Details: They Hold Together The Picture

Last night I went to a birthday party being thrown for one of my best friend's. We had a lot of fun, but one moment stuck out to me, and I decided to write about it. There was one girl there I didn't know as well as the rest. And while this story isn't about her, she does factor into it.
I took my mom's canon camera last night to capture the mall scavenger hunt and fun afterwards. I took over 150 pictures last night alone. At one point, around 1 in the morning in the middle of playing Mario Kart I was clicking away with the camera. The girl looked at me and asked, "Why are you so obsessed with that camera?"
I stopped. Froze. Paused. Thought.
 I had a thousand different answers running through my mind.
The one I finally settled on was, "I'm not obsessed with the camera. I'm obsessed with the pictures."
But as the night went on, and I kept taking pictures, I realized it's deeper than that. I'm obsessed with memories. And details. I'm obsessed with taking pictures of details, the things that no one else notices. The things that are beautiful, if only to me.

                                             (A few of the details that held last night together)

Oblivion

Part of being a storyteller, is being a remember. I'm also a remember. I like remembering things. I like to sit and stare at the wall and remember things, and replay them in my mind. I hate forgetting things. And not just things, but experiences. Conversations. Events. Where I stood, when I said something I can no longer remember.
I loathe forgetting.
Which is probably a huge part of my paranoia. Over the past few months, I've really started to question my life. The biggest question has been "What am I doing?"
Just in general. And that question morphed into, "What am I doing that I'll be remembered for?"
Let's take a minute to think about all the people who have lived and died. 
How many of those people could you name?
Let me ask you another question.
Could you tell me your great great grandfather's name? How about what he did for a living? Was he a Christian? Did he have a family?
I know I can't answer any of those questions... and he's related to me. He's my blood. And I have no idea who he was.
We forget.
I don't want to be forgotten. 

 "Augustus, perhaps you'd like to share your fears with the group."

"My fears?"

"Yes."

"I fear oblivion," he said without a moment's pause. "I fear it like the proverbial blind man who's afraid of the dark."

"Too soon," Isaac said, cracking a smile.

"Was that insensitive?" Augustus asked. "I can be pretty blind to other people's feelings."

Isaac was laughing, but Patrick raised a chastening finger and said, "Augustus, please. Let's return to you and your struggles. You said you fear oblivion?"

"I did," Augustus answered.

Patrick seemed lost. "Would, uh, would anyone like to speak to that?"

I hadn't been in proper school in three years. My parents were my two best friends. My third best friend was an author who did not know I existed. I was a fairly shy person—not the hand-raising type.

And yet, just this once, I decided to speak. I half raised my hand and Patrick, his delight evident, immediately said, "Hazel!" I was, I'm sure he assumed, opening up. Becoming Part Of The Group.

I looked over at Augustus Waters, who looked back at me. You could almost see through his eyes they were so blue. "There will come a time," I said, "when all of us are dead. All of us. There will come a time when there are no human beings remaining to remember that anyone ever existed or that our species ever did anything. There will be no one left to remember Aristotle or Cleopatra, let alone you. Everything that we did and built and wrote and thought and discovered will be forgotten and all of this"—I gestured encompassingly—"will have been for naught. Maybe that time is coming soon and maybe it is millions of years away, but even if we survive the collapse of our sun, we will not survive forever. There was time before organisms experienced consciousness, and there will be time after. And if the inevitability of human oblivion worries you, I encourage you to ignore it. God knows that's what everyone else does."

This is an excerpt from one of my favorite books, The Fault in Our Stars by John Greene.

This book is simply amazing, but this excerpt from Chapter One grabbed me and would not freaking let go.

Because I fear oblivion.

I know, I know, I shouldn't. I am put on this earth for God's purpose, and God should not be forgotten, and it shouldn't matter whether or not I'm remembered.

But.

It bugs me. It bugs me, that in 200 hundred years, no one will know my name. No one will even know I lived on this earth. No one will know I liked my coffee with a minimal amount of sugar, and was scared of jellyfish, and danced with my little siblings in the kitchen to Neon Trees. No one will know that today I went to seven different stores with my mom looking for one stupid dress, and she almost passed out in the middle of Target from laughing at me. No one will know I adopted my little baby brother this past spring. No one will know I sat in a cold wet deer stand for hours just because I got to spend time with my dad. No one will know about this blog. No one will know my passions, my love, my fears. No one will know I existed.

