Slumps for the Chump.

Halfway trhough August already? No, really, I'm having trouble wrapping my mind around this concept. Today is August 15th, this is what I'm writing on August 15th. Because it is, and it's scary. It's also scary that 2013 is nearly over. But that's cool. That's cool. This has probably been the fastest year of my life, to be honest, and I really don't think it's the whole current time thing. You know, the thing where the time you're living in is the fastest and so because of that it seems the fastest. And I know this, because 2012 felt significantly slower than 2011 or 2010. But then my concept of time is all strange.

I've been in a slump lately, a slump of bad proportions. This slump is basically came about from feeling useless as fuck about everything. It happens almost every summer, a summer lull that ha sbounced back and forth across every summer of my entire life. Reason for the summer lull have included lack of school. I think I've made it clear in this blog before just how much I love school and how much self meaning it gives to me, so I won't give into that. There's also the fact that I have worked this summer more than I ever have in any summer of my life. (Edit: I worked more the summer of Washington but that time was such a confusing clusterfuck of things) And lastly is that I always make these empty promises ot myself during summer, like I'm going to write so much, I'm going to read so much, I'm going to get so fit. Every damn summer I make them and every damn summer I don't keep them, in fact I probably recede on them. I usually am only active at work, so I get fatter. And even though you would think,that logically having more time, I would read and write more, but somehow I don't. And this summer, this is has probably been one of the of the worst summer lulls of my life (Washington was worse, along with the summer between eighth and ninth grade, it being the worst). And I don't know why. I have this particular way of hiding mysef away from the world in music and pretending I don't exist. I've been doing that so much this summer.

And school starts in eleven days. And I just can't wait for it. Because I'm tired of slumping.

Fin.
-Keshia

Same / Not

Hullo there...it's been slightly a bit.

So I've been doing this thing lately where I'm reading through my old journals. I've done it before, plenty of times, but mostly just skimming and reading certain sections. I have never just sat down and read through them all. And this is my intent this time, though it's probably going to take a bit...a while. I have filled up twenty-six notebooks, some tiny and some massive. And then there's all my regular reading and writing and all this stuff. Plus I want to take my time with it. I really want to examine the person I used to be and the person I am.

The thing about reading journals is that you learn so much about yourself. I was so terribly ignorant when I was younger and I really fear that I'm going to be reading my journals five years in the future and think about how ignorant I am now. Well...no, I know this will happen. It's not really a fear more of a, 'God, what am I doing wrong now that my older self with judge and laugh at.' And some people may think, no, you won't. The different between being twenty and being twenty five isn't that much. Whereas the difference in between being fifteen and being twenty is massive. But I don't like to think it that way, I like to think that I'm always changing and developing. That I am always a different kind of person. I am not even the same person that I was five minutes ago. But it's also funny, reading through them about how different and the same I am. I have these habits that never die, like making piles and piles of lists I hardly ever use. By always promising myself to get better, by always complaining. My journal is just a rant fest sometimes. And cheesy, I'm one crazy cheesy person. I was when I started my journal and I still am. But so much is different, I know so much more about the world. I can comprehend so much more. I read my journals in my head in the voice of a silly girl, because I look back at so many of the things I said, so many of the things I did and think about how silly it all was. And think about hwo beautiful it all is. It's life. And it's wonderous and scary and silly and great. And I just love that I have my journal, I have things like my blog. I love that I can record and know so much of it.

Fin.
-Keshia

The Little Woods

This book is about is about a girl, Cally Woods, who goes to a boarding school where her sister had gone missing ten years earlier. She meets people, she makes friends, stirs up some random love interests, and tries to figure out the mystery of her sister's dissapearence/death years before. Over all it wasn't that impressive.

First let's talk about Calista (Cally) the MC. She is boring, transparent, and really has no personality at all. She's what I like to call a blank slate character, one who is written in such a way that the reader can 'metaphorically' put themselves in their shoes. Half the time while reading I managed to be so annoyed with her that I couldn't concentrate. And then the rest of the characters, the massive group of the them, all fit into the cardboard cutout stereotypes. The only character at all, who had any sort of real personality at all was Chealsea. She was brilliant. But as for the rest of the characters, they were all dissapointing.

