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!

~~

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

Easy (Micro-Fiction Monday) (BEDS #8)

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!

~~

I hate the way they fly. The way they soar high in the sky, tumbling and twirling through the clouds. I hate them because I’m jealous—I’m willing to admit it. It’s not like it changes anything.

                

I can feel their eyes digging into my back, constantly, every day. Stop it! I want to scream. I’m just like you!

                

But I’m not. I used to be. I used to belong with them, I used to soar with them. But I don’t.

                

Not anymore.

                

Everything I used to love about the wings now angers me. The fluffy feathers that fall from the sky, tickling against my skin on contact. The speed at which young flyers zoom past my head, creating winds that send my hair flying. The white glow of their colour.

                

My parents won’t let me cut my wings off. They hide sharp objects carefully, now, thinking I won’t notice.

                

They’ll get better. Just have patience.

               

Easy for them to say, when they aren’t haunted by dark shadows in their mirrors. Easy for them to say, when their feathers aren’t rough and torn, scratching painfully against their skin. Easy for them to say, when the thing they love most is ripped away from them, with no explanation why.

                

Easy for them to say. They don’t know what it’s like for your wings to fall apart around you, turning from beautiful to hideous in the blink of an eye.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

Disney World Adventures (BEDS #7)

So I just got back from Disney World a couple days ago. It was my second time going, and honestly...

I loved it. I loved it so, so, sooo much.

Some of the fantastic highlights include, but are not limited to:

• Eating chocolate cake
• Meeting Woody and Buzz from Toy Story
• Meeting Anna and Elsa from Frozen
• Meeting Tiana and Naveen from The Princess and the Frog (do you see a running trend here?)
• Eating sushi and shopping at the Japan pavilion in Epcot
• Going through the Animation Academy in Hollywood Studios 100000000 times and learning to draw Olaf, Rapunzel, Lewis and Genie
• Buying stuffed animals
• Going to see shows like the Beauty and the Beast show in Hollywood Studios and the Festival of the Lion King in Animal Kingdom
• Scaring friends with creepy stuffed monkeys
• Dancing to the Macarena and YMCA in Downtown Disney
• Also in Downtown Disney: Earl of Sandwich (oh, hallelujah)
• Wearing one of the cutest dresses EVER on my birthday
• Taking pictures in front of Cinderella Castle in Magic Kingdom
• Going on Spaceship Earth a zillion times in Epcot
• Watching the fireworks above the castle in Magic Kingdom

I'm gonna stop there, because listing all of the fantastic stuff we did would take waaaaaay too long! Just know that it was wonderful and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Since my pictures are still on my camera somewhere, I'll hold off on sharing pictures. (For now.)

I can't WAIT to go again!

Until later,

- Justyne

Creative Nonfiction (BEDS #6)

The sky is my favourite. It's that shade of blue, my favourite blue, the kind I remember staring up at from the pool in our backyard back home. The only time I ever really liked to swim was when I wasn't swimming at all.

~~

I have a confession: my life is a little boring. Very boring, actually, which really shouldn't be surprising, considering how much time I spend alone in my room. There are only so many adventures you can have in seclusion.

This is why I sometimes have trouble blogging, actually. When I have no advice to give, no unique contribution to make to what the other writing-themed blogs have already said, I find that my mundane life provides very little blogging material. It's easy, in theory, to talk about what's going on in your life. The reality of it can be true, as well...but that goes more for friendly chats and less for blogging on the internet.

My audience may be small, but I'm sure you don't want to hear me complain about my sister taking my clothes again.

That's why I never even considered writing creative nonfiction before. Or why I never thought that I'd even pen an autobiography, because my story is a short and repetitive one. It's not exciting, nor is it really inspiring. People won't really take anything away from it. Even my own personal and private journals / diaries have been this way for almost as long as I can remember:

"Dear Diary,

This happened, then that happened. I feel like this.

The End."

How did I even get into this whole writing business?


But the other day, I tried something different. On the way back from my vacation, while I was sitting on the plane, airborn for Winnipeg, I stared out the window. That small action in and of itself really wasn't new at all, but it was the things I was thinking about, and the way I was thinking about them, that motivated me to pull out my journal.

Normally, I'd write another mundane entry. Normally, I'd write the date, and say something along the lines of, "I like staring out the window and thinking about stuff." (No, really. That right there is practically a direct quote.) But this time, I stopped, and I opted for something different:

The wall of the plane is cold. I can lean against it more comfortably than in the train I was on earlier in the summer; back when the days were still growing and the imminent change that is now so close, didn't seem so imminent. But even though my seat is arranged in such a way that I could easily rest my head against the heavy structure and fall asleep, I shift carefully away from it. The cold is shocking to my skin--I can only imagine what it's like out there.

There's a reason I never enjoyed writing about my life, even in the private confines of my journal--it was boring. It was boring and dull and I'm sure that in twenty years I will not be interested in reading about the toys I got for Christmas when I was 11.