And dang if that doesn't scare the crap out of me. 

The Art of Storytelling

I'm a storyteller. It's in my genetics. My mom can't get through five minutes without talking about something that happened to her great aunt's goldfish, or her mom's sister's nephew's birthday party that went really wrong.
And consequently, I'm the same way.
I like stories. I think it shapes people. I think the stories you know, and the stories you tell, make up part of who you are.
I think the way you tell stories shows people what sort of person you are. If your stories are dramatic, or funny, or sad, that gives you a good insight into how that person leads their life, and what their outlook on life is.
I think you can tell a lot from people by listening to their stories. If their stories are mainly about family then hello, they probably love and spend a lot of time with them. If it's about animals, then they might be an animal person.
I like telling stories, and making people laugh. I like sharing my joy or laughter at whatever situation with people. Some of the best moments of my life have been stories people told me. I didn't even have to be there for it to be funny.
I cannot have a normal conversation with someone for more than three minutes about the weather without launching into a story. It just... happens. I really like meeting new people, but I'm not so sure new people like meeting me. Because, I view new people as people I can share my life with. And I do. Whether or not they want it, I'm agunna tell it to them. It's gonna happen.
Stories are our past, and I like remembering.

Cray- Cray Collie

This is my dog. He's got an interesting story, one that takes a bit of time to tell, but it makes him who he is.

We got Walter the summer I turned 10. I had begged (and begged, and BEGGED) my dad to let us get a dog for a long time. He finally relented, and we looked into rescue dogs.

I searched collies, basset hounds, german shepherds, everything. And then I found a Border Collie rescue pretty close to my house.

And then...

I found Walter.

He just... I don't even... I just felt like he was for us. And I hadn't even met him. I had just seen a picture, and read some background info on him. 

And yet, I felt like maybe he was meant to be with my family.

So, we set up a date to go meet Walter and his foster family, and it was pretty neat. Other than the fact that, ya know, the dog wouldn't get anywhere near any of us.

It was almost like he was afraid of us.

Oh! Whaddya know? He was.

Turns out, Walter had been badly beaten by some guy, and then dropped off in the woods somewhere.

Who can blame him for cowering under the couch?

But, everybody fell in love with the dog that obviously was NOT in love with us.

So. We got the dog. He'll come around right?

Yeah, well.

The morning after my 10th birthday party, his foster family came and dropped him off at my house. 

Then they left.

And no one knew what to do with the dog.

Can't touch him. The dog won't eat. The dog won't drink. The dog doesn't want to sit. The dog doesn't want to lie down.

Hence, he paces.

And paces. And paces. And paces. Like a shark, circling. 

For hours. 

The next day, when the collie still hadn't eaten, or slept, or drank anything, I start to panic.

See, for everyone who knows me, there's really only two words to describe me: Control Freak.

And, this dog situation? Totes out of my control. 

So, I drag the dog in my room (picture 10 year old me dragging a full size border collie who's scared to death of me. Yeah, it was a blast, thanks for asking.) and soak the dog food in water. (it brings out the smell. Don't ask how I know this.) The smell was enough to get him to eat, and so the eating/drinking problem was solved.

So, the next night I left to go to VBS in high hopes. I had a dog! Sort of.... more like a catdog.

That lasted for about three hours. Cause then the dog got out. 

Turns out, my dad went to grab the leash, but accidentally opened the door first, and Walter bolted. He was gone. I'm pretty sure he turned around and stuck his tongue out too.

My mom and dad stayed out on the porch all night, waiting to see if he would come home. He was over in the woods  and we knew it.

But he wasn't coming back.

We called his foster mom. And she managed to get him out of the woods with a piece of ham. I tried not to be jealous. (Of the fact that she could get him out of the woods... not the fact the dog got ham... that would just be weird.)

Over the years, Walter has gotten used to our crazy family. He still doesn't like strangers, and he still shies away from hands coming too fast to pet him, and he's still really strange.

But, normal's over rated anyways.

