Guess who's back, back again.

Ballsballsballsballsballs.


Apologies to any who find that offensive, but

balls.

So I fly to DC in eight days for my year abroad...
Have I started packing?
Nope.
Have I started making lists?
Nah.
Have I done anything to prepare myself for living in another country for a year?
Hell no.

I swear, the only thing I have is my freaking visa, which isn't all the fab seeing as I look like a hairy marshmallow on it.

And so, with all my lack of time, I decide to make my first blog post in months. Clever.


Anyway...

Been a while, hasn't it?
Seeing as the last time I posted it was 2013 I suppose I ought to say: Happy New Year! *cue drunken slurs and inappropriate snogs from strangers*
How's 2014 been treating you? Kept any of your resolutions?

Psht, who am I kidding? No one does that.



To my diligent readers, I do apologise for my absence from The Blog. I decided to take an impromptu break from it. Not because I didn't want to post, but because I decided that I needed to completely focus on my own, real life. I did this with quite a few internet-y things to be honest. But! New (academic) year, new posts!

Over the next year I am going to post at least once a fortnight, updating y'all on my overseas adventures and (hopefully) posting some more of my writing.
I haven't updated anything about We Are Young (now titled L'appel du Vide - yes, I know, this the third name, but the other two were working titles and I swear this one is final) on here, however over on my wattpad I have been posting (chapter four on it's way today or tomorrow). So, y'know, there's that. Which is good.

However, I digress. The main thing I wanted to say with this post is that this blog will once again become active as I'll be using it as a type of diary for my travels and shall also be sporadically posting chapters of LDV.

Right, so, I ought to go and start packing and/or making lists and/or pretending to packing and actually just looking at pictures of cats on the internet.
I shall post again once I'm in the great US of A - in the couple of days following my arrival on the 10th.


See you soon!

We Are Young

It's been a long time coming, but finally I have some creative writing for you!
A creative writing blog posting creative writing? What is this madness?!

This is the first chapter of a story I have been writing called We Are Young. If anyone has been following this blog for a while then you might remember me posting the first chapter from something called The Evening Sun. This is the same story, however much has changed and I have since re-written the chapter. So don't worry! You're not going to be reading the same thing.

Anyway, on with the show!

All criticisms and comments are welcome :)

CHAPTER ONE

They say the average person lives seventy years. That's eight-hundred and forty months. Three-thousand, six-hundred and fifty-two weeks. Twenty-five thousand, six-hundred days.

Half it, you get five-hundred-and-fifty-six thousand hours of night. Two billion seconds of darkness.

That's a lot of pitch black.

When you're young it seems scary, the darkness. It knows no bounds and its chill seems to seep into every pore of life and break it from the inside out. Monsters come alive in its shade and nightmares are spawned. Children sleep with lights on in the hope that whatever labours their minds might be just as afraid of the light as they are of the darkness. Parents are forever hushing their children and whispering words of reassurance to the minds whose imagination is running wild and is utterly uncontainable.

But as you grow you gain this mutual understanding with night and take comfort in its embrace. It becomes a type of warmth and you fall into a dependency upon it; sleeping with ease in the murkiness of the long hours of night. And then, when your mind has developed and calmed with age, darkness becomes a friend and provides a strange security you find nowhere else in life.

This division in beliefs has always perplexed me, most probably because I'm not familiar with that security. I never made that leap between beliefs. I'm still afraid of the dark.

The thing is I know it's daft. I can analyse my thoughts until the most minute detail falls beneath my scrutiny, but nothing changes when dusk rolls in. Those beautiful sunsets are painful because I know exactly what's coming. And whether I’m standing at the window or, in my weaker moments, cowering in the corner with a blanket over myself like a dog afraid of thunder, I always make sure I see that slow transition from light into darkness, like a masochistic daily ritual.

I think I do it to make sure it happens. Almost as if a ridiculous part of my brain believes that one day it will just stop and there will be no more night, no more darkness, and no more unease. No more waiting with bated breath as the orange eye lurks along the horizon, staring and teasing me with its disappearance; as if pointing a finger and snickering at my distress. I almost hate the sun because of it. Another ridiculous belief, I know. But I always feel cheated when the day ends; as if we've been sold to the night before we even have time to ask why.

What's more, I don't even know why I'm scared. I mentally kick myself every time I lose my breath from that rush of anxiety because I know that there is no logical explanation for it. I'm not afraid of monsters. I'm always in my apartment when the night comes and, even though I live alone, the place is small and comforting, with warm lights that reach every corner. I know every inch of my flat and I know it's safe, so it's not that I'm afraid of it being broken into or my being hurt either. Nor I'm not afraid of being blinded by the darkness because I know that my eyes will adjust after a while.

With all logical reasoning I'm not afraid. There is no cause behind the speeding up of my heart and the clamminess of my palms. With all logical reasoning I'm a normal human being.

But then that's not entire true either. A normal human being would be able to hold a casual conversation for more than two seconds. Alas, that is yet another development I failed to fulfil. Still, it's always been like that. Just like my fear of the dark, my inept social skills seem to have been in abundance for the majority of my life, since I can't remember that peaceful, brilliant time before them.

