Can we talk about this? I think it’s about time.

When I was growing up, everybody wanted to be skinny. And that was a problem.

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I remember when telling a girl she had a big butt was an insult. When every woman in the celebrity world was either on a diet or an anorexic. When my mother forced more Ragu-coated pasta (which I’ve never been a fan of) onto my plate because “there’ll be no anorexics in my house!”

I was, I wanna say, in grade five when that happened. More or less ten, eleven years old, tops.

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It was a thing. A very big thing.

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Now, back then I was one of the “lucky” ones. Frankly, I couldn’t gain weight if I tried. I was, and still am- weighing 112 lbs and eating like a 180 lb man- one of those girls all the other girls claimed to “hate”: the one whose metabolism did all the heavy lifting. So I didn’t really have a problem.

Have girls ever asked me, “How are you so skinny???” Yes they have, and no, not primarily in high school either.

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I remember when being skinny was a thing. A very big thing. The chubby girls weren’t seen as desirable, and put as a bad option on a MASH chart game along with 1000000000000 babies and a toilet on wheels (if you don’t know what I’m talking about, you done missed out on life).  I remember when every magazine was filled with weight-loss tips and tricks, and the miracle pill that evaporated fat was broadcasted during commercial breaks (the one I’m remembering in particular was circa the eighth grade, so a fairly recent 2009).

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I remember when none of the little boys wanted the big girls.

And when we all grew up, they fought back.

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For the past three years or so, especially ever since I got twitter, this has been all I see. All everyone sees. It was easier for me to find pictures like that than it was for me to find the ones of girls trying to be skinny.

What happened to being a “lucky” one?

All the skinny girls are looking at each other asking what went wrong? When did the odds change out of their favour?

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What matters isn’t the very obvious fact that more vivacious women are taking the stand to love their bodies and be proud of it. That’s the beautiful part of all this. What matters, and what I think we as a SOCIETY NEED to talk about, is what are we doing now?? Are the girls binge-eating to get that bootylicious backside any more healthy than the ones who used to be doing the opposite?

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I’m a lizard!(According to this cartoon). Skinny girls have become lizards. We aren’t “REAL”, that’s apparent. Now we’re the ones being told we’re undesirable. When did this happen?

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Whether you have mole hills or Mount Kilimanjaro on your chest, there is a man out there who will love you. Whether your butt makes an appearance five minutes after the rest of you or you can use it to roll pastry dough on, someone is gonna be grateful to have you on their arm.

That is not an opinion. That is a fact.

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There is something to be said about how this all came full circle. “Thick” girls shouldn’t be any more blamed than the “thin” ones of yesterday. And it is a beautiful, beautiful thing when an entire group of women recognize their worth and exercise that empowerment. Big IS beautiful!

But that doesn’t mean small doesn’t have to be.

Or anything and everything else in between.

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That, ladies, is empowerment. That is beauty. THAT is something to be desired.

Meghan Marie

NOTHING TO WRITE ABOUT! Exert the Second

So the unthinkable has happened….

within two weeks of having a blog, I have rendered myself speechless. That is to say- I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY!

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Apart from my “I want more” (which has literally been me this week) I’ve just had nothing to write about. Which sucks because I have thoroughly enjoyed blogging from Day 1. SO now what…..

I’ve literally been grasping at straws this whole week, “What to do, WHAT TO DO???”Image

That’s my visual representation of “grasping at straws”. Work with me, people. SO CLOSE YET SO FAR, BABY TARZAN.

Now, I didn’t want to do “BAM BAM BAM, just a bunch of novel-y stuff, starving artist-type posts” just for the sake of keeping this true to myself and not a desperate cry for attention, and oh, how those borders blur… HOWEVER I’ve decided to borrow from my past self….I present today an exert from my original story, my baby that I wrote 5 years ago ( and holy FRACK, now that I actually had to sit and count how many years its been since I was 14, do I feel old).

This is one of my favourite scenes from the whole novel, and I had more fun than you can imagine writing this.Image

*scribble scribble scribble scribble scribble word vomit hand cramp scribble*

And I know, for those of you lovely people actually following me (and you make my day every day that you do), specifically the writers, you know this feeling, which personally, I think Tarzan accurately depicts, minus the gorilla.

 

 

TBN (To Be Noted- I couldn’t remember if this was a real abbreviation or not so there you go, just in case): This is a bit of a spoiler in terms of what my novel is about, the key element of it at least, and I understand its lacking the original explanation and details leading up to it but hopefully y’all can bear with me, and its also a tad self explanatory.

NOW, HERE IT IS, WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, UNEDITED AND UNCHANGED. Drum roll, please

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My vision blurred on the edges as everything sort of zoomed out into flashes of light. It looked like something out of a science fiction  movie. I didn’t physically feel like I was moving- if I closed my eyes, it still felt like I was merely standing in the middle of my bedroom. But what I saw made it seem like I was being sucked backwards. Soon my room was a small image in he centre of stretching forms and lights in my vision.

Then I felt a slight lurching tug around my waist, pulling me forward from behind. I blinked, stumbling, as I stepped…

In the library.