On Ridiculous Fairy Tale Endings

And They Lived Happily Ever After.
BWAHAHAHAHA.
No.
Every girl wants a guy to walk into her life, that automatically falls in love with her that's handsome, funny, and all around awesome. Everybody wants a castle. Everybody wants to be loved and respected. Because we READ.
Gah.
I realized the other day, that people write and read books because books are so much better than reality. I'm never going to get a Tobias (Divergent), or Jace (City of Bones) or Gale (Hunger Games), because those are characters authors made up.
I know this, because I do it too.
I sculpt characters and stories that I wish I lived in. Worlds where characters are perfect and funny, and awesome.
I sculpt guys I wish would walk into my life. I sculpt friends I wish I had. Worlds I wish I lived in. Lives I wish I had.
Because it's fantasy.
You know what's funny?
I realized tonight, that no one has a main character that is: female, red headed,green eyed, short, sarcastic, snarky, stubborn, a picky eater, mortally afraid of jellyfish, can't make decisions, procrastinator, lazy, 14 year old.
...I'm not exactly Cinderella either...
Wow.
We spend so much time (maybe this is just me?) waiting for the perfect fairy tale ending to fall into our laps, that we don't realize, we can't see that the ending is ridiculous. "Everybody Lived Happily Ever After. The End."
Uhm. Yeah, good luck with that.
There are no such things as fairytales. Unfortunate as that is.
I'm not going to get a prince charming. I'm not going to get a castle.
Because I'm not a princess. 
And this isn't a fairy tale.
The End.

The Adventures of a Half Blind Cat

I was making coffee. Turned the Keurig on (I don't know how I got along before the thing), and I was picking out a K-Cup.
Then I felt someone staring at me. Like really staring at me. But, that couldn't be right. I was home alone (other than my dog... but he doesn't really count), so there's no way someone's staring at me.
I was right. It wasn't someone staring at me. It was a something.
There was a cat perched on the windowsill over the kitchen sink, pawing at the window and staring at me. She was cute, if not anorexicly (Microsoft doesn't think this is a word. Whatevs) skinny. I opened the door to my porch, and walked toward her. Now, this is the part where most cats bound away from me and start hissing. It's like they can sense I'm not a cat person.
This one held her ground and kept looking at me.
She was looking at me funny though, and I could tell there was something wrong with her eye. I'm pretty sure she's blind in that eye. So, she's perched on this windowsill, and she can't get down, because she can't see where to place her feet.
So, I grab her and set her on the ground. I turn around and start to walk back in the house, and she starts following me.
I run inside, grab a bowl of milk, and open the door to set it down, and woosh!
She's in the house.
Now. Here's where it got interesting.
I have an indoor dog. A border collie. A fast, big one.
One who likes chasing squirrels and birds just for the heck of it.
So, the cat's all, "Yes! I'm inside!" while the dog's all, "Oh my gosh! Dinner!" while I'm all, "My mom's going to kill me..."
So, yeah then I chased the dog chasing the cat around the house for thirty minutes.
It was fun.
I finally manage to get the dog away from the cat long enough so she can come to me (she really likes being held... weird for a cat), and then I went and finished making my coffee. Priorities.

She's actually really friendly, and loves the dog. Oddly enough.
And then, my mom came home and so I deposited the cat outside before she saw it. She doesn't like cats at all.
The cat has stayed on the porch all morning. My daddy says if it sticks around,, we can feed it and give it shots.
Pretty awesome for a random Thursday morning.

Btw, her name is Rue. The Hunger Games has bled over into every area of my life.

Habits and Sirens

The first week we moved here, the tornado siren went off. We all trooped down into the basement, while my mom called our older neighbors to be sure they were in their basements too. The first person she called informed her, that here we had a tornado test every first Wednesday of the month.

Seems like that's the kind of information you tell your new neighbors before Wednesday.

And, true to her word, every first Wednesday of the month we get a tornado test. And every time, I tense up until I can remember what day it is. And every time Holt and Mouse come running in the living room to ask if it's a test.

It's hard to break a habit.

See, we used to live in Louisville, KY, where tornadoes were about as frequent as sneezing. When we lived in KY, my dad was going to seminary so we lived in seminary housing. Otherwise known as an apartment complexes with kitchens the size of postage stamps.

Which means, we didn't have basements. So, when there was a tornado, our entire building worth of people would go out (into the hail and rain) to get to the door that would let us into the building basement, that had like 6 inches of standing water and mold on the walls. 

It was always a party.

Then, there were the times I would be at school when they went off, and we would have to go in the hallways with our heads between our knees.

I hated that even worse than the standing water and mold.