This, though...this was different. I had never written about my life this way before--not without changing some major detail, or falsifying my life in a way that would make things more interesting to the non-existent reader.

This was interesting. It was fun.

Maybe someday I'll share the full piece with you. But for now, I think I might write some more.


Until later,

- Justyne

Knowing Your Characters (BEDS #5)

How well do you know your characters?

I like to think I know mine pretty well--I will admit, though, I know some better than others. Some characters I know right off the bat, better than I know myself. I know how they would act in any given situation--what they would say, what they would do, what they'd be thinking. I can tell you about their entire growth as a person, from start to finish--how each event in the story affected them, for better or worse.

Other characters I don't know nearly as well. Other characters are harder to read--they take longer to look at, to figure out how their mind works. These are the characters I have to wrestle with--argue and fight and plead with until they give me just a glimmer of what they're like.

I mentioned, once, the problems I was having with a current WIP. It was causing me immense frustration, to the point that I just wanted to pull my hair out by the roots. (And I really really really love my hair.) I knew something was wrong with it--I just didn't know what. Even after changing the plot drastically from what it started as, I was still lost.

Why? Because I didn't know my main character.

Virtually every other character in this story was one I knew extremely well--it was just the protagonist, who was telling the story, that I was having trouble with. I didn't know who she was, really--I knew what she looked like, I knew what was supposed to happen to her, but nothing clicked as easily as it had with other characters.

Until I realized: I couldn't relate to her.

Relating to a character is extremely, extremely important--my characters have always been close to me, because in some small way, I've always been able to relate to them. I like to think that there's a part of me, of my life, in each of my stories, and most of it lies within my characters.

This character, this new protagonist, is one I've been visualizing since I was fourteen. I thought it'd be easy. I thought she's practically write the story herself.

She didn't.

It was like trying to converse with someone you have nothing in common with. It's not that I expected to relate to her situation exactly--I'm not exactly royalty--but no matter how hard I tried, no matter what angle I tilted it, I couldn't find the common ground. I couldn't find a way to relate to her, to parallel our lives.

Until suddenly, recently...I did. My life started to shift and change, my heart along with it...and, with one tiny nudge, everything clicked into place.

Having common ground with your character isn't always a necessary thing. I've written plenty of characters, at one time or another, that I had nothing in common with. But sometimes, when something isn't working...when, no matter how much you push or pull, it just won't budge...sometimes, finding common ground can help. Just starting from one simple emotion--one simple, familiar twinge of the heart--and building up around it can work wonders.


Until later,

- Justyne

19 University Rules (BEDS #4)

As you all know, I am a certified University Drop-Out. After attending UPEI for one year, I decided that it wasn't for me, and returned back home so I could focus as much of my time and energy as possible towards writing.

Well, while I was there I observed several things. Early in the year (the first half of my first semester, to be specific), I came up with the 19 Rules of University, which I posted via Facebook. (And occasionally Twitter.)

In celebration of my sisters' first day of school (HAHA), I have decided to share them all with you!

Some of them are helpful. Most of them are not. But I hope you enjoy them, anyway!

~~

1. Don't let your roommate go to the pet store to apply for a job. She'll end up forgetting the application and buying two fish, instead.
2. Coffee is your friend.
3. Don't let your roommate spend 850 dollars on a bike. Because then she'll keep it in the dorm, name it, and fantasize about going to the fair and riding the ferris wheel with it.
4. Your professors are totally allowed to e-mail you with extra homework. Don't be fooled.
5. If your roommate starts calling her bike her boyfriend, run. Fast.
6. Try not to drop your pencil sharpener on the floor. It'll break and spill pencil shavings EVERYWHERE.
7. Spending $40 on posters isn't a good idea.
8. Bookstores = doom. Enter one, and your entire budget is gone.
9. Walking to Dollarama in the rain isn't the best idea.
10. Your profs CAN and WILL assign homework on the first day of school. Be prepared.
11. Wanna annoy your roommate? Play Bop-It!
12. 10/10 times, your roommate is crazy.
13. Never listen to you roommate. Ever.
14. Take ALL of your stuffies with you. They're not safe with your family.
15. It's not necessary to know who you share a bathroom with in residence. Just knock before entering and everything will work out.
16. Don't drop your phone in the toilet. This should be self-explanatory.
17. It doesn't matter how many essays they make you write in high school; writing one for university will always be hard.
18. University profs seem to have an obsession with Times New Roman font. Because apparently, Calibri just isn't good enough for them.
19. Campus becomes a ghost town during Thanksgiving weekend.

Until later,

- Justyne

My 3 Productivity Tips (BEDS #3)

I'm not an expert at productivity. In fact, I still really suck at it most of the time. But in my quest to become a functioning member of society, I've discovered a few things that help me out along the way.

(Disclaimer: like most of the life lessons I share, this is best used by people pursuing creative endeavors, like myself. But that doesn't mean you law students and medical students can't benefit from them, too!)

TIP #1: Get your ass out of bed, already.

