Micro Fiction Monday: Her Life

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 page. Enjoy!

~~

When I woke up, I was living someone else’s life. My face was the same, as was my body, as was my voice, but the life that surrounded me was as unrecognizable as that of a stranger’s. My parents would not speak as much as one word to each other, my friends didn’t give me so much as a second glance, and I found myself following a routine that I hadn’t created.

I went to sleep that night with an aching heart. I was homesick, despite the fact that I was in my own bed, surrounded by my own room in my own house. While these things belonged to me, they weren’t really mine.

~~

When I woke up, I was back in my own body. My parents had returned to their stoic silence, and my group of friends had shifted back to the social circle I had grown accustomed to over the years. But this was no longer my home.

The different aspects of my life that were once familiar now caused me pain. I missed the loving gestures and glances that I had seen between my parents while I was away, and the strangers who had called me their friend. I missed her walls, her bed, her room, her life.

She was not me, but I so badly wanted to be her.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

The One Where I'm a Princess

I've always been a big lover of fairy tales. You probably figured, what with my intense love for all things Disney, but I've always been drawn to the magic, the happy endings, and the abundance of possibilities that fairy tales posess. I am 20 years old, and I still dream of becoming a princess. I'm not ashamed of this--the heart wants what the heart wants.

So you can imagine when, the first trailer dropped for the new Cinderella movie back in November, I was ecstatic. I watched that trailer so many times that I have the darn thing practically memorized, and counted down the days eagerly until the movie's release. March 13th came and went, and by the end of the following week, I had seen the movie not once, but twice. (And totally willing to go see a third time, I might add.)

I loved it. Completely and totally, absolutely loved. It. The romance and the magic just made my heart sing in a way that hasn't happened in the longest time. The message of "Have courage and be kind" is one that has stuck in my mind ever since I watched it for the first time, and is now written in numerous places around my bedroom.

The first time I watched the movie, about halfway through the third act, I noticed that my ckeeks were starting to hurt. I had spent so much of the movie smiling that it was now starting to cause me physical pain...and I couldn't stop. Even if I wanted to, I was physically unable to stop smiling. So I continued smiling, aching cheeks at all, through the end of the movie and for the following 10-15 minutes after leaving the theatre. Those same 10-15 minutes were spent humming songs from the movie, and after I got home I spent my time twirling around my bedroom as though I was a princess--because that's what the movie made me feel like. A princess.

I've seen Cinderella twice, and both times, I left the theatre feeling like I could do anything. I left feeling like the world was at my feet, like anything I set out to do would be possible, if only I have courage and be kind. I've always believed that magic exists, in small forms, so long as we choose to believe in it--but this made me believe all over again.

In the few short days this movie has been in my life, it has become many things; it has quickly become one of my favourite movies of all time (like seriously it probably beat out Frozen AND Y'ALL KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVE THAT MOVIE). It has become my go-to source for magic and romance and just every day happiness. But more than that, it's become my inspiration.

As I write this, music from the movie is playing through my speakers. Even as these words exit my mind through my fingers on the keyboard, a full week after seeing this movie, I still feel invincible. Everything I felt when watching that movie comes flooding back, reminding me that yes: I am a princess. And as a princess, I can do anything.

Here's the deal: over the last few months, I've felt stuck in a rut. To get myself out of that rut, I've made a list of things that I want to do to help break me out of my comfort zone. I made a blog, Where the Magic Happens, that will document all of my experiences with said challenge.

That's the short version. If you want the longer version, to see what this whole thing is really about, then I encourage you to visit the blog and check it out. This challenge is definitely on the more personal side, but I'm very excited to share it with all of you!


Have you ever watched a movie that's made you feel as happy as Cinderella made me? Let me know in the comments!

Until later,
- Justyne

Review: This One Summer

WARNING: The following blog posts contain spoilers for the novel under review, ranging from mild to heart wrenchingly major. If you have yet to read this novel and dislike being spoiled, leave now and return upon completion.

If you HAVE read this novel (or just don't give a crap about spoilers), then continue on.

But don't say I didn't warn you.

~~

HELLO, FRIENDS! Today we're going to be talking about This One Summer by Canadian cousin duo Jillian and Mariko Tamaki.

THE PLOT-Y BIT

Awago Beach is your typical beach town community, filled with local shops, tourist attractions, and several cabins within walking distance of the ocean. Rose and Windy have been best friends, practically sisters, since Rose and her family started visiting the cabin when she was five. With Windy's cabin mere minutes away, summers have been filled with joint family campfires, swimming expeditions in the ocean, and trips to the local museum in town for as long as Rose can remember.