Growing up I never really indulged in the social expectations of birthday parties or sleepovers, preferring instead to hide away in a book and not speak unless I had to. People would push me to try and make friends but, unfortunately, it seems as though eight year olds have much more important things to do than discuss the dilemmas of Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy, however much I may have insisted. Not that I minded in the end; the characters became my friends and the books a solace, which seemed to be absent in other parts of life. Still to this day I surround myself with printed pages; my flat cluttered with books spanning all walks of life in our world and those of our mind.

Glancing around my flat at these towers of books, I close my latest read. And that’s when I realise. That’s it. The book that lies between my two palms and my lap was the last book I have that I haven’t read before.

I put it on the bedside table and kick my legs out from where they’ve been tucked beneath me all morning, and start desperately looking along the piles of books that lie scattered throughout my bedroom. A deflated feeling fills my head as I glance down the titles. Nope, nothing.

I move to the kitchen and do the same with those piles of literature. However, again, I find no unread book hiding in a tower of explored stories.

For a split second, I consider having the afternoon off and buying some more books tomorrow, but my mind is too impatient. It continuously contemplates the new stories and new worlds that are ready for me to discover; waiting, dust-ridden and ignored, in the far-reaching shelves of my favourite bookshop.

The ticking of an old clock that hangs nonchalantly above my bedroom doorframe slowly becomes over-apparent as stubborn thoughts fill my head. Each second that clicks by drills through my mind, slowly tapping at my patience until, finally, it’s knocked too far and it tumbles off the edge. Before it hits the ground, my keys are in my hand and my front door is slamming shut.

Outside, the August air holds the pleasant glow of late summer afternoons. Heat rises from the pavement and warms the soles of my feet as I walk past the park with its freshly cut grass. Unnecessary memories fill my head as the scent lingers in my mind, but I close the door on them; refusing them entry and trying to forget them as I push forwards, away from their relentlessness.

The sound of the city fills the air as I walk, and my mind runs away from me for a split second. The scenes materialise before my eyes; streets buzzing with the usual hoard of business people hurrying along home; parents with pushchairs, nattering amongst themselves whilst their kids pull faces at one another or scream blue murder as they drop their toys. I smile to myself as think over these animated scenes, but I don't venture into them and play a part; the idea of crowds causing an involuntary shudder to run down my spine.

A few streets from my apartment, the pavement curves round and before me lies the short stretch of Calor Avenue. It’s only about one-hundred metres long or so and is dotted with a few local shops and cafes, and in its placement it lies nearly off the map. Not in the geographical sense but in the fact that Calor sits both close enough and far enough away from the city centre to easily be forgotten: its pavement is worn and cracked, and the road marks are long gone. The last building on the left-hand side is my destination.

From the outside, Rowan Books looks completely abandoned. The old stone of the building is crumbling like wet sand, held together only it seems by the encroaching ivy that devises intricate patterns across its walls. However, the second you enter the tired building a smell of worn books and dusty pages hits you and time becomes all at once irrelevant, because instantly you become lost to a world of fantasies and mysteries and epic battles that you have yet to experience. Every time I stand within the bookshop’s walls I can’t help but run my fingertips down the spines of the books as I gaze up at them in awe, my mind boggling in amazement at the millions of other worlds and other lives trapped within their threadbare covers.

In the shop's cool air, I walk down the aisles of towering, deep brown bookcases filled to the brim with lives. The bookshop sells prints from no later than 1960, and thus some of the old covers are so worn, and so well-loved and well-travelled, that you're completely unable to read their titles without flipping through the stiff, brittle pages that clump together and creak as the spine unhinges.

The blinds at the front of the store that are ever closed get caught by the sun sometime after I start my adventure search, and the small room turns the colour of warm honey. I amble in a daze, up and down the aisles, as soft fragments of life fumble lazily in the golden hue. After an age but only second, I choose a few musky books and head to the till at the front of the store where Alfred Hall, the elderly owner of the store, stands behind the counter, watching me over his half-moon glasses as I approach.

When I reach him, he simply says, "Evening, m'dear." A smile causes his white, wiry moustache to turn up at the ends.

"Evening, Alfred," I reply, returning the grace.

I pass my books over to him as puts down his own novel and says, "Let me run them through for you."

Watching him as he does so, I note the usual Alfred-esque features: a smartly ironed shirt with a thin, knitted waistcoat over the top, unsteady hands with crooked joints that match the arched and unnatural shape of his back, and thinning white hair on his head with a couple of age spots that fill the space it leaves. And as I breathe, I notice his cologne: all fresh with the scent of pine.

He puts my books into a bag and I say, "Been busy?"

He shakes his head. "No, just the usual customers like yourself."

I nod in reply, trying to ignore the horrible question that always arises my head at times like this: why does he keep the shop open? Don’t get me wrong, I love this shop. I love the calming way it just sits and waits for you, and the way it’s always happy when you finally arrive. I love that if I asked for directions to it no one would know because it’s mine and Alfred’s and no one else’s for the hours that I escape to it. I love the way that I can come here and forget everything because here is where other people’s stories live, not mine.

However, I can’t help but think that the books which line the shelves must be sought after by collectors, and the reality is that Alfred isn’t getting any younger. He could sell up and live an easy retirement, instead of selling his stories at a highly reduced price in an unknown store.

But he stays. Every day he opens the long forgotten shop and waits for those few dedicated people who haven’t yet forgotten him. Thinking over it I become baffled once more, regardless of the fact that I would never actually want to see the place close. And so in hatred of myself, I promise over and over and over in my mind that I will never be one of the people to forget.

