Dear Santa (Micro-Fiction Monday)

Every Monday, I post a piece of flash fiction--a story clocking in at around 300 words. Each story can also be found on my deviantART and Wattpad pages. Enjoy!

~~

Dear Santa,

My name is Emily Harris. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

My Christmas list this year is different. There are no unicorns, pretty dolls with pretty dresses, or iPods mentioned. In fact, I don’t think any of these things can be wrapped—which is a little unorthodox, isn’t it? I hope that’s okay.

For Christmas this year, I would like:

- A gentle snowfall on the 25^th of December; I want to share the beauty with everyone.

- A warm meal delivered to the man I see at the park every day; I don’t think he gets those very often

- A steady job for the woman next door; she deserves it, I think.

- And my mom. If that’s okay.

I’m nineteen now. I know that no amount of cookies or milk will bring you down my chimney on Christmas Eve. I know that no amount of letters will make a bundle of presents appear under my tree on Christmas morning.

But I want to believe that magic exists. And if it does...well, why can’t you?

Love,

Emily

Holiday Retail (Micro-Fiction Monday)

Every Monday, I post a piece of flash fiction--a story clocking in at around 300 words. Each story can also be found on my deviantART and Wattpad pages. Enjoy!

~~

I hate Christmas. How can I not, really, when the scratchy PA system is blaring Christmas carols louder than it should be, threatening to blow the speakers at any moment? How can I not, when seemingly everyone within a twenty mile radius has left the majority of their Christmas shopping until December freaking 23^rd, and somehow have fallen under the misguided impression that I am to blame?

Working retail is bad enough. Retail during the holidays? I’d rather saw off my arm and cook it for Christmas dinner.

“I have a coupon!” one woman screams at me.

“That coupon expired yesterday,” I try to explain to her, for what was probably the twentieth time.

"I just got it in the mail yesterday!” she yells. “How can it be expired already?”

How can I not hate Christmas when the general public makes it so damn easy?

I’m not a big fan of the snow, either. Or the cold that comes with it. I’m bundled up so much that I take up twice as much room as I barrel through the mall, eager to get out before I start sweating under all of my layers. Nobody apologizes when they bump into me; neither do I.

I pause in front of the entrance to yet another busy store, the crowd so thick that even with the padding of my parka, I can’t plow my way through. Someone touches my shoulder. I brush them off, ready to keep moving, until a candy cane is thrust into my face.

I snatch it and turn, my glare cranked up to death level. Once I get a look at him, though, it’s incredibly hard to keep my glare steady; he’s standing next to the entrance of whatever store—a boutique, I think—wearing a ridiculous elf costume, complete with goofy shoes and a hate covered in jingle bells. A basket was hanging in the crook of his arm, filled with more striped candy canes.

He grins at me. “Merry Christmas!”

I turn away quickly, face reddening. “Merry Christmas,” I mumble, hurrying along.

I look back once, before I turn the corner. I can barely see him through the busy shoppers, smiling and offering candy canes to everyone who walks by. He doesn’t seem to be working for the mall or any store in particular—he’s just here to hand out candy canes because he wants to.

His smile must be contagious, because I catch myself smiling a real smile for the first time today.

~~

Until later,

- Justyme

Lessons of NaNoWriMo 2014

November has come and gone once more, which means it's time for me to get off my butt and start blogging again. This was my fourth year participating in NaNoWriMo, and would have been my third year winning in a row...if I had won, that is. But alas, I did not.

The month started out wonderfully--I actually stayed on track for the first half of the month. I kept up the daily word count of 1,667, often doubling it, without falling behind more than a day's worth of words. For the first fifteen days, it looked like I would win without problem--and possibly, for the first time ever, before the evening of November 30th.

But unfortunately, it was not meant to be. I got sick during the second half of the month, and went a full week without writing. I went from being a day ahead to eleven thousand words behind. That, paired with a lack of motivation, the daunting idea of jumping back into it after such a prolonged break, and an unfortunate shift scheduled on the last day of the month all contributed my finishing off the month with a total of 38,508 words.

But still, that's a lot of words--words put towards a project that I was and still am excited to work on. So even with the loss, I'm satisfied with what I accomplished.

Regardless of the result of my furious November writing, I learned a lot this month, and have secured a number of tips for you current and future Wrimos for next year:

1. DO NOT FALL BEHIND. DON'T. DON'T DO IT. I'M SERIOUS. Start the month off strong--if you catch yourself leaving the last couple hundred words for your word count for the following day, slap yourself. Do your best to finish the daily word count whenever humanly possible. YOUR FUTURE SELF WILL THANK YOU.

2. DON'T STOP. If, after an hour or so of writing, you find yourself "in the zone", even after completing your daily goal, DON'T STOP. DON'T YOU DARE. Keep going! If you stop now, you'll totally forget your train of thought and your future self will hate you.

3. GET AHEAD. Already reached your goal by noon? KEEP THAT WRITING TRAIN CHUGGING. Spend the afternoon writing, too! Spend the evening writing! Write all day and get as far ahead as you can! YOUR FUTURE SELF WILL LOVE YOU.

4. STAY AHEAD. Already a few thousand words ahead of schedule? You can take a break, right? WRONG! Keep that streak going! Meet your daily word count, if nothing else! Stay ahead as long as humanly possible, so that when life intervenes--which it will--and prevents you from writing more than a couple hundred words, you won't have to scramble to catch up. YOUR FUTURE SELF WILL ABSOLUTELY ADORE YOU.

5. DON'T BEAT YOURSELF UP. Am I irritated that I didn't meet my goal? Well, yeah. I was doing so well before that damned headache / cold / whatever it was came along and messed it up for me. And I broke my two year winning streak! But getting mad at myself and punishing myself won't change anything--the best I can do is keep writing until I finish, even if it's halfway through December. Just remember: YOU TRIED. You tried, and win or lose, you wrote. Don't let the arrival of December stop you--keep going.

How many of you participated in NaNoWriMo this year? Did you win? Lose? And for those of you who didn't take part, will next year mark the start of your novel?

Until later,

- Justyne

Just Dance It Out!

Today's and every other blog post published in November has been pre-written and scheduled for upload about a month or so in advance. The less I have to blog, the more time I have to dedicate to my NaNoWriMo project! Just like last year, you can put your attention towards the progress bar on the right to see how I'm doing.

See you all in December!

~~

I feel like I get stressed really easily.

This may come as a surprise--it sure does to me. Me, who worked in a restaurant--arguably one of the most stressful jobs you can get--for four years. Me, who finds it necessary to take on a bajillion different projects at once, simply because "eh what the hell". Me, who insists on pursuing careers that require more time, effort and luck to make a decent living off of.

You'd think I'd be used to it by now. Apparently not.

I get very easily frustrated when I'm stressed. If something doesn't turn out right the first time I do it, I get upset and just want to throw in the towel right away. When I'm stressed, my mood turns sour faster, and I find it harder to be my usual perky self.

I do what I do to have fun. So what do I do when the thing that's supposed to be fun fails to improve my mood?

I dance.

Make no mistake: I suck at dancing. (And singing.) But that will not stop me from jumping around like some maniac when Shake It Off blasts through my speakers, singing all the way. I adore dancing; not because I'm good at it (again: I'm not), but because it's fun.


What do you do to relieve stress?

Until later,

- Jusyne

Just a Dream (Micro-Fiction Monday)

Every Monday, I post a piece of flash fiction--a story clocking in at around 300 words. Each story can also be found on my deviantART and Wattpad pages. Enjoy!

~~

She awoke with a start; heart pounding, sweat dabbing at her forehead, breath coming out in short, uneven gasps. It was just a dream, she thought. It’s always just a dream.

It was never just a dream.

