Writing Life Update

I have been admitted into our school's journal, the GJ.

Truthfully, it's not so great. Yet. (I hope.)

My reason for saying that is because I'm a writer, not a journalist. When I was sitting there, with people chatting with other people all around me, and I was feeling OP, and I had time to think. And I was thinking how restraining journalism is. And honestly, I am no good with sports and I am always hear the latest news a little too late. (Could you still call that "latest news"?) Thus, my opinion above was formed.

But then, I'm happy with my other writing club, the GCG. It's not so formal; we don't even have a teacher to supervise and stuff! It's purely run by students, and I love it that way. And we're finally have some writing: there's a contest going. E=it's held monthly, and this month's theme is bullying.

Best thing is, it's pure writing. Nothing except your imagination is restraining you.

Names

I seriously do.

Some people have pen names, and I want to have my own pen name. And that's where I'm struggling in.

Personally, I'be got an idea for the first name. Last name, nada.

But now, because I just want to, I'll give the meaning of my real names. Are you ready?

My first name means "pipe", and my middle name means "youthful". And before you ask, my parents did not name for the meaning of my name.

That's it!








P.S. Oh, and if you're wondering, I know the meaning of my name because our Social teacher was asking for it.

S.G.C. The Writer Died with Inkpop

(To begin with, why "S.G.C. The Writer"? Because there's still S.G.C. The Blogger, S.G.C. The Dreamer, S.G.C. The Girl Who Has Seriously Wacky Ideas at Random Times, S.G.C. The Social Misfit . . . the list goes on.)

Many will never understand the despair of Inkies when they realized that they were sold to Figment. But then, I won't elaborate on that further, because I would do so in another blog post. This post is about why I am not using S.G.C. as my username anymore.

S.G.C., to me, will always be something professional. And Inkpop was professional, even though it was full of amateur writers. Maybe it was the fact that real editors could read your work, or maybe it's the community, but it was professional through and through.

And when it was gone, and after seeing how Inkpop was so stupid to sell us to a site like Figment, I went to Wattpad. And I changed my username, because S.G.C. would always be for Inkpop alone.

I'm Back!

Holy guacamole, I haven't posted in two months.
O.O
To begin with, I was in a summer camp. I'm not going to describe the place in detail, but here are my emotions for the trip.

Yeah . . .
But then, here's the worst part about the place.
Every week, we have computer time. So that's my weekly chance of getting some Internet time. (That excludes computer class, but then it's class time. We have to do other stuff before getting a few minutes of Internet.)
It didn't take long for me to realize that it would be a complete waste of time. To begin with, the Internet is so unbelievably slow that you might end up yelling, "ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME ON PURPOSE?!" to the blasted computer. And then you could get some stares from other people. Because we go there as a group. (And that's pretty much why the Internet is slow, as someone unformed me. The Internet's Wi-fi, so what is amazingly fast for one comp is "Aaargh!"-inducing for 25+ people.)
Oh, and if you're wondering if I did what was mentioned above, the answer is no.
And then the next week, the boys discovered Counterstrike. Being in a room that's a majority of boys (because most of the girls gave up on the Internet) who overreacts when they die in the game with excruciatingly slow Internet is simply annoying. And did I mention the guys are fond of choosing the weirdest and grossest usernames? One of them: thebra.

*shakes head*

What I've Learned from Greyson Chance

Well, of course it wasn't directly from him. It came from a song of his.

"You're so afraid of taking chances, how are you going to reach the top."

Those lyrics have really stuck in my head, simply because it is just so true. And personally, I can relate.

I know I'm not the only one who has this moment when the teachers asks a question, and you don't raise your hand because you're not sure if it's correct. And then later, when someone/the teacher gives the answer, you realize that your answer was actually correct.

And then if it was for extra points, you just feel like slapping yourself.

So, can't stay to type any longer. I'm off to take a chance to meet new people in the Wattpad community. I've decided to transfer over there, instead of Figment. 

Ciao,

E X C E R P T

Except!

