An Ode to HEA

May 17th, 2017. 

I've been a cast member at Walt Disney World for two weeks. A new fireworks show called Happily Ever After has just premiered in the Magic Kingdom, replacing the long-running and widely beloved Wishes. I park myself in front of the train station overlooking Main Street for two hours to get the perfect view.

I fall in love with this show the first time I watch it, and by the time it ends, I'm crying.

(This is the first time, but it won't be the last.)

August 2nd, 2017.

I finished my last shift yesterday, and I'm moving out of my apartment tomorrow. Without realizing, my entire summer has suddenly been reduced to three days. I'm not ready to say goodbye.

I slip onto Main Street minutes before the show starts, angling myself between toddler-stacked shoulders to get a decent view. Towards the end of the show, right before the iconic Tinker Bell fly-over, the build-up to the big finale, the narrator says his usual line: And now, our journey comes to an end. 

I've never given much thought to the phrasing before, but in this moment, reality hits, and I start crying.

(I frantically wipe my tears as I make a beeline for Tomorrowland down the guest overflow path.)

August 5th, 2017.

Tomorrow morning, a flight will leave Orlando at 8am, and I'll be on it. Even still, I stay at the parks straight past closing--one last hurrah before the magic comes to an end.

The show is delayed because of lightning. For a moment, I'm terrified I won't get to see it one last time. But the show goes on.

I cry, and then I hug my friends and I cry some more.

(I'll cry so many times tonight that I'll lose count.)

September 15th, 2019.

I'm no longer a cast member, but just a regular guest on a regular vacation. It's my second last day here, and a ticketed event has forced me to watch the show a day earlier than planned. I always cry during the show, but tonight I cry a little harder, for seemingly no reason at all.

I don't know it yet, but this will be my last trip before a global pandemic shutters the gates on my favourite place and strands me some 3,000 km away.

(I don't know it yet, but this will be my last time watching my favourite show.)

September 29th, 2021.

Today, Happily Ever After will go on one last time, making way for a brand-new, 50th anniversary spectacular. After tonight, my favourite show will close permanently, and I will not get a chance to say goodbye.

I know it's silly. It's just a pyrotechnics show, one I've seen so many times that I can recite the track by heart, can cue the fireworks as they appear. I've seen it a million times from a million different angles. But this show and I, we have history together, and I know I'm not the only one.

I've always been acutely aware of endings. When I know one is coming, I always turn back for one last look, try to memorize everything and the way it all feels. If this were any other year, I'd have already gotten on a plane. I'd have already crammed myself onto a crowded Main Street, would've already cried my eyes out, and that would've been my ending.

But as we all know, this is not any other year.

So, as silly as it is, I'm sad. I'm sad to see my favourite show go, sad that I didn't know the last time I watched it would be The Last Time, sad that I won't get to see it again and soak in every minute, to be in the moment and memorize it all. I'm sad I won't get to say goodbye the way I want to, the way I always thought I might.

So tonight, at 9pm eastern, I'll hit play on a YouTube video that I've already seen a hundred times. I'll wear my Minnie ears, and I'll say goodbye whatever way I can.

(And yes, I'll most certainly cry.)

August 5th, 2017. Me, post-fireworks.

And so, our journey comes to an end,

But yours continues on.

Grab hold of your dreams and make them come true,

For you are the key to unlocking your own magic.

Now go. Let your dreams guide you.

Reach out and find your...Happily Ever After.

No Comprendo (BEDS 027)

Today, I'd like to tell you the story of how I dropped out of my Intermediate Japanese class after only being in it for about a day.

First, I'd like to start off by saying that I have never dropped a class in university before. I normally can't tell if I'm going to like a class or not within the add/drop period, and after that point I normally just stick it out until the end. (I'm very stubborn in that way.) The only reason I dropped this one is because I knew, after just one class, that this would not go well for me.

All will be explained in time.

It was Wednesday, the second day of school, and Japanese was my only class that day. I showed up an hour early, so I could buy some textbooks before class. The line, however, was so long that by the time I got out of there I was already fifteen minutes late on my first freaking day. No worries, though, not a big deal. I'll just sneak in quietly and sit near the back.

