My book is not a book. . .

So this post is actually going to be about writing (shocking)!  More specifically, Writer's Block - seeing as how this is about the only connection I've had to writing in a little over a month (except for a few poems - one of which I wish I had had more time to perfect before I gave it to a certain someone...ooops).  Anyway, this is how my Writer's Block usually goes, and so I present to you

Writer's Block : A Day in the Life Of

Intentions: I'm going to wake up really early in the morning so that I can get a head start on Writing.

Reality: Alarm goes off, the snooze button is hit repeatedly so that I end up getting up about normal time (on weekends).  Realizing that I'm already running behind, I turn on the TV and find Kitchen Nightmares.  I watch it for a couple hours and then realize "Okay, I'm really not doing anything productive other than making myself wish I could cook."

*Gets off couch and goes upstairs to sit at computer.

Intentions:  Sit here, with wifi button turned off until I write something. 

Reality:  After about ten minutes, I turn the wifi back on and get onto Facebook and stalk people who have way more interesting of lives than I do.  After browsing around there for about an hour, I again scold myself into doing something else that can be considered productive.

*Leaves computer and picks up a book*

Intentions:  This book will give me some inspiration to write and I'll see that it's possible and that I can do it.

Reality: After reading a chapter or two of a book, I find myself close to tears thinking to myself "OH MY GOD. I SUCK! MY WRITING WILL NEVER BE LIKE THIS!  MY BOOK ISN'T A BOOK! IT'S A WORD DOCUMENT AND IT DOESN'T EVEN BEGIN TO COMPARE TO ANYTHING I READ - NO MATTER HOW CRAPPY THE BOOK IS!"

*Although rather upset, I continue to read because, let's face it, the book I'm reading is more interesting than the one I'm writing and reading the one that's already written is a lot easier than forming a plot line, developing characters, and trying to throw some literary elements in there somewhere.*

A couple hours later you realize it's getting late.  You remember that night time is your peak writing hours, so you sit back down at your computer.

Intentions:  Make yourself write and just pretend to feel inspired.

Reality:  Hello, Facebook. 

But hey, writing statuses and comments still counts as writing.

. . . right?

Beginning Anew in the Middle

Some people say that beginnings are the hardest things to make; that it's scary to put yourself out there and begin something new.  I, however, tend to disagree with that.  Beginnings are easy - they have to be made from the very minute we leave the safety of our mother's womb and enter this earthly state - it's endings that are hard.

Whether you're someone that has known me for x-amount of time or you're someone that happened to stumble upon this blog by one means or another, I should use this blog as a little bit of a back story.  My name is Hanna, I am 15 years old, and I live in small-town, Ohio. Pretty exciting, I know.  I've been dealt my share of heartache, having lost too many loved ones ~ and those are the wounds that never ease.  These wounds, however, brought me to find love - in the form of an art, at least.  On January 18th, 2008, I began writing. 

I don't feel like explaining everything I've ever been through or how I came about writing specifically, because I've done that a few times on this blog (if you go to my "Catch Me" page, you can probably find it). 

In the four years writing and I have been involved, I have changed a lot, and so has my craft.  I spent a good deal of time holding back what I wanted to say, what I wanted to write for the fear that others may not like and and may reject it.  In a way, I wrote as though my grandmother would read it - and her alone (Hi Mamaw!).  Which there was nothing wrong with that, but my writing lacked an edge, it lacked the emotion and realism of life.  I wrote this way until I lost my cousin in Afghanistan on August 28th, 2010.  After that, (well, when I started writing again 6 months later) I decided I was done holding back.  I had felt such extreme emotions in those 6 months and I wasn't doing any justice to myself nor my subject matter to sugar-coat things.  The fact was, I had been through hell.  My words and story had to convey that.

I'll be the first to admit I was scared to begin writing again.  The project itself scared me because I was writing about a man that I held up so high in my mind and I wondered how I could possibly do justice to him.  I was scared of how my family would react to me writing it, even though I had asked his close relatives for permission before I even let myself form the plot line.  I was scared of how I, myself, would react.  There were emotions I wasn't sure if I was ready to sort through and bring back up.  Mostly, I was scared to change my voice. It wasn't until I wrote for a little while that I realized that I wasn't changing my voice; this had been my voice all along, I had just never let myself hear it.

I've finished many things in my life; everything from math problems to relationships.  And each thing you finish, although you're proud of your work, you still have that nagging thought lingering in your head Is this really done?  Did I do it right? that causes you to second guess yourself.  I know I often have this feeling in Algebra when I'm not sure if I've done a problem correctly.  I've felt this when I've decided to end relationships and I have to ask myself if I really want to end it, knowing that once the ties have been severed, they cannot be sutured again. I've felt it at every funeral I've ever attended knowing that it was not my choice to end the relationship, and knowing that I did not want to.  But the time that I've had this feeling completely consume and overwhelm me was on July 18th, 2009 around 9pm.  I was finishing my first novel and it literally took everything in me to type those last words that I had had planned out for months.