But this summer, things are different. Tensions are running high between Rose's parents, and a crush on a local leads Rose to discover a whole new world of drama with the teenagers of Awago. This year, Rose will need Windy and their friendship more than ever to survive this, the hardest summer of her life to date.

THE REVIEW-Y BIT

I don't even know what to say about this book, to be honest. I just...really didn't like it.

I wasn't particularly fond of Rose and Windy. I couldn't really relate to them, and I felt like their friendship seemed really shallow. The plot synopsis describes Windy as "the little sister Rose never had", but I really didn't get that vibe from them. None of the few fights they had were properly dealt with or resolved, which irritated me to no end. I just couldn't force myself to care about what happened to them--or any of the side characters, for that matter.

Aside from that, all of the major conflicts in this book seemed to happen to everyone around the two friends, but didn't really seem to affect them as characters. Yes, Rose's parents were fighting a lot, and we saw her reaction to it, but overall it felt like she was more of an observer than anything. The conflict with Rose's mom and her miscarriage the previous summer was probably the only aspect of the story that I was really interested in, and even as the fighting and tension that came as a direct result of that filled the book, the actual reasoning was, I felt, just kind of swept under the rug. The entire book was filled with allusions to this mysterious event that her mother went through, and by the end we got a very brief recount as to what happened...and then BOOM. Over. It did a real bad number on the pacing of the overall story.

(Plus, whatever happened to Rose's parents? I saw no apology, no conversation...nothing. Talk about frustrating.)

Meanwhile, the other main conflict--the teen pregnancy scandal that was sweeping through Awago--held -10% of my attention. I cared even less about the teens in the local beach town community than I cared about Rose and Windy--which, trust me, is a very hard thing to accomplish.

Overall, I found the plot dreary and boring, nothing like I'd expect a summer read such as this to be. Most of the characters were flat and uninteresting, and the ones that managed to catch my eye stayed on the sidelines as much as possible. Maybe if the story were longer, it would have had the time it needed to meet my expectations--but because of how short it was, the pacing was wonky and all over the place. Definitely not something I would recommend.

THE RATING-Y BIT

Two stars; and even that, to me, is a tad generous. The only thing that saved the rating was the art style; charming and wonderfully detailed. If only the story held up along with it...


Until later,

- Justyne

Micro Fiction Monday: Crossing

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 page. Enjoy!

~~

When I was little, I thought that cars looked like people. Their headlights were eyes, and their bumpers were mouths, forever--in my eyes, at least--resembling a smile. I never put any more time and effort into the thought; whether the cars had thoughts or feelings or things to do for themselves. They were just cars, objects that surrounded us on the streets and the highway.

Now, I can see people inside those cars. I see families and couples and people sitting alone; fingers tapping the steering wheel, turning the radio dial, holding a phone up to their ear as they speak to whoever is on the other end. I see someone shoulder check before turning, as I zoom by at a hundred kilometers an hour, their face flashing in and out of my line of vision instantly. They go about their life and I go about mine, my world as unfamiliar to them as theirs is to me.

I’m not sure which thought astounds me more; the fact that this may be the only time our lives cross paths, or that they may cross again in the future, passing by without a moment’s awareness on either side.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

Trial and Error

Fact: we, as humans, tend to romanticize things that we have never experienced.

Don't lie to me, I know you've done it, too; especially after you've just finished watching a really good movie, or reading a really good book. You see glimpses of places you've never been to, things you've never done, a way of life you've never known. You can't help but thing, "Wow, it would be so much better to live in that city / in that country / in that time period." In an instant, city dwellers are daydreaming of their dream lives in small country towns, at the same time that those small town residents are dreaming of escaping to the big city.

I feel like the act of romanticizing locations or scenarios tends to be viewed as a negative trait of literature, and sometimes for good reason. We shouldn't make light of normally serious and solemn situations because people who are actually living through these situations can start to feel like their hardships aren't important; that they should be grateful that they were given this opportunity, and that their lives are better for it. In reality, none of these things are always--or even often--true.

But romanticism can't be accomplished by the author themselves, and that's something that I think is important to realize. Every reader perceives and interprets a story differently, based on their own experiences and thoughts and personalities. That's not to say that the author's intent is meaningless; it just doesn't tell the whole story. One story can be experiencd a million different ways, simply by being read by a million different people.

I'm guilty of romanticising things, myself. I'm guilty of reading a book set in NYC and convincing myself that my life would be just so much better, if only I could live there, too. I'm guilty of reading a book set in a small, fictional beach town and convincing myself that growing up in a town like that would have been the best thing ever.

(I find it necessary to point out, now, that I grew up in a fairly small city. I have the general gist of it, and it is not, in fact, the best thing ever. Will this stop me from fantasizing? Probably not.)

My point is, wishing and dreaming and believing that these lives are in some way better than my own doesn't necessarily make it true. Romanticism isn't a bad thing, as long as we treat it right. As long as we don't use it to put a lesser value on our own, real lives.

It reminds me of that expression, about how the grass is always greener on the other side. We always want to move on, to get to the greener pastures; we're never happy with where we are. We should be allowed to dream, yes, and there's nothing wrong with having an ideal life in mind, but we can't put that ideal life up on a pedestal and ignore or rush through the one we're currently living. We can't let our lives be ruled by the thought process of, "My life will be a million times better when __." Instead of waiting for the perfect moment, instead of trying to figure out which path is the best one, we need to just live. Pick a path, and stay on it. Or don't--whichever works.

I've found, recently, that my whole life has been spent dreaming of a different one. I've been convinced that everything would be better once I did this, or finished that, or if only my life was more __. I kept waiting for the path I chose to light up beneath me, to congratulate me on finally discovering the journey that would lead me to the life of my wildest dreams!

But life isn't really like that, is it? I spent so long trying to find the perfect path, the path that would get me from Point A to Point B the fastest, that I totally forgot about the present all together. In reality, there is no "one way" or "best way" to get anywhere. There are just...more ways. If one path isn't working out, you jump the fence, double back and try the next one. And the next one, and the next one, and so on, until you find the one that works.

It's all about trial and error.

Until later,

- Justyne

Micro Fiction Monday: Love, You

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 page. Enjoy!

~~

When she turned fourteen, a letter arrived for her in the mail. There was no address, either for the sender or recipient; how it arrived successfully, she wasn’t sure. But there was no mistake about the name that was written neatly on the envelope—the contents inside were for her.

She thought that the handwriting seemed familiar.

She didn’t open it, not at first. She dismissed its existence, diverting her attention to the more exciting packages wrapped in brightly coloured paper. It wasn’t until the sun had gone down, and the special day was all but over, when she found it again, abandoned on the floor. She tore the envelope open, not giving much care for its contents...until she unfolded the paper inside.

One letter, not half a page long, written neatly on a piece of lined paper torn out of a notebook. The curves in the writing mimicked hers exactly—she herself had written this letter.

Or would write it, eventually.

Smile, it said. Be brave. Be fearless. Don’t check that mirror in your locker; you look fine. Don’t worry about that boy that sits two desks over from you in math; he isn’t worth your time.

And, finally, you are you. You are as perfect as you ever will be and ever have been. Your best qualities are infinitely better than your worst flaws.

Do not fear yourself; embrace yourself.

Love, You.

She went to bed with a smile that night, the mysterious letter taking precedence in her mind over the most extravagant of birthday presents that year.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

My Love Affair

Fact: I have an ongoing love affair.....with notebooks. (Also fact: this title is extremely misleading.)

I've always loved notebooks. I always secretly loved the beginning of a new school year, because it was an excuse to buy and use a variety of new, fresh notebooks. I've always loved writing longhand more than typing on a computer, because I love filling up dozens and hundreds of blank pages with my handwriting. I love making notes, crossing stuff out, circling things and pointing arrows to other things. I love buying day planners, and notepads for to-do lists, and writing letters as opposed to sending an e-mail. I love the more traditional side of writing because it just feels so much more personal. A blank sheet of paper feels like a fresh start.

As much as I love notebooks, though, they're just so....inconvenient. Painfully so, actually. For several reasons:

1. HAND CRAMPS

I don't know if it's because I'm rusty (not being in school means that I don't have to take notes and write things down every day), but I feel like almost every time I go to write something down, my hand cramps up. Granted, I do try to write inhumanly fast....but still.

Speaking of...

2. HOLY CRAP WRITE FASTER

I take 5ever to write things out by hand--if I have any hope of reading it later, actually. I have had more than enough experience with university lectures to know that writing quickly means one of two things: either my writing will be chicken scratch and near impossible to read, or it will be filled with abbreviations and shortcuts that I made up on the spot and will have no hope of understanding later.

