weathered things

I'm getting into more of a rant-post type writing blog, and I'm liking it. What are your opinions? Is this okay? Because I really like doing this. I'll still do writing tips and such, but I like having more posts about important things. Anyways. This post  is about motivation––specifically my  motivation for doing what I do. My plans for the future are going to college, publishing books, and becoming an actor. Not necessarily a Hollywood actor, but I'd be okay with that simply because of my reasons for doing what I do. There are so many people now a days that are famous, but are shallow and not worth the adoration (*cough* Kardashians *cough*). And as an advanced child, there were movies and books that––intelligence wise––were at my level. However, they were impossibly crude and allover not appropriate for a sixth grader who needed things at a college level otherwise she would get depressed and bored from the lack of stimuli. And that's why I do what I do. ...

Before I begin, I'm going to warn that this post does talk about death and I delve deep into my mind. It's really a rambling way for me to express something and share my thoughts as they develop. My mind is quite a place, so if you are easily upset by the talk of death and such I suggest you don't read this. Ode To Death I was so content You, always there. Me, always accepting. My constant companion since childhood. I met you with confusion With the wonder and fear of a child Looking at a cobra Equally fascinated and terrified By the long fangs that dripped venom. I grew up alongside you. Be it the birds outside, My failed attempts at pet fish, Or my great-grandfather. You became a constant appearance, And I became content with that. People are confused Once they learn of my familiarity, Of my content, With death. I never noticed the unusual relationship that we shared. Until you struck my school. A clas...

I struggle with this thing where I have eight things I want to do, but I can't. Like, I want to write a musical/play/one act, I want to continue Sleipnir, I want to act, I want to start a YouTube Channel, and I want to start a podcast. But this is okay, I think. I have so many avenues I can go down, I can do so many things and reach people in so many ways. But yeah. This is just a quick thing I wrote because I'm so busy and I don't have time to make a proper post. I'll have one next week, I promise. ~Olivia Ann Do you guys struggle with this? What do you want to do? Do you have any advice on how to get over this/decide what to do?

For those of you who have seen BBC Sherlock, you understand what I'm talking about. For those of you who didn't, allow me to explain before I get into all the metaphors and poetic confusing stuff. Mike Stamford is this guy. He was friends with John Watson at St. Bartholomew's Hospital back when they were studying to be doctors. Stamford is a teacher at Bart's now, and John is an ex-army doctor. They ran into each other in London when Watson came back from war. They got talking about how hard it is to find a flat in London, and Stamford went "you know, I met another guy today who is having the same problem. Maybe you two could be flatmates." That other guy was Sherlock. And thus Stamford initiated one of the most famous bromances, partnerships, friendships etc. to exist. Now back to my point. Loads of people think that they're useless. They have no purpose. That they're just here to eat cake and wear band/fandom merch and pet...

On Caroline's blog, she made a thinking tag. Her post was really interesting, so even though I wasn't tagged, I'm gonna do it anyways because it's fun. Alright. My thinking has a very interesting sound. One day it could be "like an engine racing out of control; a rocket tearing itself to bits, trapped on the launch pad" because I've got so many ideas. The next it could be all 'wut r wurds?' So yeah, my mind is very... sporadic. And then there are the days where I'll have planned out a time for working, and when I sit down to write or edit nothing comes, but when I turn the lights off and lay down to sleep it's like Brain:  Hello, Me:  No. Brain:  It's me. Me:  Crap no. Brain:  Everyone give it up for America's FAVORITE FIGHTING FRENCHMAN Me :  Don't. Brain:  I said... everyone give it up for AmERICA'S FAVORITE FIGHTING FRENCHMAN Me:  LAFAYETTE and then it will go from that to a s...

What do we do when the well runs dry? When the rain stops falling, When the brook ceases it's chatter, When the ocean dissipates, What do we do then? Do we dig deeper wells, hoping that some small amount of water will be there? Do we force ourselves to give up and accept the drought? The choice varies for each: Social standing, Personality, Motive, All influence one's decision. But the one common thread is Choice. I've lately been finding that I have been running out of ideas. One of my favorie things to do is come up with story prompts. I have a word document filled with them, filled with ideas and stories that I've only got the first parts to and that I know I'll write one day. Same with blogging. But as time goes by I find myself struggling to come up with new ideas. New prompts don't interest me, I can't think about what to blog... my creative well has run dry. And me, being the person who needs to be working on something a...

In the media now a days, there is the trend to make a character have a mental illness. And while I'm all for bringing this stuff to the attention of the public who just wants everything nice and sweet and 100% fine, they almost never represent it properly. For characters with depression, most of the time it is like this: Girl is sad. Girl meets boy. Girl instantly is fine because she has a hot new boyfriend. That is not how it works. Whether you're in a relationship or not, depression does not go away. It makes you not want to do anything. It makes you moody, snippy, it makes you angry at yourself–so much so that you end up yelling at and hurting people you love. It makes you bawl your eyes out and feel hopeless and lifeless and dead. No amount of happy thoughts can stop it. And yes, talking to friends helps... but sometimes it just makes it worse. When it comes to anxiety, they're portrayed as really nervous. It is SO MUCH MORE than that. You panic becau...

When I write, I don't usually think about all the stuff Lit teachers try and glean from books. Yes, I have themes, yes I have symbols, but I don't write my story to get a point across like Lit teachers try to do. If you do get something out of what I write, that's brilliant and I'm glad you saw that. But what I mainly think is "is this good enough to stand the test of time?" "Is there a certain line that I wrote that people will get tattoos of and paint into murals and make art of?" I don't want to be read in a class, that's not my main goal (although if that happens I will be very honored). My goal is to be remembered. I want people to be inspired, I want to change people by what I write and I want them to make art because of what I wrote. I don't want them to just look at what I wrote and try to decipher the subtext. I want to inspire and change lives. I want to have what I write stick in someone's head and have them go ...

*TO EXPLAIN THE LABEL AND HOPEFULLY THE TITLE* I have a ton of thoughts when I go to bed at night, and sometimes they're stupid, sometimes they're interesting so... yeah enjoy the musings of my brain. Okay, time to be honest: I hate writing. And it's not because of editing, like everyone suspects. No. It's because that at one point that book - that series - that I have dedicated so much of my life to will be done, and I won't be able to spend time with these characters that I love. All that will be gone. Yes, the books will still exist, but the characters will be living in my head, dormant, and they'll pop up every once and a while and say "hey, Olivia, you should really write a thing" and I have to say no, because I'm working on a different story. Then when that new story is done, I'll have more characters hiding in my head, being brought out by little things in normal life that remind me of them. And yet, I love writing and I don't...