He finishes packing the bag of books and holds the handles out to me. Thanking him, I take them, before walking out of the shop with Alfred close behind me.

"Alfred…" I say to him when we're stood by the door - him inside, holding it open, and me on the outside step. I think about voicing that awful question about the shop, about why it’s still here, about why he keeps it running when there is no one left to run it for. But I decide to leave it for today. Instead, I just shrug my shoulder to settle my bags and say, "Goodbye" nodding a farewell.

He nods back and replies, "Goodnight."

Frowning at the use of word, I turn around as he shuts the door and clicks the lock into place.

My face instantly goes pale as I realise the need for Alfred's specifically chosen vocabulary. Before me, I see the typical hidden darkness that signals the beginning of the end of the day. Feeling panic beginning to form, I quickly head back down Calor Avenue, keeping my eyes on the park that lies at its end. I hadn’t realised how long I’d spent in the bookshop. I'd thought it was earlier; earlier than the cruel daily ritual of sunset.

It's grand today, no doubt: the ash clouds of indigo ripple above a city that is basked in a dusty salmon pink light, the source of which is slowly slipping beneath low, red brick houses like molten lava. But regardless of the awe I feel when I turn my eyes towards the heavens, a burning hatred is quick to follow, no matter how nonsensical it may be.

As I'm passing a florist I pick up the pace, my fear slowly sinking further into me. The emotion almost blinds me and I don't take in my surroundings, causing me to knock in to a short and balding middle-aged man, who accidentally sends both me and my bags flying.

"Sorry about that," he immediately apologises, quickly helping me up.

"No, no, I'm sorry. It was my fault,” I reply, as we both arch are backs and bend our knees in order to pick up the contents of my bags.

He quickly stuffs my things back into my bag and, as he hands it back to me, he nods a goodbye, stands up, and walks away. I straighten up and start to continue my breathless rush back to the apartment, when a voice behind me calls out.

“Hey, you. Wait a minute."

Halting, I quickly turn around, assuming I'm the one the voice is addressing, and when I look I see a boy roughly my age, standing with crossed arms by the door to the florist shop and staring at the man who I had just bumped into. Seeing that I’m not the one his attention is focused on, I begin to turn back. But then I see the panic on the man's face.

"You don't want to do this," says the boy evenly, and I notice his thick but soft southern-Irish accent.

His face turning a vague purple, the man glances down the street as if thinking about making a run for it. The boy takes a step forward, calmly, but with an underlying threat; his eyes steady beneath a blue baseball cap.

"Just give it to me," he says evenly, "and I'll forget all about it. But if you try and run, I will catch you and I will have to go to the police."

Police?

Shocked, I look at the man again and try to figure out his crime.

The man visibly gulps and I can see him thinking over his options. It's obvious that if he tried to run the boy would catch him easily, given the foot and a half between them height-wise. And with regards to weight the odds were in the boy's favour too as, even though he was quite broad, he was slim, whereas the man had a visible belly protruding over his trousers.

The boy extends his hand towards the man, whose face has developed a definite sheen of sweat. The man looks forward once more before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the hidden item. Without me being able to see it, he takes a few steps forward and gives it to the boy, his hands visibly shaking. Then he glances at me quickly and leaves, walking as swiftly as he can without looking suspicious and drawing attention to himself. I watch him shuffle-walk to the end of the street and, before long, he rounds the corner and is gone.

Not long after his departure I feel an awkwardness descends over me as I realise that, one, I had stood and watched an event I was not involved in and, two, I hadn’t even tried to help. Apologetically, I look at the boy who then steps down off the florist’s step and begins to walk towards me. Surprised, I glance around to check, but as I turn back I realise I am indeed the one he's heading towards. He stops in front of me, looking slightly amused.

Cocking his head to the side, he says "Don't know what he just did, d'you?"

I shake my head. He raises his hand, the one the man had placed the item into, and says, "Here." And as I look down into his palm I see my coin purse, slightly misshaped from being hastily shoved into a pocket. I gasp and look back down the road after the man, though I know he's long gone.

"But…" I trail off, looking at my purse again.

"Took it when he was helping you put your things back in your bag. I saw from inside the shop,” he says, gesturing behind him with a thumb.

My mind quickly starts to go over the memory of bumping into the man, trying to see if I'd noticed anything but, of course, I hadn't. It’d happened in a flash and the only recollection I had was of him putting my things back into my bag, and then handing the bag to me. No matter how many times I go over it in my head, my memories stay the same. A realisation forms in my mind as it dawns on me that if the boy hadn’t been there, I would have had my purse stolen.

I take it from his hand, put it in my bag, and look up at him, gratitude awash on my face.

"Th...Thank you," I manage to say, my mind still whirling.

"Ah, don't mention it.” He smiles down at me. I turn away again, frowning as I think.

“Hey…y’alright?” I look back at him, and see an expression of worry stamped on his face.

He laughs and his expression loosens up and begins to disappear. “Stupid question given what’s just happened. Y’just seemed a bit quiet, so I figured I’d ask. Forget I said anything.” He smiles at me.

I quickly pull my face out of a frown. “No, no, not at all. I’m just…shocked, I suppose. And surprised. I hadn’t noticed anything. And then…” My mind boggles and I don’t finish the sentence.

“Yeah, I understand,” he replies. “But, if it makes y’feel any better, I reckon it was only a spur of the moment thing.” I look up at him, confused, and he continues. “I reckon when he saw your purse he just took his chance and ran with it. Don’t think he’d even fully convinced himself yet, so I don’t reckon anything would’ve gone down.”

