New story?

Thinking up a new story idea. Picture this: A community/cult based on happiness, run by a figure like David Koresh or Jim Jones? The idea came to me in a dream last night, anyone think anything of it?

found this poem on the Internet somewhere. I forget the address but i really like it! what do you guys think?

Camera Grins

I'm the girl who's always behind the camera,

the one who sees everything but isn't seen.

I'm the girl that you look right through.

I'm the girl that fell hard for you,

the one the cameras want.

I'm the girl you know of,

but nothing about.

I'm the girl that takes the pictures,

that knows the difference

between real smiles,

and camera grins.

Maybe one day, you'll wise up

and trade your camera grin

for a real one,

Once you see past the lens. 

is this really part five? it must be!

She hands me a granola bar. “Thanks.” I get up to grab some orange juice and see my iPod laying on the counter. I bend to pick it up. “Clayre, no.” “What? No what? No orange juice?” I'm so bewildered. Nothing about any of this conversation is making any sense to me. “Clayre, remember? I took your iPod away. You were in a fight at school today. You threw things at Tim!”

My granola bar drops. My head is spinning. There's a roaring in my ears. She reaches out and takes my iPod! My hands are clenched and shaking. My whole body's clammy and my vision's blurry. The flowered curtains are swimming in front of me. All I can see as tears rush to my eyes are Roger Daltrey's and Pete Townshend's faces, exclaiming, “Why, Clayre? Why would you abandon us?” Visions of a silent, lonely world surround me, and I see myself having to listen to Parker, Sam, and Elijah calling me names, or have nowhere to turn to if I have a bad day. That may seem dramatic, but to me, music is life, is air. I would rather die than be without it.

Before I know it I'm standing up, pushing away my chair, and stalking out the door. “Clayre!” Mom shrieks, “Where are you going? You're not strong enough to walk much yet! Clayre!” Her voice turns icy cold, and I can't fathom how much hell I'm going to be in when I come back. But I need to escape.

My feet know the way. Finally, finally, I've made it to Sunny Oaks, Dad's nursing home. I burst in the front door guest entrance, sweating and gasping. The nurse recognizes me. “Hi, Clayre! Your dad's in the backyard.” Nodding to her, I'm down the hall, around the corner, past the wing of the patients' rooms, and out the Exercise Room's door. Dad's strolling along with a book under his arm- To Kill a Mockingbird, Mom's favorite book. He must be missing her again.

“Daddy!” I jump into his arms, forgetting that I'm seventeen and that I'm acting like a baby in public. With an, “Oof!”, Daddy hugs me tight. I breathe in the smell of him: old books, hair gel, and recently, medicine. But I'm not worried, because Dad says it's just stress relievers.

I can't believe how much I miss him all the time. He can't come home anymore, even though he's perfectly fine. He works from the rest home, but all he's allowed to do is legal writing. Daddy's awfully bored all the time, and I feel so badly for him but I can't do anything. I love visiting him though. I wish I could come here every day and just talk to him, but I can't. And I want him to come home!

“What's wrong, sugar bee?” Daddy's face is concerned. I instantly feel badly. I only see him a couple of times a week and now I've made him worried right off the bat! But suddenly my eyes are hot and my face is wet. I realize that I'm crying and the whole story just flows out of me.

“And even though I didn't do anything, my iPod's gone!” I end my story, gasping for breath and it's only after I've sucked down about a gallon of air that I notice Daddy's silent. He pats my hand and walks me to a nearby bench. “Honey, I know you're not going to like this, but you messed up my coming here. You could have tried to explain what happened, but instead you ignored your mother and ran away. I know how had a rough day, kiddo, but Elizabeth and I taught you better than that. You've disappointed me twice, Clayre Michelle. First by ignoring your mother and second by running away from your problems."

He stops talking and I let his words wash over me. He's right, I know, and I feel my face turning bright red as hot waves of shame wash over me. I look down at my shoes, wanting to sink into the mulch.