When we moved here and those sirens went off the first week, it was habit to run to the basement. It's still habit now to automatically tense up when I hear sirens. 

(Know why I'm posting this today?? Cause it's the first Wednesday of the month and Mouse just ran in here frantically asking if it was a test).

Old habits die hard.

Normal People Have Conversations With Themselves... Right?

Conversation with myself after my little brother woke me up at 10:30:
"I should do something."
"Blog."
"I don't have anything to blog about."
"Write a book review."
"No."
"Come up with something creative."
"No."
"Well, quit just staring at the wall."
"I don't have anything to write- Oh Wait!"
"What?"
"I found a picture! I'll just post that!"
"-.- So uncreative."
"Whatever."

This is the picture I found and knew I needed to post on here:

Good night now.

Legos, Fingernails, and Brick Walls.

Let's talk about my biggest annoyance with books nowadays. Just because I want to.
Love triangles.
UGH. They're like slamming your head against a brick wall, while stepping on legos and listening to fingernails scrape down a chalkboard.
Painful.
I just... don't understand why people do love triangles. Some books like The Hunger Games, it's acceptable, but still not ideal.
Then there's books like Fallen, where I'm like, "No... a triangle doesn't really work here. But it wasn't completely butchered."
And then... there's books like Delirium/Pandemonium that fits my description above.
I just don't like love triangles. Especially not ones where the author makes you love one guy, and then she's all "LOL! JK! We're gonna introduce a new guy!" -.- Really?!
I just don't think love triangles are all that believable. Half the time they don't work or add anything to the plot. Authors throw them in I guess to have a more diverse range of people. Like, if you didn't like this guy, just wait! There's a complete opposite version of him coming up in thirty pages!
No.
You can't do that.
You can't please everyone. You can, however piss everyone off with your love triangles.
Just don't... I don't enjoy them. Nor do I know anyone who does.
I'm done ranting now. Thanks for listening. Go on with your lives :)

Book Review: Fallen

Fallen is written by Lauren Kate and is the first in a trilogy.

Summary:
Luce is spending her senior year at a reform school, while trying to run from the shadows that have tormented her all her life. While there, she feels strangely attracted to Daniel, a boy who makes it clear he wants absolutely nothing to do with her. But Luce knows he has a secret, and she is determined to discover it, even if it kills her.

Language:
Hell, S word, A word, B word.

Romance:
Luce kisses two boys numerous times.

Violence;
A girl is killed, a fight between two guys breaks out.

Suggested Age:
14+

My Opinion:
First. We must talk about the beautiful cover. The cover is what drew me to the book in the first place, and while the cover is gorgeous... the book was nothing short of a let-down.
Alright, here's the deal. There's a huge secret that's revealed like forty pages before the book ends.
Wanna know when I figured it out? Page 3.
THIS IS WHY WE DON'T NEED PROLOGUES.
Yeah. Sucky.
I just felt like the story repeated itself a lot, and Luce was like... annoying.
And the story was complicated.
And there was a love triangle.
Have I ever mentioned that I absolutely hate love triangles? I do.
I think that's all. All in all, I was disappointed.

Book Review: Pandemonium

Pandemonium is the second installment in Lauren Oliver's Delirium trilogy.

The Summary:
Lena has finally made it to the Wilds, only Alex is not there with her. Believing him dead, she sets off to help the Wilds, and finds herself right in the middle of a resistance war with an unlikely person by her side the whole time.

Romance:
Kissing, 2 people share a bed at one point.

Language:
Uhm... everything. The s word is used a lot.

Violence:
People are chained up for days and held captive. A boy is beaten across the face. People are hurt and killed.

Suggested Age:
13+

My Opinion:
GUYS. UGH. What... what... happened?!
One thing is perfect about the book: The title. It's go-go-go from the get-go, there's blood and running... and wait for it... the plot is so freaking hard to follow.
Plus... Lena just made me want to shake her!
Also, I think it was much like the first book... told from Alex's POV. At least, that's the way it turned out.
And that ain't cool.
It also isn't cool that the last book doesn't come out until February.
(Side note: I'm pretty sure Oliver wins the award for the most use of the word nausea. I wanted to hurl just reading about it.)

Also: Let's discuss the fact that, while the cover of Delirium was incredibly unique... Pandemonium and Requiem look almost identical...

Same earth tones used in the picture, same look on the girl's face... I don't know, but it's bugging me.