Journal #12: "Twelve Discussing the End of Twelve"

My grade 12 year has been the best yet for me, by far. It's to grasp the fact that I, along with the rest of the people that I've seen and been grouped with for the last four years, will be graduating so soon. Most of them will be leaving the city, for school, for careers, for simply kick-starting the rest of their life. I think it's a little more overwhelming than most people think about in passing. I'm coming back for grade 12b, meaning I'll be staying one more year in this dirty city. I have begun thinking about how strange it will feel not seeing everybody's faces, and knowing they are off, living new experiences at the same time I'm still experiencing the same living conditions. It's my choice, however. I really couldn't see myself being ready to leave only two months from now. There are still things I'd like to do here. I'm not finished with it yet. Next year, it'll all be about my passions; my music, my writing, my life. I'm excited in a way. But also a bit overwhelmed.

I'm sure everyone has experienced these kind of feelings when graduating and leaving high school. I still even hear people say that they miss being in high school. Well, I don't think that I'll miss it, but I know that I will always look back on everything that happened, and smirk about how crazy, or how stupid, or how wise, or how insensitive we all were at one point, hoping that we've all learned our lessons by now. I plan on moving to Toronto to pursue my career as a recording artist. I'm not worried about money; I know that money will work out somehow, and that I'll find a way, even though everyone gets a little stressed over money sometimes. I'm also not worried about school. Why should I be? As it is, I think college may even be a waste of my time. If I don't get in, I'm just going to take it as a sign that I'm not meant for the school curriclum (which is how I like it) and that it's just simply not my path in life. No worry, no sadness, no anger shall be generated from silly things like money, or school. The journey is most important to me in my life, and it's increbily exciting to think about the things that life could and will bring to me. I hate having everything planned out like a map. Life wasn't meant to be lived like that. I don't want to know how I'm gonna get what I want, or where I want to be. I'll take it as I go; that's all you can do. I wish my fellow classmates happiness and success.

Journal #11: "A Piece of Fiction - Courtney"

I am a huge fan of fiction writing. It's the only kind of writing I am truly interested in crafting on my own time. For me, fiction is much easier to write than any non-fiction or autobiography. I've always had an active imagination, and I adore how my stories just flow out of my mind naturally and onto any given paper (or computer program). I don't believe there are any limitations to fiction writing, and that's what makes it so fun and inspiring. I've never been interested in writing journalism, or essays, or an autobiography, or whatever else comes with non-fiction writing. Those are the stories that are told a thousand times. Those are the stories that are forever ingrained in your brain. When I'm faced with fiction, I feel a certain freedom; you never know how your story is going to end, you never know where it will take you. It's a journey, and yes, it is a struggle at times. I haven't heard of any talented writer that doesn't experience writer's block now and then. Personally, I find the process of fiction writing to be very indecisive for myself. I am such a perfectionist when it comes to my passions that it takes me a very long time to become satisfied with the finished product, and it is only when I consider myself satisfied that it is considered a finished product.

Looking back on my past endeavours into writing, I find it quite funny that I used to groan at the simple thought of writing my own stories. It used to be such a stress and hassle for me; I could never come up with anything "good." I realize now that the only problem with writing stories back then was that I wasn't focusing on the topics I was interested in. When all the other kids wanted to read about bunnies and talking mice, I was always more interested in serial killers or the supernatural. I've always had more of an "adult taste" in books, and if I knew then what I know now, I would have started reading "older" books a long time ago. Nowadays, my interest in writing my own stories is at an all-time high. I have so many ideas for plot lines and characters that I would love to one day have completed and shared with others. I have so many of these brilliant concoctions, in fact, that I have to save them on my computer just to make sure that I remember them all. Long novels are my favourite to read, although I'm sure the process is one hell of a ride. But when the time comes, I know I will be up for it.

It's easy to gather information on the Internet and slop together a few sentences that include facts, and dates, and names, and places, and blah, and blah, and blah. Personally, I like to go over my own essays and opinion pieces just to take in my own writing style. I try to always keep my writing polished and make sure grammar and punctuation are evident. I always love finding interesting words that hardly anybody uses to explain my reports; not only will it be unique and stick in your head, but at least it won't be that boring to mark. That is my biggest problem with non-fiction writing; it gets very boring very fast. It is more of challenge for me to write about something that I'm not particularly interested in than it is to write about something that I am interested in, already having stated that there are no limitations to the world of fiction. All in all, I simply enjoy being able to stretch my writing abilities from different types and styles of writing, and to try different things. Every journal, essay, or short answer question I complete for school is helping my writing a little bit more every time. And because of that, I am inspired to keep on writing.

Journal #10: "The Most Memorable Moments in High School"

I love this high school. When I was in grade 9, I never thought in a million years that I would be saying that. When I arrived at this school, I had no mind to get involved with any school things, or even make any new friends. I sat at the back in every class I could manage, and kept my head down constantly. See, I had hit a truly rebellious stage in my life at that point. "School is pointless," I insisted. When I look back now, I see the bitterness and the hatred I had towards the life alteration that was high school. I know that sounds dramatic, but I'm sure I'm not the only one who felt that way. All of my classes were friendless, and I didn't exhibit the confidence to make new friends. Of course, I spoke to people, but I still remained dissatisfied and unhappy with life. Not to mention, I had a lot of family and home problems happening at the same time. Home; that's not even a good description, as I ended up moving about 3 times in the same year. This is why I don't have fond memories of grade 9, at least not the first semester. Well, especially not the first semester.

The best of my high school experiences all revolve around music and performing. Being able to share my talents with people who appreciate it and support my aspirations for a musical career. I would have never gotten to know these people, or experience the support of others if I had stayed in one spot. When I reached grade 11, I was placed in Mrs. Barette's grade 11/12 Vocal Music class, meaning I was going to have to sing in front of people whether I wanted to or not. And believe me, I wanted to. But there was still a lot of nerves and fear that I had towards sharing my talent. Talent and passion is personal, and although it definitely creates the best kind of unity I've ever known, to show that talent and passion to others is a lot like being naked in public. Scary stuff. Grade 11 was the year I started getting involved and coming out of my shell, joining the choir on top of taking the Vocal Music class, and singing for school events. Grade 12 was even better, with me being one of the lead tribe members in the school production of "Hair," being a member of choir for the second time around, and singing for school events once again, but times the amount of grade 11. I'm hoping to make grade 12b even better; I'm trying to record and finish all of my music tracks that I have on my computer and start networking them on the Internet this summer. Hopefully, I will be recognized for my own music by or during next year.

High school as a whole has been a long, weird, road of twists and turns. No doubt I've grown and learned a hell of a lot from everything that I experienced, but there are a lot of things I've always disliked about it; the chaotic crowds, the ignorance, the cruelty, being different. This year, especially this very second semester, I've met some new people that I will be connected with forever and will stay important to me my whole life. I've learned from them, and had more fun with these people than probably with anyone else I've ever spent an extended amount of time with. I've also become closer to friends that I've known longer, and tightened my bond with them. I can say now that I truly value all of these people, and having them in my life. They alone are some of my best high school memories.

Journal #9: "On Poetry"

I've always had a fondness for poetry. To me, it is an entire art form all on it's own. It is sometimes a challenge to write. Especially for a person like me, because I can be a perfectionist when it comes to my passions. I do believe that poetry is important in the big scheme of things. All art is. Poems can express deep feelings, or silly ideas, or perhaps some of them weren't even given meanings. Maybe they were just written for the sake of loving poetry. I'll admit, I didn't think I would be able to write as many poems that had personal meanings. Once I realized that I had so many ideas for expressive poems, writing the poems became a better, more important experience for me. With that in mind, I didn't really mind how many poems there was assigned. Each poem can be made special and unique all on it's own; or, if wanted, can be a complete imitation, like our "Imitation Poem" assignment. I think getting us to write our own versions of all of the chosen poem types, those individual art forms, was a great idea, and an even better experience, even if you don't like poetry.