It was 2:16 in the morning. Across town, young adults were still partying. Even if the pounding beat of the clubs died down and the bouncers kicked them out, they would carry on, the smell of alcohol following them faithfully around town. In her own neighbourhood, the streets were quiet. Filled with families and elderly couples, each house had turned in for the night. The lights were dark, the inhabitants sleeping and dreaming peacefully.

Partiers and dreamers. Neither act really appealed to her. So instead, she walked.

She walked down the stairs; past her worn mother, asleep on the couch. She walked out the door; a shiver voiced her skin’s complaints at the sudden change in temperature. She hadn’t thought to grab a coat.

She walked down the street, past her sleeping neighbours in their silent houses, past the deserted parks and darkened store windows. She walked until her skin felt tight and stiff from the cold, until her feet started to complain, until dreaming finally started to appeal to her. She walked until her legs gave out, sending her spiraling downwards. The ground was like liquid; she sunk beneath it as she fell, the cold earth swallowing her. The ground was alive; it reached up, closed itself around her neck, too eager and impatient for her to sink naturally. It had to pull her down itself.

She awoke with a start; heart pounded, sweat dabbing at her forehead, breath coming out in short gasps. It was just a dream.

It was never just a dream for her.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

Me, Myself and I

When I was younger, I wanted to be busy. I wanted to be someone who had a million things going on at once, but managed to multitask it all with ease.

I got my first real taste of this hectic lifestyle during the second half of high school. I had a job that I went to about three or four times a week; I was attending Girl Guide meetings once a week; for a couple months I was had Driver's Ed, which was two or three times a week; I was volunteering at my church almost every Sunday morning; and then, of course, there was my schoolwork, which was technically top priority--but of course that didn't stop me from putting it off until the last minute.

After a few weeks of doing so much, I wanted to travel back in time and talk some sense into my elementary school-aged self. Being busy is exhausting.

The only thing worse than being busy on the outside--constantly running from school to work to commitment after commitment after commitment--is being busy on the inside. Right now, I have a dozen projects going on--but they're all more personal projects, ones that won't see the light of day until who-knows-when.

The issue with personal projects is that I'm the only one who knows that they exist. Until I'm ready to share them--or find a way to share them--they'll remain hidden from view. It's up to me to motivate myself to make time for them and finish them, because no one else is expecting me to get it done. It's just me, myself and I.

Is it appropriate to turn down plans, to say, "I'm busy" to work on something that has no deadline and no audience? I feel guilty saying no to anything when I'm just going to be holed up in my room, slaving away at yet another project, the progress of which is only affecting me. At the same time, I feel guilty after saying yes and going off to have fun, only to come home and realize that I didn't meet my daily goal.

I'm busy, constantly, but it's the kind of busy that I'm easily distracted from.


Until later,

- Justyne

They Won't Hurt Us (Micro-Fiction Monday)

Every Monday, I post a piece of flash fiction--a story clocking in at 300 words or less. Each story can also be found on my deviantART and Wattpad pages. Enjoy!

~~

"EEEEK!"

"What?! What's wrong?"

"There's a spider in the bathroom!"

"A spider?"

"YES!"

"And...?"

"Go kill it!"

"Me? YOU go kill it!"

"No way! I'm not going anywhere near it!"

"Oh, come on."

"YOU come on! I'm not setting one more foot in that room until it's dead and gone!"

"It won't hurt you."

"GO KILL IT."

"Alright, alright, fine..."

~~

"BILLY! You almost got yourself killed!"

"Did not!"

"Did too! Mom told you not to go where the humans could see you!"

"They're not ALL bad!"

"They came after you with a shoe!"

"Just these ones! The ones who USED to live here didn't care."

"That's a lie! They moved to the house next door."

"And got trampled on the way!"

"It was probably an accident. They wouldn't hurt us--we don't do anything to bother them."

"...I'm still telling Mom."

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

Who Am I?

Today's and every other blog post published in November has been pre-written and scheduled for upload about a month or so in advance. The less I have to blog, the more time I have to dedicate to my NaNoWriMo project! Just like last year, you can put your attention towards the progress bar on the right to see how I'm doing.

See you all in December!

~~

One of my favourite things to do is complain about things that I dislike.

That sounds bad, doesn't it? I do enjoy looking on the bright side, in finding the positive aspects of any situations. But let's be real--I complain a lot.

One of the things I've been complaining about a bit recently are academic papers and professional e-mails. (Despite the fact that I've rarely had to write either since I left university.) These were always the bane of my existence because, although they do involve writing, the writing style I use for them is stiff. They're stiff and boring and, as I have put it many times before, "doesn't sound like me".

But sometimes, I catch myself approaching this blog with the same mindset as any of the more professional things I've had to do in the past. I start writing in the logical, automatic form that I mastered during my 14 years of schooling. Not because I feel like I have to--but because I want to. My life isn't fiction, so I don't write it like it is.

And that's what a blog post really is, is it? A form of an article, an essay. Non-fiction at its finest.

But these blog posts, do they sound like me? If I printed this off, unmarked, unnamed, untitled, and passed it anonymously to one of my friends...would they realize that I wrote it?

This is a question I find myself asking a lot. Do I have a writing style? Is there any unique quality about the way that I form my sentences that people would be able to identify, if they were familiar with my work? Not just story elements like romantic subplots and that One Sarcastic Character, but the very essence of my writing. The thing that would make two identical plots completely different, if they were placed in the hands of different writers.

It's one of my biggest insecurities as a writer.

And then we're back to this blog. This blog, that I love so very dearly, yet sometimes can't even bear to look at. This blog, that sometimes, on days like today, comes so easily to me...but tomorrow I could struggle with it all day and not write down a single word.

This blog is supposed to be me--me, in every form, every context. Every side of me, from my writing to my likes and dislikes and fears and dreams and whatever else I can come up with. It should be easy, shouldn't it?

I'm so sure of who I am, sometimes. But other times...I wonder.


Until later,

- Justyne

Perfect (Micro-Fiction Monday)

Every Monday, I post a piece of flash fiction--a story clocking in at 300 words or less. Each story can also be found on my deviantART and Wattpad pages. Enjoy!

~~

“Hold still.”

“Wait, my nose is itchy.”

“No! Don’t move!”

“But—“

“No.”

“I just—“

I flicked my paintbrush at him, making him flinch as paint droplets splattered against his face. “I said, don’t move!”

He frowned, but stayed put.

“Smile,” I ordered. He deepened his frown, undoubtedly just to spite me. “Smile,” I repeated, raising my paint brush again. “Blue isn’t exactly your colour.”

“I’m already wearing blue.”

“Which is why I told you to wear the red shirt, instead. Now shut up and smile.”

He grumbled and flashed a toothy, cheesy, definitely fake smile my way. “Happy?” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“Thrilled,” I said drily. His smile loosened.

“If you were this opposed to posing,” I said, running my brush across the canvas, “then why didn’t you let me just take the photograph?”

“Because then I’d just be watching you paint,” he said. “That’s no fun.”

I peered around my work in progress to cock an eyebrow at him. “And standing still as a statue is?”

“Well, yeah. Because now I can do this—“ He waved his arms up, quickly and wildly, before returning them to their assigned positions. “—and you get mad.”

I glared at him.

“See?” he said. His smile was real now. “You’re mad. I’m giddy. Isn’t this fun?”

I rolled my eyes and sent another flick of paint at his face. “An absolute blast.”

It was another couple hours before I finished the painting. It wasn’t my best work—unsurprising, since it was a project for class that I left until the last minute—but still, it was decent.

“You missed a spot,” he said from behind me, peering over my shoulder.

“I did?” I scanned my eyes over the painting, analyzing every shade, every brushstroke. “Where?”

His arm reached around me and grabbed my thinnest brush, dipping it in the blue paint and reaching towards the canvas. Before I can stop him, he dabbed it on lightly, mimicking the paint I had splattered onto his face.

“There,” he said. He looked down at me and dabbed me lightly on the nose. “Perfect.”

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

Commuting

Today's and every other blog post published in November has been pre-written and scheduled for upload about a month or so in advance. The less I have to blog, the more time I have to dedicate to my NaNoWriMo project! Just like last year, you can put your attention towards the progress bar on the right to see how I'm doing.

See you all in December!

~~

One of the many things living in the city has introduced me to is the Wonderful World of Public Transportation.

Make no mistake: I'm no stranger to it. I used to take the bus everywhere during university. (Thank God for student bus passes.) The buses here, though....well, they're different. There are more routes, more transfers...and I don't have a bus pass anymore. (And they're pretty expensive...especially for someone who, at the time of writing this blog post, hasn't started working yet.) (Don't worry, though--by the time this goes up I'll be working. Probably.)

Aside from getting lost once (only once! And I asked for directions so it all worked out), taking the bus has gone fairly smoothly for me. And since I'm no longer staring out the window in the panicky fashion of someone not yet used to the Winnipeg transit system, I've started to let my mind wander.

Some of the commutes I take to different places of the city are long--anywhere from twenty minutes to almost a full hour. It gives me a bit of time to myself, which is nice. I like those moments when I don't have to focus on or worry about anything--I can just think about whatever, or nothing at all. It's the reason I love long car rides, plane rides, and that 36 hour train escapade I took over the summer. I'm not obligated to do anything during that time--I can just plug in my music and go.

(Or I could if I had headphones. I left my last pair in my pockets by accident and...well. Waterlogged.)

While taking the bus can be...difficult sometimes (if I find myself stranded at a grocery store for an hour again I SWEAR), I don't entirely dislike the experience.

Most of the time, I rather like it.


Until later,

- Justyne

Skyward Dance (Micro-Fiction Monday)

Every Monday, I post a piece of flash fiction--a story clocking in at 300 words or less. Each story can also be found on my deviantART and Wattpad pages. Enjoy!

~~

When you’re ready, meet me above the clouds.

The wind wrapped itself around her body, brushing her hair against her skin and rustling the feathers behind her back. She flexed the muscles protruding from her back, stretching them out as far as they would reach. Her fingers twitched, feeling the wind that embraced her.

She took a breath and ran.

Her bare feet pounded against the dirt beneath her, splashing through puddles and crushing dead leaves. It was dark, but even so she could see the end of the earth fast approaching.

She stretched out her arms, shifted her wings. Her feet pushed off the ground for a final time, the weight of her body working with gravity to push her down, down towards the earth that was now far beneath her.

But gravity had never won against her before.

Within moments she was soaring, flying, swooping with the wind. Her wings carried her up, higher and higher, the wind growing colder and pricking her skin with goose bumps. She felt the moisture of the vapor as she entered the clouds; the things she had once imagined as fluffy cotton balls nothing more than water in disguise.

                

Thousands of stars, stretching out for miles and miles in all directions. The earth was far beneath her now; the air was thin and cold, her short breaths coming out in clouds of her own creation. The moon sparkled and shone in the sky—not as bright as the sun, but easier to look at.

Then there was him.

The moonlight accented his own wings as he circled around, riding the currents of air as he waited for her. He noticed her quickly and paused, allowing gravity to drop him towards her. He took her hands in his and the two shot upward, twirling and dipping and soaring together, as they performed their own skyward dance in the starlight.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

NaNoWriMo, GO!

NaNoWriMo starts in T-minus TWELVE HOURS, EVERYBODY! (Maybe even less, depending on when you're reading this.)

For those of you unaware (and really, there shouldn't be many of you), NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month, aka the busiest month for thousands of writers around the world.

THE GOAL: To write a 50,000 word novel in November. One month. 30 days. 720 hours. 43,200 minutes....you get the idea.

THE RULES: You can't start before midnight on November 1st. Every word of your 50k must be written before midnight on December 1st. Other than that...well, anything goes.

THE REWARD: Bragging rights. (Also, a nifty winner's certificate.)


This will be my 4th year participating and, if all goes according to plan, my third year successfully completing it. That's right--last year I started a winning streak with my second NaNoWriMo success and I intend to keep that streak alive.

But the question remains: am I prepared for the NaNoWriMo adventure?

Physically? Yes. I have ALL of my November blog posts written and scheduled for uploading. I have an outline half completed (hopefully that'll get completed today), both on paper and in my mind. I have a shopping bag full of k-cups stashed away--five whole boxes, more than enough to last me through the month.

Mentally? HELL NO. I expect this month to be interesting.


For now, I will hand you off to my past, pre-NaNoWriMo, still-mentally-and-emotionally-stable self for the month. If you wish to keep up to date with my progress, my word count widget is located in the sidebar on the right hand side. You can also follow me on Twitter, or if you're participating as well, you can request to be my writing buddy over on the NaNoWriMo website.


See you all on the other side!

- Justyne

Halloween Bash (Micro-Fiction Monday)

Every Monday, I post a piece of flash fiction--a story clocking in at around 300 words. Each story can also be found on my deviantART and Wattpad pages. Enjoy!

~~

I’m in the basement. Why am I in the basement? That’s, like, rule number one of horror movies: don’t go into the basement. I’m going to be the first one to die . Way to go, self.

Of course, the only reason I’m down here is because everyone else is too drunk to make it down the steep stairs without killing themselves. Serves me right for throwing a Halloween bash, I guess.

I thought that this would be a good idea. For one, it would give everyone an excuse to dress up—even the people who pretended that they were “too cool” for the holiday. For two, I’ve never actually thrown a party before—lame, I know. But Halloween seemed like the perfect opportunity for a first run.

I didn’t anticipate, of course, the power cutting out halfway through the festivities. The lights, the music, everything went black once we blew a fuse. The drunks didn’t seem to mind—they’re still enjoying themselves upstairs, telling ghost stories with flashlights and scaring the crap out of each other.

My house, my party, my circuit breaker.  Everybody seemed to assume that I’d go down and fix it myself…despite my absolute hatred of this damp and musty basement.

I find the box easy enough, as well as the switch to start the party up again. I hear cries of protest upstairs when I flip it, but oh well. I’m not partying in the dark.

I turn around and almost bump into a figure behind me. I let out a shriek and jump back, heart pounding. I take a breath to calm myself once I get a good look at the mask—it’s from one of those movies that came out, like, twenty years ago, with the white face and the open-mouthed look and the black, oval-shaped eyes. I know immediately that it’s Jared—he’s the only one here wearing it.

“Jared,” I say with a scowl, “go back upstairs to the party.”

He turns around and walks away without a word. Jerk.

I rejoin the party shortly after, where everyone directs their moans and groans toward me.

“Sorry to burst your bubble,” I say sarcastically. “By the way, Jared? Totally not cool.”

“What?”

“You scared the crap out of me down there!”

He lifts the mask off his head. “I’ve been up here the whole time,” he says. Everyone nods along, agreeing with his statement.

“So…if it wasn’t you…” I feel the candy I’ve been eating all night churn in my stomach and rise into my throat. “Who was it?”

A blood curdling scream does more than enough to answer my question.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

Even More Books

Although my love of reading has existed since the early 2000's, book releases have always been something I was completely oblivious to. With the exception of a few choice books, release dates were not among my area of expertise. The closest I got to anticipating specific releases was checking the library database every two weeks or so, to see if they had what I was looking for.

The other day, though, I realized that I actually live for book releases. (And, y'know, weekly television. But I digress.) Starting from the summer, I can list five books off the top of my head that I was excited for, and that have since been released.

After My True Love Gave to Me came out last week (an anthology of Christmas-themed love stories...CHRISTMAS. THEMED. LOVE. STORIES. It's like this magical book was crafted just for me), I thought I was done anticipating new books. I thought all the ones I was excited for had already come out.