Typing is just so much faster.

3. OKAY WHERE DID THAT ONE THING GO AGAIN?

I won't lie to you: I am extremely unorganized. If I write something down and have any hope of finding it (or even remembering that it exists) later, I have to stick a post-it and put a reminder on my phone.

Let me repeat that: I have to make sure that all of my notes are also on an electronic device if I have any hope at all of ever seeing it again. Kind of defeats the purpose of writing it down, doesn't it?


But none of these stop me, of course. I'm incredibly stubborn. When I stumble upon a brand new, colourful journal in Wal-Mart, with smooth pages and a pretty pink ribbon bookmark, I don't think about how my hand will cramp or the months that will pass before I fill the pages or whether I'll ever read the stuff I write on them again. I don't think about how I'll have to type 90% of my words on the computer, anyway, or how the vast majority of the To-Do lists I scrawl inside will go uncompleted.

I just buy the damn thing. I buy it and use it, as inconvenient as it may be, because the simplest act of moving my pen across a blank sheet of paper brings me an infinite amount of joy.

Until later,

- Justyne

Review: Hyberbole and a Half

WARNING: The following blog posts contain spoilers for the novel under review, ranging from mild to heart wrenchingly major. If you have yet to read this novel and dislike being spoiled, leave now and return upon completion.

If you HAVE read this novel (or just don't give a crap about spoilers), then continue on.

But don't say I didn't warn you.

~~

HELLO, FRIENDS! Two weeks have come and gone, and I am back with another book review! This week's book is Hyperbole and a Half by Allie Brosh.



THE PLOT-Y BIT

How do I put this? There is no plot--no ongoing plot, anyway. This book is based off of the blog of the same name, so each "chapter" is really just a blog post, either directly from the website or a hypothetical one filled with entirely new content.

Each blog post serves as a story (based off of real-life experiences from the author), and each story is contained in the post--with the except of Depression and Identity, which are each told in two parts.

THE REVIEW-Y BIT

I have read many funny books in my life, but very rarely has a book made me laugh so hard that I cried. This one did--and I'm talking body-shaking, breath-gasping, tears-streaming-down-my-face, keep-it-together-Justyne-you-are-in-PUBLIC laughter.

There are few books that I manage to read in one day. This one I managed in about 16 hours or so. (And that's while working an eight hour shift!) Granted, the various illustrations do make it a much faster read, but I guarantee you that that doesn't make this honour any less special. (The last book I read in less than 24 hours was Shutdown by Heather Anastasiu, which was also a very good read.)

I almost feel like I can't give this book a proper review, due to the type of book it is. It's almost like a collection of short stories--some I loved, others I really liked, while others still were just okay. (Although I won't lie, most of them fall under the "love" category.) I will say, though, that my favourite had to be the God of Cake chapter (followed closely by Dinosaur (The Goose Story)). Those were the ones that had me clutching my stomach in tears at the bus stop and in the break room at work.

(As a side note, I'm pretty sure that the entire city of Winnipeg thinks I'm insane now.)

And in the midst of the uncontrollable-laugh-worthy moments, Brosh managed to tackle a very serious and alarmingly common problem. Her 2-parter entitled Depression did an excellent job of documenting her experiences with the illness, in a way that gave the topic the solemnity it deserved, while still keeping a hint of the humour that remains at center stage for the remainder of the book. It was a very honest recount, and I definitely recommend it if you or anyone you know is going through (or has gone through) depression.

The (purposefully) poorly drawn illustrations give both the book and her blog a wonderful touch. While the style can be hard to get used to, I honestly don't think the stories would be the same without them. They add to the humour in a way that neater, more technically well done drawings wouldn't be able to. It makes the blog unique, and it's what sets it apart from the rest.

I think the only real problem I had with this book is the final story. While Identity was extremely relatable, I didn't find it as funny as her other stories. When I finished it, I felt slightly disappointed, because I had been looking forward to having a final laughing fit on the bus ride home. (I mean, everyone in this city already thinks I'm insane, right? Might as well.)

THE RATING-Y BIT

This book as earned the easiest 5 stars I've given out in a while. Brosh has another book slated for release this year (with ALL NEW CONTENT!), and I cannot wait to get my hands on it!

If you're looking for a good laugh, I seriously recommend this book!


Until later,

- Justyne