I'm not a morning person. I've never been a morning person. But if I wake up fairly early, eat breakfast and shower right off the bat, it makes a big difference. If I were to sleep until noon every day, and spend half of my day in pyjamas...well, I won't feel like being productive. The day quickly turns from "I'm-gonna-write-20-blog-posts-and-a-novel" into "I'm-gonna-watch-all-ten-seasons-of-Friends-in-one-sitting". I think we can all agree that the former is much better than the latter, yes?

TIP #2: Alternate.

Yes, we have our creative-worky things to do. But we also all have our fair share of real-life-worky things to do--things like going to the bank, cleaning, calling people about stuff, etc etc. I've tried putting the creative-worky things first, and the real-life-worky things first, but I get the most done with the best sense of balance if I alternate between the two. (That way I can be sure that I'm not neglecting one complete half of my life. This happens more often than you'd think.)

TIP #3: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON'T WRITE OFF THE REST OF YOUR DAY!

Do you know how many times I've looked at the clock, noticed that it's already 2 pm, and just shrugged it off and continued on with my Sims game? Do you realize how much I could have gotten done if I had said, "Huh, I should start being productive" instead of, "Eh I've wasted this much time, no sense in turning it around now"??

If you haven't gotten anything done and it's 2 pm, START WORKING. If you haven't gotten anything done and it's 5 pm, START WORKING. I don't care if it's 10 pm and you're going to bed in an hour--one hour or even just ten minutes of productivity is ten more minutes of progress that you didn't have yesterday.

DON'T BE LIKE ME. PLEASE, GOD, DON'T BE LIKE ME! I am a terrible role model.

BONUS TIP: Make time for you!

You don't have to be productive 24/7. For one, it's impossible. For two, it's exhausting.

Pick a day and schedule some time for you. Is there a new show on Netflix you want to check out? Watch it all in one sitting! Need to catch up on your reading for the year? Pick up that book and finish it today! Do it without fear or guilt of not having been productive--because that's the point. I like to call it a "Procrastination Day". It's like excusing yourself from working.

I mean, come on, what's better than doing nothing and not feeling guilty for it?


I hope these tips will help you make the most of your time! What are your BEST productivity tips? Share them down below!

Until later,

- Justyne

Blog Every Day in September! (BEDS #2)

Last year, I participated in WFMAD, or Write Fifteen Minutes a Day, which was a monthly challenge to write...well, y'know, fifteen minutes a day, every day in September. I modified it slightly, choosing to focus my daily fifteen minutes on this blog.

This year, I'm doing the same thing, except I'm giving it my own acronym: BEDS (Blog Every Day in September), which is exactly what I'll need by the time I'm done. (BEDS...bed...sleep...get it? Ok, right, that was lame.)

This month is going to be....interesting. For several reasons.

One: currently, I am in Disney World. Well, currently for you, anyway. As I'm writing this I'm sitting at home listening to the squeal of the dryer and procrastinating things that need to be done before this. But once you read this, I will be in Disney World. (Once you read this, it will also be my birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, FUTURE ME!)

Two: I'm moving this month. About a week after I return, I'll be moving out of my childhood home and into a new house in Winnipeg, with four friends. This didn't dawn on me until I had already committed myself to doing BEDS, so...yay for lack of planning?

Three: I barely got through last September and truly have no idea how I'll scrounge up enough ideas for this month BUT WHATEVER IT'S TOO LATE NOW! BEDS IS A GO.


Each new blog post will be going up at 4 PM CDT (that's 5 PM EDT and 2 PM PDT, for you peeps who can't do time zone math). At least, they will for the first week or two. Once my buffer runs out who knows what'll happen. (Ah, it's like NaNo all over again.)

So until tomorrow,

- Justyne

Laughter (Micro-Fiction Monday) (BEDS #1)

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!

~~

Her laughter broke the silence.

It came from a block away, maybe two. The neighbourhood was almost empty this early in the morning. At five am, the university students and young couples and single bachelors that inhabited the apartment buildings were normally still sleeping. Occasionally, he would see a jogger or two, or someone stumbling in from the graveyard shift at work. But that was rare.

That’s what made her laughter so interesting. It was unusual. Different.

It was nice.

He picked up his pace a little, hoping maybe he would catch a glimpse of her on the main street. Here, it was a little busier—but only just barely. A couple cars with early-morning commuters, on their way to work, or to the airport for whatever tropical destination awaited them. There was an older man across the street, walking a chubby beagle down the sidewalk.

But no girl.

He was about to shrug it off, continue on to his destination, but curiosity got the better of him. He walked a bit in the opposite direction, peering down the next street over. Finding it was just as sleepy as his own, he tried the next one. And the next. And the next.

No girl.

This was silly. He felt silly. He jogged back down the way he came, slowing back down to a walk as he headed past his street.

He heard it again—a laugh, bubbly and loud and echoing down the silent, sleepy buildings. As he passed the next block, he saw her—bedridden hair, dirty pajamas, face illuminated by the glow of her cell phone, smile stretching from ear to ear at a joke he couldn’t—and would probably never—see.

Beautiful.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne