Pet Peeves (BEDS 415)

OKAY GUYS LET'S COMPLAIN ABOUT STUFF.

1. Books whose covers have little / nothing to do with the actual content itself. 

I mean just...why? Why you gotta have some random chick on the cover? What does this bracelet even mean? WHAT IS GOING ON?!?

Additonally...

2. Books with random girls / guys / faces in general on the cover.

Do these people get recognized? Like, on the street? Like, "Oh, hey, weren't you the girl on the cover of The Selection?" This is something I wonder about daily.

But actually, it kinda weirds me out.

3. People who crap on other people for their interests.

JUST LIKE?? DON'T??? Like you're welcome to disagree with me, that's chill, that's whatever. But if you're not even watching / experiencing / taking part in whatever it is that I'm currenlty obsessed with...you don't have to crap all over it. I mean, really. You're not even discussing the actual content, you're just taking it at face value and throwing it in the trash, along with all my respect for you.

4. Grocery store patrons who DON'T. PUT. THE. DIVIDER. BETWEEN. THEIR. GROCERIES.

I don't care how obvious you think the separation between your order and the next is. As a cashier, I also don't care who puts the divider down--but for the love of God, those plastic sticks exist for a reason.

(I could probably write a novel detailing all of the grocery store / retail scenarios that anger me, if I'm being honest...)

5. People who crowd the gate at an airport before their zone has been called.

I JUST DON'T UNDERSTAND. This does not speed up the process. It will not get you to your destination faster. Last time I was in Orlando, people were crowding the gate so bad that people exiting other planes couldn't get to freaking baggage claim because of the utter mob that was lingering outside the gate--and boarding hadn't even started yet.

An airplane is not rushed seating, guys. I promise, you'll get the same seat either way. All you're doing is likely causing the airport staff a hell of a lot of unnecessary stress.

There are almost definitely more things that tick me off, but we'll just leave it there for now.

Until later,

- Justyne

Okay But Where Did I Actually Go All Summer (BEDS 414)

So I think we can all figure out why I stopped blogging last year. School is stressful (meaning: torture), it got the best of me (meaning: chewed me up and spit me right into the trash can), et cetera. University ain't easy, folks. It happens.

But then summer hit. I finished my last exam, slept for 11 hours, and I was free! But I still didn't post anything.

Is this not what the summer is for? To use your sudden freedom to do all of the things you didn't have time for during the other three seasons? Shouldn't all of my free time been dedicated solely to my craft?

Well...no. Not this time. Because I have better, and more exciting things to do. And, as I returned to the blog this month, I realized that I never recorded (meaning: bragged about) what those things were here on the blog. So...here we go. Mental drumroll, please.

I worked....in Disney World.

Once again, for the people in the back: I worked in mother freaking Disney World.

It was an absolutely incredible summer (albeit spent working in an ugly costume), and between my shifts and my days off spent in the park, blogging kind of fell to the wayside. I still wrote, of course, both in my journal and otherwise. But I never quite gained the momentum or motivation to get this dusty old thing up and running again.

But now, we're back at it again--if only to provide me a distraction from the new university term. Will it last?

Well, we can only hope.

Until later,

- Justyne

Review: Red: A Haida Manga by Michael Nicoll Yahgulanaas (BEDS 413)

Of all the comics I read for my Canadian Comics class last year, this one was the most unique--and also the most confusing, and the hardest to follow.

I remember very little about the actual story. Red's sister gets kidnapped, and he becomes obsessed with getting revenge. The details are blurry, but that's the basic gist of it. If you want a better understanding, this book needs to be read twice. At least.

I can appreciate what the cartoonist was trying to do. He was pulling from traditional Haida art styles to create the comic, using thick borders that, when you pull the pages apart and rearrange them together, form a larger piece of traditional art. But not only did the swirling borders make it harder to follow the linear narrative, but the art style within the borders made the events confusing to understand. Half the time, I had no idea what was going on. I was mostly making sense of what was happened based on the dialogue and other texts in the book.

Tone: lol what just happened

Enjoyment rating: 2.7

Shelf life: The only reason I haven't sold it yet is because I keep forgetting to bring it back to the uni bookstore for buyback.

TL;DR: Hard to follow, wouldn't recommend.

Until later,

- Justyne

The FIrst Day (Or: How I Spent 12+ Hours at School) (BEDS 412)

I'm oblivious to a lot of things. I forget small details, somehow manage to miss the glaringly obvious, and just in general tend to not notice a lot of what's going on around me. It's a fatal flaw; especially when I noticed--a mere week before school started--that my Tuesday class schedule contained four of my five classes, keeping me at school from 8:30 am to 8:30 pm...a miserable twelve hours.

And guess what the first day of school was? A Tuesday. 

So, for your enjoyment, I recorded my adventures on the first day of school. (This was actually supposed to go up last week, on the first day of school, but me being...well, me...that didn't happen.)

Hour 1: 8:30-9:30am

I have already been up for three hours. (I am not happy about this.) 

My first class is okay; the prof is really chill, being one of those call-me-by-my-first-name, everything-in-the-syllabus-is-a-suggestion-rather-than-a-rule kind of dude. (Aka, my favourite kind of dude.) 

There is no required textbook, becuase my prof feels guilty assigning a $100+ book. My wallet weeps in joy.