Song lyrics come out of poetry. Clearly, song lyrics are important and mean a lot to me in my life. I think that's why I preferred writing the "lyrical" poem more than any other during this course; as I was writing them, I could imagine myself singing them and adding melodies to the sentences. It inspired me to keep writing them, and even finish a lyrical poem that I had written a long time ago, before being in Writer's Craft. Some people find writing poetry difficult, boring, and exhausting, but I think that those people just haven't found their muse when writing poetry. Sometimes it is hard to write poems; whether it be a creative block or lack of direction. I found that, also, when attempting to write certain poems during the course. I'm glad that I gave them all a chance, so that one day, I can look back on them and enjoy them. Even better, someone else can look back on them and enjoy them.

Free Poem (Lyric)

Eat Lava if We Want, written by Courtney Olmstead

I slept under a waterfall last night, and yearned for you
Vacating reality, an overflowing gust of stars and dust occurred
We'll steal mossy violins from graveyards
And challange the Mighty Jesus Christ to a game of cards
My rose speaks to me of the sun,
And winter breezes beyond a crisp coat of snow and ice
We can dance on rocks and nails and passionate things alike
And pray to the Greek Gods and Godesses from another time
I traded my moms Bible for a Crown
My thunder rolled and raged
Upon the Islands of doubt, warning the weak warriors
We can make life ours, eat lava if we want
And the waterfall churned my memories and such
As I waited for that delicate clutch of arms around mine
The mist wet them instead

The Narrative Poem

Away for a While, written by Courtney Olmstead

She sat upon the wet rocks
Hugging her thighs tight to her chest
And resting her chin atop her knees
She felt a splash of water while gazing past the Oceania
And nipples grew hard from the chilling breeze

A minute passed, then three, then six
The sky was blank, a literal Queen Snow White
A seagull landed on the rock beside to rest it's tired wings
She poked Mr. Seagull's beak curiously with one red-nail-polished finger
The seagulls mouth snapped around that finger, and flew away mad
There now sit a girl crying on a rock, beneath Miss Snow White

She walked along the Oceanside
Her toes in the sand, which was cooled without the sun above
"But the sun is my friend," she sang
And she sang, and she sang, and she sang, and she sang
The night fell quick, but no stars came out to play

The tide was thick, swallowing the rock she once sit atop
She danced and waved her arms in the air, an act of freedom
There was two lights disguised as eyes, directed partly at this girl, partly at that sand
A car rolled beside her Seagull bitten hand
A face appeared, a handsome man, and a voice all too familiar
"I want you to come home now, Persephone"

Dramatic Monologue

Scorn's Favourite Outlet, written by Courtney Olmstead

I guess you're wondering why you're here right about now.
Here, with me, in this reeking basement that smells like God knows what.
It's quite a surprise when you wake up tied tightly to a chair,
With a pair of socks bulging hard into your dry throat.
Well, I'm not gonna bullshit you, George, darling.
Catch that sarcasm?
I will cut you up, stuff you in a suitcase,
And throw those remains into the salty Pacific.
I found those letters, I hope you know.
The ones you wrote to her, you faulty bastard.
How you were going to fake your death and run away with her.
"Oh, Sara, you're the only woman I've ever loved,
Oh, you're the only one who makes me orgasm,
Oooooooh Sara, Sara"
That one really hurt, Georgio.
You think I was satisfied with our sex life?
Half the time you couldn't even stick it in the right hole,
And still, I never strayed.
Oh, what does it matter now, huh?
Come morning, you'll be at the bottom of the ocean,
And I'll be on a plane to Japan.
You know, I've always wanted to go there and shop.
Ugh, stop fidgeting, George, and don't make that noise!
If you didn't scream on account of that wretched woman's face in the morning,
Than death should be a piece of pie, tasty and filling.
You're just trying to make me feel guilty!
Shame on you, George.
You knew what I would do if I found out,
You knew, therefore, the fault belongs to you, mister.
Ergh! You make me vomit - not a nice feeling.
The blade on this knife is cold.
It's going to pierce you like a shark tooth.
Although, I'm not so sure you won't physically
Get acquainted with a shark eventually.
You know, since I'm handing you over to the sea.
Aren't I a generous murder?
I always knew you had dreams of being a marine biologist.
Now, this is gonna hurt, George, I suggest you bite down hard on that sock.
Ack! Err! Hhh!
Now that's a real bloodbath, if you know what I mean!
Oh, how I could forcefully carve a design right here
In this beautiful throat -- you shaved this morning, didn't you? -- Oh,
Don't make that God awful face,
You used to love art.
You should be proud,
Because you're murder is my new art.
Oh! I believe I've found my new favourite outlet.

The Ode

Ode to the City, written by Courtney Olmstead

The city possesses the eyes of an eagle
For the city is always awake,
Nurturing the busy traffic and the busy people
I love the distorted cracks in the pavement, a characteristic that never flakes
And how the lights continue their lit, even when the people stir
The faint smell of gasoline on a cool, wet, mystical evening
The romantic roar of trucks, and car doors slamming of which I am lured
To peek out the window, with the sky above like a blanket for the city's stars to burn
I crave to visualize the sounds that are endlessly teasing
And I crave a midnight stroll through the city, my old friend, let my spirit again be cured

Journal #8: "Kaboom!"

Some people crack under pressure. Well, I do not crack. I explode. As these weeks go by, I'm beginning to feel more and more stressed out about everything that's going on in my life. I've got home issues, I've got school issues, I've got "Hair" issues. It's all leading up to one big emotional issue. And I'm dying for an emotional explosion right about now. Most people probably don't like the thought of "breaking down." But I love it. What a wonderful release it is. I just wanna run through a field and scream at the top of my lungs. I want to watch everyone who's in my way blow up along with my feelings. I do not believe in bottling things up inside; I think it's incredibly unhealthy for you. But lately, I've been having a hard time expressing the displeasure that is currently weighing me down. It's been difficult, even to cry, no matter how hard I try to squeeze the tears out of my eyes. During the March break, I had a large amount of time to myself, and for the first time in a while, I found it to be very detrimental. I had so much time to think, that I actually started to over think everything, and nit-pick every single little thing that I did. I was drowning in fears that I would normally roll my eyes at. It's funny how emotions can sneak up on you, especially considering that I've been unsuccessfully trying to provoke them on purpose. Somehow, I knew mine would sneak up on me in public.

I started sobbing right in the middle of our Saturday "Hair" rehearsal. We're at a crunch point in our show, and our director has just started re-blocking and re-casting our scenes. I got lost in one of our dance numbers, and suddenly, my mind got lost, also, in a tornado of stress and anxiety. No, I hadn't felt good, I hadn't had my homework done, I didn't understand the directions, I was afraid of disappointing everyone. So? I just started to cry in the middle of everything. It felt good, but the joy was wrapped in embarrassment. It's strange, because usually when I cry in front of others, embarrassment is the last thing I feel. Regularly, I have too much pride to feel embarrassed over crying. That sort of thing doesn't even fit my character. The worst part wasn't even that I just had a meltdown in front of 30 people, their eyes being my cage. The worst part was that all of them thought that I was crying because somebody, or more, was "yelling at me." Hah! No, no, when people yell at me.. I yell back. I was pissed that everybody thought that. I had a boiling rage, but I managed to keep that inside. See, that's what happens: first, you're vulnerable and all you can do is cry. Then, you're angry at everybody and proceed to snap at anyone who walks by. The only downside to breakdowns is the fact that at least someone is going to view you in a different light. Most people decide to keep it behind closed doors, but I'm not that type of person. I have nothing to hide. What bothers me is that certain people do indeed judge, and will probably begin treating you differently. You know, less "harsh", because they don't think you can "take the heat", so to say. It's ironic, since I am the heat. Excuse me for the rant, but it was about time.