I was wrong.

Miss Mayhem by Rachel Hawkins - April 7th 2015

I had high expectations for Rebel Belle by Rachel Hawkins. I had heard absolutely nothing but good things about it, and let me tell you...I wasn't disappointed. The book was everything I've ever hoped for AND MORE. You can't even blame me for being excited for the next installment in this new YA series, because it is TOTALLY AND COMPLETELY WARRANTED.

SO EXCITED.

City Love by Susane Colasanti - April 21st 2015

I've enjoyed a handful of Susane Colasanti books in the past; Something Like Fate and So Much Closer especially come to mind. So to discover, one day, that she is releasing a new series, about LOVE in NEW YORK CITY....

SO EXCITED.

Saint Anything by Sarah Dessen - May 5th 2015

Sarah Dessen is probably my all-time favourite author. I've read all (or almost all) of her books at least once, sometimes more, and I adore all of them. So you can imagine my excitement when she announced her 12th book at the beginning of the month.

SO EXCITED.

Off the Page by Jodi Picoult and Samantha van Leer - May 19th 2015

Last year I read Between the Lines, the first book written by this mother-daughter duo, and it easily became one of my top books of the year. I adored it. And then, one magical fall day, I logged on to the internet to discover that they were coming out with a sequel. A SEQUEL.

SO EXCITED.

Storm by Amanda Sun - June (?) 2015

I read Ink, the first book in this trilogy, at the beginning of 2014.  Although it kept my attention, I wasn't really into it, and thought that I wouldn't be continuing on with the series.

Later that summer, when the second book, Rain, came out, I bought it on impulse. I enjoyed it a lot more than the first one...so now I can't HELP but be excited for the finale.

SOO EXCITED.


What book releases are you most excited for?

Until later,

- Justyne

Jackass (Micro-Fiction Monday)

Every Monday, I post a piece of flash fiction--a story clocking in at 300 words or less. Each story can also be found on my deviantART and Wattpad pages. Enjoy!

~~

He’s in my seat. My seat. The seat I picked on the first day of class, the seat that I’ve been sitting in for the last three weeks. That’s my seat, and some jackass is sitting in it.

No one else seems to be bothered by this—but then again, his being in my seat isn’t disrupting everyone else’s. Is he even in this class? I’ve sure as hell never seen him before. What is he doing here?

“Excuse me?” I tap him on the shoulder and he turns around in his—in my—seat. Oh, no—he’s cute. Really cute. I didn’t prepare for him to be cute.

“Yes?” he replies. Oh, God, his voice is heavenly—abort mission, abort mission.

“I, um,” I stammer. “It’s just that, uh…you’re…uh…are you new?”

He furrows his brow and gives me a funny smile. Good God. “What?” he laughs.

“I just, uh…I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

He looks at me for a moment. Am I blushing? I think I’m blushing. “You’re observant,” he says finally. “I don’t actually go here; I’m visiting a friend.”

I look around the room—any excuse to turn my reddening face away from him. “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh, he’s in a different class.”

I look back at him. God, why does he have to be so cute? “Then…why are you here?”

He shrugs. “Something to do, I guess. My friend’s got classes pretty much all day, so I’ve got to amuse myself somehow.”

“Right.” Say something. Say something or walk away, otherwise he’s going to think you’re a complete moron.

“Well, I…I should go,” I say, turning away.

“Hey.” He catches hold of my arm. Okay, now I’m red. Lobster red, probably. “Do you wanna meet up after class? Y’know, show me around?” It’s his turn to blush now—but it’s one of those adorable, hardly noticeable blushes. Ugh. “I, uh…I’m kinda lost.”

I can’t help but smile a huge smile, the cheesy kind I made back in kindergarten on school picture day. “Sure.”

He grins and lets go. “Perfect.”

I turn walk away, smiling like the idiot I am…until I look around and realize that there isn’t a free desk anywhere.

That jackass is still in my seat.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

Sorry, Folks--Halloween Just Ain't My Thing

I have mixed feelings about this October holiday. Am I the only one? Because it certainly feels that way sometimes.

Could it be because I'm too old to go trick-or-treating now? Probably not. (The candy goes on sale November 1st so TRUST ME, I'll be getting my hands on it either way.)

Could it be because I'm too lazy to dress up? Possibly. (Although I totally don't mind being able to dress up as a Disney princess. I should be allowed to do that all year long, really.)

Could it be that I'm terrified of and therefore absolutely hate all things creepy and scary? Absolutely yes 100000%.

I'm the kind of person who just outright refuses to watch scary movies. If you're watching something at all related to horror, I am out the door. If someone were to take me to see a scary movie on a date, said date would be over so fast that they wouldn't even recognize me on the street a week later. Scary movies give me nightmares, and let me tell you, I am not too fond of nightmares.

I much prefer Christmas. Christmas is joyous and magical and filled with love and wonder and there isn't anything scary about it at all. (Except for maybe the credit card bills after gift shopping...yeesh.) If I could skip right over Halloween and go straight to Christmas, trust me, I would.

Oh, who am I kidding. I basically do that, anyway. (68 days until Christmas!)


Which do you prefer: Halloween or Christmas?

Until later,

- Justyne

Together (Micro-Fiction Monday)

Every Monday, I post a piece of flash fiction--a story clocking in at 300 words or less. Each story can also be found on my deviantART and Wattpad pages. Enjoy!

~~

She lost sight of her cap as it soared through the air, unable to identify it among the hundreds of twins it shared in the auditorium. She managed to catch one as it came down--whether or not it was the same one she threw was another matter entirely.

She couldn't see him through the crowd of cheering graduates. It wasn't until the majority of the teenagers had cleared out—off to find their friends and families and take thousands of pictures to remember this once-in-a-lifetime night—that she found him, off to the side, slouched up against the wall with his cap in his hands.

She approached him hesitantly. She didn't know exactly what to say; neither did he. By week's end, they would find themselves on opposite sides of the globe; him overseas, studying abroad; her in the country's capital, partaking in the internship she had dreamed of for the past four years. Both were happy with their decisions--but not with the separation they brought.

They said goodbye that night, their words stiff and awkward. They grew apart the way most high school acquaintances do: gradually, until suddenly they couldn't recall the last conversation they shared. Years passed, and although the relationship was never truly forgotten, the hectic nature of their individual lives left little time for reminiscing.

A decade passed, and the auditorium was once again filled—but instead of wild teenagers, grown adults stood milling around, talking and laughing and catching up, as old friends do.

She saw him again, slouched up against that same wall. She was more confident now—her words less stiff, her movements lacking their former hesitance. She approached him with ease; he straightened as she did.

The two shared that night together. And as their classmates talked about the happenings of the last ten years, they came together as though no time had passed at all.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

Musicals

I love musicals. No, that's wrong. I adore musicals. I wish everyday life could be a musical. (If it was, then maybe I wouldn't sound like a dying cat when I sing.)

Characters are motivated by desire. Everyone--rich, poor, happy, sad, confident or not--has something that they want. Maybe they think it's impossible. Maybe they've spent their whole lives working towards it. Maybe they don't even know where to start, and have spent years staring up at the sky, waiting and wanting and wishing for it to happen.

Plot is moved by a character's actions. A character's actions are fueled by want. Therefore, the plot is moved by the desires of the characters.


I love Disney movies--although whether I love musicals because of Disney or the other way around is unclear. Either way, when it comes to the franchise I generally have two favourite songs per movie:

1) The romance song (Think I See the Light from Tangled or A Whole New World from Aladdin.)
2) The opening "dream" song (Think Just Around the Riverbend from Pocahontas or For the First Time in Forever from Frozen.)