And for the writing itself. It wasn't very descriptive, it wasn't something that held some deeper meaning between the words. But it wasn't bad either, just your typical run of the mill YA that could have the opportunity to be so much more. And then there were the random expositions of vocabulary. Some 'big words' put in every now and then to perhaps sounds more well written, I suppose. But it breaks up the flow, it breaks the story. You know those aren't the thoughts of a seventeen year old girl.

The story wasn't rapidly interesting either, most of it was predictable. But it was at least interesting enough to keep my attention enough for me to read to the end. And I found that the final chapter was my favorite chapter, but not good enough to redeem the book. Overall it was okay, but probably not something I would suggest to anyone.

Fin.

-Keshia

(So I've been posting YT videos about the books I read. And in between goodreads and that I just don't have the effort anymore. So my brief efforts to put book reviews into my blog shall stop here. this will be the last one.)

The Shining

“Sometimes human places create inhuman monsters.”  I accept that Stephan King in one of the best and most influential writers of the 20th and 21st century. I do. I also accept that his style of writing is not the style that I enjoy. And yet he receives five stars, here's why. This is my third Stephan King book I am reading. The first being Misery and the second being his book about writing, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. And even through just these two works I could tell he was a talent beyond others. Misery was enticing and thrilling. And I consider On Writing as my second favorite book in the world about writing, which is, in fact, quite an accomplishment. And this story, The Shining, it is absolutely brilliant. His descriptions are so vivid, they grab hold of your by the neck and pull you into the story. There were so many times while reading this book that I had to catch myself. I would look up and gaze about, wondering why I wasn't with the ghosts of the Overlook Hotel. And then there was the characters, so finely detailed I felt like I had grew up with all of them. King has this brilliant gift of writing something so rich in word and plot and character, that I am baffled. But…there's always a but. I didn't thoroughly enjoy The Shining. Yes, the description was incredible. The delicate nature at which he approached the psychotic break down was absolutely amazing. And I read this story at break neck speed; it pulled me in so much. But it's also not my kind of story. I found most of it boring. Does that make any since? Something that bores you yet fascinates you at the same time? I loved this story, I loved this novel. And yet, I couldn't really get into it. Horror/thriller just really aren't my genre of book. Mystery is only a close second. And since those are the types that Mr. King specializes in I don't think I'll end of reading many of his works, but I will try. He kind of had this talent that's too hard to ignore. Overall, though, The Shining was brilliant and terrifying. I read most of it in the late hours of night and it had me peeking over my shoulder more than once. And even it's not necessarily the genre of book I normally go for, it is, in fact, a brilliant story. Fin. -Keshia

Everything I Needed to Know about Being a Girl I Learned from Judy Blume

"I wonder if Judy Blume really knows how many girls' lives she affected.""

Everything I Needed to Know about Being a Girl I Learned from Judy Blume is a fantastic collection of essays from multitudes of writers, talking about Judy Blume and her novels and how they affected her life. Growing up I was a huge Judy Blume fan (although I have yet to read what she's probably most well known for,'Are you there God, it's me Margaret') and reading through these essays only brought back all the wonderful memories I had of reading Blume's works for the first time. It really makes me wanna go find a copy of Forever or Tells of a Fourth Grade Nothing to dig into.

Overall this collection made my little English Major/writer heart swoon. Not only is it an examination of some of my favorite works, but it also tells how the writing changed people, helped them, and taught them a lesson in some way. And that's just the most wonderful thing, when someone takes something out of writing. I'm a huge fan of reader's response to writing, and so I loved reading through these essays. I felt like I was in some sort of book club dedicated to Judy Blume where we were all sitting around sipping tea and discussing how shocking it was for us to first read about Deenie masturbating or Katherine having sex.

Even though I'm a generation or two behind most of the women in here, and behind the Judy Blume empire itself, I still relate to most of the stories. Judy Blume was one of the names I most sought out in my elementary and middle school libraries, and when I couldn't find them (mostly because they were banned) I would look for her in the town library. And I really think this book felt like a big thank you note to here. A thank you note for being such a wonderful woman and writer.

Fin.

-Keshia

Just thoughts.