I looked around. This was definitely the library. But how did I get here?

Umf! I didn’t have much time to ponder that question. A heavy something knocked into my side wrapping me in its big arms. We flew sideways, hitting the floor with a hard thud that couldn’t have been good for my hip.

My heart literally skipped a beat as, right where I was standing six seconds ago, a cloud of dust and debris erupted with a bang that made the floor and bookshelves shake uneasily.

My heart skipped a second time as I noticed something I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen.

A huge, black, beast-like form emerged from the wreckage. It reached almost halfway up to the ceiling, its head just passing the third floor balcony. It was a distinct form, but seemed to be endlessly black, with no evidence, other than its outline, of fur or other features. All that was visible were its two red eyes, and sharp white fangs when it roared.

The figure beside me stood and reached a hand out to me. My heart jumped again as I saw Taylor, slightly covered in dust and looking extremely serious.

He didn’t wait for me to grab his hand, but went straight for my arm, pulling me up so fast it made me dizzy.

“Emma!” * I looked up and finally noticed Rodger on the fourth floor, leaning over the banister- his wheelchair was about eight meters away from him on its side. His eyes shone crimson, and he looked distressed. “Find Aaron!”

Another explosion erupted to the left, a little way away. I saw Alex in front of the rubble, her eyes shining fiercely, making tables like the ones that lay scattered and cracked in two all over the library appear and fall onto a second black monster. It was almost as large as the other one.

I was trying to move away from the fighting, slowly backing behind  a bookcase. I wasn’t being a coward or anything, its just that I didn’t have a jewel- and due to that, frankly, I didn’t have a chance.

I saw Katie on the fourth floor opposite Rodger, actually seeming like she cared, helping out here and there. With a flash from her eyes, a peridot coloured forcefield appeared in front of a third, smaller monster that had been advancing on a fallen Calvin. He seized the opportunity, leaped up almost acrobatically and, with a flame of topaz, turned into a large tiger, and pounced with a roar.

Then I heard the clank of wood on wood, so loud I jumped. My head snapped in the direction the sound came from and was only just able to get out of the way.

Something was knocking into the bookcases in the row I was standing in. I jumped out of the aisle just before a bookcase crashed into the one next to me. It was another black monster that had been hit so hard, it flew backwards into six, no seven, bookcases.

I followed the row of demolished wood and books and saw Michael- little, adorable Michael- the cause of all that destruction. Like Rodger, his eyes were also glowing vivid deep crimson, only with a lighter tone. But his shoulders and upper arms had red, translucent, sort of liquid worm-like arms moving around them. They moulded into wings before my very eyes and Michael soared over to where I was standing, facing the black monster. I looked up at him, still unable to pick myself up off the floor, and noticed two wires going from his pants pocket, to his ears.

His face looked filled with rage and I knew that this was a side of Michael ten times stronger than the previous “angry” Michael I’ve experienced.

The two wings morphed fluidly into two large maces at the end of his balled fists, and he struck the beast around the shin and heels. It fell forwards, limping on one foot with a shriek. In anger it reached for a large boulder of debris that looked like a piece of the wall, and launched it at Michael and I.

I braced myself for impact, cursing the fact that I hadn’t been able to stand up. I caught a glance of Rodger, and with a simple movement of his hand, the piece of wall disintegrated into bubbles.

“Emma! Find Aaron!” he yelled. “Hurry!” I jumped up with a quick nod, and glanced around the library. Find Aaron, find Aaron… how on earth was I supposed to do that in the middle of this chaos? Everyone was either in the middle of their own fight or helping someone with theirs; there were tables all over the place every which way; there were feet sticking out from behind one of the over-turned armchairs; chunks of wall were flying all over- wait a minute, feet?

I did a double-take, my eyes focused on the area under the second floor balcony. Half the fireplace mantel was broken off in pieces on the floor, and every one of the four armchairs were disturbed. Behind one of the chairs that was turned on its side, I recognized the bottom of his bottle green jeans and black running shoes.

Without thinking, I tore across the library. I barely dodged a soaring table and had to duck under Calvin, now a giant phoenix with a small bookcase clutched in his claws which he dropped from above onto two monsters, before diving behind the sideways coffee table and army crawling over to Aaron.

He was sleeping. I couldn’t say how I knew that. His whole body was rigid and twitching- hos hands were clenched into tight fists, his knuckles white, his face pained and covered in sweat. Then I saw his bracelet- the one that matched Alex’s with his jewel on it, and I knew why I had to find Aaron.

I knelt down beside him. I froze, my hands hovering over him. Should I shake him? Talk to him? How do you wake someone like this up?

“Aaron,” my voice shook with the rest of my body. “Aaron, wake up, come on, please Aaron,” he was twitching less, but his eyebrows pulled together and his teeth clenched almost as tight as his fists. I shook him, “Aaron, wake up, please!” I gasped and my heart almost stopped for the fifth time that day.

On the other side of Aaron, a form was shaping, billowing up in smoke black as if night itself were creeping up. I stood frozen.

The blackness resembled a person now, and I could almost recognize them. “Aaron,” I croaked desperately, not taking my eyes off the figure, “Aaron, wake up!” I shook him harder. The figure was reaching a cloudy hand toward me. “Aaron!”

