Micro Fiction Monday: A Light in the Dark

The last thing you expect to hear at five am on the beach is singing. Maybe three hours earlier, when clubbers were still stumbling down the boardwalk, high on the intoxication of alcohol and a summer getaway. Maybe three hours later, when the families with young, early-riser children start to make their descent onto the beach, flooding the air with the scent of sunscreen and the sound of childish laughter. But not at five. Five is the transition point--the point where it stops being late, and starts being early. At five, some people are waking up, but no one is on the move—or even singing at all, for that matter.

And yet, I’m standing here in the moonlight, surrounded by the voice trickling down from God knows where.

I look across the boardwalk, but all the expensive villas, tourist shops…even the convenience store is dark. There isn’t a soul awake, a single window brightened. Except…

There is one single, giant lightbulb illuminated. It sweeps across the ocean, disappearing into the distance before rounding back again. In all the years I’ve been here, out of all the nights spent partying around bonfires on the beach, never have I seen the lighthouse functional.

Then again, never have I ever been out here at five am.

As I approach the towering monument, I start to see a figure standing in the window. A portion of the glass is propped open, allowing her song to drift down to the sand below. The song is unfamiliar, and the voice is the most stunning I’ve ever heard, but that’s not what sends me gaping at the building.

No, what catches me off guard is the long, billowing stream of human hair, flowing out the window and waving at me in the wind.

Micro Fiction Monday: Notes

When she was sixteen, she dated a boy who wrote her songs. His Christmas gifts were ballads on a grand piano, sung to her beneath the twinkle of the tree. His presence was made known by hums and whistles, short melodies sung quietly, so only she could hear. He believed that the path to forgiveness began with his guitar beneath her window, and a serenade to the moonlight.

When she was nineteen, she dated a girl who wrote her love letters. Always mailed, with a single stamp, even when they shared an apartment. Her cursive was like art, the paper thick and textured. She received a new letter weekly, each filled with beautiful prose and syntax. Her girlfriend believed in art, and in grand proclamations of love.

Now, she dates a boy who does nothing of the sort. Her boyfriend can’t carry a simple tune, and isn’t much more talented with words. He isn’t one for grand proclamations, of love or otherwise. Instead, she finds notes—small notes, taking up no more than a post-it, which she finds littered around her life. A stupid joke in her lunch, or a reminder on the mirror, or an “I love you” on her pillow.

She doesn’t wish for anything grand. Three simple words are more than enough, if they come from the right person.

Find Your Happy Place

I don't normally listen to music when I work. I get distracted too easily, so even if I manage to stay away from social media (which is, um, rare), the music will ensure that both my mind and the document on my screen remain blank. All listening to music does is make me wish I lived in the universe of High School Musical, where normal, everyday people perform elaborate musical numbers just to tell people that they don't sing or dance. (Also a universe where everyone is talented at both singing and dancing. Oh, what a world that would be!)

HOWEVER. If I am listening to music, you can bet your butt I'm listening to music from Disney World.

(I talk about Disney a lot, I know. I'm sorry. I can't really help it.)

Here's the thing, though: I really love Disney World. Like, immensely. You already know that, probably, if you've talked to me for more than a second and a half. It is, if you will....my happy place. (Roll credits.)

Everyone has a happy place, don't they? That place that we like to retreat to when we're angry or upset or sad or stressed or whatever. Mine is no differnet--it just happens to have a giant castle...and Mickey Mouse.

Ignoring the details of my own personal happy place, though, have you ever really thought about what yours is? Have you ever used it? Do you have it developped into more detail than just, "Oh, yeah, there's a meadow. And, um, trees, I guess? A river, sure. A nice stream of water. And clouds. Are we done?"

No, my friend, we're not. You are gonna sit your butt down and figure this shit out.

To work hard, well, and productively, you need a good atmosphere. You need something with minimal distractions, a pretty view, a good beverage...pretty much something that makes you comfortable. You need to want to be there, dammit, otherwise you'll spend the next hour and a half wishing you were somewhere else. You need the right chair, the right temperature control, the right level of background noise envelopping you in a warm coccoon of happiness.

