Back in black

Dear Followers,

I am honestly, truly, completely shocked that 66 of you have stuck around this whole time despite my inactivity. I truly appreciate it because I definitely want to get back into blogging, hopefully to slowly get down a path towards being able to write freelance after college until I can land a job at a respectable publication. Probably will post a lot of feminist rants and photos and things. May or may not lose a few of you along the way. We’ll have to see.

I could write a “what’s new with me” list, but what’s the point, really? You guys don’t care that I got a job at a real newspaper where I live (a name I’ll withhold for the time being), got a promotion to layout editor at my school’s paper, or that I’m back in black because, as the great and inspiring Jim Gaffigan once said, “I’m wearing black because it’s easier than working out.”

Big Apple/Big Goals

The lack of posts between Yuma and here are due to the fact that I had barely 48 hours to get back to my campus and get all my things together before I had to leave for New York for the CMA spring college media convention, which has been quite a time.

There’s been a lot of turmoil within our visiting staff (cramming sightseeing and Times Square plus two full conference days into such a short amount of time takes its toll), but personally I’m taking a lot away from the experience. Everyone is tired and frustrated while trying to sightsee; I myself am feeling okay (and not interested in seeing the sights; this is far from my first time here so I’ve seen Manhattan over and out a couple times now), but maybe it’s because I already had my crazy existential crisis earlier this morning, which include a mix of both “I’m starving and tired and wtf,” and the terrifying “dear god I’m never going to make a career out of this there’s too much competition why am I not a math genius or something.” But I digress.

I got to see Scott Pelley (CBS News), learn about what I might want to do after college, take a tour of the Huffington Post offices and headquarters, which I think was the most inspiring and fun thing I did, because it made me realize that HuffPost is the kind of company I want to work for in a few years: great writers and editors, but laid back and a great center of creativity. A lot more my speed than the fast-paced, stressful, 24/7 news jobs I had thought I wanted, until I learned what goes into them.

Which brings me to what I really want to say: I am going to start a new blog, probably this weekend while I have some free time to get things going. I need a blog that will attract attention, readership, and get me noticed as a HerCampus blogger or even a HuffPost blog contributor someday. I know it won’t happen right away (or anytime soon, really) but I’m eager to start working my way up to that level. 

Here’s the thing: I need to narrow down my blogging to a niche. I love this blog; this blog is great writing practice and helps me hone my style, which I think I’ve gotten down pretty well but could always develop. Having a distinct narrative is really important, so mine is always developing. But since this is my personal, whatever-I-feel-like-at-the-time blog, it’s not as specifically centered as I’d want my other blog to be. This blog is for fun, not for gaining any following. Not to say I don’t LOVE the people who follow me and reading their work, because I’m extremely flattered you guys find me interesting. Again, I digress.

My question to ANYONE reading this: what should I blog about? I’ve heard to make a list of hobbies/things you love or are good at, and here’s the shortlist:

Things I’m good at:
-Dressing cute on a budget
-Eating (a little too good at that one)

Things I love:
-Fashion/Style (mine’s kind of unique)
-Food (obviously)
-Social networking
Giving advice (to some extent)
-Books and reading

I know it seems vague now, so if anyone can help me get specific I would love that. Please help, really. Comment or email me! It would be much appreciated.

The Hardest Person to Write About

There is a man here on this earth that I love more than any other person, and for some reason, that makes him the most difficult person in my life to write about.

I feel like this goes beyond the cliché “I can’t put my feelings into words,” because I can. There are a million words to describe all the feelings and thoughts I have about him, the trouble is just choosing the right ones.

There are moments I have with him that make it feel like time has slowed from it’s usual brisk jog almost down to a stop. The air feels different, the light looks different, and it’s as if in those moments my mind is attempting to take a photograph to keep the memory as in tact as possible, but the photo is overexposed. I feel like gravity has just stopped working and that we’ve fallen off the planet and everything in the universe is now existing on a completely different plane and we are alone with the elements of the earth.

