tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89330406558366817432024-03-13T14:08:43.909-07:00A Pickwickian LifeA Pickwickian Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445410283122517031noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8933040655836681743.post-50602465089664334522013-01-02T11:22:00.001-08:002013-01-02T11:22:55.583-08:00Old Ambitions, New YearWe tend to forget the former vigor of our youth, of what w had for ourselves and others. We become cynics and jaded human beings as life continues to take us down the jagged road.<br />
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But we can smooth those jagged edges and plow through the spiked fences and glass shards. We have the power and desire to sweep them all and slide them into the nearest dumpster. I certainly want to and will stop simply saying so and actually putting words into work.<br />
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Fall not to conventions but your own convictions. Be honest to yourself, because that honesty is transparent and will not only inspire others, but I believe, in the end, inspire yourself.A Pickwickian Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445410283122517031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8933040655836681743.post-1175133477035709702012-10-22T14:14:00.002-07:002012-10-22T14:14:23.177-07:00A Paper Boat's Dream<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfhib0pS3u8Kz9OVzAUyPNciW8XHvhGHWSbOrpTBt-kdYuShyphenhyphenGF13eG9lTFUMrzAMpfkBJ_T5VQqfj9QqAO_Zd2GSqzvnsXD0DcC8f1U5Yt-O2BXI13dsWRd_BHVD_NcZgq-sBXVAL2uk/s1600/Paper+Boat+Dreams+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfhib0pS3u8Kz9OVzAUyPNciW8XHvhGHWSbOrpTBt-kdYuShyphenhyphenGF13eG9lTFUMrzAMpfkBJ_T5VQqfj9QqAO_Zd2GSqzvnsXD0DcC8f1U5Yt-O2BXI13dsWRd_BHVD_NcZgq-sBXVAL2uk/s640/Paper+Boat+Dreams+001.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">By Yours Truly<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">
Do not let the laughter and disbelief of others, affect what you want to do in life. </div>
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<br />A Pickwickian Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445410283122517031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8933040655836681743.post-79355260168515033592012-09-21T20:12:00.002-07:002012-09-21T20:12:18.482-07:00Never Forget, You are Never Alone. Twelve years ago, I lost my best friend.<br />
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Today, I live for the both of us. Not a day goes by when I don't think of her, wonder what she thinks of my decisions, and what she would say about my dreams.<br />
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All I know is, she is by my side, as I would be by her side with her dreams.<br />
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Together, heart in heart, I hope to succeed for the both of us. I hope she can feel my love for her in every thing I do, in every word I write, in every experience I go through.<br />
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Sometimes, it feels lonely without her. But I know she is with me. She is always with me, as long as I never forget her.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Us - by Yours Truly</td></tr>
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How can I ever forget her?A Pickwickian Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445410283122517031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8933040655836681743.post-23132346355268331552012-09-19T14:41:00.000-07:002012-09-19T14:41:04.008-07:00It's a Beautiful WorldSitting among the petals of wild sunflowers, they tell me, as long as you gaze towards where the sun is shining. The charcoal clouds will disappear. The storm will pass. The skies will be blue again.<br />
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While you can feel the sun rays lightly brushing against your skin, you know there is hope.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunflowers by Yours Truly</td></tr>
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Even when you can't see the sun, even when you can't feel its rays; keep in mind, he is just beyond the clouds, waiting for you to push the clouds aside and embrace the sun.A Pickwickian Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445410283122517031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8933040655836681743.post-42014363075805652812012-09-11T09:41:00.000-07:002012-09-19T13:12:18.273-07:00Dreaming Whales and Puffy CloudsAs I drove down the coastal highway, my windows were rolled down, allowing the fresh afternoon sea air to flow through and embrace me after a long day. It was salty, soothing and a little sad. Cars zoomed passed me, as if trying to get home as fast as possible because their house is on fire. I took my time. I coasted. I let the hills take me however fast they want to.<br />
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A marine layer began to come in - cloaking the ocean with a light film of fog, misty and magical. The sky was slowly turning a little pink, some gray with a hint of orange. When I looked up, I saw whales. Swimming among the ocean of clouds, one by one, flipping their tails like children with a towel tied around their necks, pretending to be Superman.<br />
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I saw beyond the clouds. I saw beyond the sky. I saw beyond what reality allows me to see.<br />