The class ends early; I weep in joy.

Hour 2: 9:30-10:30am

I somehow manage to beat the textbook rush and wait no more than ten minutes in line, which will probably never happen again.

I also only spend $60 on textbooks, which will also probably never happen again.

Hour 3: 10:30-11:30 am

I'm already eating lucnh, because I'm hungry and time is a social construct. I watch Grey's Anatomy on my iPad and relish the lack of guilt that comes with not yet having homework. (This will not last long.) (As I am now writing this in the future, I can assure you that it did not last long at all.)

Hour 4: 11:30am-12:30pm

I'm still watching Grey's. Don't judge me.

Hour 5: 12:30-1:30pm

Cue second class. I've had this prof before. She remembers my name, which is shocking. I recognize someone who has been in two of my classes in the past--but I don't know her name, so that's awkward.

Hour 6: 1:30-2:30 pm

My second class ends early, and I am in dire need of caffeine. I go to Starbucks with a birthday gift card. They still have s'mores frappuccinos, and I am pleasantly surprised.

I try to visit the info booth to fix my U-pass, but the line basically stretches from one end of the building to the other. I give up on that idea fairly quickly.

Hour 7: 2:30-3:30pm

I spend my time watching YouTube videos and doodling. Being at school for 12 hours with no homework to do is surprisingly boring. (Coming from the future, I already miss those days.)

Hour 8: 3:30-4:30pm

My third class starts. There aren't enough chairs in the classroom, which is super awkward, considering the class only has 15 students in it.

Participation is required, which sucks, because I don't talk much. (People who actually know me well won't believe me, but this remains a true fact.)

Hour 9: 4:30-5:30pm

I don't have time between my final two classes to grab food. I know this will bite me in the ass in future weeks.

I could really use a nap, but the lecture hall is too small to nap unnoticed. (Not that I would....maybe.)

Hour 10: 5:30-6:30pm

I've had this prof before, too. I think I know what to expect, until she says that we're going on a field trip, and that she doesn't use powerpoints. (

She says she will only spend 15 minutes on the syllabus, which somehow turns into an hour, during which I don't pay attention because I didn't think she would talk for so long. (Oops?)

Hour 11: 6:30-7:30pm

We leave the classroom and go for a walk around the neigbourhood. I shamelessly play Pokemon Go the entire time.

Hour 12: 7:30-8:30pm

Class ends a blissful thirty minutes early, so I can go home and s l e e p.

Tuesdays are very quickly going to become my least favourite days.

Until later,

- Justyne

Micro Fiction Monday: Life (BEDS 411)

I’m used to emptiness. You know—dirt roads, single street-light towns, skies that stretch on forever just to remind you of how far you have to go just to find a shopping mall. I’m used to knowing everyone, and having the entire town’s history imprinted on the back of my hand. I’m used to feeling stuck, in this tiny corner of the world, where insignificance runs rampant. It’s incredible how suffocating fresh air can be.

But here….there’s life here. I see more people flash by in a minute than I see in a day back home. People are walking and talking and laughing and doing. Noises fill the silence, and skyscrapers fill the sky—evidence that there is more in this world than just me. Here, I can stare out my window and see more than just a tractor driving by. Here, I can see different people from different backgrounds, doing a hundred different things at the same time—instead of just the same old farmers in the same old dirty overalls.

A small town has the space to stretch your wings, with nowhere to fly. Here, where buildings stretch higher than I could ever imagine…anything is possible.

Micro Fiction Monday - Freedom (BEDS 404)

I keep my eye on the horizon. It stretches forever; I’m not used to it. I’m used to concrete towers, buildings stretching high into the sky, people visible from every corner and every coordinate. Business and busyness, cramped and crazy, where the closest thing to freedom is stepping on a balcony as high as you can get. Where you try to see everything, but can only ever get a fraction of all the uninterrupted movement. Flatness is foreign to me.

But here, flat is everywhere—where the tallest building is a storey and a half, and I can see the end of every street I turn onto. Where the greens outnumber the greys, and the sky is so blue that it seems more like a cartoon backdrop than reality. The air smells different, tastes different, feels different. Here, freedom is seeing the world open up around you, its limits beyond your line of sight, if there are even any limits at all. Freedom is reaching up towards the clouds, because they’re so close that touching them is somehow closer to a reality than a mere possibility. Freedom is reaching out on either side, and never touching another soul.

Freedom is feeling like, at any moment, you can jump and never come down.

The True Meaning of BEDS (BEDS 401)

My first blog post of 2017, and it's a mere four months before 2018 begins. Ain't that awkward.

A lot has gone on in the last eight months, and through it all, the blog kind of fell to the side. It became that eternal item on my to-do list that never seems to get done, along with, "clean your room" and "start working out someday, maybe".

But as another September rolls around, and thoughts of my annual blogging challenge begin to resurface, I am reminded of the true meaning of the season: to blog every damn day, no matter the length or quality. What better way to get back into the swing of things than half-assing a bunch of posts at the last second to gain some momentum?

So now, we're going to conveniently ignore the fact that it's technically September 2nd, and take the plunge together, in the hopes that the act of blogging every day will prompt a new wave of regularly-scheduled updates.

Until tomorrow,

- 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)

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

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

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

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

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