You cannot escape emotions. And I would never want to. I love emotions because they remind me that I'm alive. I guess I can say that I'm starting to feel like I'm actually living again, instead of simply going through the motions. Right now, I'm just trying to get everything I need on track. First and foremost, I have to finish my school assignments. Then, I have to complete my community service hours. And of course, on top of that, I must work my hardest at making "Hair" a great production. Looking at everything I have ahead of me is extremely overwhelming, but these are things that have to be done, or else I'll let myself down. I'm going to let my explosions free, preferably on my own, where no one can pass judgements. After all, breaking down is such a cleansing experience. I laugh at those who run away from their own feelings. I rather embrace them, and let them flow at their own speed. In my perspective, it's the only way to live.

Lyric Poem

Replaced by Paper, written by Courtney Olmstead

I have a paper heart
Careful, it might blow away in the wind
It could slip through my ribcage at any minute
If it gets wet, it's more eligible to rip
So what happens if I rip this heart in half?
There is no blood
There are no guts, no veins
At least 'tis free from scratches, or cuts, or being drenched in chains
And yes, I'm free from the shatter of defeat

I'd like to see you put me in pain now
Yeah, I'd like to see you put me in pain

I'm sure I could breathe without a lung
Like living without a beating heart
All I really need is the light from the sun
I used to be on fire all the time
I rather a paper heart because my feelings will burn me up
Right up, yes

You can shape it as a sail boat, or an airplane, or a crane
I close my eyes and let the rain wash this little cut-out
I'm zen here with no feelings at all
There's a certain beauty in the numbing stillness
Maybe this time I can truly be a saint
Maybe this time I won't rip my heart to pieces
For what is in this symmetrical shape that would crack my scarlet soul?
And if yet my heart is way too big, then it's easy enough to fold
To hurt by hurting another is no longer legal in this body

You think I should tell him I'm not able to love?
You think I should tell him?

I'm sure I could fly without wings (and steal the stars from the sky)
Like living without a beating heart (I'll never be touched again)
All I really need is the shine from the universe
I used to be on fire all the time
I rather a paper heart because my feelings will burn me up
Just burn me right up

I could lose this white, blank excuse for the sake of being real
When will things be easier again?

Imitation Poem

The Human, imitated from The Aliens, by Charles Bukowski

you might not perceive it
but there are always
lights in the darkness
of life
hurting or
depressed.
you can dream while
sleep or wake.
you can fight discontent
feelings inside
you.
not all moments are
good
but overall
you are not helpless
and in time, you
will shine.
and when you die
many will miss you here
on earth, where gravity
sways.
you might not perceive
it
but your energy
persuades.
you are not simply
average.
nor have you come from outerspace
not a princess, or queen
poor or mean
you can
be
who you are
or
change on this
day.

*****

The Aliens, by Charles Bukowski

you may not believe it
but there are people
who go through life with
very little
friction or
distress.
they dress well, eat
well, sleep well.
they are contented with
their family
life.
they have moments of
grief
but all in all
they are undisturbed
and often feel
very good.
and when they die
it is an easy
death, usually in their
sleep.
you may not believe
it
but such people do
exist.
but I am not one of
them.
oh no, I am not one
of them,
I am not even near
to being
one of
them
but they are
there
and I am
here.

The Sonnet

The Symbol of Anger, written by Courtney Olmstead

I've been seeing guns in my dreams lately
"Who feeds the flame," I ask, "who feeds the flame?"
Anger and aggression, the cause of thee
Now haunted by the whispers in my brain
When I cannot purge a single tear drop
A block is formed between cause and effect
And everyone says, "Now, you have to stop"
So weak and frail, you never could reflect
I must disengage before I explode
Now breathe deep, little girl, and let it go
Or you'll miss your chance to kiss the sweet toad
The next time you dream, don't let the guns show
If that, you may easily go insane
With truth from your heart, you are not to blame

Found Poem

I will fall gracefully
In the arms of unconsciousness
Into my open heart
I am the Earth Mother
I am your moon, and your moonlight too

A spinning world can make you ill
I have a hiding place
The compass wouldn't help at all
Stay near the water
Where the pink sky can fall

I know now fragility
Porcelain Gods slow the rain
Forests of thorns borne through the sky
In a sunset, she finds repose
It gives beauty to breath

Oh, sweet bitterness, covered in thorns
How the God's above could shame
The road to love may be barred
Be it the Lord's way of chastising you
Nothing's gonna stop me from floating

Journal #7: "The Myth of Technology"

This world is becoming way too technical for my liking. I'm too old school for the modern day and age. I still play the original Super Mario Bros. (my absolute favourite is the second one!) on the old Nintendo. You know, the one where you always blew into the games to make sure they would work properly. "I was born in the wrong decade," I often say, regarding the subject. It's so true for me. I've always been so envious of those who were alive during the 80s, 70s, 60s, even decades before that. All of the popular film, music, and entertainment that I missed out on, even though I can still experience them today on my own terms, which I do. I wish I was born in another decade because of another reason too: the constant growth and development of technology. I really don't like the thought of, years from now, robots doing all of my chores, or being able to drive my vehicle in the sky. To be blunt, it scares me and equally frustrates me. We don't need all of this extra shit. We should have stopped at the iPod. The only reason I even condemn iPod's are because of their ability to play music wherever you are, or whenever you need it.

Thanks to the Internet, we have constant and immediate access to anything we please in the world. As you once demonstrated in our class, you can even read books on the Internet. How degrading! Not only are kids relying way too much on the Internet for knowledge, but the age of technology is also a main factor in the laziness that is tied to this generation. A lot of adults seem to pinpoint this era as the lazy, fat generation. No wonder. What an unhealthy obsession technology can become. I am sheltered from technology, which is my choice. I don't even have a cell phone. I don't like them. I see everyone constantly texting and flipping out their phones everywhere I go. It's becoming a real nuisance. I rather live without the obsession of material and technological possessions. In my opinion, the only manufactured possessions that I would keep in the world are computers, cell phones (only for emergencies), and okay, DVD Players, because the tape inside the VHS falls out much too easily. Other than that, I'd like to rid everything else. No doubt, it makes some of our lives better. Writing essays is much easier, and perhaps a bit fun to type up. I have to be fair, since I'm on Blogger, typing up a class assignment right now. I guess technology is not completely detrimental to the world. Technology is incredible when you think about it, but it is also powerfully hypnotizing.

Journal #6: "An Influential Person"

I live in a constant whirlwind of inspiration, and it is the most wonderful start and finish to my days. There are many people that I consider being connected to by soul. Sometimes I don't even feel like one person anymore. I discover new people, I meet new people, and over a period of time, I feel connected to them. I don't look up to anybody that I can't see myself in, and I don't believe that I've ever been influenced by anything that I didn't want to be influenced by. I am struggling to find words that properly describe the feelings that I have towards the influential people in my life. Words sometimes fail to justify what is felt inside. Ironically, I've found that, for myself, adding a melody to those heartfelt words can often express exactly how I'm feeling. First and foremost, I adore music. I'm always singing. I'm always humming. It drives others crazy, but that's who I am, and that's what I do. Music is my favourite outlet in the world, and it is fascinating to learn of people who don't listen to music very often, or who get sick of music very easily. I'm the complete opposite; I can listen to the same song all day, and still want to listen to it again and again. Without music, there would be no life. It upsets me when I hear people say that music doesn't matter. Music is unity, music is creation, music is expression, music is purgance. I have an extreme number of musical influences spanning from all area of genre. When I'm making my own music, I only hope that it turns out as incredible as theirs. I feel personally and spiritually connected to my favourite musical artists. Each and every one of them have their own unique spot in my heart. Music is my initial creative outlet. I wouldn't be able to handle anything without music.