Daddy continues. “I'm sorry, honey, but I agree with your mother. Even though there wasn't actually a fight at school, you threw books around and made a scene. Did she say how long your iPod's gone for?”

I should have known Dad would take Mom's side. Ever since the accident he's been careful to thank Mom all the time and stuff. He really missed her.

“She didn't say,” I mumble grouchily to the ground. A worm suddenly pops out of the ground and I wish I was that worm. School would be so much nicer if I could burrow into walls.

I leave after Dad's nurse calls him in. We sat the rest of my visit in silence, me thinking about not thinking about my purloined music, and Dad probably thinking about what a failure of of a daughter I am.

I have...

Changed my name again! Yup, I'm back to "Anne McCartney", and hopefully I'll stay here. My  obsessions change over time, as a teenage girl's are prone to, and while my adoration of the 15-year-old Colin hasn't changed, I've been feeling an "Anne Frank" mood approaching...

part four :)

When I get home, my mother's furious, angrier than I've ever seen her. “Clayre Michelle Trick. You, miss, are in so much trouble!” I'm baffled. “What did I do?” I'm so confused I can't even go on the defensive. “You were in a fight? At school? I
thought I raised you better, Clayre.” What in the world? A fight? “The principal called and said that a 'young man of trustworthy intelligence' reported that you had been throwing things in the halls, then pushed a new student down. Principal Witters said that young Mr. Forestt is to be completely trusted. I can't believe you, Clayre. What possessed you to act like that?”

Angry tears rush to my eyes. Stupid Elijah! I should have known that he'd lie! He totally blew this out of proportion! I don't get why he hates me so much. I'm such a freak.

Mom's still talking, and she's holding out her hand. Thank god. All she wants is my phone. I never use it, anyways. Tim's the only one who ever calls me, and even then not very often.

“No Clayre, your iPod.”

When I wake up, I'm laying in my bed. It's way too quiet and my head hurts and I can't remember going to bed, but it must be night and maybe I was just so tired last night that I forgot coming downstairs.

I sit up and reach for my glasses. It's only 4:30! What am I doing in bed? I stumble upstairs and blink in the light. “Clayre! How does your head feel?” Mom's worried face appears around the kitchen doorway. She walks toward me slowly and talks quietly, like you would to a little kid. “It hurts, Mom. What happened? Why was I in bed?” I sit down because suddenly my head's spinning. “You passed out, honey. You hit your head on the fridge and I couldn't catch you in time.” Oh. So I...fainted? “Why'd I faint?” I'm trying to remember what happened at school today. Did I get hurt in gym class or something?

Mom shrugs. “Maybe your blood sugar was low. You'd just gotten back from school. You woke up and you were fine, you responded and everything, so I took you downstairs and you fell asleep. I was just about to call the new doctor who moved into our doctor's office if you didn't wake up.”

So, my blood sugar was low, which made me...faint. Somehow, this explanation seemed a bit off to me. I'd never had blood sugar problems before. But Mom seems convinced, so maybe it's true. “I'm hungry, Mom.”

as per friendly request, part three!

“Do you need any help, you know, getting around?” I finish lamely. Great. The only kid in school who doesn't think I'm a freak and I've probably already screwed this up. But Zach thanks me earnestly and replies, “Yeah. You're the first person here to be nice to me. Apparently no one appreciates good music. I tried to tell them about the cultural importance of the Who, but they just laughed.” he sighed. “But I guess all schools are the same. So, uh, can you show me where Mr. Lee's room is? I have History first.” Huh. So did I. But Mr. Lee's AP History class was open to both juniors and seniors, so there's a chance Zach could be a different age than I am. “Yeah, I'm going there now.” All thoughts of going to the bathroom and crying my eyes out in the privacy of a stall are completely forgotten. I jerk my head to the left and we turn, both trying to ignore the snide comments and pointed fingers. Poor Zach thinks they're making fun of his shirt, but he just doesn't realize that I am South High's biggest pariah if there ever was one.