An excellent plan, if the door to the classroom wasn't located a mere few feet away from the professor, at the front of the classroom, for everyone to stop and stare at me as I scurried in mid-lecture.

Already, we're off to a great start.

After I sheepishly sat down in the first empty see I saw, right at the front of the class, the professor continued. She was going over the syllabus, highlighting certain assignments and whatnot, and while I felt a little lost without a physical copy in front of me, I could manage without it.

Then she said the following statement:

"You've probably noticed that, up to this point, I've been speaking entirely in English. That's because I want to make a gradual shift from English to Japanese, so you all can get used to speaking the language easier."

Seems reasonable, right? Defintely. And it was, for the next three seconds. After a slight pause and a nod, some unknown force picked me up and dropped me down in rural Japan--because my prof was speaking fluent Japanese at a rapid pace that I couldn't follow if someone was pointing a gun to my temple.

What made it worse? She was asking the class questions, and they were answering her. She was writing things on the chalkboard, numbered one to five, and I only recognized a single word out of the bunch. I sat there in shock and in panic, because clearly one of two things had just happened:

Scenario #1--I had actually somehow managed to register myself for an advanced language course, or,

Scenario #2--I had somehow fallen into a parallel universe, where everyone is automatically fluent in Japanese and such a course is simply an easy way to get a university credit.

(Or, Secret Scenario #3--it had simply been too long since my Intro class and I probably shouldn't have considered registering for a more advanced class without some thoroughly thorough review.)

So as I'm furiously pulling up dictionary app after dictionary app, trying to figure out what the hell was going on, the teacher starts calling on people. She picked one student at the far end of the class, and asked him to go first. This is good, I thought. I can work with this. I can listen to everyone else and narrow it down through the process of elimination.

Except that student wasn't ready. So she picked another student, sitting in the front row at the opposite end of the classroom--me.

I swear, in that moment, everyone heard my heart plummet from my chest down into the depths of the basement. My blood pressure skyrocketed, my brain fried, and as desperately as I wanted to say something--anything--any and all Japanese vocabulary evaporated, and the only phrases coming to mind were in French. (Yes, you heard me. FRENCH. After being dormant for five years, my sub-par French skills picked now to rise to the surface.)

Luckily, I got out of it, through a quick shake of my head once she finally asked me if I was ready. I desperately tried to follow along with the volunteers she picked to speak up and introduce themselves, but that ended up being pretty useless as, like I previously mentioned, everyone else in the class seemed perfectly capable of not only understanding the prof, but also replying just as quickly as she was. I exited the class feeling shaken, clueless, and in an absolute panic about how I could possibly manage to pass this course, let alone do well in it.

But like I said, I'm stubborn. I resolved to do the extra work, convinced that I was capable and could do it. I headed straight back to the bookstore, eyes set on that course's text and workbook.

Back in my intro class in PEI, my professor--bless his soul--made his own textbooks using outside resources. He sold it in the bookstore with a construction paper cover for six dollars, easily my cheapest textbook ever. No other prof I've had has done that, and I will forever be grateful for the money that professor saved me on my first round of textbooks.

HOWEVER. In the University of Winnipeg's intro class, they use a different textbook, which continues to be the requirement for the first half or so of the Intermediate class. Everyone else in my class had these materials--excpet for me. And I was convinced that if I could just get my hands on that workbook, I could power through all of the beginning excercises and emerge with fresh knowledge and understanding of the language that would, if not teach me to swim, at least prevent me from drowning entirely.

Except the problem is, the Intro text--while definitely required and used in the Intermediate class--was not listed as a required Intermediate text as the bookstore. Which means that the bookstore, through no fault of their own, only ordered in accordance to the Intro class.

Which means that, by the time I got there, the workbook that I had been counting on, the basket that I had put literally all of my eggs in, was gone. Sold out. Probably not going to be restocked, because that's just the way my life was going.

I bought the textbook that day, and contemplated over the next couple of days over how to proceed. But after I spent those couple of days stressed out to the point of not even being able to think...I just locked onto Web Advisor and dropped the course. I returned the text the next day, got my refund, and focused my stress and worrying on my other four classes.