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The whales are real; they dream as I dream. They wait for us to ride upon their sturdy backs through the sea of life and adventure. Sometimes, we may fall off and find ourselves swimming alone around strange creatures around the unfamiliar sea floor. But always, we will always find them again.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dreaming Whales and Puffy Clouds by Yours Truly</td></tr>
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And the whales will find us.A Pickwickian Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445410283122517031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8933040655836681743.post-22694465396880394592012-09-01T11:00:00.002-07:002012-09-01T11:00:45.271-07:00Weekend MusingMy clock read 9:30 a.m. when I first opened my eyes this morning. A simple luxury, spending just a few more minutes in bed without feeling guilty or the need to rush out. The sound of fresh coffee beans grinding announced to the whole world of my awakening - then the wavering scent of homemade Friendship bread (really just a cinnamon loaf) baking patiently in the toaster oven. Soon, the whole apartment smelled like a fabulous bakery.<br />
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I pour what most people consider to be the morning's savior into a favorite mug. A piece of bread found its way onto a plate. I turn on my computer.<br />
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Simplicity, at times, is simply enough.<br />
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<br />A Pickwickian Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445410283122517031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8933040655836681743.post-481125218485650272012-09-01T02:22:00.001-07:002012-09-01T02:22:09.874-07:00The Lamp is Still OnSometimes, the lamp on my desk remains to be the only one on. In the house, in the neighborhood, in the whole city, in the world. The only sound I hear is the light breathing coming from beneath the warm bed covers, the soft whirling of my computer, and the sprinklers going off at 2 a.m.<br />
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Sometimes, it is because I have something on my mind that stops me from finding comfort by closing my eyes. Often times it is because I am too stubborn to sleep - tricking myself into thinking the night is mine, the night is to achieve, the night is to love and think of mad things, write mad things and drink, drink, drink.<br />
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Sometimes, I just want to sit and stare. Seeing nothing, feeling nothing, thinking nothing.<br />
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Sometimes, often times, the night is friendly and quiet. It is not lonesome. It is peaceful.<br />
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It is me.<br />
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<br />A Pickwickian Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445410283122517031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8933040655836681743.post-66472737334479530722012-06-28T23:53:00.002-07:002012-06-28T23:53:49.129-07:00Past. Present. Past. Present.I have been thinking a lot about being able to learn from mistakes and avoid falling down the same slope again.<br />
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But I know, for most people, that is not an easy feat.<br />
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There is reason why history tend to repeat itself - is it because we didn't learn from the past? Or can we not compare because of the different times and different circumstances? Should that even become a contributing factor? If so, does that mean we will never be able to learn from our past because situations are incomparable?<br />
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I know someone who is trapped in his own glass box of time and self. He is unable to see beyond what his eyes are allowing him to see, and the edges of the glass limits his ability to accept that there are other ideas other than his own that can be right, and he could be wrong.<br />
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Ironically, this person is aware of his actions, his mistakes and his wrong-doings. And yet, that does not prevent him from saying the things he shouldn't say, or saying things that is moot and rather exacerbates the situation.<br />
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When both action and words can no longer be used to clear his mind and help him understand the world beyond his glass haven, what can be done?<br />
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<br />A Pickwickian Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445410283122517031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8933040655836681743.post-1379982416802203722012-06-17T16:31:00.000-07:002012-06-17T16:31:01.211-07:00The Blank Canvas of Friendship<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Today, I am thinking of what it means to be a friend. A
friend is a pillow during times when I feel utterly worthless. A friend is my
free therapist who I know will always remain by my side, if not physically, but
spiritually, mentally and emotionally. A friend is a piece of art, an essential
part of my easel of life when I wield my paintbrush with doubt. Friends are
there together, during certain times, and especially during times of
uncertainty. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But today, I realized, my paintbrush is still dipped with
the most brilliant color, ready to be flourished upon a well-traveled canvas.
