction made me an astonishingly precocious child.

My reading habits also meant I was never bored, ever. I could entertain myself for hours on end turning pages. My dad used to get mad at me when we went out to eat at restaurants and all he'd see was the cover of my book in front of my face. He'd tell me I'd never know what my husband looked like because on all our dates I'd be blocking my view with a book.

The library was a huge part of my childhood.