This is from a story started from an Inkpop Word War (fabulous things, Word Wars). I'm still trying to find a nice pic for a cover, along with thinking for a title.
And now without further ado, the last few paragraphs! *applause*

I frowned at that statement.
She was looking at the people flying their kites, so she didn't notice my frown. 
Can't she see she's better than some people? Can't she see how rare it is to find someone who could laugh so easily? Can't she see how she's perfect the way she is?
No, she can't.
It was so obvious, in everything she does. She hated "perfect" people, because she believed she could never compare. Maybe the reason why she always read books was to shut out the world. Maybe she was always be lost in daydreams because she was dreaming of a world where nothing was wrong with her.
She was already perfect the way she was.
"Well, I think you're the best writer in the class."

I whipped my head around to look at him. His lips weren't pulled back into a teasing smirk; they were set in a firm line. His brown eyes looked black under the shadows, and they only made his expression look more solemn.
He wasn't joking.
Heat flooded my cheeks, and I looked away. I wasn't comfortable with attention at all, no matter how much I wanted to be noticed.
"It's obvious," he continued. "Who got the highest score in the book report?"
"I'm not in the journalism club," I mumbled.
"So? I still think you're the best."
Six words. Six words. Six words and I get a strange feeling in my stomach.


She blushed.
I was nervous, and I hesitated. And when I hesitate, I get to choose to do this or not. And in this case, the choice to go talk Cathleen paid off. I've made her blush. I've said something she'll probably remember.
I noticed my little brother waving me over, and I felt like groaning. I've just started talking to her!
I stood up anyway, knowing it wouldn't be fair to keep Drake waiting. And having him come over here was a big no. If he did come, who knows what he'll blab to the rents. So I gave him my wait signal, and turned back to face Cathleen. "Nice talking to 'ya. Let's chat again sometime."
She forced a smile and said nothing.
"Bye." I gave her one last smile and went over to Drake. 
As I jogged to where he was, I felt satisfied. Who knows to what this day would lead to?  All I know is, that when I'll be lying down in bed later, I'll be happy I talked to her.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a heart-shaped kite. And I just had to smile.
Delete what I said about my thoughts while I'm trying to sleep. Instead of being happy that we talked, I'll be thinking if that kite was an omen or not.

What do you think?

I Don't Want To Say Goodbye, Inkpop!

I have been inconsolable for days.

Inkpop, my wonderful haven, has been deleted. Al my hard work was just deleted. Along with all my plans to raise my trendstter rank and my fantasies of getting into the Top 5.

Personally, I think it was a stupid idea to get rid of Inkpop and collab with Figment. Why can't HarperCollins just host contests on Figment, and keep Inkpop?

All they did was make a lot of people sad and removed an awesome site from the vast domain of the Internet.

Because Inkpop was the best writing community ever. All the members were nice, and gave the longest critques you could imagine. You could write author's notes, and everyone could read it. People were polite and fun, and sometimes really wacky. 

It was home for my writer self.

I take a look at Figment, and I still wonder if I can get used to it. Sure, I like the background and the daily prompts, but I don't think I can get used to the rankin system. No one even leaves a critque. And it really doesn't seem to be forum-based at all.

*sighs* Guess I'll try to write to ease the grief.





P.S. And what am I going to do with my Photobucket album "For Inkpop"?

Why Writers Make Bad Friends

"Friends" can easily be replaced by "Acquaintance" or anything you'd prefer.

1. WHEN WE INSULT, WE DO IT WELL

Let's say your enemy is a writer. Ever heard "Insult to injury?" Well, it could happen to you. The insult would be the insult insult, as in the thing said. The injury would be the fact that the words were to too deep for you to comprehend.

2. YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED ACCESS TO DREAMWORLD

Dreamworld? yes, dreamworld. A world which is full of people you've never met or imagined to even exist.

3. WE ARE EDITORS BY HEART, BY NATURE, AND BY EVERYTHING.

So when you ask us to correct an essay of yours, expect it to be returned with red covering everything. And some harsh feedback.

4. YOU NO UNDERSTAND US.

Of course you can't. After all, we're good at coming up with the strangest metaphors. We'll even throw in a paradox for good measure!

5. WE ARE UNOFFICIALLY MARRIED TO OUR BOOKS/LAPTOP

Yes, yes we are. Expect us to ignore you for Peter Pan and the likes. And don't ask us to go out with you to a certain place. We need some quality time with our typing device.

Note: I didn't come up with this idea. I was just browsing around and saw a blog post with the same subject, thought it was cool, and decided to try it out here. Only, I forgot what was the link, so sorry.

And that's five reasons! Come up with more. :)

Two Sides to Every Coin

THE FACEBOOK COIN
Heads: The games! The people! The socializing!
Tails: They went to Shanghai. I stayed at home.