Because that amount of stress, my friends, simply is not worth it. Sometimes you gotta know your limits and draw the line when you get there.

Hope you all enjoyed watching me suffer!

Until later,

- Justyne

I am Very Loud (BEDS 010)

I do not know what an inside voice is. When I raise my voice, I don't even know that I'm doing it. I'm not mad or irritated, just...excited.

I mean, don't get me wrong--I do complain about things. A lot. And when I get worked up, I get really, really loud. But I also get loud when I get excited about something--when my favourite TV show comes back, for example, or when the book I just read is exceptionally devastating. When I find an interest, a cause, literally anything that holds my interest for more than two seconds...I get excited.

And when I get excited, I get...well, loud. It's a thing. It happens.

It's something about myself that I never really noticed, to be honest, until the last couple years. People started commenting on it--not negatively, per say. Just pointing it out. It's not really something I can change, either, because it's not something that I realize I'm doing. I mean, I probably could change it, if I tried hard enough. If I really wanted to.

But I don't really want to.

I get loud when I get excited, and it just so happens that I get excited a lot. I consider myself a very passionate person, and one of the ways I express my passion for something is by talking a lot about it. I discuss, I ramble, I gush, I fangirl...loudly. It's not always the most appropriate way to express myself, but...¯\_(ツ)_/¯. It is what it is.

It's funny to think about sometimes, because I used to be--and in some cases, still am--very quiet. I'll sit on the sidelines of a conversation and observe. I'll sit in the back of the class and take in the discussion without participating. I'm shy and reserved...until the topic of Disney comes up, because then I'm loud and obnoxious and probably unbearable.

I'm...complicated. But I'm cool with that.


Until later,

- Justyne

A Change of Scenery (or: How to Do All the Things When You Have None of the Time)

I wish I had an office. I wish I had a room that I could furnish, decorate, and dedicate to the sole task of writing and getting other creative-ish work done in. More than that, I often wish (like, every day) that I could just stay home and dedicate all of my time to doing creative-ish work, to starting and finishing all the projects my little heart desires to create.

Unfortunately, that is not the reality of my life. I've got bills to pay, and my creative projects aren't currently paying them. I need to work, and with school on top of that for half the year, I don't often find myself in a position to spend all day being creative at home. I'm constantly on the go, from Point A to Point B.

And yet, here I am--my 12th straight update, on schedule. (Kind of? It's still Friday if I haven't gone to bed, right?) Four straight weeks of Monday-Wednesday-Friday updates, with only a couple that were uploaded later than my 4pm goal time. Maybe it's because it's summer, but I'm kicking ass on the blogging scene regardless, with more behind the scenes work done on top of that.

I'm not stupid. I know I'm probably jinxing it right now. But let me fill you in on the secret to my competence--Starbucks.

(I am not sponsered by Starbucks but I would like to point out that I'm a poor college student and would definitely not turn down any money.)

Kay but actually. In the last few weeks, I've been spending a little bit more time at Starbucks than normal, which--shockingly enough--has lead to an astounding amount of productivity on my part. I've drafted blogs multiple weeks in advance, my uploads are getting scheduled for 4 PM more often now than ever, and I'm pouring my blood, sweat, tears, and heart into this blog more than I ever have before. The productivity that encompasses me in the coffee shop is spilling over to the rest of my day, as I finish up a post at work, stay up late to finish other creative projects, and focus more and more time into my stories every day.

So that's the secret, short and sweet: a change in scenery. A refreshing alteration to your daily habits and routines. Something to make things interesting.

The best office you can have is your mindset. The best place to be creative is wherever you are in the moment. Sometimes it's easy to forget that, and it's definitely easy to put everything off until you have that special place--but there's no saying that special place can't be the Blogger app on your iPad.


Until later,

- Justyne

2016

Oh, hey there, 2015! Nice to--oh, wait, there it goes.

That's what this past year felt like. Literally. I was still having "wait, what year is it?" moments back in November, and you're telling me that I have to form the habit of writing a six instead of a five? Really?