I refer to Madonna as my hero. A guardian angel of mine. Not many people know why. And if they've ever heard me elaborate, most people really don't understand why. Madonna means so much to me, because in the simplest form, she has taught me, guided me, inspired me, and at the end of the day, has saved me. It is hard to explain with words how she makes me feel; when people ask me in person, I get tongue-tied, and when I'm stuck writing a journal entry on it, I can never find the right words to fully express the impact she has had on my life. I can still remember the very first time I ever laid my eyes on Madonna. I was only 8 years old. I was at my Grandparent's house, and I was plunked on the couch watching TV with my family. Her music video for Human Nature came on TV, and right then and there, I knew that I had a strong connection to her. Everything about her inspired me; her look, her attitude, her presence, her strength. I was glued to the screen. Years later, when I actually started getting into music and entertainment beyond Teletoon and YTV, I began to watch documentaries and read biographies about her. I thought it was incredible to feel such a bond with a person that I've never met before. I was about 11, I reckon, when I consider to myself to have become a Madonna fan, like how I am now. When I was at that age, I had barely any self-esteem. I had many internal conflicts, and I felt all alone in the world. I was so afraid of who I was; I couldn't handle it. I didn't love myself. Through M, who I have always seen so much of myself in, I learned self-respect, self-value, and self-love. When I would hear her music, see her on TV, read her quotes, anything, it was just one thing after another that I had in common with her. At that point, what kept running through my mind was How come you're so afraid to be yourself? If she can be herself in front of the world, than I can certainly be myself in front of the people in my life. It's time to be strong like M. I have truly learned so much from this woman about the world, about life, about the media, about people, and of course, about myself. It's hard to think about how my life would've gone up until this point without the inspiration of Madonna. It's deathly scary, actually. I might be a completely different person. I feel that Madonna has made me a better person in the world, given me hope, strength, and confidence throughout hardships in my life, and has ultimately made my life a lot happier and clearer. Seeing a simple smile on her face can enhance my day. Many people don't like Madonna because they don't understand her. Madonna is an incredibly strong and independent woman; she's ambitious, and she's got balls. A lot of people are afraid of a woman being in control and having power over her own life. I wish society was not so close-minded. I think it's disgusting the way people view M, and how they talk about her: Child-robber (the most hurtful), whore, inhuman, too old, blah, blah, blah, etc, etc, etc. Can I roll my eyes now? More than half of these people don't even know what they're talking about, and fail miserably at attaining any actual knowledge about Madonna and/or her life. I think it's obvious that it is not a reflection on Madonna - it's a pure reflection on them. I have now realized that my paragraph is now turning into a rant. I defend her like I would defend myself, and I hope that goes to show how wholeheartedly connected I really am to her. I don't know how many times I've tried to tell people how much I love Madonna. I'm like a broken record when it comes to my appreciation of her. I'm honestly sitting here, trying to think of new and creative ways of confessing my thankfulness. And even though this next line isn't new at all, I think it perfectly sums up this paragraph: if I were allowed to say only one thing to Madonna over the course of my entire life, it would be "Thanks." I know she would understand.

There are so many people who I look up to, but not many of them are people that I know in person. It doesn't bother me, but sometimes it hits me like a ton of bricks - I don't have many people that I can confide in. There aren't a lot of people that I fully trust around here. But I've met someone over the course of my high school years that I am immensely honoured to have had the chance of getting to know. Her name is Maria DiPardo, and she's like a big sister to me. I tell that to anyone who asks (and sometimes when they don't ask). I see so much of myself in her, it's even slightly odd that we're not related. Except for the fact that we don't look alike, and I'm not Italian. She is one of the most strong, loyal, warm, fun, caring, compassionate people that I've ever met, and I consider anybody lucky to have her in their life. She is very supportive of me, and I will always return that to her. Through her happiness, I can find happiness. I can go to her to unload, I can go to her for small-talk, and I can go to her with my problems. I know that when I talk to her, there is no judgement. I first met D (I often refer to her as this) back in the 10th grade. I was placed in her 3rd period History class, and at first, I wasn't sure if I was going to like it or not. I was always hearing negative things about her and the way she taught her classes. Once the semester started, I really couldn't understand why. Her presence was so warm and welcoming, I was uplifted by simply being around her. By the second week, I realized how awesome she was, and how wrong everybody else was. It's a shame when people don't see what a wonderful person she is, although, much like the silly people who hate on Madonna, it's clearly only a reflection on them, not on her. I remember sitting in her class, having so much emotional trauma going on in my life, yet forgetting all of it for that hour. Then, going to lunch, feeling much stronger than I did before. I don't even know how to thank her for that. I guess she should just be thanked for being herself. No matter what, I've got her back. We're like Lucy and Ethel, Timon and Pumbaa, Peanut Butter and Jelly. We go together. I will keep in touch with her, no matter where my life takes me, and wherever I am in the world, I will always send my love to her.

Journal #5: Childhood

Childhood, along with adulthood, is a very overrated topic. Who is to decide what age you should become an "adult" at? Everybody grows, learns, and evolves at a different pace. In my time, I have realized that it's not how long you've been on this Earth that truly counts, but it is the context of what is within the time you've spent on this Earth that truly counts. My childhood was filled with good times, and good friends. I never had a best friend - what is a best friend suppose to symbolize anyways? I grew up as an only child, and have only ever lived with one parent. My mom. I was never close to my mother, not even as a kid, and still to this day, our relationship is strained. Sometimes I feel like I've raised myself. Or I've been inspired to raise myself. I've even tried to explain to people before that I "don't really have a family" and that it's just me, myself, and I (and music, and Madonna, and whoever else decides to jump on the bandwagon). No, my childhood wasn't horrible. I had lots of fun. But I've always just felt older. Older than my actual age. And the funny thing is, I always wished that I was an older age, a more suitable age for myself. For example, I've always thought being 30 would be exhilarating - I guess I'll find out. Childhood, adulthood, young, old - whatever - it's not about your age. It's about your mindset.

I was overprotected by my mother. I wasn't even allowed to walk to school by myself in grade 6. And I lived right across the street from my elementary school. Even now, I swear I can see her spying on me from our apartment window while I'm making my way to Stamford. All in all, her overprotective nature never had any affect on me, positive or negative. I never made choices based off what she wanted. I always made choices based off what I wanted. Plus, I never listened to her. I've always been one step ahead of her. She told me not to smoke, or drink - well, I had already made up my mind about not participating in those activities. I am so lucky to have had the mentality at such a young age to make my own clever decisions about my lifestyle. I'm not arguing that parents should not look out for their children's well being. There are many bad influences out there, and I understand how difficult it is to spot the good ones from the bad ones. However, watching their every move will only increase their motive for rebellion. And giving them constant freedom will not teach them anything about right or wrong. I suppose the only answer for a parent is to balance authority, while also granting the choice of finding their own voice in the world.

As for me, I'm not interested in having my own children. I've always been secluded from family, and think that I would be extremely unhappy being a wife and a mom. That whole lifestyle completely clashes with all of my goals, dreams, and aspirations. My passions are my children, and I will be married to my career. This is not excluding a life partner from the picture. I may not believe in marriage or want to have kids, but I would still like to experience the security and happiness of a stable relationship. Who knows? Maybe years down the road, I will decide that I want children. Heck, I might even end up with a ring on my finger. I just hope all of my goals are reached by then. Perhaps childhood and adulthood aren't so overrated after all. They're just periods and stages in your life. Maybe they don't even exist. I rather not put labels on it. I know who I was then, and I know who I am now. I'm exactly who I want to be, and still growing every second.

Children's Story (First Draft)

The Stony Terror Paper Show, written by Courtney Olmstead

Once upon a time, on a day not so much like the rest, two young children, named Janet Weiss and Brad Majors, took their bikes out for a stroll under the bright spring sun. While racing eachother and laughing aloud along the nature trails, a storm began to brew in the sky. First, grey clouds began to appear, and at the first crack of thunder, it seemed that the whole street was being covered in rain.
"Oh no, Janet," said Brad. "We should turn around."
"That's a good idea, Brad. We could get electrocuted."
But Brad and Janet had come so far out on their bikes, that neither of them knew how to get back home. Brad and Janet began to look around, scared that they were going to be lost forever, out in the middle of nowhere! Then, Brad noticed a very big house behind a golden fence on the other side of the road.
"Janet, do you think we should go check it out?"
"No, Brad. My mommy says to never go to a stranger's house."
"But Janet, what if they have a phone? Our moms could come and get us. Do you really want to be stuck out here all on our own, in the rain?"
Janet's eyes widened and she shook her head.

Brad and Janet walked up the large steps of the very big house.
"Look, Brad!" Janet pointed to a wooden sign on the front door that read "Frankenstein Place."
They proceeded in knocking on the door. "BANG, BANG, BANG!"
Someone from inside of the house began opening the door. "Krrrreeek!"
A big, old, hunchbacked man stood in the doorway.
"We're sorry to bug you, Mister Frankenstein man," Brad said and gulped.
"We were riding our bikes out here and got lost. We need to call our moms for a ride."
The hunchback man did not reply, nor show any facial expression. He stared down at Brad and Janet with big, thick, observant eyes. Then the hunchback man said, "Your wet."
Brad and Janet looked at eachother and then back up at the hunchback man.
"It's raining," they replied quietly.

Stepping inside the house was like walking into a circus. Music was playing. Screaming and laughing was heard in all areas of the house. Brad and Janet were happy to have come to such a fun place, although both of them knew that they had to get home. They searched the coat room for a phone as the big hunchback man disappered to another room in the house.
"This house seems like fun. I wish we could stay" said Janet.
"Don't get any ideas," said Brad, "We're here for a serious reason."
Janet nodded in agreement. But still, she couldn't help her urge to dance.
Just then, a strange-looking women with a white-painted face and big frizzy red hair slid down the house's staircase railing. She was dressed in a maid's outfit. She smiled at Brad and Janet.
"Um.. hello m'am.. where is your phone?" asked Janet.
"Oh, and if you could show me to the bathroom too, please? My mom told me to go before I left, but I never listen."
The lady jumped off the railing and came towards Janet and Brad. A look of fear crossed their faces.
And then.. she started to sing! And dance too! Then, a whole bunch of people came out of the room next to them and started to sing and dance too. The hunchback man came right up behind them, dancing too. They all started to sing:

"It's just a jump to the left.
And then a step to the right.
Put your hands on your hips.
And bring your knees in tiii-ii-ight.."

On and on the strange people went, dancing and singing their song.
"It's so dreamy," sang the redhead, "oh fantasy, free me!"
Brad and Janet were impressed. They had never been around such happy people before.
The hunchback took Brad's hands and started twirling him around like a ballerina.
"Let's do the Time Warp again! Let's do the Time Warp again!" sang the group of people, including Brad and Janet. Laughing and jumping about, the redhead in the maid's outfit picked up Janet and gave her a piggyback ride. She lead Janet into the next room. What a big room it was. Brad and the hunchback followed.

Suddenly, a silence swept over the whole room. The redheaded maid let Janet down, off her shoulders, and stood in the middle of the room soluting, along with the hunchback. Soon after, everyone else in the room started to solute too. Brad and Janet couldn't tell what was going on. They huddled in the corner together, wishing they were at home again.
Then, they saw an elevator at the back wall, escalating down, with a tall man inside.
Everyone was looking at him like they were under his control.
Maybe they were, Brad thought!

The elevator gates opened, and out he came singing "How d'you do, Brad and Janet? I see you've met my faithful servants, Rip Rap and Fuscha!"
He pointed to the hunchback and then to the frizzy haired maid. They stood still like living statues.
Then, another person hopped out of the elevator. She had blue hair, and was wearing tap shoes. Her shoes made a "clinkity-clink" sound on the ground.
"Introducing the one and only Philadelphia! The only tap-dancing Dance-sylvanian around!" Rip Rap stated.
"And my name," said the man that came out of the elevator, dressed in a cape, and a black curly wig, "is Fred-N-Farter."
Brad and Janet started to laugh the sound of his name.
"Fred-N-Farter?" Brad wailed.
Fred-N-Farter looked sad for a moment. He put his hands up to his face, and seemed to be crying. Brad and Janet stopped laughing. They felt bad.
Then, Fred-N-Farter burst out laughing himself. The whole room laughed with him.
"AH HA HA HA!"
"Ello there, kiddies! You have now entered the Time Warp!" Philadelphia said.
Brad and Janet both looked at eachother.
"What is the Time Warp?" asked Brad.
Rip Rap, the hunchback, took Fuscha, the redhead, by the hand and they began explaining while dancing around in circles.
"The time warp is space in time. A time that does not exist! Here is the time warp. We are the time warp. And now, you are the time warp. Being here, means you'll never miss a minute, or two, or three, or four minutes in the outside world!"
Rip Rap and Fuscha stopped dancing. They did not look dizzy.
Fred-N-Farter came up behind them and put his arms around both of them.
"We come from a place called.. Dance-sylvania! And we are the Dance-sylvanians!"
"WOOOOO!" the Dance-sylvanians all screamed in excitement.
"My darling servants," Fred-N-Farter said, "I think it's time we showed them the lab, so they can see what's on the slab!"
Rip Rap and Fuscha nodded. Brad and Janet were excited. They had never been inside of real lab before. They were shown into the elevator by Rip Rap and Fuscha.

The elevator went up one floor.. two floors.. three floors.. and then it stopped on the fourth floor. They were at the lab. But it certainly did not look like the lab they had imagined. Inside, all of the Dance-sylvanians stood in a perfect straight line, staring at Brad and Janet. Fred-N-Farter had gloves on his hands, and tweezors, and was standing over a box in the shape of a rectangle!
He yelled out across the room to Brad and Janet, "You are here to witness my creation! I have discovered the secret to life itself!" All of the sudden the rectangle box began to shake wildly and the lights went dark. Everybody watched in terror.
"Brad, I wanna go home now!" screamed Janet over the Dance-sylvanians whispers.
"Janet, we can't go home now. We don't know how to work the elevator!"
Brad and Janet held eachother at the back of the room and cried in eachothers arms.
Just then, the lights flickered back on again, and a barking noise was heard from inside the rectangular box.
"Ladies and gentlemen! My creation!"
Out jumped a golden retriever from the box.
"Wroof, Wroof, Wroof" the dog went.
Brad and Janet forgot all about home again, and went to pet the dog.
The Dance-sylvanians were running around congradulating eachother, and Fred-N-Farter was jumping on the spot with the tweezors still in his hand.
"My baby! I created him! I will call him.. Stony Terror!"
"Raaaahh! Wooo! Yippee!" went the Dance-sylvanians along with Brad and Janet. They all started shouting "Stony Terror! It's the wonderful Stony Terror!"
Stony barked at them and wagged his tail!
Brad and Janet were getting tired of dancing. They were all out of breath. They sat down beside a very big pop machine on the side wall.
"Hey Janet, do you have any money for a coke?" asked Brad.
"Who brings money on a bike ride?" Janet replied.
Brad shrugged. At that very moment, the door to the pop machine opened up, and out pranced a pitbull!
The pitbull was big and had a droopy face. It was slobbering all over Janet's face.
"Ew!" she screamed. "Doggy germs!"
Fred-N-Farter ran over to where Brad, Janet, and the other dog were. He was very angry.
"Lennie! How did you find your way out?! This is not the place for you to be! Get back in there!"
Janet frowned, and her eyes swelled up with tears.
"But he's so sweet.. can't he come out and play for a while?"
"Play?" Farter asked rudely. "You think this is play? I have worked tirelessly, days on days, weeks on weeks, to present you with Stony, such a deliciously beautiful dog, and you want to play with that one?"
"Janet. Brad. I am mad," Fred-N-Farter declared.
He jumped up on top of the retangular box and sang "He has golden blonde hair, and incredible bone structure. His body couldn't be more sculpted!
"In just seven days," he added, "I can make you a daw-aw-aw-aw-awg!"
Fred-N-Farter revealed a banana chew toy hidden in his back pants-pocket and threw it back into the pop machine, past Lennie. Lennie chased after the toy. As soon as Lennie was far enough into the big pop machine, Fred-N-Farter closed the door and locked it.
"Lennie, you have failed me! I have a new and better creation now! I am putting you on a permanent time out!"
Farter looked back at the big group of Dance-sylvanians and Brad and Janet.
"Well? It had to happen at sometime," Farter sighed.
"AHHEEEERRHHHARGHHHAAHH!!" Philadephia cried out in hurt and anger.
"How could you? He was my favourite of your creations! He was my pet!"
Philadephia put her hands over her own ears, and continued to cry. She was now lying in the middle of the floor.
"Ugh," said Farter, "I've had enough of this. Fuscha! Rip Rap! Take her to her room!"
Fuscha and Rip Rap obeyed Fred-N-Farter and picked up Philadephia by her arms and legs. "Let's go," said Fuscha.
Once they were gone, Farter took Stony Terror and cradled him in his arms.
"My masterpiece!" he exclaimed, "come with me to my room. You need all the rest you can get after all of this commotion."