THE TWITTER COIN
Heads: It's so amusing! One message in 140 characters!
Tails: I've been here for years and I only have twenty followers!

THE MOVIE COIN
Heads: So epic! Love the music.
Tails: If only life could be a movie.

THE DRAWING COIN:
Heads: They say, "It's so pretty!"
Tails: Your mind goes, "It's not the best."

Ran out of ideas. :P feel free to post this on your blog.

Writing Update

I'm currently working out more plot details for Sky Painter. Though it's going rather slow.

Cover of You, You, You

On the other hand, I'm working on poems! :)
Title: You, You, You
SP: Have 
      I ever 
      told you that, 
      to me, you're everything? (Yes, it's like that on purpose.)

LP: Every day, every smile and every time I laugh is beautiful

because of you. Hold me, take my hand, and I can face the world.

You make moments seem like they come from a fairytale, you

paintings belong in a fairytale, and what you say makes my heart

fly like a fairy. 

I love you.

Teaser: 
Day, day, day.
Every day
Is simply golden.

If you want to read it, click here. It'll lead you to directly to the reading page.
I'm going on a book craze for the month of February. I'll be reading a lot of Nicholas Sparks since someone can lend me a lot of his books. I'm also reading The Mortal Instruments. The MC may be stupid, but the plot's really interesting.
And March will be the time for writing!

Happy February,

Sky Painter Plot Ideas: Part 1

Warning: The rest of this might be lacking, confusing, and mind-blowing.

Everyone knows Greek mythology.  No one knows what they never discovered.

The Sky Painters were humans made immortal by Isis. (They are the ones who make the sunset complete.)

Story Behind It:

Isis always rode with Apollo while he was driving the sun chariot. (Gods can exist in many places at the same time.) She fell in love with a guy, and she made him immortal. Then he got killed. Isis got so mad the sky was somewhere between blue and purple for days.

After that, she made a group of people immortal to take over her sky painting duty then locked herself up and mourned. 

Reason why Greeks never knew about those people:

No one really cared about Isis. (So sad.)

Sky Painter 101:

They do their job while riding pegasi (not pegasuses). They paint the sky by just waving their hands around. (they have some magic/skill/blessing)  They can't keep doing it for a week since they're just immortal humans. If   two of them worked on the day before, it's not wise to do it again the day after. They could go kaboom. You get the point.

Anne:

Anastasia Romanova. No one ever found her body. No one knew Isis took pity on her and made her a Sky Painter. After all that happened, Anastasia wanted to have a new life, so she asked Isis to change her features. The only thing she kept was the color of her hair.

Soul Collectors:

Hermes was in charge of delivering souls to the Underworld. During WW1, he had to be in so many places at the same time that he nearly faded away. After arguing with Hades, he managed to make Hades get servants to help with that job. After more time, the servants took over the job.

It is confusing, isn't it? But the idea's awesome!

My Library Turns Stingy

How did they do that?

Before, the library computers can be used up to when you have to leave. As such, I always managed to be able to type, do Inkpop, and a ton of other stuff.

Now, all the Internet time I can get there is fifteen minutes. Fifteen measly minutes.

I assure you, it's frustrating. I doubt I could even finish OSP soon! And of course, there's my mom who believes writing is the worst hobby besides reading. *sighs heavily*

But if there is something good that came out of it. With the knowledge I have a time limit, I actually managed to type a 100 plus words in 15 minutes of Internet with a lot of distraction! Who knows how many I can type in 15 minutes dedicated to Yarny?

