Post book thoughts

So, I've finished it. The book I mentioned before. Before I start into that, the keyboard I'm using to write is trash. I imagine that the people who installed them on these library computers thought they were more effective, more economical. It has been like a week or so since I submitted my last post, so the new keyboards must have been installed since then, obviously. The keyboards I prefer are the ones with keys that are probably now considered over sized. The ones I like make a certain comforting sound. I can't explain it. The city of Plano puts a lot of money into their public libraries and to me there haven't been improvements lately. The checkout and return stations are highly automated. Even new bogus orange chairs have been placed throughout the three floors of the library this week. It's all a big mess if you ask me.

The biggest upside to finishing the book is to know there will be another. Arlo Finch and the Valley of Fire will be the former and Arlo Finch in the Lake of the Moon will be the latter. One of the things I struggled with while reading the first book was the setting. I live in a flat area devoid of any great hills and mountains. The in depth descriptions of the outdoors drew blanks for me. I haven't spent much time outdoors and because of that I had a hard time picturing the setting in my head. I'm not a boy scout (past age 10) either. This book showed me that there are so many cool things boy scouts do and I had trouble grasping. The sled construction, knot tieing, and the compass signaling were the most hard to follow.

The use of technology in the book tries hard to connect with what is modern. I think smart phones and advanced technology like Skype make it hard for a fantasy novel to answer "Why can't anyone take a picture or video of what is happening?". I think the author tried to explain that technology doesn't work in the magical areas of the book. I felt like he did, but I can't remember a more specific example.

From the beginning of the book, I had a mental image in my head of the house Arlo would be staying in. I couldn't help but think that the house would have bore a resemblance to the house in the movie Big Fish. The house in Big Fish I'm talking about is the one that the giant moves to an upright position. Because I quickly had that image in my head from the start, whenever something happened in the book that made me question my assumption, I just assumed the book was wrong! I've been attached to Big Fish since I first saw it in Mrs. Heck's 11th grade high school creative writing class.

Every time I felt I was lost or missing something, the answer was usually in the very near pages of the book. I liked thinking that the book had me locked in when I found the answers to my questions when they appeared. It felt like I was connecting with the book and the author was saying: "You've got it! Keep Going!"

As I am about to return the book to the library, I realized I have made an error. I thought the return date was November 14th, but as it turns out, the receipt clearly says November 4th. Three days ago. It's time to see how much money I owe. After, I will spend an amount larger than that to secure my own copy.

Back at it

I don't know if I can ever write like I used to given the circumstances, but I'm going to try. At this point in my life I want to try and take in more information in the form of reading. Movies are great, but I want to read. Maybe it will improve my writing? I'm reading this book right now and I am heavily critical of it. I want to think I could write and be just as interesting or more so than the author. Who am I to take someone's work and be so critical of it? I'm just some guy with no qualifications. Sure, I've taken some creative writing courses in high school and college, but when do you get to a point where your opinion is considered reputable? I'm lucky the author is someone I like and is writing to the target audience of preteens. I'm happier about the latter especially because I am more able to read it carefully and correctly.

I struggle a lot with reading but I feel a sense of purpose when I finish a chapter or just flip to a new page. If that is work then I want to work there. I want to try and start reading roughly one book per month. I'm not for sure how I feel about the aforementioned October book I'm reading now. I think I like it so far but I need to know how it ends. I do know that I don't want to write about my thoughts and comments on it until I finish it. I feel like I'm back in middle school while reading this book. I fit the target audience except I'm fifteen years or so above it. One thing I will say is that I'm pretty sure I already know what I physically want to do with the book. My family is full of men and boys that are either current or former boy scouts, which is the same as most characters in the book. I'm hoping if I gift this book and they do decide to read it, they will like it as much as I have so far.

I think the book isn't very predictable. I'm roughly 75% of the way through it and I can honestly say that I don't know what is left in the other 25%. I'm not sure if that makes for good writing or not? Should the author be leaving you with enough clues and foreshadowing so that you can guess what is coming next? Or is it a better book when you don't know what to expect? It depends on the book I guess. I'm happy to be back reading and writing. Hopefully I will have more specific, positive things to say about the book. I'm not sure if I will post again without having finished it, but we'll see how it goes.

Tree

There's something in trees that are old and that bend in many different ways. I'm talking about the trees without green or flowers on them. Just dark vacant branches. Those trees calm me down when I see them. Makes me take a big slow deep breath. Seeing them makes me want to move to the country and climb branches by the water.