Brad and Janet were in shock.
"How could Fred-N-Farter have been so cruel to Lennie?" Janet cried in the hallway. They were all alone now and shown to bathroom to freshen up for an early dinner.
"He's an evil genious, Janet. It's the only way to explain it."
Suddenly, a buzzer went off and Fuscha's voice was heard all throughout the house: "Attention Dance-sylvanians! Stony Terror has escaped from captivity! I repeat, Stony Terror has escaped from captivity!"
Brad and Janet gasped!
"Oh no Janet! We have to find him! He could be lost, and scared! He's only been alive for a few hours!"
"Let's go look for him! I'll check the lab, and you check the dining room!"

Janet ran into the lab, and spotted Stony.
"Stony!" she cried out and smiled a humungeous smile! She ran over to him. He was lying down on the rectangular box he came out of.
"Everybody's looking for you, Stony."
He barked at her and looked down at his bleeding paw.
"Oh no, Stony. You're paw is hurt. What happened?"
Sonty made an "Auugwh" sound and put his head down.
"Oh right. You can't talk. Look at you, you're all dirty with mud. Have you been outside?"
Stony nodded as if he understood what Janet was saying. Janet was glad that he was alright now. So glad indeed, that she started to sing:

"I've only ever had cats before.
I thought there's no use getting into dog-petting.
It only leads to trouble and dog shedding.

I'll clean-a-clean-a-clean-a-clean you.
I don't want you to be dirty.
Creature of the night.

And if your fur grows, while you pose.
I'll shampoo you up, and scrub you down.
That's just one small fraction, to my cleansing action.

I'll clean-a-clean-clean-a-clean you.
I don't want you to be dirty.
Creature of the night."

"Janet!" Farter stormed into the room and interupted.
"Have you been holding my Stony hostage in the lab? I am very disappointed in you, Janet."
"Excuse me?" said Janet, about to cry. "I was just helping Stony get cleaned up. He was out in the storm."
Farter glared at Janet for a moment, and then dove down to hug Stony.
"Oh my little creation. Never run away from me again." he blubbered.
Brad came running into the lab, with a red face.
"Ohh.. Jah.. Net.. you fuh-hound Ssstony.." he wheezed.
A bell rang. Brad, Janet, and Fred looked up to the nearest staircase and saw Fuscha standing there with a bell.
"Dinner is served!" she declared.

Fuscha and Rip Rap showed Janet and Brad to the dinner table. There was steak already laid out on the plate. Brad and Janet took their seats.
Fred-N-Farter carried in Stony Terror and placed him in a baby seat that was right next to his chair. He also placed a birthday hat on Stony's head.
"I don't think dogs can eat steak, Mr. Farter" said Brad, worried.
"SHH!" Fred-N-Farter snapped.
"Now. Let's everybody wish my baby a Happy Birthday!"
Brad and Janet hesitated, but then started to sing along with Fred, Rip Rap and Fuscha:

"Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday dear Stony Terror! Happy Birthday to you!"

"Okay!" yelled Farter. "That's enough. You may eat."
Janet took a bite of her steak and scrunched up her face.
"Ew. Brad, this isn't even cooked!" she gagged.
Brad took a bite and spit it out. "Yeah, I think your right. Mr. Farter, you should learn how to cook from my mom. She makes good steak."
Janet nodded.
Fred stood up strikingly. "Are you questioning my skills in the kitchen, youngins? What do you know?"
Janet felt sick all of the sudden, and slipped under the table and crawled away. Fred tried to follow her, but slipped on a dog toy and fell. Janet got up on her feet and ran up the front staircase. Brad jumped out of his seat and ran after her.
"Janet, come back!" he called. Stony was left at the dinner table.

Janet ran and ran. She found herself back in the lab. Fred-N-Farter and Brad came in, chasing after her.
"You have caused a rucus in my house on the birth of my creation! You must stay here forever as a living statue!"
"No, Mister Farter! I have to go home! It is late!"
"It is never late.. in the Time Warp! You may stay here forever!"
"Janet! Don't listen to him! Come with me, and we'll find a way out!" yelled Brad, behind her.
Janet was terrified.
Fuscha and Rip Rap appeared beside Farter, and said "Master! I think it is now clear to the Earthlings.. that we are from another galaxy."
"Hah! I thought so!" Brad yelled.
Janet's mouth gaped, and she fainted. Farter went to pick up Janet.
"Why don't you just go to your own planet and stay there! Leave her alone!" said Brad.
Then, Brad began to sing,

"You made a hot dog, but you better not try to harm her, Fred Farter!"

Farter quickly activated a switch on the wall, and "POOF!," Brad had turned into a living statue. Another "POOF" sound, and a fainted Janet was turned into a living statue too.
"What a chaotic night," said Farter. "It even hurts to smile."

Fred-N-Farter carried the living statues of Brad and Janet to the middle of the stage in his built-in home theatre. He dressed them up in fancy clothes and beads. He activiated yet
another switch on the theatre wall, and Brad and Janet were no longer statues!
"Now, dance for me!," Farter demanded them, "This is a floor show! Dance and sing!"
"No, Fred-N-Farter! We want to go home!" said Brad.
"You are an alien! We know your secret! Let us go!"
Just then, Fuscha and Rip Rap barged in onto Fred's stage, wearing space outfits. They had squirt guns.
"Fred-N-Farter!," Rip Rap exclaimed, "Your time on planet Earth is up! The Earthlings know about us, and we must go back to Dance-sylvania! If you choose not to come with us, then we shall obliviate you with our squirt guns."
"Oh, please! Not that! What a horrible ending!" cried Farter.
Brad and Janet stood in the middle of the stage, shocked and scared.
Rip Rap turned to them and warned them, "Children. You must leave this house. We will be blasting this house into space in mere seconds, and connot stand to take you with us. And before you go, take this.."
Fuscha pointed to a trap door in the stage. Lennie hopped out of it, and ran into Janet's arms.
"Lennie!" She laughed.
"Yes. Now, go, children! Before we blast off to our home galaxy. Our people must Time Warp again!"
Brad, Janet, and Lennie too, went running for the door. When they reached outside, they sw their bikes on the other side of the rode where they left them. Before they went to pick them up, they turned around to watch the house fly up into the solar system. Brad and Janet waved, and Lennie barked.