I love the romance songs because...well, hello, cute and adorable Disney couple together-ness. But I love the opening songs even more because they're fueled by the passion of the protagonist.

Exhibit A: The Princess and the Frog. Girl dreams of owning her restaurant. Works two different jobs to save money. Finally makes enough for the down payment of the building, thus taking one step closer to making her dreams a reality. Walks inside her future restaurant and BAM! Musical number. "I'm almost there!"

Exhibit B: Mulan. Girl wants to make her family proud. She follows the routine, tries to meet the standard expectations for women in her society--and fails. She wants to bring honour to her family, yes, but not at the expense of who she is. Spies on her apparently disappointed parents and BAM! Musical number (albeit a much slower song). "When will my reflection show who I am inside?"

The thing that makes these songs so great is the passion behind them; the desire to reach what seems impossible at times. These characters know what they want, and they tell us through (an extremely catchy) song. They show us their motivation, their inspiration, their greatest dreams. They give us a look inside themselves, so that we can care for them for the rest of the roughly 90 minute production.

When I'm developing characters, I like to take a song that I feel summarizes their motivation and imagine them singing it. I like to picture them bursting into song, telling the world, "This is what I want!" I feel like the song helps me map out their journey over the course of the story. (Hell, sometimes I plan out a whole little musical for them...yes I'm weird I know.)

So what about you? Do you pick out songs for your characters?


Until later,

- Justyne

Birthday Mail (Micro-Fiction Monday)

Every Monday, I post a piece of flash fiction--a story clocking in at 300 words or less. Each story can also be found on my deviantART and Wattpad pages. Enjoy!

~~

The street is empty. Why is it still empty? The mail comes like clockwork, every morning, without fail. Why does it have to be today of all days that it’s late?

I’m wearing my best dress today; I’m not entirely sure why. Between school and work I probably won’t have a chance to meet him for a few days. He won’t see me as I rip open the envelope, tear the paper out and greedily absorb the name printed on it. He won’t see me as I place the index card in the frame my parents bought me for my birthday—the birthday where I finally find out who I’ll be spending the rest of my life with.

But still, there’s no harm in looking nice, right?

The mail courier comes into sight, finally—just in time for me to meet her on my way to school. I jump off the sofa, grab my bag with one hand and cover the doorknob with the other as I shove my feet into my shoes. I shout a quick goodbye over my shoulder, one that my mom most likely didn’t hear in my rush to close the door behind me.

I approach the courier as she’s opening our front gate, my smile wide and fingers twitching with anticipation. She knows what I’m here for; she gives me a knowing smile as she hands me my mail. I resist the urge to rip it open then and there, pausing only to thank her before rushing off down the street.

I stop at the corner, breathless, and slip my finger under the paper, ripping it open in one swift movement. In my eagerness, the contents flutter to the ground beneath me. I curse and stoop down quickly, but what I see on the ground makes my fingers freeze in midair.

Two things have fallen out of the envelope. Two stiff cards, with the same elegant, formal writing that were printed on the framed cards in my parents’ bedroom.

Two cards…with two different names.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

My Writing Bucket List

In a previous blog post, I talked about seven things I wanted to accomplish through my writing. These things were big things, emotional things, things that couldn't be judged through any physical standards.

This list is different.

This list contains projects that I want to complete during my life as a writer / artist / creator. A bucket list, if you will.

Let's get started:

1. Publish a novel.

Self explanatory. I want to hold the beautiful hardcover edition of my pride and joy in my hands. I want to be able to go to a bookstore, find my book on a shelf, and very sneakily move it to the front so more people see it. (That was a joke....maybe.)

2. Publish a graphic novel.

I love graphic novels and comics, and I would love to publish one myself. This one is a little farther in the future, though--I want to be able to do the art myself, and that area is not one that I am particularly talented at yet.

3. Write a TV show script.

I have a couple different ideas. Even if it doesn't get produced, I'd still like to try my hand at writing it. (I think the hardest thing about this for me will be the formatting.)

4. Publish a book series.

I don't care if there are 3 books or 30--I'd love to create a longer series of books. 

What's on your writing bucket list?

Until later,

- Justyne

The Finale (BEDS #30)

Another 30 days have come and gone. This year, I failed to post a blog every day in September...but this month was hardly a failure.

While some of the posts I uploaded this month were somewhat...less well-written than others, I posted a lot of writing that I was personally proud of. Even though I had to take a step back for a while, I'm glad that I did--because I know that anything I would have produced during that time wouldn't have been my best.

A lot of things happened this month. But through most of it, I was still able to fulfill my commitment to you guys--and to myself. I sometimes doubt my ability to stick to a deadline, but through this blog I've proved time and time again that I can do it. I can set myself a deadline, and I can pull through.

I get a bit of a break for this next month. But then it's back to the chaos of monthly challenges.

The countdown to NaNoWriMo is on.


Until later,

- Justyne

Forever (Micro-Fiction Monday) (BEDS #29)

Every Monday, I post a piece of flash fiction--a story clocking in at 300 words or less. Each story can also be found on my deviantART and Wattpad pages. Enjoy!

~~

There was a gentle snowfall that morning. The sun hadn’t risen yet; not like he would have been able to tell through the cloudy skies, anyway. It was so early that the buses hadn’t started for the day yet, and although he tried to hail a taxi, he had had little luck. So he ran.

                

Running in the winter is an act that requires a lot of talent. It was the middle of the season; the snow on the sidewalk had long since been packed down, trampled by the hundreds of thousands of feet that had taken the same path before him. It made the ground beneath his boots uneven. His feet slipped and slid on the ice, his balance threatening to give out.

                

But still, he would not be deterred. He only had one chance, and he was running out of time.

                

The wind felt like a whip against his unprotected face. His nose and ears were numb, and every inch of his uncovered skin felt stiff in the cold. The cold air went right through his jeans, which cooled his legs down more than they warmed him up. He couldn’t feel his toes anymore.

                

The light of the train station in the winter morning was like seeing an oasis in the desert—but hearing the sharp whistle of the train sounded more like the sound a heart monitor makes after death. Gone.

                

He picked up his pace. He didn’t slow down as he burst through the windowed doors, not even has the snow caked on the bottom of his boots sent him sliding halfway to the platform. He rounded the corner, just as the tail end of the train vanished out of sight completely.

                

She was gone…forever.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

LOL What Even Is Blogging? (BEDS #28)

I feel like I have two blogging styles.

The first is the one I try to use--the one where I try to be both inspiration and professional, using proper spelling and grammar so that my English teachers don't weep.

The second is the one I fall into sometimes, when I'm tired or really excited or just happier than normal. The one filled with CAPITAL LETTERS and run-on sentences and the one that probably sounds closer to how I speak in real life than the first one ever will.

And then, sometimes, I fall somewhere between the two...which just adds to the confusion.

The first one sounds nicer, looks better and is just a more well-written version overall. The second, though, is more natural...and the one I slip into when I'm not paying attention. (Or when I get riled up, whichever comes first.)

Don't even get me started on blog topics--I've blogged on everything from writing tips to the fall premieres I'm most looking forward to.

Sometimes I feel like this blog has little to no consistency. But which is better? Settling down to one specific topic, or going with the flow?


Until later,

- Justyne

Things That Annoy Me (And Others That Don't) (BEDS #27)

It's pretty much a given that if you choose a less common career path--like writing--people are going to be curious. People are going to ask questions, and a lot of them...well, a lot of them get repeated, over and over. So, understandably, a lot of writers start to get annoyed.

Some of the questions people seem to get annoyed by, though, are ones that I don't really mind. Questions like:

"Can you make me a character in your book?"

I'm amazed that people find this question annoying, to be honest. I love putting little easter eggs in my writing--even if one of them is an actual person that I know in real life. If anything, it gives me a sure-fire way to see if someone has actually read my stuff.