I don't think I've ever read anything that talks specifically about the hustle of the city. The city can grind you down if you leave yourself subject to it. What I mean is that if you don't speak your mind, the days are just like clockwork. Before you have time to think about getting out of the city, you're already wrapped up by it. I've got relatives from the very other side of the country. They think it's a fuckin field trip coming down to the busy suburbs. I don't think any of those relatives write, paint, or anything. Not that I judge a person based on things like that or whatever, I just don't know how to describe them. No matter how those family of mine are described, there sure are a lot of the trees I like from where they're from.

I saw a video the other day of a small tree that was dug up out of the ground and replanted in another place. It was a big process. The tree had a lot of veins that were planted deep in the ground. The video made me want to dig up one of the old trees I like and replant it in my backyard.  

 

Angry Writings

It's called angry writing. You just get started writing. You've got to have good voice though. Without the voice, there is no writing. It sure has been awhile. I sit in my room alone quite a bit. Sometimes I think I'll log on here and write for hours. Other times I can't think of anything I would say. In every case over the last year, I don't end up writing a damn thing.

Today I'm writing a damn thing. A damn, angry thing. A lot has happened in my life since I semi-regularly wrote on this blog. As I look back and reflect on my writing a few years and a few months ago, I see and remember a lot of random moments in my life. Some depicted very honestly, some drastically over-exaggerated.

When you look back on moments of your life and reflect on them, often times you'll wish something happened that didn't. That's just life, isn't it? But, when you write about it, is it more fulfilling to write your moments in the way you wish events occurred, or how they actually did? Probably in the way you wished they occurred. Either way, you can write about your life angrily. Angry at why your life is at such a fictional low point or at a truthful unhappy moment.

That's it for now I think. I don't know how regularly I'm going to start writing on here now. One thing for sure, be it fiction or reality, writing makes me feel better. I try hard to make my writing have some kind of voice. I want the emotion to bleed through. I wouldn't want someone with the type of patience I have to get bored reading what I've got written down. Reality is true to form when I say nobody will ever read these writings. Well maybe not. Maybe I'll share and someone can read my writing and hopefully not be left wishing for something more. That's why sometimes you have to write angry.

I have no legs (4/?)

The last few weeks have been boring. More of the same boring days. The one positive thing I have to say is about a video I found in the hospital reference room. It's entitled "The Young Strays: A Collection of Youth on the Rise".

I'd heard about the Young Strays Organization (YSO) before I found this video, but I didn't know much about it. The organization is not far from my hospital. The building is located just off the coast. It's about a 30 minute drive away.

The video was sort of interesting. It's narrated by this pretty middle aged woman. At the start of the video, she gives the viewers a tour of the building and describes what the organization does. The organization's goal is to "improve the lives of the youths in our program by guiding them into seeking career opportunities while also helping them realize the benefits of being a part of a community."

The video trudged on. The woman did a lot of explaining and I was losing interest, but towards the end I finally got to see the kids and hear a few of them talk. The woman interviewed one 15 year old boy, Andrew, who was so obviously giving scripted answers to the camera. I got the idea that he wanted it to overly appear that way too. His responses were exaggerated in such an obvious way. It was as if he was thinking in his head, "Yeah, here is my scripted response!" The woman interviewing him didn't seem to tell the difference, she was loving his answers. In response to being asked about how the young strays organization had influenced his life, the boy said "The young strays have really helped me see career goals that are going to be a benefit to me in the future. The young strays organization is helping me realize that I can succeed!" 

The fucking smile on this kids face after he finished speaking was so fake! He probably went and laughed it up with his friends after the video. I'd like to hang out with these kids and see what they are actually interested in. 

I asked Barbara the other day to take me to the young strays next week. She said she'd get back to me about it. Barbara always keeps her word, so we'll see what happens. 

I have no legs (3/?)

Today was an interesting day. I get a descent amount of mail I guess, most of which I don't give a shit about. That makes me just like everyone else right? My parents insist on having the youth ministry at the church they belong to send me these 'get well soon' smiley cards, gift boxes, and various other stuff. The people that send me this crap I've never met, or maybe just once or twice at the most, so why am I getting it? They ought to go give their mom or someone that they actually know a gift, not someone they only know of.

I got a package in the mail from my cousin Dana today. She mailed me three seasons of the show Jackass on DVD. She's cool. I enjoy getting to see her although it's not very often. She knows I like Jackass, so it's a good gift and it made me feel good to know she was thinking about me. She definitely likes her style. If you've ever played the computer game Backyard Baseball, Dana looks like Keisha Phillips.

She's fucking good at everything too, just like Keisha. She played volleyball at the University of Hawaii and now she coaches at a high school. She and her friend come visit me when they are in town which isn't very often. When they visit me, they are so up. It's like they're on crack or something. I can't figure out whether she and her friend are just super pepped up or are trying to pretend to be excited to see me. It's weird. Her friend is funny. I can never remember her name, but she always acts out this same routine when she sees me. She'll be abnormally quiet at first and let Dana do all the talking and then she'll randomly start acting just like Dana. It's odd, and seems like they are putting on a show for me. It's entertaining. I swear man, crack or something.