Even as I write this, it does not seem totally accurate. There is always a point in your relationship with someone that your feelings spread far apart from the simple “I like you,” and “I love you,” into something that takes you far out of your body and into something else. This is the kind of thing that Shakespeare and millions of other authors have tried so hard to write about. Unfortunately, while we try the best we can in sonnets and songs and novels and Hallmark cards, we will never get it right. Yet just like myself, we try and we try, and I’ll continue trying until I have run out of possible combinations of words, or I’m dead, the latter being the most likely end.

Calling him my boyfriend, although that’s what he is, seems petty. We’re best friends, we have been since I was a freshman in high school. Calling him my “high school sweetheart” isn’t right either, after all, we didn’t get together until he was already out of high school altogether and high school memories are not the first thing that comes to mind when I think about him.

His name is Alex. Truthfully and legally, his name is Christopher, but he’s been called Alex (his middle name) since before he can even remember. He is strange and has brown eyes and wears glasses just like mine; we’re almost the exact same level of blind. When we met, he had really nice long hair like River Phoenix. Now, being in the Marines, his hair never gets more than two inches at any once place, but that’s just fine. I’ll still think he’s handsome even when he’s bald.

Right now, we’re far apart. After spending years evolving in his presence, physically, he’s thousands of miles away. As cliché and naïve as it may seem, the distance has somehow brought our minds closer together, even though our bodies spend a lot of time apart. It only makes the moments that we’re near each other again seem that much more like magic. We were happy before he left, but there is a change as well. We now know exactly what we’re missing, so we hold on to those moments we have like they are the only precious things left in the world.

He’s a better cook than I am, but I’m a better baker. We can both sew, but he does it only for necessity whereas I do it more for fun. It goes back to the one part of him that is just very good at fixing things when they are broken or torn. He fixes the holes in the knees of his pants just like he patched up the spots of me that had been worn down by the life I had before we met. He holds me together, and I care for him fiercely.

We both like reading, but we have very different tastes in books. He loves those super complex fantasy and sci-fi novels, where as I prefer non-fiction and realistic fiction (not to say I don’t like fantasy too). He uses books to escape to another world so far from ours that it is almost impossible; I use books to escape the pettiness of my own life for a few hours while I slip into someone else’s. He says he hates sad books and movies, because there is enough real sadness in the world, and maybe he’s right. Maybe myself and others are just using other people’s sad stories to make our own sad stories seems less so, and he’s beyond that. Perhaps, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.I’ll never quite know, because it’s impossible not to believe every single word he says. He is one of those magical people who doesn’t speak very much, but when he does every single syllable means something.

The best way I can describe him right now is that he fills me with life in a way nothing or no-one else can. He is the brightest beam of light that shines into the dusty attic of my heart. But he is more real than any metaphor about him I could ever write. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” Shakespeare rhetorically asked his love a long, long time ago. I could compare him with so many things. I could personify the moon and the stars and the ocean to fit his image and help paint a picture of him for the world, but it would never be quite right, because to me, he is much more real than any of those things. He is the most possible impossible thing that will ever float into my world, and like all possible impossible things, novels and epics will be written about him that will never pinpoint what makes him so grand.

He is difficult to write about because he is not a character, he is not just a story. He is real. The most real force of life I will ever know, and no matter how many books are written about it, real life cannot be read on paper, it can only be seen, and tasted, and felt, and felt about.

For him, I feel an encyclopedia’s worth of feelings with 100 thesauruses’ worth of different words to describe those feelings wrapped up inside. Every day, the words and their meanings continue to expand with every thought I have of him, with every time we make each other laugh. We’re both impossible people living in a world of possibility.

Our story does not exist on paper, but in everything else.

National College Media Convention

National College Media Convention This week has been a great week, but to top it all off, I have been asked by the editor and chief of the school newspaper I write for to attend this event. Attending the National … Continue reading