I did manage to successfully write "2016" at the top of my list of resolutions, though, so I mean it's not all bad.

I read somewhere once that many people share a common belief that what you do on January 1st is what you'll do all year--like the first day of a calendar year is an omen of sorts for the next 365. I used to believe this, in a sense--now I think it's a load of horse shit. (Pardon my French--or don't, doesn't really affect me in the slightest.)

This past year, I embarked on a new project. It ended prematurely--I won't say it was an absolute failure, because quite frankly, a lot of good came out of it. For a long time, though, it didn't seem that way--I was too caught up with the fact that it wasn't working the way I thought it would, or that I hadn't finished it the way I intended. I had a vision for it, for what it would teach me. I expected too much, and it let me down. When it did, I fell--and I fell hard.

I started with good intentions, but somewhere down the line I started to believe that a list of 28 things would change my life--that crossing something off a glorified to-do list would define my self worth. But it wasn't about the things I said I would do; it was about this:

 I don’t want to wait for my life to magically become everything I’ve ever dreamed it could be; I want to live that life now. I want to make that life for myself now.

I said that. Me. That was the core of what I was trying to do, and I forgot. When the excitement and novelty faded, when I broke down that first wall and waited for the dust to clear...nothing had really changed. I was still stuck. I was still in a bubble. I had approached everything from the wrong angle.

I've put off this blog post for a long time and a lot of reasons. The longer I stop, the harder it gets to come back, and after every long absence I feel the need to give excuses. Excuses, and promises to never fall again.

This time, I make only one promise--to try. (And as for the excuse: I am human, dammit.)

The new year is a great chance to regroup, reprioritize, reorganize yourself into the person you want to be. For me, that means a lot of things, none of which are on that list. I have a new list, smaller in length but larger in meaning. (And also, harder to complete. But that's not a bad thing.) This time, there is no deadline, no expectation to fulfill something every day. I will trip. I will fall. I will get back up.

Today is a new year, but tomorrow is a new day. You want a do-over, a second chance, an excuse to change yourself? You get one every morning you make the decision to crawl out of bed. If you mess up, take a nap and start again.

You've got 366 tries to get it right. Make this year a good one.

Until later,

- Justyne

Indecisiveness

I am undeniably the worst decision maker ever.

I am the kind of person who should never, in any circumstance, be placed in charge of deciding where we should go to eat, or what movie we should see at the theater. I am the kind of person who stares at the shelves in the cereal aisle for far longer than is actually necessary, trying to pick a brand. I am the kind of person who spends more time picking a title on Netflix than actually watching it.

I can't even make a firm decision on my favourite books; what does that tell you?

There's a very big, very life-changing decision that I've been trying to make in recent months--so obviously, you see my dilemma. But now, finally, I think I may have made the final decision--the method I used, however, was probably a little...unorthodox.

I heard a saying, once, that any hard decision should be made using a coin. Normally this is something used for more trivial decisions, like who's going to get stuck doing the dishes, or whether I should wear the purple top or the blue. Using it for a bigger, more life-altering decision seems a bit...well, silly.

But the goal is not, as you would think, to allow the coin to make the decision for you. The idea is that during that brief nanosecond, when the coin and all of its possibilities are floating in the air...that's when you make the decision. Because when the coin lands and you see your result, you'll feel either a sense of excitement or a sense of heart crushing disappointment.

I flipped my coin. I got heads. And with it, I may have my answer.

You'll just have to wait and see.


Until later,

- Justyne

Just Dance It Out!

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

See you all in December!

~~

I feel like I get stressed really easily.

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

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

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

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

I dance.

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


What do you do to relieve stress?

Until later,

- Jusyne

Me, Myself and I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Until later,

- Justyne

Who Am I?

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

See you all in December!

~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Until later,

- Justyne

Commuting

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

See you all in December!

~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

Most of the time, I rather like it.


Until later,

- Justyne

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

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

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

Shelves

How do you know when to shelve a story?

