Sunday, December 13, 2009


i know it seems as though i don't focus on literature as much as other topics on this blog, but truly, i'm a writer (however amateur) at heart. recently, i tried the Nanowrimo contest and .. well, failed. But I did get 25, 000 words by 15 days. Then quit. Cuz I'm lame and stupid and in IB.


I guess the novel I was supposed to be writing wasn't supposed to be good, it's just supposed to fill up 2000 word count every day (on top of homework, choir, piano, and whatever else). So it's not good. OH, and I couldn't finish it!

Okay let's not focus too much on my failure, I guess.


Here are a few excerpts:

“What happened?”

“What the fuck do you think happened?”

“Did someone try to stab you or something?”

“Yes,” The sarcasm in Clara’s voice did not appease Hollis one bit. “Yes, someone stabbed me. I am on a fucking black list. God, what do you think happened?”

The connotations in that sentence sent tingles up her neck and down Hollis’s spine. “You mean…? This is the second time, Clara.”


Clara held her left arm in excruciating pain, the blood flowing freely into the bathroom sink, staining the white porcelain into a deep, luxurious red; she had tried to wrap toilet paper over it, but failed miserably. Her tired eyes closed, and a river of fresh tears flowed down her pale cheeks. “Fuck, my mascara is running.” Her voice trembled and cracked as she spoke, and Clara hated this sign of weakness. “Can you get me my makeup bag from my purse? Yeah, it’s in that pocket there.”

“Jesus Christ, Clara,” breathed Hollis, her tone chiding but soft. “Tell me who did this to you.” She searched haphazardly in Clara’s large tote for the makeup. A tiny bag was produced, carrying all of Clara’s must-have essentials: Volumizing mascara, concealer, blush, eyelash curler, glittery eyeshadow, non-glittery eyeshadow, pencil eyeliner, liquid eyeliner, white eyeliner, and of course, makeup remover.

Before handing the bag over to Clara, Hollis looked into her friend’s eyes and demanded gently, “Tell me.”

Clara sniffled and ran her unharmed hand through her wavy hair, still shaking. “No.”

Clara snatched up her makeup bag and turned away from Hollis and towards the mirror. Her complexion formed a ghostly image floating in the mirror, and Clara wiped her face dry with light strokes. She newly applied her makeup, and a few minutes later, she looked absolutely normal.

The trailing scar on her arm told a much different story.


Chester Skylark rolled his eyes at his chattering sister, wishing that she’d learn when to shut up already. “Look, you’re not dead. Everything is real – got it? Now get back to helping me with these math problems. What the hell are quadratic equations?”

His sister let out a loud huff of air. “I’m not explaining it to you again. You just don’t understand.”

Hollis glared at the back of Crystal’s head of golden curls as she prattled on about fireflies, or turtledoves or something like that. Chester shook his blond hair at the sound and completely tuned his sister out. He gave Hollis a slight wink when he noticed her glaring and Hollis rolled her own eyes at him.

“Is she always like this?” Hollis asked Chester, leaning forward.

Completely oblivious to the two talking about her, Crystal continued her soliloquy on the importance of saving the spiders with her strange enthusiasm and honour.

“Unfortunately, yes,” replied Chester, his twinkling grey eyes fixed upon Hollis’s solicitous visage. “But after living with her for seventeen years, I’ve found certain ways to ignore her.”

Hollis gave a small snort. “Lucky you.”

Chester grinned. “Yes. Right now, all I’m hearing is a soft buzzing noise in my ears, And buzzing noises are definitely better than hearing Crystal’s actual voice.”


The Starbucks café was dimly lit, and the strong, distinct smell of freshly-brewed coffee strangely gave Hollis a headache.

Michael sat down at one of the sofas and gestured for Hollis to sit beside him. She ever so slowly did, managing to keep a small distance between them even though the sofa was particularly small and cozy.

“What would you like to order? My treat,” Michael told her, his grin widening.

Hollis continued to gaze at her hands in her lap and softly explained to him, mumbling, “I don’t drink coffee.”

“What? You don’t like toffee?” Michael almost yelled out, even though his face was inches away from hers. “Why not? I think toffee is one of the best candies out there – soft, sticky, and sweet; eating toffee is the perfect way to cheer up on a gloomy day. But let’s not debate the qualities of toffee right now; we’ll save that for later when we have our drinks. What do you want? Something hot or something cold?”

Hollis was thoroughly annoyed, and tried to repeat what she’d just said, but Michael cut her off. “Let me guess, a white chocolate mocha frappe? No, wait, you look more like a caramel macchiato woman, am I right?”

“No, Michael, I do not drink coffee. At all.” Hollis had no choice but to raise her voice at him, something which she did rarely in her life.

“Ah, the meek has become outspoken, eh?” Michael said, smiling.

Hollis glowered disquietly at him with dark brown eyes, unsure of what he meant but even more uncertain as to how she was supposed to respond.

CONGRATS to my friend Vrindy who actually succeeded in finishing nano. But then she neglected her hw. So I guess it's a win-lose situation.

(Crap I just spilled some honey mustard sauce on the keyboards. Trying to eat subway and blog at the same time = disastrous. = =)

well, today at 12:30, i'm going to be on a bus on the way to the Orpheum Theatre to sing Messiah by Handel with my chamber choir. Not exactly looking forward to singing an 100-page music piece, but then, it'll be a good experience... right now, I should be going to bed.


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