But there is no art, the pieces have broken into pieces.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And I am not sure if those broken pieces are replaceable,
or can it be re-painted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I have always been someone else’s pillow, that free
therapist. However, I may not be that piece of art. At least not to the person
I thought to be a friend. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nothing serious has happened, but sometimes it’s the
tiniest detail that allows you to think, to re-evaluate the relationships you
have with another person. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Perhaps it is time for me to dump out the old canisters
of paint and find new ones. To clean off the dried coats that once smeared
across the caps. Perhaps I can no longer allow myself to continue painting
images of blurriness and ingenuity, rather, it is time for clarity and true
heart. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As we all I know, words are simple. Art can be simple. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But a true friend, a real friend, is as rare as Mona Lisa’s
smile. <o:p></o:p></span></div>A Pickwickian Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445410283122517031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8933040655836681743.post-39040128844082840122012-06-13T13:46:00.000-07:002012-06-13T16:59:49.172-07:00<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">As I drove through the highway last night, the road was
dark and the only light source came from my newly fixed low-beams. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">I enjoy darkness. Not because I naturally have a “dark”
persona, nor am I a pessimistic person, nor do I have the habit of hiding. I
simply find “calm” and “quiet” in darkness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Leaving a crack of my car windows open, the night air
embraced me. Filling my lungs with a crispness of air you can only feel at this
time. I can almost feel the wheat, the grass, the cold dampness of the wind. It
reminds me of my college years, where I would walk along the tiny streets
beside the fields, feeling the grains though my fingers. It was the smell of
serenity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">Hearing my engine purr softly beneath me, I took a moment
to enjoy the darkness. Wishing the cars who drove next to me would pass
quickly. Wishing the road would just go on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">But where would I end up? It would be unknown, but to
know I have traveled long and hard to get there, sometimes that is all that
counts, no matter where the destination ends up being.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">My favorite moment is knowing everyone is asleep; warm
under the protective covers of a well-loved duvet. My desk lamp is lit, a soft
glow. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">The surrounding shadows are my friends of the night. The
stars shine a light for me for times when I am feeling rather bleak. The moon
sits high above the grey clouds, reminding me there is always light through the
darkness of the tunnel. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">It is like wracking through your mind for that simple
memory, for that moment in time you wish could remain still, for the people you
love but have left you. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">There is a reason why you are searching for that memory,
to remember that person. Whether it’d be a lover or a lost sibling; the tunnel
of darkness is your mind, and when you finally find that memory, you find light.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">You remember that person, forever. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>A Pickwickian Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445410283122517031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8933040655836681743.post-49482661317719957252012-06-08T13:34:00.001-07:002012-06-08T13:34:21.019-07:00Throwing the Cap and Jumping into Life<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The moment I threw my own graduation cap into the air many years ago, I felt the cuffs of high school break from my wrists. The feeling was exhilarating, the bird is finally leaving its cage, the mermaid's wish to turn her magical fins into human legs was granted. It was the end of something dark, I was seeing a light through the tunnel of adolescence, finally I was leaving, leaving a place I so desperately wanted to disappear from.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy8jpCL_FrajEuBzU0mu14fnNnZ44peyYTC1fWXUc2Lngddk-3J8Xyn5GfwFtN5v579KmRYvqqCRJbZCnx1WM1MVEM2opLibhEyBr2VP4q6D_vIGS2uFQ3yk8BECkpfzYEHeNz9KNCAA4/s1600/graduation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy8jpCL_FrajEuBzU0mu14fnNnZ44peyYTC1fWXUc2Lngddk-3J8Xyn5GfwFtN5v579KmRYvqqCRJbZCnx1WM1MVEM2opLibhEyBr2VP4q6D_vIGS2uFQ3yk8BECkpfzYEHeNz9KNCAA4/s320/graduation.jpg" title="A graduation in San Francisco - photographer unknown" width="212" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Years later, I can still feel that desperation. The strong antipathy I thought I had for the institution I always held a grudge against for holding in the ubiquitous raging teenage hormones and putting a box on top of my head when I wanted to step out of the dotted lines. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Was it really that bad? I thought so. Perhaps like every other teenager at the time. I call it my "emo" moment. Thinking the whole world was against me and didn't understand what I wanted to do with my life and it was so hard. It was just...so hard.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now, I am doing what I love, I am in a place where I can't complain, and for the first time I can say life isn't too bad. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Someone asked me if I regret feeling that way in high school, or if high school wasn't as bad as I thought it was. I told them, there is nothing that I regret, and I don't think I will ever regret anything. Whether it'd be a decision, or a feeling.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There is a reason why I made those decisions. There is a reason why I was feeling a certain way at a certain time. I don't think time and experience should change any of that. Because maybe, just maybe, if it wasn't because I was feeling a certain way to cause me to make those decisions, I wouldn't be sitting here today and telling you that I regret nothing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I still consider myself as a "youth", I also don't believe time and experience should change that. The advantages of being a youth is you are supposed to learn from your mistakes. You are supposed to experience everything the world gives you. You are supposed to fight battles and win wars, paving the way to your own happiness. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Graduation season always reminds me of my own. Was I ever sad it ended? No. The moment I was able to throw that cap, I will never forget the pressure off my shoulders cleared off to take on a different type of pressure that is the real world. I was ready, a little scared but prepared for all of life's disappoints and wonders. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I want to let our next generation know, if you find something you love, pursue it. It doesn't matter what other people say, it doesn't matter what other people think. What matters the most if yourself. You are the one in control of your life. </span>A Pickwickian Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445410283122517031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8933040655836681743.post-63703496113828163292011-04-21T10:56:00.000-07:002011-04-21T11:07:38.033-07:00April Gloom Writing Bloom<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRnCWF-8C2XApMbBD6d-cCUuVljYfjiSRq7M5eny5Nx-ozwbpWxijXT086uC7NFlUjyWtTI15lbXjyS9Vt8y3yMGnmhJ2lYIErte-bByiAjqjtSP8p8JDWrUqvN8kUP42RnN6Mtv7VQtc/s1600/2889823026_5748716fd8.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 319px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRnCWF-8C2XApMbBD6d-cCUuVljYfjiSRq7M5eny5Nx-ozwbpWxijXT086uC7NFlUjyWtTI15lbXjyS9Vt8y3yMGnmhJ2lYIErte-bByiAjqjtSP8p8JDWrUqvN8kUP42RnN6Mtv7VQtc/s320/2889823026_5748716fd8.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598098301708587218" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span">Woke up to gray skies and slight drizzles of water drops. The usual dark, gray parking lot appeared to have a shadow of dampness. Usually, the gloominess dampens the mood, but today, it feels unusually...clear? Soothing? </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Ideas bloomed into my mind as I was falling asleep during the night, I feel determined to at least commit some of those hard-to-come-by ideas to paper today. I also sent out some letters to agents, here's to good karma!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div></div>A Pickwickian Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445410283122517031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8933040655836681743.post-62830278136540138992011-03-28T08:13:00.000-07:002011-03-28T11:52:50.521-07:00Let the Monday frustrations begin...<span class="Apple-style-span" >I am not really into the idea of waking up at 5am on a Sunday to write a story, sending editors stories hours and hours before the deadline, just to find out on Monday that they didn't publish it. I hate to begin the week with such a frustrating way, when I was so determined just last night to have an amazing week. Of course, I can still not let it affect the remaining days, but I think a moment is needed to let it all out. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >The idea of putting so much work into something I care about, only to have it all gone to waste is not a good feeling. But of course, as I chose to walk the path of a reporter and a writer, these are just the little things I'm going to have to deal with (and have been dealing with) for a long time coming. (But please, improve in some way at least?) Not everything you do will receive recognition, just because you are determined, it doesn't mean you will reach your goal.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >But I do think, no matter what, you have to continue to believe in that magic. You may not reach what you originally wanted to attain, but because of your determination to continue going at it, there may be many other windows and doors that will open along the way. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >A news reporter from KABC Los Angeles once told me, <i>"You are aggressive, I like that.</i>" It's always odd to hear someone tell you that your determination shows. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i>"Be patient, be persistent, you will persevere," he said. </i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Sounds like something I should put on as a tattoo. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >So some frustrations and some inspiration thoughts to begin the week, perhaps it's not as bad as I thought. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Keep those fingers crossed. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div>A Pickwickian Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445410283122517031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8933040655836681743.post-78256540005247625912011-03-25T13:08:00.000-07:002011-03-25T13:49:31.892-07:00Procrastination, an inherent human nature<div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCU9T1dDKZB0iLLc1K-Tr-UYJ8ge-PkOpzhMl5m8eprNkds1vwgYztn18t34NwMIBY2Tn3rlXU80AAqgnPpzNdNjrmIxy0OyLcmlXyyRx2A-B1MbMAblDUAQEYwAkJOIbRLo8wITnrq7U/s320/authorsnoopy.