I've been thinking about this for a few days, now. The story I'm currently working on, the one I've been working on for a solid year and a half, is dragging me down. I've started and re-started the second draft numerous times, written a couple different plot outlines, changed the story entirely from what it was and changed it back again. And still, I feel like my characters are flat, the plot is boring and uninteresting, the world unrealistic and just....meh.

Meh. That's a good word. The story, right now, is just one blob of meh.

It seems like every time I work on it, I get frustrated. I get frustrated with the overwhelming amount of possibilities one second, and the lack thereof the next. I get frustrated because, in theory, it's a good story. In my mind, it's a great story. That story just won't form itself on the screen in front of me.

I know writing isn't always easy--trust me, I know--but is it supposed to feel so...forced, every time I sit down with it? Is it supposed to make me want to tear out my hair and toss my computer out the window?

I feel like I should take a break from it, but I have taken a break from it. I took several months away from it, and before that I took just about a full year away from it. How long am I supposed to wait?


Maybe I'll take a few days away from it, and work on one of my other many projects for the time being. I've been muddling around with this for the past couple of weeks--I need some time to clear my head.

Until later,

- Justyne

Back to the Start (Part II)

The following is a continuation of last week's post. If you missed it, you can go back and read it here.

It all started with Sailor Moon.

No, that was not a joke. It will not be followed with some snide, sarcastic remark, or a sentence that provides much better context to it. As silly as it may seem--and I am very much aware that it sounds extremely silly--it did all start with Sailor Moon.

To say I was a huge fan was...well, a bit of an understatement. I watched it religiously, every day--even if it meant waking up at six in the morning. When it was cancelled, I cried my poor little eight-year-old eyes out. I borrowed the two VHS tapes that the local library owned continuously, watching them constantly until they simply wouldn't work anymore.

When I was around nine years old, I got a tiny little locket for Christmas. Lord only knows where it is now, but at the time, the very first thing that went through my mind was the locket that Sailor Moon had used (that's what they had called it in the English version, anyway) to transform. With this locket, I could be a Sailor Scout, too.

I was nine when I wrote my first real story. It was a story about a group of girls, who used magical lockets to transform into superheroes. Sound familiar?

For me, that story was more than just a story. Just like that show became more than just a show. It was a way for me to be something more--more than just an ordinary girl. That stupid little story, the one I wrote all those years ago, that was my way of being a Sailor Scout. That was my way of saving the world. I often complain about how badly written my first writing attempt was, but really?

That story is my favourite.

Back then, there were no dreams of publication. There were no terribly unrealistic fantasies of becoming rich and famous through writing. (Well, not at first, anyway. Trust me, those came quickly.) There was only me, and the daydreams I spent saving the world. It was the first time, the very first time, that I was excited to write, and live in a fictional world all my own.

That is what I need to be looking for. Not stories that will make me money, but stories that make me excited. Excited to write, to feel, to live. One of my favourite quotes is from Neil Gaiman, who said, "I decided that I'd do my best in the future not to write books just for the money. If you didn't get the money, then you didn't have anything. And if I did work I was proud of, and I didn't get the money, at least I'd have the work."

I heard that quote a couple of years ago, in a video I stumbled upon while browsing the web. I've carried it with me ever since.

I'm not saying that I shouldn't aim for publication. And I'm definitely not saying that I'm going to stop aiming for it anytime soon, either. I will not rest until I can walk into just about any Chapters or Indigo bookstore in the country and see my book--my story--sitting on the shelf.

What I'm trying to say is that, for a moment, I forgot why I started. I forgot how wonderful it felt to be truly, genuinely excited about writing; to not worry about whether it was good, or whether people would like it, or how much money it would make.

To write for the thrill;

To write myself into the person I always wanted to be;

To write for the sake of writing;

That is my goal.


Until later,

- Justyne

Adventures in Waiting (Random Story Time!)

I have learned only one thing this past week: I am a very, very impatient person.

Over the past several weeks / months, Jimmy (my precious laptop) has started blue-screening on me. So, last week, I logged onto the Dell website and ordered myself a brand new desktop computer.