I nod and look away. “Oh,” I say, and instantly regret it as it makes me seem dim and unfazed. “I mean, that’s good,” I rephrase quickly, trying to cover up my initial reply.

He laughs again. “Yeah, it’s good.”

Looking up at him, I expect a pitying or jesting look, but instead find a smiling face, all open and honest.

Dusting his compost-smeared palms off on his cream apron, he says, “Rian, by the way,” and raises a hand.

I hesitate at first but then I take it in my own. “Cynthia,” I say with a small nod.

He lets go and walks over to the empty display buckets outside the shop. Turning back to look at me, he says, “Need to take these in before it gets dark, but you’re welcome to wait if y’want.”

Before it gets dark…?

I turn and look at the sunset. Without my realising, the majority of light had slowly been drained from all around us, causing the street light behind me to turn on as ebony slowly slunk through the roads. A small part deep within my chest instantly becomes hollow as my throat goes dry and starts to close up. I turn back and firmly shake my head, panic quickly bubbling in my brain. Rian’s expression dampens slightly, and I immediately feel bad. He just doesn’t know.

“No, it’s not that. I...I just need to get home,” I try to clarify, my voice becoming hoarse.

Rian nods, and then suddenly turns and disappears into the shop, calling back to say, “Wait there a sec!”

I begin to shuffle my feet, nerves slowly getting the better of me, as I glance back at the minute slither of the pink sky which remains visible above the rooftops. A few seconds later Rian returns and hands me a business card of the florist. “Here, so you don’t forget to come back.” He smiles.

I nod, and quickly put it in my handbag, my fingers having trouble with the zipper as I begin to shake. “Thanks…I won’t.” Turning swiftly, I walk away.

“G’bye! See y’around sometime, maybe?” he calls to me.

I look back and nod at him, distracted. “Yes, maybe.”

Then, turning back, I hurry to the end of the street, before running to my flat as soon as I’m around the corner and out of Rian’s line of sight. My feet pound on the stairs up to my flat like the slamming of my heart in my chest, so strong I fear for the ribs which trap it inside my body.

I struggle with the lock but as soon as I’m in my flat I slam the door closed behind me and switch on the light. My legs give way and the ground is suddenly much closer as I collapse onto the floor. Ignoring my bags and their contents scattered on the carpet like the remnants of a broken cocoon, I lean against door and close my eyes, my chest heaving as I gulp in shaky air.

December cheer

JMU! JMU!

I apologise immensely for having not posted in months, I've been excruciatingly busy and have been dealing with a pain-in-the-ass landlord who decided that a mouldy room was my fault.
Erm, no. It's really not.
Turns out there was a brick missing in the external wall that meant whenever it rained (and this is England so, y'know, that happens a lot) water ran down the inside of the building's structure, meaning that my room became damp and then mouldy. Whoop! Student housing is such FUN.
Though, I've got to say, the house is amazing. It's a newly refurbished, semi-detached house with a garden. We even have a stain-glass window.
Like...whut. That's waaay too classy for our little student lives.

But ANYWAY.

I decided that I would post near Christmas, firstly to say Merry Christmas (and a late Happy Hanukkah), and to update you on my year abroad allocation.

Firstly, for those who don't know or have randomly stumbled upon my blog (sup), I read American Studies, and thus I have a year abroad in an American university. Back in November I applied to eight universities - in order of preference - and gave my reasons for wanting to go. And then the waiting game began.
BUT, today it was finally over because my letter arrived! And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the reason behind the seemingly random selection of letters at the beginning of my blog: I am going to James Madision University, otherwise known as JMU, in Harrisionburg, Virginia!
I've been in love with JMU since I first heard about it - so over two years now - and it was my first choice on my application.
It doesn't feel real, but I'm simultaneously ecstatic because I know I'm going there.

I seriously can't wait because I know that it will be an incredible year.

James Madison University campus

I shall be posting again soon because I've been working on We Are Young.

Goodbye for now! I must go and start stocking up on purple and gold attire (the JMU colours)!

We The People

Right, so for the last few weeks I've been majorly distant on anything blog related: mainly due to the fact that for two weeks I was in the United States of America, and the week before the holiday was 'panic-to-do-everything-we-should-have-done-before' week.

Where did you go? I hear you wonderful imaginary people ask.
Well, little ones, firstly I went to Washington DC.

BOOM. Lincoln, bitches.

Now, I have to admit, I was a complete and utter tourist.

Visit the White House? Check.

See the Lincoln Memorial? Check.

And the Washington Memorial?

And the World War I Memorial?

And the World War II  Memorial?
And the Jefferson Memorial?
And the Martin Luther King Jr Memorial?
And the Korean War Memorial?

Check check check check check check.
Hell'uva lot of memorials in one day.
And I've got to say, my favourite was the Korean War Memorial.

The memorial consists of statues of soldiers. The men emerge from trees and tread through fern-like plants as some look behind and some look to the side, all keeping an eye out for the enemy.

The statues are placed in a triangle shape; five or six along the back line, which diminishes to just one lone leader at the front. This placement creates for an incredibly powerful memorial when you stand at the tip of the triangle looking across at the cautious squadron of soldiers, all from diverse backgrounds - something which the artist(s) thought to consider when sculpting each individual piece.

