Friday, February 24, 2012

Introvert vs. Extrovert

The other night, my mom grabbed a TIME magazine and shoved it in my face while I was watching 'Smash' on the computer. My mom was acting like a four-year-old who'd just discovered the magic of pixie sticks. The article she wanted me to read was called something like 'It's okay to be shy'.

Oh, the horror.

I spend a good chunk of time sitting in the car listening to my mom tell me that I have to talk more or else I'll turn into a creepy old man and rot away in a cave. (a cave with internet connection, though. And I've never wanted to be a guy, so I don't see how that'll happen. Sex changes cost a lot, ya know) She goes on and on about this story about how when she was my age, she was as shy as I was. Honestly, I think she's lying when she says that. She makes up all this crazy stories whenever we complain about anything about how her life was so much worse and yada yada yada. But now she can talk to anyone without feeling shy about it. Then she points out that her grammar and pronunciation suck because English is her second language.

But my mom is not an introvert. She goes insane when she has to stay home for longer than a weekend. My mom always needs to be chatting with someone or doing something or else she'll start to feel boxed in and panicky. I happen to be the exact opposite. When given the choice, I'd rather stay home. On Sunday nights, when I realize that I have to go to school the following day and see a bunch of (stupid) people, I freak out.

Okay, boring backstory aside, I'm not really much of an introvert either. I can't concentrate for long.

But my mom handed me this magazine and was like "It's okay. You can still be successful and quiet." when only hours before, she was yelling at me to be louder and get my thoughts out into the world. She was so giddy about it, so that cancels out the article being some kind of an apology.

So, like any bookish nerd, I read the article. And guess what? It told me that I'm not really an introvert.

(My mom didn't even read the article. It's hilarious, actually. I thought she'd start saying weird things like 'Presidents can be introverts. Introverts can be CEO's of big companies.' Because I don't want to do any of those things at all.)

I'll admit it; after reading the article, I laughed. Then I got pissed. What kind of a person would dare tell me that I'm not an introvert? Me, the girl who preferred fictional characters over any real kind of company? (Did I mention that conversations make me panicked? In books, it's all scripted out.)

Okay, okay, so I might have some kind of social phobia rather than normal introversion.

So here's what I think introverts and extroverts are like. This will be explained simply because I have the thought process of a six-year-old and with vampires as examples because I'm a YA paranormal reader.

Say you're a loner vampire (introvert). It doesn't necessarily mean you hate people. It just means lots of people and big events stress you out. Heck, you might even enjoy being with lots of people and participating in huge events, but those things tire you. You 'feed' on small projects you do by yourself.

Now, let's say you're a stereotypical sexy vampire. (extrovert. Don't kill eat me. I know stereotypical vampires are the loner sort.) It doesn't mean you hate being by yourself and working. You just 'feed' off the energy that crowds give you. Human interaction wakes you up and energizes you. You like being around people and doing things that'll throw you in new places.

So, yeah, these two vampire types are kind of on the extreme ends. There's a huge area in between that most people fall under.

This is a weird post. I just had to throw my thoughts out there on this classification.

Friday, February 10, 2012

Confusion and Hiatus

This is probably one of the stupidest things I'll ever say, but I think I'm falling out of love with writing. Instead of this fun, amazing, escape from reality that I used to feel, everything feels like work. I'll write 400 words and then feel like it's complete crap. (which, it totally is, of course. but for once, I'd like to just think otherwise) I'm just slogging through word after word while my frustration grows stronger and stronger.

While I write, I think about how much I hate my prose. I think about how inconsistent my characters are and how two dimensional. I think about my mom telling me that I should stop reading trash and that I should read some nonfiction instead. I hate my writing. I hate my story. Heck, I even hate my characters. There's almost no enjoyment anymore.

While I have a bet in the works with my lovely friend Chloe from Cannibal Carrot which means I can't actually quit writing for very long, I'm still going to take a break. I just need some time to think things through.

Don't mistake this for quitting. I've invested too much time into this to give up. I've spent SO much time on the internet learning about the publishing industry and how to hone in on my craft. At the core of things, I know that I still love writing.

I just need a little time to sort out my head. Like my bedroom, it's a complete mess. The REAL part of high school is looming on the horizon, as well as a few other stressing future events, and I have to sort out my goals.

Which will have to be SCHOOL before writing. It'll be super hard, considering the fact that my brain goes like "NONONONONO!" when someone even mentions school.

Wish me luck!

Friday, February 3, 2012

Self Pity and Visual Inspiration (2)

Sorry for just disappearing again. I happen to do that a lot. Despite the silence on the blog, I haven't been getting much writing done. I'm writing slower than I can run a mile (which takes a pretty darn long time) and it's okay. *dusts away cobwebs on the blog and in my brain* While surfing the internet, I came upon a writing forum. Being the curious person I am, I clicked on it and read the comments, stalker style. Except, you know, without any intents on any actual stalking. Apparently, this thirteen-year-old girl was in the midst of publishing her book.


Yeah. I'd like to say that I looked at it and treated it as one of those random facts like "The sky is blue". But no, my face kind of looked like I just found out Texas is undergoing desertification in my World Geography class.

I was furious at myself. For years, I've been calling myself a writer and I haven't even finished a story yet. And lookie here, a thirteen-year-old's gonna have her book out, like, for sale and stuff. I couldn't concentrate on my schoolwork. I was just...wallowing in self pity. Of course, that's pretty normal for me, so maybe I should say that I was drowning in self pity.

One day, before the first bell rang, I told my friend. She, being wise and totally smart, basically told me I was an idiot for thinking that way. Except, you know, with nicer words. Actually, because she's a writer too and way better with words than I'll ever be, she compared it to climbing. She said something about how she climbed this hella high thing (Um...yeah. Sorry for not remembering the actual place. Half Point or something? Half Peak?) and said that eight-year-olds have climbed it before as well. But she was proud of herself for climbing it and having kids younger than her doing it didn't bug her. My friend did it and that's what mattered. Age isn't the most important thing. (Oh dear, that sounds a bit...weird. But we're all innocent people here, aren't we?)

So, the moral of her story is that age doesn't matter. Publishing isn't a race. It doesn't matter if you're published at thirteen or thirty or even seventy. Heck, maybe in twenty years or so, I won't even want to be published anymore. Maybe I'll have another dream. (Which would be really sad)

The following pictures were found on