To be productive, you need your happy place. Or, at least, the closest thing you can get.

Unfortunately, I can't live in Disney World. I want to (and if I had won that 1.6 billion dollar jackpot a while back, maybe I could have), but unfortunately, as much as I'd like to sit outside of the Starbucks on Main Street, USA and spend the remainder of my days writing to my little heart's content....it probably isn't going to happen.

But being in Disney World makes me so happy. I love the sounds, the excitement, the...well, everything. I love everything. When I am in a Disney park, everything is finally right with the world! So what can I do to harness that, to bring the magic of Disney into my everyday life?

THIS.

Some beautiful soul created four beautiful playlists, comprised of various songs used throughout the respective theme parks. Sometimes--normally when I'm out and about, wanting to be anti-social while I work--I plug in my headphones and crank up one of those playlists, so I can work and pretend I'm in Disney World to my little heart's content. It doesn't matter if I'm writing, blogging, studying...whatever. It helps me focus and be productive when I really don't want to. (Okay, sometimes it also makes me want to run away from home, Disney or Bust. But trust me, most of the time it works.)

The great part about this is that it's portable--I can take my beautiful, wonderful happy place with me wherever I go. (Or at least, wherever there's wifi. Gotta love those data charges.) Wherever I happen to be, I can live my blissfully ignorant life of pretending I'm in Disney World 24/7.

What about you? What's your happy place?

Until later,

- Justyne

My Favourite Book

"Jason was going to Brain Camp. It had another name, a real name, but that's what everyone called it."

That is the opening line to The Truth About Forever by Sarah Dessen, which I reviewed last year after reading it for the umpteenth time. I know the first two lines as well as I know my own name. I can't recite the whole book, as cool as that would be, but there are certain lines that pop up in my memory from time to time; the extent to which I know this book is the equivalent of the way I recite dialogue from The Lion King II as I watch it. (I can't do it with the original Lion King, strangely enough. I can only do this with a few select movies, and I couldn't tell you why that's one of them.)

I have this thing where, once I experience something that I thoroughly enjoy, I want to relive it over and over and over again. I listen to my favourite songs on repeat for days. I once watched Tangled three or four times in a row over the course of a day. (That wasn't even on purpose--I put it on while I was doing homework, and it just...stayed on. And kept distracting me. Turn off the TV, kids--yet another life lesson from Yours Truly.) In the 8th grade, after having read The Truth About Forever once and deciding to use it as the focus of my book report, I read it eight times in a row. I'm not kidding or exaggerating here--I'd read it constantly, during breaks at school and in my free time at home. Once I finished the last page, I'd just flip the book over and start from the beginning again. I did that for the entire time that I was working on my report, and when all was said and done, I had read the novel a solid eight times. (Not including the first initial read through, before being assigned the report.)

Not everyone understands why I do this. Some people get annoyed after I blare my new favourite song for the seventh day in a row (to the point where my dad came into my room and shut off my stereo himself, once). Some people consider watching a movie once a year to be sufficient, even as I proceeded to watch Frozen six times in theatres. I mean, I love watching a new movie or reading a new story as much as the next person, but everyone else seems to quickly bore of the old stuff, always ready to move on to the next, whereas I need a couple evenings to properly cry and mourn the end of one of my television shows. (I don't cry because it ended poorly or too soon, but because it ended at all. There are two different reasons to yearn for more story, and mine is the latter.)

The words that fill my favourite book are familiar--almost comforting at times. Even though I know what's going to happen, and there's no chance of being surprised, I know I'll still enjoy it. I won't get bored or restless, even as my mind begins to form the words before they appear on the page. The characters will still have life to them, even though they're just acting out the same story I've read a million times. The fact that people are satisfied with only experiencing a story once is mind-boggling to me. If you love a book, why wouldn't you want to go back in time and relive the experience? The writing will be as good as it was the first time, the characters will be just as lively, the plot just as well crafted. Why does something have to be new to be interesting?

I love my well-worn, scribbled in, spine-cracked copy. I wouldn't trade it for anything.

What about you? Do you reread your books after finishing them?