I was lucky enough to be at the memorial at sunset, which made it all the more stunning to see.
Although I love the iconic nature of both the Washington Memorial and the Lincoln Memorial, the powerful and raw nature of this memorial just made the realities of war hit home, which is why I would definitely say it was my own personal favourite.


Though the World War I Memorial was mighty stunning too...

And the Martin Luther King Jr Memorial was epic...

Just look at his sass.

And the Jefferson Memorial was just beautiful...

The day following my memorial escapade, I toured the Capitol building. For those of you who don't know much about DC or American politics, the Capitol building is the dome-roofed white building where Congress (the House of Representatives and the Senate) meet. If you ever see Congressmen on the news looking all angry and stating their case to a guy they call 'Mr. President' (not Obama), then you're either looking at the House or the Senate.

The building itself is pretty epic in size, though the interior design is freaking incredible.

Just look at that ceiling.

Seriously. You'd think it was some Cathedral it's so darn ornate.

That ceiling is underneath the dome, and the room which the ceiling is in is filled with statues.

The Capitol has got two statues from each state (each depicting famous people from the individual states) filling up all nooks and crannies in the building, and this room is lined with them.

Oh, hey look, it's Lincoln again.

One of the most interesting things about this room is the statues of Ulysses S. Grant and Dwight D. Eisenhower, the 18th and 34th Presidents of the United States respectively. Of course the statues themselves are interesting, but the key point is what they're wearing: they're both in their General's uniform.

Ulysses S. Grant (left) and Dwight D. Eisenhower (right)

There is nearly one hundred years difference between the presidencies of these two men, as Grant held office from 1869-77 and Eisenhower from 1953-61. The differences in the wardrobe of the two men really helps to convey how much the country has change over just a century - I mean, Grant is holding a freaking sword.

Anyway, I learnt a couple of interesting things during my tour which amused me, so I thought I would share it with you guys:

1. Abraham Lincoln received a letter from a young girl saying that beards where all the trend for men and that the ladies would love him if he grew one. So he thought about it and decided to go with it.

High-five, random citizen, because he sure doesn't look right without one.

2. Andrew Jackson (7th President of the US) was a Democrat, though not the type of democrat we know of today, as back then the Democrats were the more like today's Republican party.

Although he was majorly popular in his time (basically because he was like 'lets move all the natives of this land over to this other place so we can live here instead' and all the Americans went 'yay!'), there were those that opposed him - i.e. the Republicans/republican supporters.

So, as well as politically opposing him, they also rebelled through smaller things, such as cartoons in a newspaper. Jackson's opposition took his last name and used it against him by creating a play-on-words through portraying him as a 'jackass', i.e. a donkey.

Now, remember how I said he was a Democrat?

Yup, you got it. The reason why today's Democrat party in the USA is shown as a donkey is because a Democratic President was a total jerk and the opposing party wanted to belittle him.

The More You Know.

Photo from: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:DemocraticLogo.png

So, what can I say about my trip to Washington DC?

Well, it was kinda how I expected it to be, only more grand, and everyone was so unbelievably nice (though that may just be because Americans have a thing about the British...weirdos).

I mean, the White House was exactly how I expected it to be: white.

Don't let what I've just said fool you though, I had an incredible few days in the city and majorly enjoyed myself (I even went round the International Spy Museum and found out - through tests - that I am a awesome candidate for a spy. Hell yeah.) - I think I'm just a bit heartbroken that I wasn't able to get a fist-bump from Obama.

*sigh*

Maybe next time, eh?

The next stop for us was what people call 'Amish Country'.

The place we stayed in was a town in the heart of Amish Country called 'Intercourse' - something which neither of my parents seemed to find as hilarious as me, my sister, and all of our friends.

Come on, you could buy shot glasses with 'I heart Intercourse' on them. That is frickin' hilarious.

Intercourse was nothing like I've ever seen before. Everywhere was just farm after farm after farm, with rows of corn and apples growing by the side of the road. It was absolutely stunning.

And every now and again you'd pass an Amish man or woman in a buggy.

Photo from: http://www.welcome-to-lancaster-county.com/images/amish-wagon-opt.jpg

Due to the fact that the Amish don't like having their picture taken, I don't have many photos from the few days I was in Intercourse, and the ones I do have are just the scenery.

So instead, I'll just give you the highlight of my trip there: having dinner with an Amish family.

The bed and breakfast we were staying at during our stay was run by a vicar, who had many connections in the Amish community. He emailed us to ask whether we'd be interested, and of course we said yes.

We got to the home of the Amish family about seven (if I'm remembering correctly) and were greeted by one of the young boys (about six years old) who wanted to show us the family's goats - who were all incredibly adorable and had names like 'Midnight'.

Afterwards, we headed inside and were greeted by the rest of the family: the mother and father, two young girls, and two more young boys (I say 'greeted' - one of the young boys napped on the sofa for the whole evening and only waved in a tired manner when we arrived).

The group of us, sixteen in total (the family normally entertain about ten), were seated around a long table which was already laid out with homemade ketchup and a blend of pickled vegetables called 'Chow Chow'.

The meal which we received was nothing less than glorious. Mary, the mother, had cooked meatloaf, and chicken, and mash potatoes, and noodles, and oodles more. And every single bit was amazing.

After the main meal, we were given pudding/dessert of peach pie and apple pie - both scrumptious, obviously.