As we walk down the twisting corners of this hell, I casually (I hope) ask Zach, “So are you taking Lee's class for junior or senior year?” He grimaces. “ Junior. Dad wants me to take all the AP classes I can this year, so I can graduate early. He was a hotshot doctor back in the good ole' days, but he doesn't practice anymore. Lost 'inspiration', as he puts it. Basically, he just got lazy, wanted to retire, but didn't remember that he's a single dad with a kid still at home- me. So now he's putting all this crazy pressure on me to 'succeed', like it's my fault we had to move.” Zach's voice loses its easygoing manner as he talks about his dad. Maybe they don't get along well, like my mom and I don't. But the good news is he's in my grade. Once he finds out my secret he'll not want to be my friend anymore, I know that for sure, but it's nice to have a fresh start, if only for a little while.

“Sit down, Miss Trick. Thank you for joining us. I see you didn't feel the need to bring any books.” Mr. Lee glares at me from underneath his Coke-bottle glasses. That's right, I threw my stuff at Tim. With meeting Zach and all, I'd forgotten that. Great. This morning's off to a wonderful start. I get blamed for my best friend's bad luck with girls and my favorite teacher is angry with me. “Mr. Lee, sir, I'm sorry for being late. I was helping Zach around.” Mr. Lee peers at his class list. “Ah, yes, Mr. Barlow. Welcome to South High. Take a seat right there next to Mr. Nelson.” Finally! Someone to fill the empty seat between Parker and me! The sad thing with popular people is that sometimes, they are actually smart! Which means they intrude on certain genius's AP classes and ruin the genius's life! But at least I now have a friend in this class.

After first period the hours seem to crawl by until lunch time. I don't know what on earth I am supposed to do, who I'm supposed so sit with, but I shouldn't have worried. Tim was sitting at our usual table with his eyes closed and his head tipped back, his golden-brown hair spilling over the edge of the chair. When I set my books down (recovered from the guidance office before second period Trigonometry) he looked up. “Clay,” he implored, using my elementary school nickname, “I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have sprung that on you like I did.” Poor, sweet Tim. He deserves so much that sometimes I hate myself from keeping him from it. If know that if he wasn't my friend, he'd have such an easier life.

part two of my NaNoWriMo failure!

As I tape up my binder for the umpteenth time and think about how much damage an F on the Chem lab will do to my GPA, I look around my bedroom. The walls, still with ancient paper from the 1970s on them, have been covered with 17 years' worth of academic achievements. One hundred percents, ribbons, letters from teachers, doctors, and even the president. Trophies from various academic competitions, all first place, line the shelves. My collection of books lie in rolling boxes under the bed, where they've gathered dust while I do my schoolwork.

My bed is my favorite place in my whole bedroom. It's a huge king-size, but that's not what I love. My headboard wraps around two sides of the bed and is basically a giant, cloth-covered speaker system. It's lovely to fall asleep with “Yesterday” playing all around me. It's like a warm embrace from Sir Paul himself.

“Who Are You” comes on and suddenly I don't feel like screaming, or even being angry. I feel like crying for a very long time and sleeping. Sleeping so deeply that I don't have to feel.

In the morning my alarm blares and I stumble, bleary-eyed, to the bathroom. I know today's going to suck, so I grab my “Live at Albert Hall” concert tee. I didn't go, of course, but my dad did.

Crud. Thinking about my dad has made me even more depressed. He's where I got my love of old music from, but he's not here right now. He's a lawyer and he used to always be really busy and over-stressed until one day, he just collapsed. He was at work and one Saturday we got a call from the hospital. “Is this Elizabeth Trick?” “Y-yes?” Mom's voice had faltered. “This is Doctor Peter Milzimth, at United Hospital. Your husband, Jonathon Trick, suffered a severe heart attack earlier this morning. He is in critical condition. Ma'am, I suggest-” but the voice from the phone had stopped because Mom dropped the phone. She picked up everything and raced to the hospital, where she found Dad undergoing emergency heart surgery. That was three years ago and Dad's still in a nursing home. Apparently 65-year-old lawyers have to be watched around the clock after heart attacks.