So, beginning isn't hard, ending is.

But, at the moment, I'm doing neither.  The only thing I'm beginning is a weekly promise to blog/vlog.  Every Tuesday.  Why Tuesday?

1) Today makes 2 years since I last saw my cousin, for whom this project is dedicated.
2) I really hate Tuesdays.

So, welcome to my Wonderful World of Writing here on WonderfulWritingWebsite.  I have been Officially Inspired.

Stick around, the journey is only beginning.

When enough is enough

I've always known I've had a problem of knowing when to walk away.  It just wasn't usually something that effected more than myself.  This time, unfortunately, it does.  And  with that said, I'm writing this not to hurt the other person, not to accuse them of anything, or anything like that; I write this to vent because I don't even really understand it.  Maybe it's too early in time to start to drawl a deeper meaning from it, to learn a lesson from it.

I think sometimes when we form relationships, romantic or not, we try to see what we want to.  We try to ignore anything about the other person that either hurts us or makes us uncomfortable.  And maybe that's what happened this time; I wanted to forget that this person had hurt me and put that behind me so much that I let them hurt me a second time.  And I'm not saying that there was anything other than friendship between me and this person, because honestly that's all there was. 

I began this post awhile ago, and am finishing it after having a chance to take a step back and try to figure things out.  Unfortunately, that hasn't gone so well.  I thought that I had figured out what to do and as soon as I had made my decision, things changed again.  And I did that a second time; I decided that it was time to let things rest, but as soon as I had, certain memories came back and I wasn't so sure I could let that go. 

I've felt alone before, but usually I chose that.  I chose to be alone with my thoughts, chose to turn people away and let no one inside my walls.  Now?  Now that's not so much the case.  I feel like I've lost a huge part of me, yet I haven't actually lost it.  And I know this isn't making any sense to anyone but myself.  And I don't want to put all of my personal business out there.  But I really need to write this, to get some stuff off of my chest - even if I decide not to publish this.

When I let someone in, that means that I trust them - completely. 

I had told myself that it was best to walk away the first time I found myself hurting because of them, but I couldn't imagine my life without them anymore.  They had made me forget about everything I had been through.  They made me happy; not "I haven't cried yet today and it's almost 8pm", not "My heart ache is a little lesser today", not "I'm smiling but I still miss Jimmy", but HAPPY.  And I know that sounds a little selfish, but I think that's why I couldn't stand the thought of letting this person go.  I had tasted happiness and I felt more like myself than I had in months, and I didn't want to go back to being dejected and depressed.   So I ignored anything about this person that could have been seen as a warning sign.

I lost someone I thought to be my best friend because they said something to this person behind my back.  I didn't appreciate what was said and I'm not sure if they know that they lost my friendship and my respect.  But I thought that had made me and this other person closer, bonded us in some way knowing that I could trust them enough that they'd tell me if another friend had said something about me.

And I am, again, coming back to this post.  And parts of it are no longer relevant.  But I did lose a friendship out of this ordeal, and that saddens me.  And it's kind of awkward because I still know, see, and love parts of this person's family.  But, as I've said before, each relationship must teach you something ~ and I think this one taught me A) That it's okay to be happy and B) Trust has to be earned and that you should really know a person before you let them in.

But enough of this. I'm over it; I've made my peace with the situation and have "said" my goodbyes.

And speaking of goodbyes, this year is kind of sucking.  In my last post, I had mentioned that I had lost a very dear friend, Harry.  And on March 10th, I lost another loved one.  My Uncle Drew passed away on March 10th, around 3:20pm with his family by his side.  He had suffered a massive heart attack and his body couldn't keep going.  I cannot describe how this loss has impacted me; Drew was someone I never thought about losing.  You look around and see your older relatives and, I think, in a way, we all prepare ourselves to lose them eventually.  But Drew was 47, with two young kids.  He was a comedian, a father, a complete goofball. . .He was Drew.  And those are the people you don't think about losing. 

One thing that is odd about losing him is that it's easier for me to laugh.  Because he was so full of life, it's easier for me to be reminded that I have to live.  And live fully, not just day-to-day trying to get through life.  I have to live every day with passion, with love, and with laughter.  I miss him so very much, and I still am waiting for the punch line, but I feel like maybe, somewhere, he's out there nudging me saying, "Hanna, you've gotta keep going.  You've gotta keep laughing.  You've gotta keep living, and keep loving."

And, my GREAT Great-Uncle Drew, I promise you, I'm not wasting any more of my life.