I'm going to play Killer Instinct with that dude today for the first time, if he's there. This song, After Dark, by AKFG, is blasting in my ears so loud it hurt. I turned it down a notch...but I liked the blaring pain. 

My acquaintance toiled, the stress relevant in the twisting of his hair and the biting of his lip. He was trying to finish his trig homework. Trig was a subject that...you think you have, above everyone else. Until second quarter. Then you figure out you know nothing, and plus, it's college. So you really never do. 

So he was doing his period-of-due-extended homework. I was ignoring mine. I helped him. We had scheduled this after my Pathway Honors meeting at DePaul university that I had to explain to many people at my decision to get out of Pathway Honors, eventually, because I wanted to be a writer, and a good one. If I wanted to toil, I wanted it to be in learning how to cite, and in making the most attractive book I can, and ever have. But I know better: as a writer, I am always getting better.

And thus, I don't mind lobbying for myself to get my book to you. It's not that it is hard to sell an idea that is mine...it's just hard to find the right strategy, to put oneself out there.

One thing I told a Health Science major and a Biology major in Pathway Honors is that I would spend so much time out of my day going insane with how much I love this. putting words on paper. On a computer. Reciting them as scenes in my head.

Not as a screenwriter would, however. And, really, I wouldn't be reciting. I'd just...act. Lights, camera, action, and then recite the scenes in words later; if I was lucky; if I was working on this novel series I had started in 7th grade. But I stopped it around last year, and stopped writing it about 2 years ago. I decided more mature thoughts needed time to blossom. And that my stuff I had been working on all those years sucked. And had major plot holes. And was fantasy.

So I thought the cure to that would be writing nonfiction. I disliked journaling so I did not think nonfiction would be different. Honestly it isn't because it gives me more leeway to think of normal humans as me and normal humans in my life. I learned recently from a writing article that aspects of your real life could be imported into any character, so in any genre...and thus...I was on my way to writing better if I honed that skill through realistic fiction writing that encouraged me to use that skill. 

And now I think every character and every story I make under that category would share too similarly values and characteristics. Gosh, why can I not sit up straighter. Thinking like this is so irritating, slumped over. There we go.

But all I need is to remember writing characters again. Enjoy the character sheets and making up complete rubbish, lies. People that do not exist. Stories that will live on forever, unprovable...

I used to love reading homework for that purpose. We used to learn show and tell, and Venn Diagrams that split and combined characters' personalities, and then we wrote down many words that could be used to creatively color a paragraph and then describe a character or mood perfectly based on their personalities. Or even to say something through the type of words, like adverbs or more accurate verbs. Climbed instead of pulled himself up, or the latter than the first of those words, if you want to describe the strife and power instead of the nimbleness of such an action, or the person doing it. I slapped instead of my hand skid across his face, emerging pink like his face. Or...something along those lines.

And I sit in this chair, pondering if I made the right decision. To switch my major from Health Science: Bioscience to Computer Science and Creative Writing (double major).

A friend texted me saying "That fits you perfectly, no offense!" A Pathways Honors student said "that's alright". The two girls I talked to there that I mentioned said "Good luck with that. I hope it works out." " You seem to enjoy it," seems the excuse everyone uses for me joining this new major. Another friend brought up an evenly big purpose. "Clearly this is painful for you". My major. My major was pain in a bottle. 

And I strangled myself with that poison, everyday. 

Your Writer, Truly, Gracewriter98