Shoving a Pop-Tart into my mouth, I walk to the bus stop, earbuds already in place. I'm back to angry today. “You Better You Bet” was playing, and just in time too. Sam steps outside his house and jeers, “Hey loser. You ever gonna wash that hair, rat face?” This day's just off to a great start.

At school, Tim greets me at my locker with a frown. Something's wrong. I ask him what and he says, “Jackie dumped me.” As he says the words, Tim seems to deflate like a balloon. That's the third girlfriend that's dumped him this year! “Why?” I ask, but my heart's sinking because I already know. Tim ducks his head. I knew it! Jackie found out, like Samantha and Willa before her, that Tim's best friends with me. Tears rush to my eyes. I throw my books at him and run blindly to the bathroom. Tim's calling me and people are laughing but I don't care. I'm so mad at Tim for blaming me and mad at myself for being such a freak that I don't see a kid step out of the office right in front of me. He must be new because I've never seen him before. He has sandy brown hair and gorgeous blue eyes and he's wearing a Who shirt! Good Lord, I think my heart just stopped.

His voice jolts me back to reality. “Hey, sorry! Cool shirt.” “Th-thanks, you too,” I stammer. “I'm Zach.” “Clayre.” He extends his hand. Does anyone do that anymore? My hand reaches out and Zach grasps it. His hand's cool in mine and he doesn't seem nervous at all about being in a new school.

We Bought a Zoo

Loved it even more the second time around <3

Today

Just finished sledding with my siblings and a bunch of neighbors that have become our fanily's best friends. It's always a bunch of fun :)

We play this game called "Human Target" where 2 people stay at the bottom of our huge hill and the others sled down and try to hit them. It's really fun! :D My friend though kept hitting trees, so we promptly named him "the Tree Magnet". Then we played my friend's game called "Running" where we run across the icy hill and try not to fall. My friend was REALLY GOOD at it; I mean he only fell ONCE. I only made it ACROSS once.

Then we tried to pile all six of us on a sled and it was crazy. My friend (he's a year older than I am) sat in front of a long sled, I sat in back kneeling with my hands on his shoulders, then his sister sat on my arms, my brother on his lap, my sister on my lap, and his other sister on top of all of us. It was sooooo much fun! Once I fell off so my friend had to grab my hand I dragged along the snow behind the sled, until I fell and my friend landed on top of me, so my head flew backwards and I cracked my head on the ice.

There were so many injuries though! My brother's lip bled, so did my friend's, my friend's sister hit her head on a tree, and I hit my head backwards three times.

But I don't think I've ever had so much fun!

Yup. I changed my "name" again.

Once again, I've changed my display name. It's now "iluvcolinford", and my picture is of Colin Ford and Elle Fanning. So if someone you've never heard of before comments on your stuff, it's probably me. Oh, and I'd LOVE some constructive criticism on that story beginning I've just posted, if anyone feels up to it. No biggie.

Au revoir,

Mrs. Ford

The beginnings of what was supposed to be my NaNoWriMo novel, until I lost inspiration.

“Hey, loser. Watch where you're going!” “Yeah, freak!”

Big, dumb, ugly Elijah Forestt and his (if possible) bigger, dumber, and uglier friends shoved me into a locker and laughed as my books went flying. Then the three of them sauntered off, looping their thumbs into their belt loops, looking to all the world an innocent trio of boys off to the library. But I knew better.

As I scrambled to pick up my books, pens, and papers, I noticed two things. First, my Chem lab that Tim and I had worked so hard on was torn and dirty, and second, that my binder had ripped. Again. There's only so much magic that duct tape can really do. You may think that Elijah, Parker, and Anthony would get expelled, but that's not the case. At my school, South High, academics mean nothing. It's all about the athletics. That's why I, Clayre Michelle Trick, mean nothing. No one cares what I get on tests. They care if Brian Worthington scored the winning touchdown, or if Sam Figgins shot a basket. That's why I'm constantly getting shoved into lockers and called names. That's why I have to guard my secret.