Fast forward to Monday; I got a call from Purolator, saying that I was to receive a package from Dell Canada on March 19th (Wednesday). I was so excited, it was almost ridiculous. I'm talking jumping up and down and bouncing off the walls excited. (More so than usual, anyway.) I spent all day Wednesday waiting for the truck, and, when it was late, a good chunk of Thursday doing the same thing. When I saw the truck pull up, I opened the door before the delivery guy even made it up the front steps.

Never in my life has waiting for something been so difficult.

The only problem was, the package that I thought contained my new computer only contained the monitor. So now, I have a monitor sitting on my desk with nothing to plug it into, while I wait for the actual physical computer to ship. (I'm pretty sure it hasn't even hit the truck yet, since my credit card has yet to be charged for it.)

I think it's safe to say that this was probably the biggest disappointment of my entire life. My dad laughed at me when I told him about it. (He was clearly more amused by the situation than I was.)


READER PARTICIPATION TIME! What's the longest you've ever waited for something, what was it, and were you struggling as much as I was to be patient? Comment below!

Until later,

- Justyne

Courage

Writing is sometimes the most courageous thing I can do.

Writing has never just been something I did; it's always been something important to me, and something that I knew I would one day pursue as a career. (If I'm being honest, I pretty much started pursuing it the second I started.) When I was younger, though, writing was often a lot easier than it is now.

When I was younger, I was more courageous; more confident. I thought I was the best writer there was (a thought I wish I could think now), and everything I wrote, I wrote fearlessly. Now, even getting one person to read my work gets my heart thumping with nervousness.

I've realized over the past couple of years that some of my writing is actually very personal. When I go back and read some of the stuff that I wrote during the harder and lonelier times of my life, I can see all of the emotions I was feeling at the time woven into it. All of my fears were written into the conflict; the things I wish I had the courage to say were spoken through the main character's mouth.

Although the majority of my writing isn't quite as personal as it was then, a lot of my stories are still inspired by my life. Not real life events, per say, but plots inspired by emotions I've felt in the past, or by daydreams of things I wished would happen to me. (I zone out a lot so this happens more than I'd like to admit.)

Regardless of where it comes from, I still immerse myself completely in my writing. Each piece I write has some form of me in it; my history, my personality, my dreams and fears and wildest fantasies. Sharing them is hard, sometimes, even if no one knows that they're there.

Writing is my way of speaking to the world. Writing is my way of being brave. Because my writing is me, in my simplest and truest form.


Until later,

- Justyne

Journaling

I kept an extremely updated journal when I was younger. A freakishly updated journal, actually. Nearly every day I would document pretty much everything that had happened to me. If I went a few weeks without writing, I would make a point-form list of all major events in my life.

I look back and I read those journals sometimes. Then I laugh because I'm so lazy that I would never be able to keep that up now. (I also wonder why I did that to begin with because wow was my life ever boring. Still is, to be honest. And yet, you still read my blog. I'm touched.)

I still keep a journal. Needless to say, my journaling process has undergone a massive...renovation.

As time went on (and I got more and more lazy), I stopped recording every single detail about my day, and started limiting myself to the bigger, more relevant events. (Also to-do lists. Lots and lots of unfinished to-do lists.) Now, I barely ever write anything about my life. I normally only write about life events if I really have something to rant about. (I think my life is sufficiently recorded on the interwebs, anyway.)

Now, I mostly use my journal for lists. To-do lists, book lists, resolution and goal lists, even the occasional shopping list. Sometimes I write portions of my stories in my journal if I'm away from the computer. Normally they're filled with ideas that I scrawl down at 2 AM, when my mind is racing from the adrenaline of a new story and I'm unable to sleep. My journals now fill up much more slowly, but I feel like they have much, much more important things stored within them.

Even though these pages no longer store the most detailed events of my life, they store the smaller, seemingly less important things that mean so much more. Out of context, they are nothing but lists and fictional places that mean nothing to anyone else but me.

But they are me. Hidden among the grocery lists and things I intended to do but never got around to, between the lines of every world I write about while everyone else is asleep, is me. My life, my feelings, my hopes and dreams and fears.

My journal can say the most about me, without truly saying a single word.


Until later,

- Justyne