On why I don't tell people I like to read/write

Me: I loooove reading and writing.
Random teenager: Oh, so you pretty much like to do school stuff.

>.<

I think when an adult claims he or she wants to be a writer, people typically respond like it's a cute idea. Like it's not a legitimate dream. Like somewhere the wannabe-writer's parents went wrong and that person received improper guidance as a child.

When a teenager claims he or she wants to be a writer, other teenagers typically respond like a) they think when someone say "write" it means essays analyzing various rhetorical devices and detailing the use of symbolism or b) "Oh yeah, that's cool. Maybe I'll write a book someday."

To be fair, option B probably applies heavily to both adults and teenagers.

But yeah. This is why a lot of people don't know that I like to read or write. Others rarely understand what it really means to me and I don't feel like I need to explain myself to anybody or justify the appeal of reading and writing.

Please note that this is a simple opinion and definitely a generalization. I used the word "typically" to indicate that these responses do not happen every time. I do not think all people who do not want to be a writer are incapable of grasping the concept.

And just for funzies I leave you with this:

Lions, Tigers, and College OH MY!

Okay, so the only lions and tigers are the ones that prowl through my belly when I think of college. Junior year is wrapping up in only a couple days, so it's time to start thinking seriously, really consider the future.

Which is horrifying. For me, at least.

But also exciting.

Because this is it.

In a few years, I'm going to begin life.

I'm going to put my big girl panties on and go to college and work toward a career. Not a job, but a CAREER.

But first I have to decide which college I want to go to.

Obviously, I want to be a writer. But, realistically speaking, that's not a career I can expect to make a living off of or even expect to steadily maintain. It's just not. Besides that, my dream is to be a literary agent or involved in the publishing industry in some way. But that's not a career one simply attains. I can't just fill out an application and BOOM become a big publishing industry sensation.

So here's the deal. I can move to New York for college, somewhere I will be traveling to for the first time this summer, and chase after that dream as fast as possible. I'll be in a ginormicous, frightening city and not know a single soul. Things will be expensive and I'll probably cry a lot. My family will be far, far away in Florida. But I'll be able to get my hand in the industry (hopefully) right away. I can try for internships and get involved in the heart of publishing.

Or I can move back to Florida where both of my brothers and my sister live, willing to be there for me and help me get through everything. (I'm the baby, and also the favorite, so everyone is willing to do anything for me!) I can go to the school my brother goes to. I can be comfortable. I might still be able to be a little involved in publishing but not nearly as much as if I lived in NY.

It's crazy to actually have to think of all these things. I like to believe I have all the time in the world to make this decision, but in reality, I don't. Not even close. In just a few months I'll have to actually start applying at colleges and making plans and...

OMG THERE ARE THE LIONS AND TIGERS.

Whew.

Anyway, I guess I'll apply to colleges in both states and then go from there. I'm confident enough in myself to know that, when the time comes, I'll make the decision best for me.

Something that I do hate, though, is that either option leaves me far away from my best friends (in Arkansas) and pretty much everything my life has become in the past year and a half (when I moved here). I know it happens to the majority of people, but it is difficult to fathom a life in which I don't talk to any of my current friends.

On a brighter note, however, I'm pretty sure this summer is going to be the best I've ever had. I'll be going to NYC with my choir this summer. Rooming with my best friend, seeing The Lion King on Broadway, getting my last chance to spend some time with the seniors I've become close with this year, and bonding with some of my favorite people in this world (because who doesn't love choir kids?). It will probably be the best 3 days in my entire life. Then, I'll be going to choir camp. I went last year and it was fun, but I had no idea what to expect going into it. So, I just kind of coasted through. I went along with everything, but never really participated. I'm already planning for it this time! Then I have a trip to Florida to see my family and this really awesome volunteering thing I'm doing where I help kids with their reading and math.

Unfortunately, that doesn't leave a lot of time for reading and writing this summer, but at least I get in some light, fun times before life officially gets superserious.

A Piece Of My Soul 1

Here's a little excerpt from something I'm writing, AKA me displaying a little piece of my soul. I would really love some CONSTRUCTIVE feedback, be it positive or negative. 

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The dinner proceeds in a typical and uncomfortable fashion. Mr. Aarons and my father make negotiations with business lingo that is nearly indecipherable. Mrs. Aarons has receded into herself, only nodding her agreement when the men speak. Luke is holding my hand under the table; not in a possessive way or a demanding way. He’s just listening to the businessmen’s conversation, holding my hand. This is the way things used to be between us, years ago, when we first started seriously dating. Luke would always hold my hand or wrap an arm around me or kiss me just because he liked touching me. It’s little moments like these that let me know somewhere, lurking in the depths of his being, there is real love for me. And it’s little moments like these that cause me more pain than any sort of physical damage Luke could possibly inflict.

Once appetizers have been picked at, miniscule dinner entrees devoured, and napkins set atop plates, Mr. Aarons stands with a very charming, very schmoozing grin and announces a smoke break. My father and several suited men accompany him to the back porch. I am shocked when Luke jumps to his feet and follows them. Luke has a lot of flaws, but smoke makes him sick. As he shuffles out the glass-paned French door, Luke quickly glances back at me, forehead creased. 

Mrs. Aarons beams at me from across the table, ignoring the few businessmen that decided to remain. I don’t get why she’s so happy-happy-joy-joy tonight. Usually she hides inside of her little shell until every last stranger has driven away. But all of a sudden she has emerged from it, eyes twinkling. The easy assumption would be that she’s drunk, but Mrs. Aarons never drinks. At least, not in front of others.

Nobody speaks, and I feel extraordinary awkward because Mrs. Aarons just keeps looking at me and grinning. 

Call me queen of observation, but I think something is going on. 

Several minutes later, the men file back into the dining room. Luke exchanges a look with my father and his. They return to their seats. Luke does not; instead, he approaches me. Any concern he may have been wearing earlier has vanished, replaced with a slight curve of his lips. Gazes cling to us from all around the table and the only thing I can do is swallow my wonderful What The Hell face and smile, like surprises from Luke are my favorite. 

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So, opinions would be nice! If you have anything on your blog that you would like feedback on, feel free to let me know! :D