"Janet? I think we should take this as a lesson to never ever go into a stranger's house again!" said Brad, seriously.
"You're right, Brad. I will never talk to a stranger again. And man, were those Dance-sylvanians strange."
"Yeah.. but there was one thing good that came out of this."
Brad looked down at Lennie and pet his head. Lennie barked and wagged his tail.
Just then, Brad saw his mom drive up in their family car. Janet's mom was in the passenger's seat.
"Brad! Janet! We've been looking all over for you!"
"Hi Mom. Hi Mrs. Weiss. We were gonna call for a ride, but the Dance-sylvanians took us in for shelter. We were in there for a really long time, but see, time is warped in there, and out here, the time we spent in there never existed! They already went back to their home planet, you just missed them! They gave us a dog though. His name is Lennie!"
"Kids and their imaginations," Mrs. Majors laughed, "Just get in the car, kids. You can bring the dog as long as he's clean."
"If he isn't, then I can clean-a-clean-a-clean-a-clean him," Janet sang. And she sang it all the way home.

Radio Play (First Draft)

Danger on the Other Side, written by Courtney Olmstead

Character List:
Inna, created by Arpita Kent
Peyton, created by Christilynn Guerin
Wally, created by Eric Varga

Peyton: [frantically] Are you okay, Inna? Please don't faint on me! [now shaking Inna by the shoulders] There's something dangerous about this hotel, I can feel it!

Inna: [at the point of half-consciousness] Huh? What happened? Why did this elevator stop?!

Peyton: I don't know why, Inna. The lights blacked out a few minutes ago, but they came back on again.. everything will be okay, alright? [sympathetically] Aw, don't shake so much, Hun. I'm here.

Inna: [puts her left hand to her forehead, while noticing a young-looking man lying in the right corner of the elevator] What is that?

Peyton: [sighs] Oh, that guy. He's been passed out in the corner for about 15 minutes now. He's harmless. But he smells like alcohol, so I suggest we let him alone for now. Who knows? Maybe we'll get out of here before he even knows what happened [giggles]

Inna: How do you know that? Perhaps he's one of those drunks that get really violent when intoxicated. Oh my God, and we're trapped in an elevator too. Perfect situation to take his anger out on me! Er.. us.

Peyton: [replying calmly] Relax, Inna. He's harmless. I know he is.

Inna: [hesitating] Wait a minute.. what? How do you know my name? And why do you always talk about stuff like you know everything?

Peyton: [smirking] Oh, I'm sorry, we haven't had a proper introduction. I'm Peyton Corby. [reaching her hand out to shake Inna's] I'm a little unusual, some would say. [winks]

Inna: Some? Like.. psychiatrists?

Peyton: [laughing] Oh no, of course not! I've just been born into something a little out of the ordinary, that's all..

[There is a period of silence. Inna hesitates to reply to Peyton.]

Inna: I really like your necklace. The crystal on it is so beautiful, so pure.

Peyton: Thank you. It's something I've inherited to take on my journey. Same with Sully. He stayed up in the room. If he were here, he'd know how to get us out. Aw well, he's a tired little creature - and clearly, by the look on your face, you think I'm crazy.

Inna: Well, not exactly. See, I do yoga, I understand spirituality. I even have a friend whose in spiritual silence - his name is Poni, I think you'd really like him - but the point is, I've never heard anybody talk about their life the way you do. You look as normal as anybody else, with your leather jacket and tight jeans, but honestly.. you are so hard to understand.

Peyton: You've only known me for 5 minutes. I wouldn't expect anybody to understand. [takes a deep breath] My parents died 2 years ago -- [cut off by Inna]

Inna: I'm so sorry to hear that.

Peyton: -- I was only 17. They were in Vancouver on a trip. They never came back. Since then, I've been obsessed with finding out what happened to them. Maybe I should just give up. But Sully - my Tibetan Mastiff - he says I should keep trying. He says it's part of my quest - part of my destiny. I meant what I said, I probably seem really unusual to you. But this crystal that your so fond of, it's part of my heritage. I am one of three powerful mages.

Inna: Mages? You mean, like sorceresses?

Peyton: Oh no, I hope you're not afraid! I wouldn't hurt anybody. I only want to use my powers for good. Only good.

Inna: If you have all these powers tucked away, then why aren't you using them? Why can't you get us out?

Peyton: Don't look so baffled - there is always a catch. You see, I have to find the other mages before my powers can be fulfilled. That is my journey. To find them. Once I find them, my powers will be strong enough. But for now, my visions are blurry. I can almost predict the future, but I have so much trouble controlling my powers.

Inna: And you don't care if people don't believe you? You want them to know this, is that why you told me?

Peyton: I told you because your spirit seemed interested. I do yoga too. [winks and giggles] And besides, if people don't believe me.. I can show them!

Inna: [smirking] Wow. That's quite a story. [with a hint of suspicion and curiosity in her voice] I don't believe you.. [takes a pause] but can you show me?

Peyton: Yes, of course I can. Watch. That guy in the corner over there. [points to the man lying in right corner] His name is Wally. He came here tonight with a young woman named Sara. His girlfriend, I think. She has blonde hair. She is very worried about him right now, and has gone to the lobby to get help.

Inna: Wally? Sara? Oh man.. I'm sorry, but this is too much for me right now. I just want to get out of here right now and go to bed!

Wally: [awakening with a headache, confused on his whereabouts] Holy shit. [scratching his head, and rubbing his eyes] My head feels like it's gonna explode.. why the fuck was I sleeping on the floor in here? And where's my bucket of ice? [now glaring at Inna and Peyton]

Inna: The elevator is stuck. Oh, wow, your face is so red.. maybe it's time to quit drinking.

Wally: Yeah, yeah, cram it, Dr. Phil.

[Wally stumbles up onto his feet]

Wally: How long have we been in here, eh?

Peyton: [glancing at her watch] 23 minutes exactly.

Wally: I came down here for a bucket of ice for me and my girlfriend. I guess this thing broke down before I could get it. God, I hope Sara isn't worried about me.. or better yet, I hope she doesn't think I walked out on her. [a distressed look crossed Wally's face] Last thing I need right now.

Inna: Did you say your girlfriend's name was Sara? [now looking at Peyton with an astonished look on her face]

Wally: Um.. yeah? [shrugging]

[Peyton and Inna both smile at each other]

Wally: Oh shit, I can't believe nobody brought a friggin cell phone. Aren't you guys gonna do something?

Inna: What can we do?

Wally: This. [Wally turns directly to the elevator door and begins to bang it roughly]

Inna: Don't bang the door, you'll make it worse!

Wally: HELP! Can anybody hear me?! [yelling louder] We're stuck in the elevator!

Peyton: Wait. I'm not so sure I want out of this elevator.

Wally: Whadda you mean you don't want out of the elevator? Why have you turned so pale?

Inna: She looks scared. [turns to Peyton] You don't sense something, do you?

Peyton: I'm having visions. Thick flashes of images in my mind. I have to concentrate.

Inna: Use your necklace! You don't need Sully.

Wally: Wow. You girls are seriously starting to creep me out. Yeah, don't worry. I wouldn't mind if you both stayed in the elevator [rolling his eyes]

Peyton: [clutching her crystal necklace, and closing her eyes tightly together] I'm starting to see a man. A man dressed in blue. It's a uniform, I'm pretty sure. He's got keys. Oh God, and he's got a knife!

Inna: [gasps] A knife!