Fingers wrapped around my neck.

“Aaron…”

I was being lifted off the ground.

“…A…aron….”

The hand tightened. I looked into the figure’s cold, onyx eyes.

AARON!”

* originally the main character’s name was Emma, which I have changed to Aarya. Emma was just too immature and underdeveloped as a character, so I felt I had to change her name (and a lot of her appearance as well) to break from that.

It was hard writing it exactly as is, without any editing. Well, I might’ve changed a word or a comma here and there, but CAN YOU BLAME ME??? Anyways, I ask you to forgive any less-than-forgiving sentence structures or prose, por favor.

WELL, if you’ve bared with me long enough to get to this point, CONGRATULATIONSImage

…and also a very dear THANK YOU.

 

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As always, your comments or critiques are much appreciated and very welcome.

BONUS GIF: Who doesn’t love Jimmy Fallon and Elmo?

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Exert Numero Uno

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Oh this is very exciting 🙂 I can’t promise these will be frequent or lengthy, but you have to start somewhere.Tarzan-GIF

This is something I just started writing one day, knowing I wanted to rewrite my story but had nowhere to start. I had a thought and the rest followed.

I haven’t decided if I’m going to continue to write in the third person or change it to first like my original, but nevertheless, here is my intro, or prologue, as is.

           Toronto was a bustling city. You scarcely ever passed the same person twice, even if you were out at the same time every day on the same route. In the heart of its downtown the tapering office buildings, restaurants and boutiques, with all their lights and signs and screens, were still a sight to behold. True, it had its certain aura- its feeling of importance, but sometimes for Aarya the quiet places took their precedence.

Five blocks from her school- (St. Bridgette’s,  which wasn’t a private school but sure as hell tried to run like one)- maybe six blocks if you took the long way through the roundabout with the crabapple tree, where the sound of cars and people became muffled, was a library. It wasn’t run on government money, nor were its dog-eared second-hand books plastic jacketed or stickered  with serial numbers. Its owner was quiet and mild-mannered; he could be seen wandering up and down the condensed library aisles through its tall French windows. The cube-shaped old stone building enclosed on either side, the library both blended in because of its size and stood out because of its rarity. Just outside of its wooden door, plastered on the foot of a lamp post, was a small memorial put in place by the family of a  car accident victim. Aarya visited her father’s crash site, with its chipped paint and cold dead November flowers, every day, but never went inside the still structure that stood just beyond it.

Now we’re told that every story has its beginning; its “Once upon a time,”; its birth of a hero. Ours starts on a cold November morning with a cup of spilled coffee and a humble library.

That’s all for now….maybe after I finish the first chapter I’ll throw out another exert. This means a lot to me, to be able to share my baby, new and improved, to whoever will listen. Hopefully one day I can receive feedback as well 🙂

Well, what are you waiting for? I have work to do.That’s it, shoo shoo

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Paging young author self c. 2009

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It’s a little blurry (#blackberryprobs), but it says,
          “Christopher Paolini became a best selling author at 19.
            I want to do that.
            I CAN do that.
            I WILL do that.” Dated October 27, 2009. I was 14.
Now for all y’all who are like
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(I named this gif “da fuq” in my blog folder for moments like these). Let me explain.
Christopher Paolini is the author of widely proclaimed (at least around my school and in our Scholastic Book Fair that year) best-seller, Eragon. When I was a kid (although the book was published in 2002, it didn’t really catch wind till about 2005), every librarian and student alike wanted their hands on it. I remember, since my mother ran our Book Fair, that Eragon got a nice little display that year separate from the other books. But what I remember most is that it was a bit of a big deal, how he was so young and wrote such a book. I recall reading about how his parents were both authors, and he would get asked if it came from their influence. 
I assure you, except for the exact year it came out, ALL THAT WAS FROM MEMORY. It really was a big deal, and I do remember those things in particular. If he could write such a critically acclaimed book as a teen, so could I. Although if I’m being honest, I thought that I’d have a manuscript drafted and edited, ready for publication by the time I was sixteen. Alas, t’was not meant to be.
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That note was taped on the inside back cover of my “story binder”, as I called the green Dollarama plastic (much more potent and strengthy than modern Dollarama plastic, I might add) and metal rings holding together 412 pages (counting front and back) of my baby. It took me almost exactly a year but I had written something that I could proudly publish. In blood, sweat, and tears, no less.
The only problem was that I was 14 when I wrote it. What was a hearty novel of thought and eloquence was now bones (I call books that are all dialogue and plot “bones”, not much meat to them. Think kid’s novels). If you’ve ever read anything your past self has written then you’ll know what I mean. My mind had grown and my baby hadn’t grown along with it.
Now here I am, turning 19 in about a month and a half, and what have I to show for it? A binder covered in dust. I decided this year I would start editing, and rewriting my story to be stronger, better. 
From time to time I plan to post exerts and scenes here, simply because I’m too excited to wait for publishing to share my baby with the world.
This one was a doozy, thanks for making it this far! 🙂 Bonus gif for you~
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