Until later,

- Justyne

External Motivation, Part I: The Playlist

Every morning, I optimistically set my alarm for 7 AM. Two alarms, in fact. I have been doing this for months, but I could probably count the amount of times I actually got out of bed at 7 on one hand. Sure, I was awake; I was just scrolling through social media feeds instead of doing literally anything productive at all.

My point is that sometimes (or all the time) we need a swift kick in the ass to get going. And that's okay! 

Inner motivation is infinitely more effective than outer motivation--doing something because you want to and because it falls in line with your values is a lot easier than doing it because someone else thinks you should. Even then, though, it's not always enough. Everyone falls into a slump sometimes, and the longer you mope around in the slump the harder it is to pull yourself out.

External motivation gives you that kick in the ass I mentioned earlier--it doesn't work forever, but it has the potential to work just long enough to get you the momentum you need to keep going. As long as that inner motivation exists somewhere, dormant in some dusty old corner of your mind, that little kick as the power to do a lot of good.

The good thing about this kick in the ass is that it's really not that hard to find; you can easily pull yourself away from Facebook and find it on your phone, motivating you to get out of bed. (The dealbreaker being, of course, that you want to get out of bed in the first place.) Once you're up and being the productive member of society you want to be, it's a lot easier to keep going. It's just the starting that sucks, is all.

One of my favourite methods of external motivation is music. Every few months I make a new playlist, filled with songs that I currently love and ones that really make me want to be all that I can be. I make new ones so often because my taste in music is constantly changing--songs that I was obsessed with a couple of months ago aren't quite as awesome to me anymore, and I've probably discovered a good handful of new ones to replace the old. Sometimes I'm in the mood for a different genre, a different tempo, or just something different.

But for now, these are what I've got:

- Brave by Sarah Bareilles

- Fight Song by Rachel Platten

- Something More by Sugarland

- Trip the Light by Alicia Lemke

- Praan by Garry Schyman
(Side note: If you're never seen the Where the Hell is Matt videos, watch them. Like, right now.)

- Anything by Hedley

- Best Day of My Life by American Authors

It's important that my motivational playlist is a lot different from my "Dance It Out" playlist, and yours should be, too! (All my Dance It Out playlist makes me want to do is...well, dance. And that doesn't always prove to be the most useful thing when your ideal productive state entails sitting for long periods of time.)

What are some songs that motivate you to start getting work done? Share them in the comments; I'm always looking for more!

Until later,

- Justyne

~~

Part II: The Workspace
Part III: The Role Model

Singing (Micro Fiction Monday)

She was singing again.

She sang every morning. I heard her sing when I was eating breakfast, as I was heading out the door for class...I even heard her through the loud pounding of the water when I was having a shower.

The walls of a college dorm are not very thick. I knew this when I applied to live here, and when I wheeled in my two bulging, crammed-to-the-point-of-exploding suitcases into the building on move in day. I shouldn’t have been surprised when, the morning after my first night in my room, I was awoken by the sound of my neighbour singing along to Let It Go from that new Disney movie.

But I was. I was surprised, I was caught off guard, but most importantly, I was irritated.

I didn’t say a word. Not when I was woken up at 6 am by the opening words of Shake It Off, not when my early morning cram session was interrupted by the chorus of Breakaway, not even when I could barely hear my mom on the phone over the belted lyrics of the Friends theme. I stayed quiet, because it was her home, too—and I didn’t want to start any drama.

But her singing was bad. It was wobbly and off key and too loud when it wasn’t supposed to be. It was driving me crazy, and as soon as she started up Classic at seven in the morning, I lost it.

I stormed out of my room, not caring when the door slammed loudly behind me. I stomped the ten feet between our rooms and pounded my fist against the door marked “Lizzie” in big, bubbly, colourful letters. My scowl didn’t lessen when her singing cut off abruptly, and her padded footsteps made her way towards me.

What made my scowl disappear entirely was her honey coloured hair, cut short and sticking out wildly in all directions, and her green eyes that seemed to almost twinkle—like she had been expecting my arrival all along.

Damn it, she was beautiful.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, like I was her best friend, and not someone that she had only met once—briefly—during orientation. “Emma, right?”

Maybe I could put up with the singing, after all.

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