So yeah, if you want, I'll turn you into a crazy serial killer in my next book. It'll make things interesting.

"What are you writing about?"

I actually adore talking about my stories and I will talk your ear off, given the chance. The only issue I have is settling with a simple, short synopsis that will portray all of the information I feel you need to know about it.

(So basically, don't ask me this question unless you're prepared for a solid five minute answer.)

I'd rather people ask me these questions. It feels like they're showing an interest in what I do. I'd take that over any form of negativity any day.

Don't get me wrong, though--over time, some questions have gotten a little old. Questions like:

"Are you going to school?" (Or pretty much any other question regarding my future education / career path.)

Let me start off by saying that this is a TOTALLY LEGITMATE QUESTION. I don't blame anyone for asking it, because it's totally fair ground to ask that. So if you're curious, go ahead and ask; I won't blow up.

BUT. I've answered this question so many times that I'm starting to sound like a broken record. I feel like I should print out pamphlets or something.

"You should write a story about ___!"

Granted, this isn't exactly a question. But still. I don't need help coming up with ideas, trust me. I have plenty.


I don't get asked many questions--which could be good or bad, I'm not entirely sure. I'll add to this list as time goes on.

Writer or not, answer this: what questions do you get asked on a regular basis that annoy you?

Until later,

- Justyne

Writing Out of Order (BEDS #26)

Sometimes I have trouble deciding what order to write my story in. Generally, when I start a story, I already know what's coming--where it starts, where it ends, and a few choice scenes in the middle.

In theory, I have it all planned out. In theory, I should be able to write it all down in no time.

In reality? Not so much.

There are blanks. There are tiny, itty-bitty gaps that fall between the things that I know for sure are going to happen. It's like I know where I'm going, but not necessarily how to get there.

This isn't always a bad thing. The scenes that are stuck in my head are the things that get me excited to start writing, after all. But my entire life, I have found myself writing chronologically. I write things in the order they happen, because that's what makes sense to me. The little gaps are exactly the reason I don't like writing, say, the climax before I've written the rest--because what if something changes? What if some tiny event happens and I find later that I have to reference it later?

Well, I could just go back and change it. But apparently, that would be too easy.

So instead, I write it all in order. I start from the beginning, and proceed through the story as I would like it to play out. There's nothing wrong with this. It's almost more fun this way, because I have the exciting scenes pushing me to keep going.

But then I hit the gaps. I stumble. I struggle. I try to figure out, desperately, what direction the story has to take to get to where it needs to go. I get frustrated. I walk away, and I don't always come back.

So clearly, this is a problem.

I've always been hesitant to write scenes out of order. I'm always scared that if I write the scene I'm most excited for first, I won't have anything to look forward to later. But lately, I've been experimenting with different things, and writing out of order is one of them. I've written several scenes for my WIP that take place much, much later in the story.

On the one hand, writing the big scenes in advance give me something more physical to build up to, which has proved useful. But at the same time, filling in the gaps isn't any easier than it was when I was going the chronological route.

Those pesky gaps, huh. Maybe my outline will help me figure those out.

Fellow writers! Do you write chronologically, or do you write the scenes as they come to you, in any order? More importantly, why do you favour one over the other?

Until later,

- Justyne

7 Things I Want to Accomplish as a Writer (BEDS #25)

As a writer, there are lots of things I want to do. I want to publish a novel, a physical novel that's sold in bookstores and borrowed from libraries. I want to write a TV show script someday, and a movie script, and a play script. I want to publish a collection of short stories and flash fiction, and novellas that sell for 99 cents on Amazon. I want to make a living off of my writing, to be able to support myself and, someday, a family.

But there's more to it than that. There are more, not always visible things that I want to accomplish before I consider myself successful.

I want to make people connect with my characters, and with my stories. I want my readers to see something familiar in these fictional people, these things that remind them of themselves. I want people to read my plot and say, "Hey, I'm going through that!" I want people to be able to recommend my books to others, and tell them that it helped them deal with their own problems and issues.

I want to create characters that kids can grow up with. I want 10-year-olds to pick up a series I wrote, and ten years later, still be following the characters. I want to write a TV show someday, one that teenagers will start watching as they enter high school and graduate alongside their fictional counterparts four years later. I want to give readers someone that can be there, that they can turn to when life gets hard...someone who will be there as they grow up. I want my characters to be an influence on the kind of people my readers become.

I want to inspire people with my stories. I want someone to close my book with a whole new understanding of themselves. I want readers to realize that they can follow their dreams, that they can pursue the career they want to pursue, no matter how unconventional it is. I want someone to start a new project or a new habit because they read about it in one of my books. I want someone to make a change in their life because my book, my story is the thing that motivated them to.

I want to make people laugh. I want people to read a line and laugh out loud, so hard that they cry.

I want to make people cry for sadness, too. I want them to be so moved that they physically can't hold back their tears.

I want to make people fall in love with my characters. I want them to believe in them, to root for them, to truly care about what happens to them. I want people to wish for my characters to be real, because to them, they already are.

But most importantly, I want to make 9-year-old Me proud. I want to be the kind of person that I would have looked up to back in the fourth grade.

I want her to know that we made it. 

What do you want to accomplish? Not just the financials, or the physical proof of "success", but the more emotional stuff. The biggest stuff, the stuff that tends to get overlooked, but means so, so much more.

Until later,

- Justyne

To My Baby Sister (BEDS #24)

Dear Charlie,

First of all: if, in the future, you find that everyone is using this nickname, all credit goes to me. I started it. (Unless you don't like it. Then....blame Mom.)

Second of all: it is imperative that you hug all members of this family, as many times as you possibly can. Make no mistake, now; they will complain. A lot. Every time, in fact. But it is very important that you get into the habit of hugging a lot, because gosh darn it, I need another hugger in this family.

Thirdly: you are adorable. And so small. I'm kind of afraid to touch you, to be honest, because I don't want you to break.

And finally...everyone in this family can be a jerk sometimes. But we love you.


Welcome to the world, Charlotte.

Love,

- Your Big Sister

The One Where I Talk About Christmas (Again) (BEDS #23)

There are 92 days until Christmas, folks. 92.

There are still three months left until my favourite day of the year, and I'm already looking up inspiration for crafts and goodies and decorations.

There are still thirteen weeks (and two days) until Santa Claus comes to town, and I'm already making lists of all of my favourite Christmas specials.

92 days, and I'm already putting holiday albums on my phone. I'm already eagerly awaiting the first snowfall, and my Pinterest is filled with everything related to December 25th.

There are 92 days until Christmas...and roughly 39 days until the rest of the world starts to share in my excitement.

Until later,

- Justyne

Smile (Micro-Fiction Monday) (BEDS #22)

Every Monday, I post a piece of flash fiction--a story clocking in at 300 words or less. Each story can also be found on my deviantART and Wattpad pages. Enjoy!

~~

57. 58. 59.

                

Sixty. The blocky numbers on the wall flash from 8:14 to 8:15. I jump up from the less than comfortable chair in the staff room and burst through the swinging doors, the morning murmur enveloping me as a welcome.

                

“Hey,” I say to my coworker. She wears a brown apron, identical to mine, and her hair is tucked into a bun that is neat and annoyingly perfect. “Care for a break?”

                

She hands a customer their change and gives me a strange look. “My shift just started.”

                

“Never too early for a break, though, right?”

                

She turns around, folding her arms across her chest and leaning back against the counter. She stares at me for a minute, and I keep smiling, the forced casualty making my cheeks ache. She looks like she’s about to say something, but must decide against it, as she shrugs and walks away. “All yours.”

                

I immediately take my place at the till, even though the customer she was attending to is long gone and has yet to be replaced. I sneak a peek at my phone, hidden in the pocket of my apron. 8:16. Any second now.