Short rant done,

OSP Version 1.5

I gazed around me. A seemingly endless expanse of leaves and branches arch over me, gaps allowing soft beams of sunlight to fall through.
 Maybe, if it was fall, I could feel better being surrounded by so much beauty. Sometimes, at the right place and during sunset, it seems like King Midas's cursed fingers has touched the leaves, and a bit of the gold had spread down. At other places, it seems like the leaves are made of fire, bathing the ground with a rosy glow.
 But right now, it is spring. It is a green canopy that hung above me, not a canopy of so many brilliant colors. I don't hate green, but the autumn leaves always seemed to be more beautiful to me, even when they fall.
 Falling. Before, I have never realized that you could feel like you are falling. Now, I know what it feels like to fear every second, every second that might bring me lower. My heart makes me a nervous wreck and it's made of the heaviest material possible, bringing me even lower. No one will help me; they can't help me. I'm not sure if the only who can stop my fall will help me.
 My heart feels like it's been wrung so many times. Whenever I think of him, my throat tightens. And now, my grip on my black umbrella loosens and it nearly drops to the ground.
 It is a strange notion to bring an umbrella. It isn't raining and it isn't that sunny at all. I brought it because it brought back memories. I could remember when we would go to this forest, and we'll pretend we are fairies. I was a queen who always wore a white dress and had an umbrella while he was my servant who had a strange fondness for hats. Occasionally, it was the other way around.
 I smile sadly. Even now, when I feel like crying because of him, I could still smile. Just because he has changed doesn't mean my memories have. They may be now bittersweet, but they would always be there, moments when everything seemed to be perfect.
 I guess that only happens when you're a child. 
 With each step, I feel more reluctant to go to our meeting place. I don't know if he has forgotten about our promise. I don't want to hear him say that Valerie is the most important thing in his life. I'm scared to hear his reason.
 I'm torn. I don't want to face him, but the hurt won't start to fade until we talk.
 Dilemma. That word is what suits my predicament best.
 My head is bent towards the ground. Dilemma. I remember a time when he and I are in a quiz bee, and he won because I left out one "m".
 Every single thing in my mind always has to concern him and only him, doesn't it?
 I stray from the path and step under the cover of the trees once I see the tree with a broken heart carved on its trunk.
 A broken heart. How fitting.
 Noise is inevitable. There is the rustle of grass and I hear birds flying away. After some time, the trees started to part.
 I step out into a clearing, a random assortment of flowers poking their heads out of the grass. In the center is the remains of a cut-down tree. Coincidentally, it resembles a large heart.
 I am now here. It's beauty couldn't distract me when the mere sight of the forest can. That is simply because this is a part of the cause of my pain.
 Being here just saps my strength. On wobbly legs, I go to sit on the trunk, my fingers fumbling to close the umbrella. Once there, I just drop the umbrella and wrap my arms around myself.
 I feel so cold. So very cold inside.
 I didn't have any time for self-pity or any more sadness because I sensed his coming. I didn't hear him, but somehow, I just knew he is here.
 And I am right.
 His hands are in his pockets. He stands under the cover of the trees, shadows dappling his fair skin. I can't see his eyes properly, and his brown hair nearly matched the brown of the tree trunks'.
 His eyes have always given away his emotions. But this time, his eyes were covered with the shadows.
 I expected myself to feel even colder once I see him. I am not prepared for my strength returning, even if my legs are shaking. But I am in good condition to fight this battle.
 That is what I hoped.
 I don't know how long did it take for him to take a small step. But he did. The wait nearly shattered my confidence.
 His voice is low. "Mia."
 That did it. The fact that he didn't use his nickname for me immediately brought down my wall of courage and Fear starts to march in.
 I look into his eyes. They are as black and as unfeeling as stone.
 He clears his throat. "Why don't we sit down?"
 I surprise him when I say no. I can see it in his eyes. Then they turn unfeeling once again.
 "Suit yourself," he mumbles. "Where do we start?"
 "With," I lick my lips nervously. "With why you brought her here."
 I can't bring myself to look up as he spoke.
 "Take a look around this place, Mia. It's beautiful any time of the day. Sometimes at night, there are fireflies here. During daytime, the flowers brighten up this place."
 I know, is what I want to tell him. I know what you're talking about. We went here to go stargazing without our parents' permission. I remember how we forgot about stars once we saw the fireflies. I know how pretty this whole place is.
 He continues. "This clearing . . . I can't think of a place anymore romantic than this."
 I plummet a hundred feet. The breath I take in sounds shaky. My heart sinks so low.
 Can he remember?
 I am frozen, thinking. That is, until I realize he is waiting for me to speak.
 "Neither can I." Three words. Three words to distract him, to give me something to do.
 Even if I am looking at grass, I couldn't fully focus on it. I give him a glance at the same time he gives a slight nod to himself.
 He sighs. "I suppose you're so numb you can't think of a reply, right?"
 I nod. At least something hasn't changed. He still knows how I feel just by looking at me.
 He gently drags me to the tree trunk. He sits done, making me sit beside him.
 "Do you remember?" I say. I lift my eyes to meet his. I repeat my question.
 His eyebrows wrinkle at the edges ever so slightly. "Remember what?"
 Two words. Tow words that confirms my fear. I feel like I have been burned. I swiftly stand and distance myself from him.
 "Mia?" His voice is so far away.
  I whirl around. I can see his concern. I worry about his mood swings.
 He runs his hand through his hair in his frustration. "What's the matter with you? First, you get all upset because I brought Valerie here. To begin with, there's absolutely nothing wring with that! And now you're not even making yourself clear!" And he says a cuss word.
 I gasp. Then I realize. He has changed so much. I barely know him. Before, I could expect his actions and the words he might say next. Now, he's a stranger in the body of my best friend.
 Many have wished for the ability to turn back time. Now I see why they long for such an unattainable thing.
 I look at him.At least his face won't change. His hair would still be brown, and his eyes would be as black as ink. And at least I know he still cares for me.
 My pessimistic voice asked me how long would he be nice to me.
 For I had seen how he treated our friends after he became popular. He was horrible, mean, cruel.  I couldn't believe it was even him.
 If only he never desired to be so popular. If he never had that wish, none of this would have happened.
 I start to cry. I cry because his "friends" made him so different. I cry because he can't remember the promise when we were eight. The promise to never show this place to anyone else. It was our secret, our little haven.
 It was. It isn't ours anymore.
 I could see him reaching out for me. I jerk away from him and I run. I am now alone.