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 82px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588122497327430770" /></div><span class="Apple-style-span">I am having the hardest time convincing myself to sit down and write. Everything is acting as a distraction right now. At home, it was the dirty dishes, my pens needed new ink and suddenly, I felt the need to make the bed. At the local cafe, people's conversations always find a way through my earphones, which were in place to block out the outside noise. I purposely left the house to stop myself from cleaning everything possible to avoid writing. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Procrastination, an inherent human nature,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"> no?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">The reason why I finally decided to start this blog is to create an outlet for novel writing. I've finished a young adult story which I'm in the process of trying to get it published. And rather than just waiting for something to happen, I'm going to start on another writing project. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Is it natural to find it difficult to start on something new when the old hasn't gotten anywhere yet? I love writing, I love reading, that is why I'm doing this. But is it normal to feel dejected, when nothing has really come out of it yet? </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I know I won't stop because of a little pebble, I think I just need to let the words come out and worry about the rest of everything later. I have the drive, the ideas and the ability. But I am just having the hardest time concentrating. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">Must. Convince. Self. To. Settle. Down. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; ">Perhaps I need to pull a Henry David Thoreau and get myself a cabin. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div>A Pickwickian Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445410283122517031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8933040655836681743.post-6932047991195197232011-03-24T10:51:00.000-07:002011-03-24T11:30:06.720-07:00Don't forget to wipe your feet...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCM23G0gIdDWaQP0KnvGzqqJcCtq19anBS0h2Gf-vAmrjTInTdxCI-OO49acbfyodQokpqX-NB7EVMNHqluxC9FYTGgKvl8m7DufbkrcxTMqZ7BqRXDzWl2a4Jld3PeIKrMDMGz_X0a58/s1600/the_pickwick_papers_-_project_gutenberg_etext_19222.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 204px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCM23G0gIdDWaQP0KnvGzqqJcCtq19anBS0h2Gf-vAmrjTInTdxCI-OO49acbfyodQokpqX-NB7EVMNHqluxC9FYTGgKvl8m7DufbkrcxTMqZ7BqRXDzWl2a4Jld3PeIKrMDMGz_X0a58/s320/the_pickwick_papers_-_project_gutenberg_etext_19222.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587715238984653122" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span">After reading "The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club" by the ubiquitous Charles Dickens, I knew I had to snatch up the title for a blog. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>A blog, really? </i> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Of all the things I could name; a stuff animal (Picky, for short), the plant nearing the end of its life on my balcony, or....a blog. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Then I realized, it wasn't just the title that caught my eye, it was the life within those words. The people who represented the "Pickwickians". </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">So what is The Pickwickian Life? It is...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">To follow the traveling footsteps of Samuel Pickwick, the founder of The Pickwick Club and his fellow Pickwickians; Mr. Nathaniel Winkle, Mr. Augustus Snodgrass and Mr. Tracy Tupman. It is their goal in life to make journeys to the remote places of England and report on their discoveries to the other members of the club. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px; ">"I am ruminating," said Mr. Pickwick, "on the strange mutability of human affairs." "Ah! I see — in at the palace door one day, out at the window the next. Philosopher, Sir?" "An observer of human nature, Sir," said Mr. Pickwick. "Ah, so am I. Most people are when they've little to do and less to get." - Chapter One, The Pickwick Papers. </span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px; "><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px; ">So here will be my own narrative of my own journeys with my fellow Pickwickians. I hope to meet my very own Samuel Weller and rejoice in his various sayings and inspiring quotes. I also want to avoid any devious mischiefs that may be caused by the Alfred Jingles of my travels. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px; "><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px; ">I hope to create memories of all the characters I may meet in life, to tell the stories of the hearts and minds of people, and to explore what is beyond the windows of technology that seems to be caving much of society today.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px; "><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px; ">So join me, have a cup of tea and rest your tired feet upon the newly upholstered footstool and become one of the members of The Pickwickian Life. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span>A Pickwickian Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15445410283122517031noreply@blogger.com1