Quirks and Quagmires is Moving!

I'm happy to announce that Quirks and Quagmires has officially moved to a new site:

quirksandquags.wordpress.com

If you follow my blog (all two of you), thank you so much for taking the time to read what I have to write. It means a lot to know that people genuinely care. The new site has enabled me to do a lot more with the appearance of the blog, and I'm so excited about changing venues. All the old stuff has been transferred over, and there is a new post already waiting. I'm not deleting this site, but I'd love for you to make the move with me. I hope to see you there :)

Prerequisite

It's been a while.

I told myself I was going to crank out a ton of posts this month, but, as you can see, that fell through. Things have been so busy lately. I feel like this month has flown by, leaving my good intentions floating to the ground in a storm of dust and hopelessness. Okay, maybe not that last part. That was a little dramatic. Regardless, I haven't written anything in what feels like forever, and I'm just not happy about that. What I'm less happy about is my lack of inspiration. 

I have been working on a post about "good intentions" that, no matter how much revision it undergoes, doesn't seem like it will ever be finished (ironic). For the past few weeks, I'd log into my blog and, just before clicking edit, I'd see it sitting there, the word draft next to the title. It's been mocking me for weeks, and I've decided the best thing to do in a case like this is leave it alone. Sometimes with writing, you have to let things sit. You write other things in the hopes that, when you come back, the old writing will take shape and become something better than you anticipated. So, this is me writing other things. Except I'm not sure what I should write. 

That's where the lack of inspiration I mentioned comes in. What does a writer do when they don't know what to write? I'm sure there are a number of exercises one could do to elicit ideas. In my playwriting class last semester, those exercises were called etudes. They always seemed to work, but, to be honest, I don't feel like doing a string of exercises. I want my inspiration to come from something I see or think or feel. I realize I'm probably being a lazy writer, but I'm saving the etudes as a last resort.

In hopes of sparking something, I took the Stephen King approach and decided to read. He said, "If you don't have time to read, you don't have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that." I agree with him, for the most part. Reading the works of others helps inspire and shape every writer. I read Mockingbird by Kathryn Erskine, the story of Caitlin, a young girl with Asperger syndrome who tries to find closure after the death of her older brother. It was an insightful and beautiful story. The next book I picked up was Flight by Sherman Alexie, my favorite of the two. I don't think I can summarize it justly, but thematically the book covered a lot of ground; it dealt with violence, hate, stereotypes, trust, etc. Both were good reads, and I recommend them. However, while this approach typically does it for me, after reading the two books, I've got nothing. 

So, what does a writer do when they don't know what to write? I think they write anyway. And it ends up looking like this: an uninspired rant about nothing in particular. And, while it isn't interesting or groundbreaking, it is writing. If you aren't putting words on a page, you can't expect them to turn into anything good, even if they start out looking really badly, e.g. this post. 

I apologize for the mediocrity that is this post, but hopefully it will become the prerequisite for something worth your while. 

A Quirk

"I'm embarrassed."

These are two words that I will never exhaust. I assumed that the majority of people faced around the same amount of embarrassing situations that I face, but after talking to some of the girls on my hall this year, I've come to the heart-wrenching realization that I might be alone in this. I am a magnet for all things embarrassing.

My humiliation has a pretty long track record. Once I was walking up a flight of stairs at the college I was dual-enrolled in throughout high school. Class was going to start in a couple of minutes, and I was leading the long procession of students who were marching up the stairs to get to their classes on time. A guy-a cute guy, might I add-from my class was right behind me on the stairs, and I was self-consciously aware of his presence the entire time I was hiking the never-ending staircases. I kept telling myself, "Do not trip me up, feet. You're going to want to trip me. Don't." When I finally made it to the last portion of steps and the door was in sight, a triumphant grin plastered itself onto my face. I had made it! I had hiked the stairs in front of the cute boy in my next class flawlessly!

Then I tripped. 

My stupid sandal caught the edge of the third stair from the top, and I fell forward, catching myself on my hands while blushing profusely. The guy behind me asked if I was okay and made an attempt to help me, but as much help as he could give, my pride could not be salvaged.  

Guys, crap like this happens to me ALL THE TIME. I have to take extra precautions when walking up stairs. I can't use the bathroom while wearing a skirt unless I want to walk around with it tucked into my underwear all day. And forget Facebook stalking my crush without accidentally tagging my friends in his profile picture! The embarrassment just won't relent.