Although the food was indeed excellent, the actual act of getting to know an Amish family was what made the evening so incredible. As well as the fact that every family member was polite and welcoming, they are extraordinarily fascinating people with regards to their way of life and set of beliefs. I mean, their work dedication is something to be admired.

The Amish as a community are amazingly prosperous and just have a knack for farming. However, everyone is seen to be equal and the socially constructed beliefs regarding class and status forced down our throats in today's modern society just doesn't exist in their culture. You could be driving past a millionaire's house and you would never know it.

Also, their beliefs on the division of labour is very interesting. Women work inside the home, and men outside. Children are brought up to appreciate that achievements come from hard work and so don't complain about things like chores, which kids in modern day society do.

And even though the labour division lines between genders cannot be crossed, no one minds.

Yes, women have to do certain jobs. But so do men.

Job allocation is completely fair, and completely logical. A woman is needed to bring up children because they physically depend on her, whereas men are physically stronger than women, and so can fulfill outside tasks much easier.

(And, just to let you know, I'm all for gender equality and hate the whole oppression/separate spheres thing, but even I had to appreciate the logical and fair nature of their way of life.)

Amish people are incredibly fascinating people and I would urge anyone who is given a chance to meet with them to take it because you will not regret it, I promise.

Following our stay in Pennsylvania, we headed down to Williamsburg, Virginia. We stayed for the remaining week of the holiday and the majority of our time was spent shopping, seeing as we weren't able to do any in the first week, and relaxing. Therefore, I can't really tell you much about the area, apart from the fact that it's really historical (as it's the sight of the first landing) and thus very interesting.

Oo, and people wander around the town centre all dressed up in colonial wear.

Photo from: http://static.panoramio.com/photos/large/82683851.jpg

Say what?

Also, in the week, I popped over the Blue Ridge Mountains to check out James Madison University (I get a year abroad in the USA with my course and this is where I'll hopefully be going).

Virginia is so goddamn pretty.



Anyway, that about sums it up. My Fortnight in America (2013) - voila!

I have a few more pictures that I might put on the end of my next few posts, so that's something for y'all to look forward to.

All I can say is: America? Thank you, you are wonderful and feel like my second home.

God Bless America

P.S. Just a general update:
I'm now back at uni and have been re-experiencing 'freshers'.
So far my escapades have included drunkenly attempting to construct my bedside table at 5am.
Anyway...

Cheerio til next time!

Summer Movies and Music

Recently, I've been spending far too much time on the computer, due to the fact that I've been trying to write my book.

But HUZZAH, I have finally got somewhere with it!

If you fancy having a read of the first chapter, then here is the wattpad link:

http://www.wattpad.com/story/7737342-we-are-young

Leave some feedback if you have a chance - thank you!

Now, on with the blog post...

I've seen a couple of films recently, both of which I would undoubtedly recommend.

Firstly, I saw Now You See Me:

Now You See Me is an extremely fast-paced magician-based crime thriller (of sorts) which gets darker and more complicated with each step that you take. Each of the magic tricks you see leave you mind-blown and questioning how it links to the grand scheme of the plot. It's an incredibly clever film which will leave you in awe and slightly gobsmacked, as you realise how everything is so perfectly interwoven.

The next film I saw was The Lone Ranger:

This movie was incredibly panned in the United States, partly (I suspect) because it doesn't portray Hollywood's idolised view of The Wild West and, instead, shows it to be how it actually was - i.e. a dirty and 'sinful' place (due to the alcoholism and prostitution) where the progressive white men (modern day Americans' ancestors) were greedy and uncaring of the Native Americans. HOWEVER, this film is probably the best that I've seen since I sat in a cinema, way back in 2008, and fell in love with Heath Ledger's portrayal of The Joker.

The Lone Ranger is hilarious, dark, and surprisingly heartfelt, which will leave you crying with laughter long after the credits finish rolling. And on top of all that, the cinematography is stunning - with locations such as Monument Valley. I would highly recommend seeing this film before it leaves the cinemas, especially since you'll probably want to make a second trip, just to watch the idiocy of Johnny Depp all over again.

As well as writing my book and watching a few movies, I've been listening to a load of new music recently. Although the songs aren't technically 'new', their new to me, so I thought I'd share them with you lot in case you haven't either of them before either.

Fools by Lauren Aquilina

Youth by Daughter

Atlas Hands by Benjamin Francis Leftwich

Old Pine by Ben Howard

Home by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes

My taste in music is fairly diverse, but I go through phases and right now I'm going through a relaxing/summery/guitary/hearfelt lyrics phase, so...voila!

I have a massively long playlist on Spotify called "We Are Young Soundtrack" which I have on repeat whenever I'm writing. The song above are all on that playlist. I have no idea if the songs somehow effect my writing, but lemme know what you think. (I had Old Pine on repeat when I was writing chapter one)

Anyway, I should really be disappearing off to do some more writing now.

Cherrio!

My absence has been unacceptable

Do you ever wish you had a record button in your head?

I do. I wish I could record thoughts and, more importantly, dreams. I never really remember my dreams, and on the rare occurrences that I do, they fade almost instantly. They always seem spectacularly interesting though, like they're multiple doorways into different rooms in my mind that I can't get to without the key that that one distinct dream provides.