Copyright won't allow you to copy. Remember that. *glares*

My Experience with Writing

You must already know I write stories, and if you didn't, then now you do, don't you?            

But this blog post tackles writing. As in, pen and  paper. "Stone Age writing," as a friend once said.                                                  

Before Mom gave me the laptop as graduation gift, (I'm sure she now regrets it) I wrote my stories using pen and paper.
It went fine. I actually managed to write four chapters.
But then, I never finished them.
Looking back on it, those stories could be branded as "HORRIBLE" without a day to think about it. But then, last 2011, I have tried to write Second Time (a story I haven't introduced) on paper. To be specific, I tried to write in a really big notebook.
Naturally, I failed to finish it.
I was cleaning the space under the drawer-- wait, story about that first. A few years back, there were three drawers in the middle of my bed and my sister's bed. Respectively, Shared, Sister's, and Mine. Mine was left open. The my sister (as in, the person) accidentally  stepped on it to get up from her bed. It broke.
What broke wasn't the drawer. It the protruding ridges, which allowed the drawer to slide back and forth. (I don't need to tell you what happened after that.)
Anyway, Sister's was really broken (as in, the drawer itself was broken), so it was thrown away. Mine's became the one on top. Shared became Sister's. And the space under our drawersis where we put some notebooks, magazines, and the book I'm currently reading. (It's Brisingr, by Christopher Paolini!)
So, cleaning that space, right? I found that there, and I felt so annoyed at myself. I'm used to myself being unable to finish a story, but I was annoyed at myself for wasting that paper.
So something to add to the New Year ambitons: write using technology. I'll be saving Earth.

I hereby end this post,

2012, What Do You Have for Me?

Well, that's kinda wrong.

A year is what you make it. At the end of 2011, I found myself wholly satisfied. With what? Then look at this and be illuminated.

And so, it's another year, full of possibilities! The fireworks have been lit, and I stayed up to the last hour of the past year. I plan to do that this year as well. :)

But then, don't forget resolutions!

Well, forget them, I say! Annoying things; I never finish them.

And so, I do my version of those New Year resolutions: ambitions! Way better than those things that you never actually try to do.
And just in case I forget, I'll write down my ambitions here.


I aspire . . .
1. To get a project into the Top 5 in Inkpop.
2. To be a better friend. Or rather, actually get a social life.
3.  Finish any stories I have in my mind. And at least get into the habit of plotting.
4. To make beautiful covers/promo graphics for anyone who asks.
5. To stop thinking about Story at random moments. My sis already caught me smiling at Character's crazy antics.

6. Learn something new. Maybe HTML?

Done! Now, hope I can actually do one of those ambitions this year.  The first one would be just awesome. Two and three would benefit me, four will challenge me, and five . . .  well . . . no comment. Six will make this blog look way prettier.

Now, over to you. What do you want to do for this 2012? (Except die at supposed apocalypse. Grow up!)