                

A bell chimes, signalling the entrance of a new customer. I shove the phone back in my pocket and look up, my customer-is-always-right smile beaming.

                

It’s him. He approaches my till slowly, gazing at the menu like he hasn’t been here a million times. I already know what he wants, but I don’t start to type it in until he voices it. Oh god, his voice.

                
He takes his coffee, smiles, nods, and leaves. It’s the same every morning—right down to my smile. Not forced for customers or nonchalance, but one that is all too real. 

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

THE MASTER OUTLINE (BEDS #21)

That is the title of the document that I currently have open on my computer, caps and all.

I'm not normally one to outline before I write something. Most of the time, I find outlining boring and tedious--and sometimes even unnecessary, as the major events are often already plotted out in my head. I try to avoid it, as much as possible, and rely on my memory and my fantastic "wangin' it" skills to power through my WIP.

This WIP is different, though. There's so much going on, so many relationships and subplots and emotions running wild that no matter how hard I try, I can't keep it all straight in my head. I forget things, little tidbits of information that come up later on. I end up having to reread a good chunk of the story to find it--and more often than not that ends with me wincing at how bad the earlier stuff is.

Bottom line is, I can't possibly keep track of everything that's going on. Not mentally. So, I started to outline.

I just started working on it the other day, and it's already becoming this massive document, with history and biographies and plot points. It feels nice to have some concrete information written down in a more accessible way. But at the same time, the act of actually making the outline still feels like utter torture to me. (Cue war flashbacks to every English essay I had to write that ever involved summarizing literature....*shudders*)

So, in an effort to make this outline more bearable, I've decided not to complete it...not right away, at least. Instead, I'll write down everything as I go. I'm hoping that it will make things easier for me later, when I need to reference an obscure plot point made five chapters back that I've long since forgotten (No more scrolling through documents and skimming poorly written paragraphs to find it! Hallelujah!), without my spirit suffocating in prep work.

I'll keep you updated as to how this little plan of mine works out. (Hopefully, it'll work out fairly well.)


Until later,

- Justyne

Starting (Once You've Stopped) (BEDS #20)

So here's the thing: as hard as it may be, developing a routine and writing every day is very, very, very, very, very, very, very important to any writer's life. Because once you develop a routine or a habit, following it becomes second nature, and suddenly your entire life just becomes that much easier.

Life is a jerk, though. Life likes to wait until you're comfortable with your routine, and then burst through the door one day screaming about sardines and throwing rubber chickens at you. It likes to throw thing after thing after thing at you until, eventually, you have no choice but to stop and take a break.

We've already established that that's okay. Taking a break is needed, once in a while. It's an easy thing to do, too. The only problem with taking a break--be it because of an illness or a major life event or just plain taking a vacation (or in my case, all three)--is the restarting.

It's been a while since I've worked on my WIPs. First I was on vacation, and then I was moving, and then I was sick. Bam, bam, bam...it just hit me one after the other after the other, so quickly that I just didn't have the time or energy to write. I figured that I would just focus on the blog, that that would be enough. I was keeping up with my commitment, and I was okay with that.

But now that I'm starting to feel better (although still hacking and coughing constantly, which at this point that happens so often that I'm used to it), and I've been moved in for a while (even though a lot of my stuff is still in boxes...shhh), I feel like I should start writing again. I should grab that WIP, and start giving it the time and energy it deserves.

It's not quite as easy as it sounds.

I had a routine before. I had a game plan, one that worked and worked well. Now that game plan is null and void, and I've gotten so used to spending the majority of my time either unpacking or watching TV that I hardly know how to make a new one. My lack of motivation is as frustrating as ever.

Sometimes, though, you just have to sit down and do it. It's not always easy...scratch that, it's never easy. But if we waited until it was easy, it'd never get done at all.

It's not the easiest thing to accept. There's always a part of me that will wish for something else, some magical strategy to an easier alternative. But life doesn't play with magic, and it certainly doesn't like easy.

So all that's left is to do the hard thing, and work on it.


Until later,

- Justyne

Letters to Myself - 30 (BEDS #19)

Dear 30-year-old self,

This letter, unlike the others, is not about reassuring myself. This letter, unlike the others, will not tell you of the great things to come and warn you of things that might be better to avoid. Because this letter is not a rhetorical letter--it's a letter that you will see, someday. Because you are me, and if I know myself like I think I do, I'm sure I'll end up rummaging through old internet posts eventually.

You will find this. And you will read this. And although you probably don't want to listen to the words of naive, probably cringe-worthy, 20-year-old you, I think you should. I mean, you won't listen to anyone else, anyway. Who knows any of this better than us?

I don't know where you are. Maybe you're married, starting a family. Maybe you're single and alone with 20 cats. (God, I hope it's not the second one. I don't even like cats that much.) Maybe you're a published, successful author...and maybe you're not.

I don't like to acknowledge the possibility of our failure, but denying it doesn't make it any less plausible. It might happen, as sad as that idea is, and you'll probably want to give up.

Please don't.

Maybe you're considering switching career paths--heading for something that pays better. Maybe you already have, and your writing as already long since started collecting dust in the corner.

Please don't.

I'm sorry if my lack of progress at age 20 helped contribute to our lack of success at age 30. I'm sorry if you're second guessing the decisions that I'm making now.

But I'm not sorry it happened.

I'm not sorry I left school, I'm not sorry that I spent so much time focusing on the positives and convincing myself that yes, this is possible. Because even if, at age 30, you are not where I envision you to be, it still is possible. It's as possible at age 30 as it was at age 20 as it will be at age 40 or 50 or 72. There are no time constraints.

So if you have given up, or you are still considering it, just remember...you still have time. You can still do this. I believe in you, and since I'm you, you really believe in yourself...right? (I'm sorry, this whole talking-to-myself deal has really mixed up the pronouns in my head.)

I'm leaving this up to you, now. So if not for yourself, do it for me. And if not for me, do it for the 9-year-old us--the one who still exists in another time and place, lying in bed and dreaming of seeing her name in print someday.

Do it for her, okay?

Love,

20-year-old Justyne

Letters to Myself - 17 (BEDS #18)

Apologies for being absent the last few days--I got sick and haven't been feeling well. Now that I'm back, though, the challenge continues!

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Dear 17-year-old self,

I wish I could tell you not to take English. I wish I could tell you to focus on something, anything else. I wish I could tell you that the misery that ensued from enrolling in that program was not worth it...but it was.

You met a really, really awesome person from taking that class. You met lots of really, really awesome people from attending university completely. So yes, the class sucks, and yes, you may hate it. But even so, I do not regret it one bit. If I had not taken that class, I would not have been at that school, and that year remains one of my favourites. That place remains one of my favourites.

Instead, I will tell you this: don't stress over your future.

You might panic, sometimes. You might feel like you're lost, and have no idea where you're supposed to be headed. You might feel like you have no idea what you're supposed to do with the rest of your life.

I'm here to slap you upside the head (figuratively speaking), because you do know these things. You've known them since you were nine years old--why should they change now that you're reaching "adulthood"?

(Speaking of which, I feel like I should mention that, at least by age 20, you will never feel like an adult. By age 20, you will feel more like a five year old than you did when you were actually five years old. I have embraced it, and you should, too.)

My point is, you know where your passion lies. Don't doubt it. Whenever you feel stressed or worried about the future, take a breath and start writing.

Lord knows how much we would have gotten done if we had.

Love,

20-year-old Justyne

Letters to Myself - 14 (BEDS #13)

Dear 14-year-old self,

This is a hard time for you. You might not notice it now, because you're probably too busy focusing your attention on your homework, and your writing, and those books that you insist on reading so quickly. (Speaking of which, slow down a big, would ya? I feel like I've read half of the library's collection but have no memory of any of it.)