I have this theory that because I'm so upset now and have been off and on for several years now I'm not going to have a mid-life crisis. Because those are essentially people who go through life normally and finally have some kind of realization of how fucked up their life is when they reach a certain age. But for the people who are depressed a lot, for the kids who started hating themselves when they were young and who continued to into their young adult years, I think they can get better. I really think I can get better. I really do. I mean, I've been like this for 12+ years now but I think I'm growing out of it. It seems so horrible now because the emotions are so horrible and vivid and true and right now. It's really hard to go back to when I was eight years old and try to just feel the emotions I felt when I decided my whole family hated me and it wasn't worth living anymore. It's hard to think back to my middle school self on the Pride Night Dance sobbing my eyes out in the bathroom. I can't bring myself to think of what it was like in high school and my friends basically told me I was a piece of shit and I just didn't know what to do besides cry and beg for their forgiveness. It's hard to bring myself back to Washington, being so excluded that even talking on the phone was a big fucking deal. And then there's the beginning of the school year when one of my closest friends decided he wasn't going to talk to me anymore and when all my other friends suddenly made new friends and left me behind. Fuck, I can't even think back to a few months ago when I was so messed up I engaged in self harming again, something I hadn't done since I was that sobbing fourteen year old girl in the bathroom. But it feels so strong now. The presence is so much rougher and harsher than just memories. But it's odd, because I feel like after every time something happens I feel better. The relief I feel, the happiness that comes after these depressive stages is better. And I'm somehow stronger every time too. Like, I can make them last shorter amounts of time; I can talk myself out of self harming. I am getting stronger. And one day I hope, I can get fully better. Which is why I think this mid-life crisis thing won't happen to me. I've already had all this shit it my life, if I ever do get rid of it I see no fucking reason why I would ever even allow it to seep back.

And this is not saying that people who aren't depressed in this age are definitely going to have a mid life crisis. I'm just saying it's more likely. But there are some people, I know, who can go through life being perfectly content for most of it. I envy these people; no one should ever have to feel this.

And fuck, I'm not even really sad right now. It's just that I can smile and be happy and worry and be sad. Everything is good, nothing is too terrible. But I come home every night and listen to sad music, watch sad scenes, I cry almost every day for no particular reason at all. And I don't know much why.

Fin.

-Keshia

The Help

“Ever morning, until you dead in the ground, you gone have to make this decision. You gone have to ask yourself, "Am I gone believe what them fools say about me today?” 

The Help is a powerful book about one young white woman and a group of black maids working together to create something that has never been seen before. It's a study of how it feels to be black and a maid in 1963, at the height of the civil rights movement and in the heart of the southern United States. The story is told through the perspectives of Skeeter, a 23 year old fresh from college graduate who is strong but not confident in herself. She claims to have been 'raised' by her maid Constantine and through her wants to learn more from the other side. Then there is Minnie, the fiery mouthed black maid who creates a powerful voice for the story. And finally Aibaleen, the strong backbone of the story, I think she's really the main character, the one who brings the whole thing together, she's kind and endearing and yet strong. All together they create a story that is true and strong, one about strength and friendship that passes the boundaries of color.

I came into this book already a fan of the movie, having fallen in love with it. Of course I expected it to be better, as I always expect books to be better. But really it was around the same level for me. But that's not a bad thing, because you see, I absolutely adore the movie. The book only put things more in perspective for me, particularly from Skeeter's perspective. While Emma Stone did an amazing job in the movie, it really takes the inner dialogue you can only get with a book, to see how much Skeeter was really falling apart. But she didn't let herself fall apart, and I think that is key for her character.

What I admire Kathryn Stockett for more than anything in the help is making such strong characters. They are so admirable in the things they do, they are people to really up too. And the messages she puts in the book are just grand, it's not just a book about race but about feminism as well. Not only does Skeeter not fit into the 'standard' idea of the time because she sees blacks as her equal, but also because she isn't out to settle down and find a husband. She wants to be her own woman. And I think she is such an admirable character for that, particularly in the time that she lives in.

Stockett also did a great job in dialogue. As someone who grew up in the south myself, I pretty much admire any other southern writer. But one who can capture the south in such delicate little ways that it's almost scary it's so real, I really…really admire that. And while I didn't grow up in the south in the 1960's, I did feel like a lot of this book was something I can relate to. A lot of good and a lot of bad. Things have changed and things haven't.

Above all, I really enjoyed this book, and now I have to go back and watch the movie. The voice, the dialogue, the anticipation…everything was so brilliant and lovely, and I don't think Stockett could've done any better with a debut.

Fin.
-Keshia