Without a doubt, a record button in your mind would be useful for other reasons too. For example, you'd only need to read a page once to know everything that's printed on it, so exams would be as easy as hell. And what about if you really didn't want to forget a specific day or event? Just press that record button and it's there forever, nestled like dusty records between memories of your tenth birthday and your marriage, your first kiss and your last.

Just as I began wondering how brilliant it would be to be able to record whatever and whenever you wanted, I suddenly realised something: memories are special. Somewhere, in the depths of your mind, you've chosen to remember these specific events, because they mean something to you - they're special to you. And having the ability to consciously choose what you remember would ruin it. In your foolish youth you'd place importance on mundane events which seem incredible and invaluable at the time, but are things you'd regret and rather forget about later on in life. But our mind knows what's really important, wherever we are in our lives. It knows what we ought to and what we need to remember before even we know.

My point in this whole shebang is that I've recently started to really appreciate how extraordinary human beings are. Okay, not everyone is an amazing person, I can't deny that. But just look at us as a collective and we're utterly astounding. I don't agree with everything that we do in the world, and I never will, but us as creatures are incredible things. We have the capacity to learn and love and live; to be inspired, heartbroken, and completely and utterly alive. And we live in this awe-inspiring world, which is brimming with life that is so amazingly colourful and vibrant, each one in their individual ways.

But I find that we, as the incredible creatures that we are, forget about the little things in life that, okay, don't really mean much, or add to the grand scheme of our own individual lives, but help the world grow, just that little bit more, each and every day.

I don't really understand what I'm trying to achieve in this post; it's not like I assume it'll change your view of the world. I mean, for all I know your view on it is perfect and in no need of fixing. I think the reason behind it is just for me to try and create a structure to the thoughts that have been filling my head recently.

A lot of my time nowadays is spent writing a story of mine called "We Are Young". For this story, I had to question what I would do if I survived a near-death experience, and how my view of the world and life would differ. So, yeah, basically I've become incredibly philosophical and questioning lately, and just wanted to share some of my thoughts with you...because I'm a terrible person who hasn't blogged in forever.

I would like to say that I've been busy saving the world, or something heroically splendid like that, but alas I've been sat at home, in front of the telly, watching reruns of Criminal Minds (which is completely excusable because DEREK MORGAN) and eating my weight in Krave (British breakfast cereal which tastes like heaven). So all I can do is apologise...yet again.

Lately I've just found it hard to find something to blog about, without ending up with something like the rambling I've written above. So, in the end, I just gave up and wrote whatever was on my mind.

On another note, I always seem to fail at keeping this blog a 'creative writing' one. I have actually been working on something, which I will hopefully be posting soon-ish (and by that I mean sometime in the next couple of decades). Earlier this year, I posted the first chapter of a story, and that's actually the story I've been working on. I really came to hate the chapter I posted, so I decided to write it again. In doing so I realised two things:

1. I suck at writing in past tense
2. I don't want to write in past tense EVER AGAIN

So I re-wrote everything I'd written so far to make it present tense, which I prefer so much more. But I keep on getting distracted by other parts of the story and writing in an un-chronological order, so the first chapter is no longer fully-written like it was when everything was in past tense. Thus, it'll be a while before I can post anything more from the story - sorry! It shouldn't be too long though - I intend to have the whole story completely finished by the end of August, so the re-written Chapter One might be along sooner than you think.

Anyway, I should probably be getting back - I'm pretty sure Morgan is beginning to feeling my absence.

Cheerio!

Breaking the Silence

I have been absent from this blog for far too long. I have valid excuses, but I'd also be lying if I said that I couldn't have found five minutes in which to write an "I'm still alive, don't worry!" post.

I'm just lazy.

Yeah. That's about it. Pure laziness. It'll be the death of me, I swear.

Anyhoo, I've been writing more of my chapters recently so the next one should be up soon(ish), but I haven't been able to write much because I've been kinda busy.

I know. The shock of my life actually being interesting for a change was almost too much for me to handle too. I had to grab hold of something in order to steady myself because it was just that shocking.

What have you been up to? I hear you ask.

Well, my dear readers, many things.

After my evil exams ended, my parents came and visited for a weekend, which was wonderful, partly because I got a new phone (you practically had to wind-up my old phone in order for it to work).

The Tuesday following that I went and saw Derren Brown perform Infamous, his new tour.

Programme for Derren Brown's Infamous (2013)

Dear lord, it was glorious. Afterwards I had to go around picking up pieces of my brain after having been completely and utterly mind-blown. Seriously. How does he even do any of that? As I said on my twitter, I don't even know the alphabet without singing it and he can do all this mind-influencing sh*t.

How is that even fair?

Anyway, I'm not too jealous as yesterday I had my face painted...

...and won a stuffed turtle toy (I named him Merlin)...

...which, y'know, Derren Brown didn't do. So I think that makes us even.

Kinda.

Not really, but I'm just going to go on believing that is does for my own sanity and, basically, so I don't become depressed by my incapability.

Seeing as I'm still paying for my student accommodation, I'm currently living here until the end of June even though the academic year is over. Due to this, I was able to buy a ticket for the talk/book-signing with Derek Landy this coming Friday. I cannot even express my excitement, so I'm not even going to try, but instead I shall warn you that the post following said event will, basically, be me fangirlling. MAJORLY. So I apologise in advance.

Right, now that I've got you all up-to-date with the goings-on in my life, I shall depart in order to continue writing so that you have something interesting to read next time I post.

Cheerio!