You're probably feeling a little lonely right now. That's fine. There are some pretty cool people waiting for you in your English class. Go on, talk to them. And if you're not ready yet, then that's fine, too. Pretty soon you won't have a choice.

Don't be afraid to speak up. Like, ever. If you want to ask about that foreign exchange program, you ASK about it. If you want to try out dance, you LOOK INTO IT. I'll just be repeating myself later, I know, but if I had just learnt this crap sooner I'm sure I'd have an easier time with it now.

Don't be ashamed of your interests. I'm gonna say that again, because it is so so so important: NEVER BE ASHAMED OF YOUR INTERESTS. When that one random guy asks you if you're looking at Sailor Moon pictures on the internet, you turn around and tell him yes. Yes, you are looking at Sailor Moon pictures, because Sailor Moon is your favourite show. It's okay. You'll never see him again, so it's not like it'll matter.

You will go to a grand total of one dance during high school. One. But y'know what? It was fun. Try and go to more. Maybe if you buy tickets, they won't actually get cancelled.

And finally: although I wouldn't normally prevent you from doing something, I feel like I should warn you to be careful with what you post on the internet. Not for safety, but for the mere fact that in 6 or so years, you will look back and cringe at every. Single. Word.

So please. For my sake.

Love,

- 20-year-old Justyne

Letters to Myself - 9 (BEDS #12)

Dear 9-year-old self,

I know this will sound weird. I know that you're still just a kid, and you might not understand. But just hear me out, for five minutes, and someday you will.

You've probably just started writing by now. You'll fall in love with it, if you haven't already. You're going to be passionate, you're going to be driven, and you are going to be so, so confident.

Please don't lose that. I know you're not going to get what I'm trying to say, but just stop for a moment. Remember this feeling. Memorize every little detail, and write it all down. You will be so, so grateful for it later.

And whatever you do...don't stop.

Love,

- 20-year-old Justyne

On Writing (When You Just Don't Have Time) (BEDS #11)

Writing every day is important--vital, even, to achieving progress in any sort of writing project. Even if you write just a few hundred words a day, that's a few hundred words closer to your target than you were yesterday.

But life doesn't always appreciate our writing goals. Sometimes, life even seems to resent us for it. Because sometimes, life's circumstances just won't allow us to set aside a few measly minutes to write.

And you know what? That's okay.

The last few days have been hectic, with boxes littering every spare inch of space, rushed blog posts thrown together late at night, and emotions running wild. I've been stressed, exhausted, and if I'm being completely honest, I didn't feel like I had the time OR energy to settle down and write.

And y'know what? That's okay.

We all need a break sometimes, and this was mine. Now, as I settle into my new home (let's ignore the fact that 80% of my things are still packed away in boxes), I feel like this break is coming to an end. I'm ready--eager, even--to jump back in.

Until later,

- Justyne

New Beginnings (BEDS #10)

I've always been someone who is consciously aware of when a big change is happening in my life. I hype myself up for it, and build this momentous occasion up in my mind as a big, huge deal--sometimes bigger than is actually warranted. It's what I did when I graduated high school, when I left home to attend school in PEI, and today, when I moved out of my parents' house and into a brand-new one in the city.

As per usual, so much build up beforehand leads to a slightly disappointing aftermath. Here I am, sitting in the basement of my new house, consciously aware that this is a huge step and the start of a new chapter of my life, and I feel...no different than I did yesterday. It's like back when I was a kid, and I spent all summer waiting for my birthday to come around, expecting to suddenly feel "grown up", or in some way different, when the day finally hit. But as it turns out, being 11 feels about the same as being 10.

I think I spend so much time building up to these events, the ones that I know are supposed to be a big deal, that I forget that sometimes, the biggest events are the ones I don't notice. They're the ones that seem little, or even completely uneventful, at the time--only to show their true importance months later. It's kind of funny, actually, how one mundane event can change the course of your life forever.

Back in the ninth grade, for example. I had very few friends, none of whom attended my high school. I was the shy and quiet kid, who always had her nose in a book and spent her lunches alone, writing her own. I was lonely, yes, but not unhappy--just content.

I barely remember the day it happened--that's how mundane and ordinary it truly was. I don't remember the morning leading up to it, or what followed for the remainder of the afternoon. Those, I think, stayed the same, which is why I may have dismissed the event as truly important.

All I remember, really, is panic. Panic over walking into my English classroom, only to find that my teacher had rearranged the desks.

It's not that I was attached to my seat in question. I never spoke to the people around me, anyway, so really, it didn't matter. But at least before, it was routine. Now, with the desks arranged in groups of four, whose set would I complete? Whose group would I join, if I had spoken to no one?

It was a split second decision, really, as one only has so much time to stand in the doorway and stare before others start to question it. So, I picked a desk. I picked a group of three other girls, who I vaguely recognized from other classes.

I'm not kidding when I'm saying that that decision changed my life. Almost every friend I made in high school can be traced back to those original three, and I am so, so grateful that I met them, and that they're still in my life now.

So yes, maybe what I'm going through now is supposed to be a big deal. Maybe it'll live up to the hype. Maybe it won't. I'm not sure what happens now, really. All I know is that there's bound to be another split-second decision to make, somewhere down the road.

It's scary. But I think I'm alright with that.


Until later,

- Justyne

Falling into Autumn (BEDS #9)

The title was so cringe worthy that I had to use it.

Now I know that, according to the calendar, it's still technically summer. And I know that, in some places, it still feels like summer.

But here, it does not. Today, it was 11 degrees (Celsius), and cloudly, and overall about as far from summer as you can get without adding multi-colourful leaves and six feet of snow piled on the ground. It was cold, and miserable, and all in all not the day I would typically enjoy.

Maybe it's because I just got back from Florida, where it's a humid 40 degrees every day and 95% of my time was spent outdoors, but for once, I welcomed this lower temperature. I love summer, always have and always will. I adore winter, too. But I always forget how much I appreciate fall until it comes around.

Again, I love summer. I love the heat, and eating ice cream and drinking iced capps. I love wearing tank tops and shorts and sundresses and flip flops--my cutest outfits are made for summer. Even now, when I'm not in school, there's this special feeling about summer that I can't help but love, even though the humidity makes my curly hair go crazy.

Winter, on the other hand, is magical. The snow is absolutely beautiful--especially in December, when everyone has their multi-coloured Christmas lights up and they sparkle against the snow with the street lights. I love the excitement of the first snow fall, how I still run out to taste the fresh flakes on my tongue in the middle of the street. I love curling up inside, with sweaters and blankets and hot chocolate. I love surrounding myself with a zillion blankets at night, and taking a nice, hot shower in the morning. Just the very thought of winter makes me happy, even though I look terrible in hats and the wind makes my face go numb after being outside for ten minutes.

Fall is always the season I overlook. I always view it as an "in-between" season, along with spring. I never liked spring, because the snow melts and makes everything wet and muddy and thus hard to walk around in. Whenever I think about fall in the heat of summer, it always makes me depressed--no matter how much I love winter (and Christmas), I still never want summer to end. The idea that the days will grow shorter (they're already short enough, thank-you-very-much) and the temperature will drop is significantly less than appealing.

But fall is almost a comfort. Fall feels like new beginnings--it's when school starts up again (even though I may no longer be attending), and when all of the television shows kick back up for a new season, with brand new ones joining in alongside them. It's new pencils and new notebooks and new stories and a new year--January will never feel as fresh or as new as September does to me.

So although I hope that Manitoba still has a few warm days left in store, I will be content with my sweatpants and hoodies and big fluffy socks. I will turn off my fan and curl up under my covers, and spend an extra five minutes in the shower because holy moly do I love hot showers. I will enjoy this.

It is, after all, just a new beginning.


QUESTION OF THE DAY: what's your favourite season? Comment down below!

Until later,

- Justyne