I find myself wishing it away most of the time, but then I stop and really think about it. If someone were to take away all the embarrassing, fantastically humiliating things that happen to me on a daily basis, I'd have absolutely nothing to talk about. My life would be dull, and sad, and boring, and not really much of a life at all. I'm not saying that I love being an Embarrassment Magnet, but I'm somewhat thankful those little moments are there. 

Sometimes it's hard to get along with our quirks. However, I've learned that our quirky traits are a vital part of who we are. There is always a bright side to them, and, nine times out of ten, if you just embrace them, others will as well.

Being Present

It's nearing the end of my first year at Lee University, and I want to cry.

For weeks I've been declaring how absolutely ready I am for this school year, the classes, the work load, the stress to be over. I've been dreaming of walking out of my last final with a dramatic smirk and smiling eyes (or, as Tyra would say, "smise") that rival that of Joseph Gordon-Levitt at the end of 500 Days of Summer. Yes, I am super excited that the end of the year is finally upon us. However, it's just now hitting me that it's over.

It's over.

My freshman year is finished. I have (almost) completed one year at Lee University. There is no opportunity to go back and start differently. I can't retrace my steps and meet more people or join more clubs. What I have done this year is done, and I'm a little saddened by the finality of that.

Last week, Lee held its long awaited Midnight Breakfast in the dining hall. For non-Lee students, it doesn't sound all that exciting, but any student here knows that Midnight Breakfast means endless hash-browns and karaoke, which actually doesn't sound that inviting even as I'm typing it... Let me assure you, Midnight Breakfast is great, no matter how lackluster it sounds in writing. I arrived late and walked in just as the girls on my hall were dazzling the crowd with a mean rendition of "Baby," by Justin Beiber. As I contemplated weaving through the mass of jumping, screaming people and joining the girls on stage, I decided to just watch. So I did.

I watched the girl who was serenading the guy beside her with a pretend mic in her hand and the other in the air. I saw the three guys in front of the stage who sat atop their friends' shoulders and reenacted to a "T" all the lyrics to The Beibs' timeless classic. I surveyed the students who sat at the cafeteria tables talking excitedly over their biscuits and gravy. I even made note of the kids who wandered around alone, not quite sure where they should go but knowing they wanted to be in the midst of the magic that was happening. I noticed everything that was happening around me and couldn't help but realize how amazing it was. The week before finals and, despite the stress, sleepless nights, and endless studying that awaited us all, almost every student at Lee was involved in this night of silliness in one way or another. And it was because they realized what I'm realizing now: it's almost over, and the moment they were experiencing at Midnight Breakfast would pass just like every other moment had in the past year. It didn't matter what they were doing while there; it just mattered that they were there.

After making these revelations, I waded through the crowd and met up with the girls I just spent the past year of my life living with. And we laughed, like we usually do when we're all together. We sang to each other. We ate. We did things we've done all year, but it was different. It was different because we knew it would be one of our last moments together, and for some reason that made it sweeter.

Some of those girls have already left the hall and headed home for the summer. Some of them are moving on from Lee to start a new episode of their life in another place, and others I'll see again in August. Even with knowing I'll see some of their smiling faces when school starts back, I can't help but feel a little grieved. Our lives will never again be like this. We'll never be idealistic freshmen living in Nora Third North experiencing all our first Lee University experiences together. And while I'm excited to be upgrading to an apartment next semester, beginning a new major, and living with some really great girls, I'll miss this.

I'll miss the 3 a.m. talks in the lounge about everything from underwear to God. I'll miss cramming girls in the lounge to do Jillian Michaels work-out videos, and I'll miss the ever-amusing prank of hiding Suzie (see number four)  in different girls' closets. I'll even miss the nights I lied in my dark bedroom with eyes wide open waiting for everyone to realize it was officially 11 p.m., Quiet Hours.

It's over. But it's not really over.

I'll remember my times with my N3N family often, but if I spend all my time reminiscing next year I'll miss out on making new memories. It doesn't matter if my moments next year are the same as the amazing ones I've had this year because, no matter what, I'll be involved. And, just like all the people at Midnight Breakfast can attest to, being present and grasping onto the new moments is what is important.