Johnny Knoxville. What a cool dude. His crew is so cool. They all go out in public and fuck around. What makes that show funny to me is not what they do. The makeup, strange outfits, and the crazy stunts they pull aren't the reasons why I like the show. I like the show and watch it just so I can see the reactions of some of the people they perform jokes on. A lot of the time, the jokes don't even get in the way and aren't initially directed at the pedestrians. The pedestrians are the ones who make the show funny.

In this one episode, Johnny acts just like Forest, a patient on my floor with a form of low functioning mental retardation. In this one episode of Jackass, the pedestrian who sees Johnny on the street gets really upset, and all Johnny is doing is dancing like I imagine Forest might in the area close to the guy. So fucking funny. Why did the pedestrian, some 40 year old dude walking by himself, give a fuck? The pedestrian goes up to Johnny and tells him to act right and all this shit. It amazed me to see that guy get all worked up over nothing.

I've known Forest for awhile, well I mean I've seen him for awhile now. He doesn't know what the fuck is going on. He's just there. Get what I'm saying? He doesn't feel emotion like you or me. He has a mental handicap. If the nurses prepared Forest a meal of steamy corn infested shit, and I literally mean shit, I'm positive he would not be able to tell the difference.

I have no legs (2/?)

It's whatever. Don't get me wrong, I like the idea of physical advancements improving everyday life. I like my wheelchair, like the elevation controls on my hospital bed, and my fucking toothbrush. That stuff doesn't bother me.

What bothers me is my longing for a good friend. You would think someone in my situation is given plenty of attention and can participate in plenty of games with a lot of people. You would be right to think that. Most of that stuff is complete shit though. I hate being just given attention, the more I am, the more fake it appears to me and it's depressing. Part of me is angry at the world, not because I have no legs and am physically different than others, but because my disability seems to bring out the bullshit in people. My ability to meet a good friend has got nothing to do with my legs, but to so many people, it seems to have everything to do with it.

You may wonder why it is that a 19 year old lives in a hospital. I am living in a hospital by choice now. After teenage rehabilitation, you can of course go find living for yourself. I don't want to go back to my parents house. I've spent plenty of time there troubling them.

I have more opportunities to meet people inside and outside the hospital by living there. I am active in this hospital program with other physically handicapped people where we all go to rec centers, arcades, and other common places like that.

Here's what I wish wouldn't happen. I wish the hospital staff wouldn't structure the environment so much when we go out. There are a lot of girls and guys that volunteer with my hospital so that they can get the hours they need for whatever organization they are apart of. These people, often about my age, staff the events. I really wish most of them would fuck off. Although they mean well, as I've come to try and convince myself to believe, they are inadvertently preventing me from getting to interact with the public in a normal way, which pisses me off. If you were at the place I was at in public, I'm sure you would realize the handicapped people are in a controlled environment. Fuck that so much. Also, I am certain that these volunteers would act differently in public if they weren't with handicapped people. That thought irritates me. The volunteers are usually different each time though, so I try and have hope that I'll meet one that just talks to me instead of doing pretty much nothing for a whole afternoon.

I would prefer it more if I was just dropped off somewhere in public for a few hours rather than being in a controlled public environment. I swear I would embrace the experience more if something bad happened to me. Like if I was taken advantage of somehow by people or made fun of for having no legs. I'd inwardly smile if I saw a group of young people pointing at me or concealing laughter about my physical handicap. "Look at you hotshot, way to put me down for nothing. Your environment has really fucked you up good hasn't it?". If only those fuckers could know that I wouldn't trade places with them for the world. Despite the bullshit from these people, it'd make for a more enjoyable experience for me than to be met with fake conversation in public. But in the heads of my volunteers and Barbara, the hospital event coordinator, being made fun of would be the absolute worst thing that could happen for a handicapped person.

I need the attention, damnit, but not in the way the staff thinks. That's what pisses me off. Whenever I go around the rec center in my wheel chair, I try and meet people. I'm not the best conversationalist and wish I was more quick with my words, but I know how I am. I'm a real person and present myself as such.

That's what separates me from so many people. I don't want to say I'm above them, but to me, I am. I don't know how I can think otherwise. People are just so full of shit. A big part of maturity is being content with yourself and your abilities, and to me, a friendship starts with possessing the ability to recognize a person's difference, but not changing anything about yourself when you meet them. My lack of legs have pretty much nothing to do with it.