My doctors told me to go shopping at the mall, in the same stores as everyone else, so I might fit in. My mother told me that people will want to be my friend, no matter what my IQ. She said I'd come home the first day and be amazed at how many new friends I'd have. She was wrong. Without Tim, I'd be completely friendless.

I don't really understand Tim. He really could have had it all. He looks like your typical golden boy, with his brown hair and honey highlights and his gorgeous brown eyes, but he totally hates the popular crowd. “Just a bunch of stuck-up bitches,” he calls them, and he's right. But why he chose to hang out with me, the British freak with ratty hair and guy's clothes, is beyond me.

When I went out to the bus, I mentally prepped myself for what was to come. Sam and Parker ride my bus, and they get immense amounts of pleasure out of making my life miserable.

Clutching my jean jacket tighter around me, I shivered. It was nearing December and the weather was getting colder every day. I dug in my pockets for my iPod. Jamming the earbuds into my ears, I sighed in sweet relief as the Who's “The Real Me” leaked into my head. School for me is like drowning in a pool of molten lava, then treading with my head above, only to be plunged back under, even more harshly. Music is my only escape. These men and women felt the same way I do now, but they had the means to escape it. They poured their emotions into their music, giving us the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, the Who, the Clash, ACDC, etc. My favorite is the Who, by far. The emotion is just so clear in their music, even after forty years. When I listen to the Who, my angers, fears, worries, and doubts just melt away. It takes me on a trip back in time, to a place where people are like me, understand me, and befriend me.

I walk into the house, yanking the earbuds from my ears. “Hi, sweetie! How was your day?” Mom was in the kitchen making supper. I shrugged. “You know.”

Mom's eyes softened. Her soft gray hair tumbled around her shoulders. She's a bit older than most parents of kids my age. She's got four kids already in college or grown up with their own families, so I think having a seventeen-year-old at home, especially one as screwed up as I, is really stressful for her sometimes.

“That bad, huh? What was it this time?” She's talking about what was ruined today. I shrugged, not willing to be pitied. “Chem lab. Binder.” I gruffly reply. “Oh no! Sweetheart, you've got to do something!” Mom's tone turned disapproving. “You know, I'm always here for you. I could go talk to your teachers if you want.” I used to hate it when she did that, but now it seemed like it might be a welcome relief to clue someone in, to have more then just Tim on my side, but I can't. She couldn't possibly understand what I go through every day, how much I dread school.

I go downstairs to my bedroom. Mom and Dad let me sleep in the basement after they realized that it was soundproof and they wouldn't have to listen to blasting music 24/7. I crank up the Beatles and pull out my math homework. It's sixty-eight trigonometry problems. I'm done in ten minutes.

Next, for English, I grab the Odyssey. I flip through it. I don't need to totally reread it because I read it in kindergarten for fun. I just need to remember it.

With my bed shaking and my speakers thumping to the beat of “Come Together”, I go over to my desk and open a large drawer. It's full of duct tape, scissors, and the occasional glue stick. I call it my “Fixit Drawer”.

the Awkward Moment when...

Nobody's blogged in forever! Between Facebook and my diary, I have nothing to blog about anymore! I haven't done a real post in forever. Well, it's Meredith Stepien's birthday today. But no one here knows who she is, so...

Has anyone seen "We Bought a Zoo"? I did, last Friday, and it's amazing! The guy who's now the background of my blog plays Matt Damon's son in it. His character is Dylan Mee but his real name is Colin Ford. He's 15 and he's soooooo cute. I love his hair, haha.

Anything new?

New Blog!!!

hey everyone! My friend cami errant (remember her?) has a new blog!! Check it out at www.bright-fiction.blogspot.com.