An Inspirational Person

This is just going to be a quick post, because I am knackered from the exam I had this morning, but I just wanted to shared something with you guys.

I know that a lot of my posts have a light-hearted and jokey tone, however this one will be more serious, but in a good way.

As many of you have probably already seen, Zach Sobiech's story has be circulating the internet recently.

Zach was diagnosed with Osteosarcoma (a cancerous bone tumor found in children) in 2009, when he was just 14. Then, in May 2012, cancer was found in Zach's pelvis and lungs, causing him to become terminal. As you can see from just a few images of him, Zach was an incredibly positive person who, instead of wallowing in self-pity, began to live life as if he was going to die tomorrow. Even though he admitted to have both his good and bad days, Zach chose to see the beauty in life. He turned to music in order to help him say goodbye to his family and friends, and ended up writing the internet sensation "Clouds", which you can buy on iTunes and is currently #1 on the singles chart.

"Clouds" by Zach Sobiech

The 'SoulPancake' youtube channel released "My Last Days: Meet Zach Sobiech" on May 3rd 2013, which told Zach's story and is something I would definitely recommend watching. As I said on twitter early, you will hate the video because it will make you so indescribably sad. But it's okay to cry. It really is. Because Zach was such an inspirational character.

"My Last Days: Meet Zach Sobiech"

On May 21st 2013, Zach Sobiech died after a long battle with cancer.

I don't want you to feel upset and depressed after reading this post and watching the videos in it. I truly believe that we can each take something from the inspiration that Zach was. And I hope his story will compel people to start looking for what makes them happy in life, and what they can do to make others happy, because as Zach said "What makes you happy is seeing someone else smile because you put it there. That's what's awesome about living in this world, [...] you can help people."

"You don't have to find out you're dying to start living"

- Zach Sobiech (1995-2013)

Busy, busy, busy...

Sorry!

I need to apologise because although I said I would be posting the next chapter, I won't be!
These past few weeks have been pretty hectic. I've had two deadlines (one of which is tomorrow) and have two exams to study for (may not seem like a lot but these are university exams).
I might post something between my two exams (so between the 22nd and the 29th of May), though that is only a possibility so don't hold me to that.
(By the way, if you want to read the first chapter, here's the link... http://floramaehigh.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/chapter-one-its-still-wednesday-in_2.html
or you can read it on Wattpad... http://www.wattpad.com/story/5629215-an-evening-sun)

Again, I'm so sorry!
To make up for it, here is a picture of a jumping spider wearing a rather fetching rainbow hat...
(Don't look if you dislike spiders...but you should know that he's frickin' adorable)

Jumping spiders, like this little guy, are smaller than a five pence piece (Or  a dime if you're American) (Sorry, I don't know about any other currency). Also, they can jump around  for hours without noticing that they're wearing a raindrop for a hat. 

My summer with Dan Fable (well, Dan Fable's music)

I dislike university.

Not really.

But it does annoy me when I get up at 7am, rush to have a shower, valiantly battle for a place on the bus, and run around university for about twenty minutes trying to find the lecture room, only for my lecturer not to turn up.

Well....

Balls to you, sir. Balls. to. you.

Though I did buy myself a Vanilla Coffee Creme frappuchino from the Starbucks on campus just to make up for my trouble.
Silver linings, people, silver linings.

On another note, I spent my bank holiday weekend drawing...whilst sat inside.

I'm so British it's almost unbelievable. First sign of summer? I hide inside and curse the skies.

Though, I should mention that the blossom is looking mighty fine right now.

Also, I'm not a total Agoraphobe seeing as I plan to head out to the Botanical gardens soon.

But first, this blog post!

"What is it about?" I hear you ask. Well...

It's become a thing on this blog for me to suggest music to you lot. So, I give you Dan Fable.

This is Dan Fable and Josh Healey's song 'The Girl I Used To Know', which charted at #29

My playlist has recently changed for a more summery one, and Dan is definitely at the top of it. A lot of people have been saying that he's quite similar to Ed Sheeran, or like a Manchesterian Joshua Radin. And, although I do agree with them, I definitely think he has his own style, which shines through.

Right now, I'm a bit addicted to his song Kryptonite (above). I think the simplicity of just a voice, a guitar and some clapping basically sums up what I think summer sounds like. I understand why people think dance music is summery, with its upbeat tempo and whatnot. But I love songs which remind you of hazy summer days with the warm sun and cool breeze, and Dan's songs do that to me. I recommend having a listen to his stuff, even if it doesn't really sound like it's your sort of thing.

I mean, come on. If I could introduce myself like this at every university icebreaker I had to do, then everything would be a hell of a lot better.

Anyway,  if you don't like him by now, then I might as well just give up, because you're obviously oblivious to good music. But, if you're a sane person, then here are his youtube and itunes pages...

https://itunes.apple.com/gb/artist/dan-fable/id598635051

http://www.youtube.com/user/DanFableSongs?feature=

Go on, you wonderful people. Go and support an up-and-coming artist. You know you want to.

Also, go forth and spread the word of Dan Fable. The more the merrier, I say!

Righty-ho, I shall be popping off now. It seems a shame to be sat inside pretending to revise, when I could be outside pretending to revise.

For those of you who shall not be venturing outside today, or do not own a window, or are stuck in country with nothing but gloomy skies, or some part of the world where it's actually night-time, then here. I leave you with some blue skies and fluffy white clouds to brighten your day...

Cheerio!