Peyton: He is dangerous. He is in this hotel. I knew I had bad vibes about this hotel! He is in disguise. I think he's looking for me. I think he knows who I am! I think he wants to kill me! [now trembling]

Wally: [mumbles something under his breath] .. Shut up, you two! I hear a locking noise!

[The locking noise repeats five times. Bangs from the other side of the door follow.]

Wally: Oh good, someone knows we're in here!

Inna: Please! Help us, we're in here! [now banging the door non-agressively]

[The door is cracked open by the left right side, and two hands are seen pulling the door open with force]

Wally: Oh, thank heavens! Sara! [Sara jumps into Wally's arms] Baby, how did you know I was in here? [hugging Sara tightly] It doesn't matter. Let's go get some ice.

[Wally and Sara proceed to the lobby, leaving Inna and Peyton still in the elevator]

Inna: Peyton? Is everything okay? Why do you look so terrified? We can get out of the elevator now!

Peyton: [turns directly to Inna, and replies in a quiet whisper] That's the man.

Journal #4: Free Write ("Valentine's Day")

Each year, on the 14th of February, a "special holiday" occurs. I don't think it's so special, actually, maybe only for the chocolate salesmen of the world. Oh, Valentine's Day. How much money would we save without you? Hollywood makes tons of bucks by releasing romantic comedies and love stories in the theatre around Valentine's Day. I can't drag my mom to a movie with me, without getting stared at by couples, with that "Where's your boyfriend?" look plastered on their faces. Well, honey, I suppose I prefer self-love.

I mean, I like to analyze things right down to the core. So, really, what's the big deal about Valentine's Day? It's the same as every other 364 days out of the year. If you truly love someone, you can show them affection anywhere, anytime, any day. Of course, some people only think of it as having fun; a why not? kind of thing. Perhaps if I were in a relationship I would be the same. I hope I'm not coming off as bitter; I'm not bitter or angry to be single on Valentine's Day. I mean, if I haven't already stated where I stand, it's just like any other day. Another day with a title that is utterly pointless. The only good thing about Valentine's Day is the Ross and Rachel marathon on TVTropolis.

Valentine's use to be so fun as an elementary school kid. Going out to buy cute little cards with cute little sayings, hoping that all your classmates would be impressed with your selection. And then when the big day finally arrived, you'd be anticipating the moment where you and your friends circulated the isles of desks in your classroom, dropping in everybody's promised card one by one, and then returning to your own desk to count how many cards you got, and all the different Valentine's bought by others. That's what I remember most fondly about Valentine's Day. Nowadays, all I really anticipate is the chocolate (like I need any more calories). Stamford Collegiate created Matchmakers and Candy Grams in light of the occasion. I suppose it's funny to look at all the different names of the people you've been "matched up" with, or how awesome you look at the front of the class receiving your bright red sucker. However, these are things that don't interest me very much. After all, I should be getting chocolate and gifts every day.

Journal #3: "The Irony of Education"

Many Canadian teenagers drop out of high school nowadays. As an observer, I've noticed that a large amount of the high school population treat school as a chore, instead of a duty, and usually end up taking off to live a "funner" life. Two or three years later, they are back at their old high school, trying to earn their diploma three years behind schedule. Why is it that my culture, in North America, seems to take the education system for granted? I've come to think of it as a blessing for most people. School is a place where students can feel safe, and comforted. They make friends, and learn how to have healthy relationships. Think of your life without having ever gone to school. What would it consist of? All-day marathons of your favourite cartoons, and never getting to know the nature of society? Even students who think their "too good" for the school system must admit: school has plenty of advantages.

We, as a nation, do not value or appreciate our privileges in the same way that students in other countries do. North America has always been at the top of the food chain. We are an extremely wealthy and powerful country, certainly more wealthy and powerful than those in a place such as Africa. I don't want to be part of a society that does not offer warmth and shelter (physically and emotionally) to those in need. My hero, Madonna, recently started work on a girls school in Malawi to be opened in 2012. She understands that education truly is a privilege, and wants the people of Malawi to have it too. Contrastingly, I can't see the children in Malawi ever taking school for granted; as they deal with starvation, poverty, sickness, and other positions unimaginable to us, schools and teachers will surely be true saints and saviours to them.

North America is greedy. And that's all. We don't value the things that we should. It is sad that all we do with our power is reign above, instead of lend a hand. We've become too preoccupied with materialism, and have forgotten the true human spirit of love and care. If money makes that much of a difference, why hasn't sharing been the option all along? We have never lived in poverty; we have never lived without financial aid. Perhaps Canada should starve for awhile, and have to deal with child deaths every 30 seconds. If our country learned the suffering endured across seas, and the strength that it takes to even continue breathing, then perhaps this part of the world would act out in compassion. I feel that if we had to live that way, our country would find more love in their hearts to give. Our country can expect to live in guilt if we can never answer the call. Because that call is my call as well.

Journal #2: "The Pen is Mightier than the Sword"

The pen may be mightier than the sword, but it is the mind that chooses to reflect upon it that is of greater strength. I believe that a writer has the honest ability to open the eyes of others, and even challenge the current mindset of the reader. I also believe, however, that it must be accompanied by the willingness of the reader in which to change. If no one takes the time to listen, then how can anyone believe in the pen's worth? My conclusion is that, if you want to change the world, you must first start with yourself. Through my writing, I want others to be able to realize their own faults and strengths, but also to realize their potential for growth to become better versions of the people they already are. If I could provoke thought, or self-realization through anything I've written, than my goal has already been met.

Literature is a beautiful art form. Through art, there will always come peace and unity. I suppose the first issue I would like to explore is the coldness and the disconnect that fills so many, too many, people in the world. The only way human beings can make a difference in the field of economics, politics, poverty, violence, and unfortunately many other things that seem to weigh us down, is to inspire others to reach for that change themselves. This may be the part where I'm suppose to wake up from the dream, but I have faith in my fellow man, and I truly do believe that the pen is mightier than the sword.

Journal #1: "Write what you know"

What do I really know? A question that truly stumps me. What kind of knowledge do I have that I can adapt into my writing? The truth is, I don't really know my limits when it comes to writing. I have a thorough understanding of myself, my experiences as well as the experiences of others, and life in general. But to sit down and think about how to answer such a simple question is surprisingly a big challenge. When I write, I usually draw from emotions and feelings that I have felt, or that interest me. The stories that I write (or want to write) usually have plot lines that are incredibly unthinkable in real life, but I personally believe that if my character is a real and believable character, then you can ultimately take the story anywhere. I already realize that I have a heightened understanding of the human psyche, which benefits writing as you can reach out to many different people from different walks of life, and surely create a unity.

As for genres, I am extremely interested in psychological thrillers/tragedies/horror fiction. I love a dark storyline that is guided by a relatable character. I am very inspired by Stephen King's work, as cliche as it may sound. He is the only author I fully trust when it comes to reading. I have taken a lot from reading his novels, on technique and character development. I am most interested in portraying internal conflicts, and exploring the affects of trauma and memory through my characters. I am also fascinated by demonology, and mythology, although those are the types of genres that can be interpreted in many different ways, therefore it may create a hit or miss for some readers. I have always been interested in controversial topics, and I feel that writing is a fantastic way to provoke thought in others, which is probably my second goal, next to reaching out to people.

I have so many story ideas that crowd my mind, sometimes my imagination overwhelms me. I am only interested in writing fiction on my spare time. The only thing that I am certain I don't know is geography. Where are the settings of my stories anyways? To be honest, I usually create a fictitious town, or city so that I don't have to do any research for the setting. That way, I can use creativity to my full ability. I am willing to do research on occupations for specific characters, and themes. I don't believe that there is anything that should be avoided in writing. As there is always room for improvement, there is also always room for enlightenment.