Status: Weekly Updates, Maybe More
Running Never Got Me Anywhere
Prologue
I can't, nor have I ever, been able to finish a book fast. It's not that I struggle, or lack speed; I just never let the words on the page just be words.
I've often been told that I find more meaning in the sentences than the author themselves even meant. That's why it can take me weeks to finish a 200 page book. I over analyze, spend hours interpreting four word structures.
I've let my interpretations shape my views and opinions on the world. I don't believe them to be set in stone, because at sixteen there's plenty more for me to learn and think about. They do set an easy path for me to love something though.
There can be something that I would otherwise hate, but one sentence can make me appreciate it. For instance, a month ago I watched The Fault in Our Stars with my friend Marisa before she moved. I'd promised her we'd do anything she wanted before she left, and I'd lived up to my word.
As soon as it started, I wanted it to be over. It didn't catch my interest, but I wasn't sure why. The story wasn't terrible, and they seemed like believable teenagers, more so than most portrayed in movies. It just wasn't my thing.
Then suddenly, it was. All that changed my mind was Hazel's realization about funerals being for the living. It's a simple concept, one that doesn't take much thought to get, but I'd spent the rest of the night thinking about it and how much sense it made.
The next day, when Marisa asked if I liked it - she'd been too busy crying to ask me when we actually watched it - that's all I talked about. She'd rolled her eyes but I knew she saw it coming.
So, when the opportunity to attend a Performing Arts Charter school an hour away from my house with the promise of a Critical Reading class sprung up, I jumped at the chance. Getting to take a class that revolved around something I do and love already paired with classes meant to improve my writing sounded almost too good to be true.
I thought the only catch was going to be having to get up at 5:30 every morning to get to the bus stop before 6:30 so we could get to school at 8:30, the bus ride being lengthened by an hour to swing back to get kids from the opposite direction. I hadn't taken into account the obnoxious music major in the back and the one sentence he'd say to make me love him, like he himself was a walking movie or book.
One sentence and five God damn words.
I've often been told that I find more meaning in the sentences than the author themselves even meant. That's why it can take me weeks to finish a 200 page book. I over analyze, spend hours interpreting four word structures.
I've let my interpretations shape my views and opinions on the world. I don't believe them to be set in stone, because at sixteen there's plenty more for me to learn and think about. They do set an easy path for me to love something though.
There can be something that I would otherwise hate, but one sentence can make me appreciate it. For instance, a month ago I watched The Fault in Our Stars with my friend Marisa before she moved. I'd promised her we'd do anything she wanted before she left, and I'd lived up to my word.
As soon as it started, I wanted it to be over. It didn't catch my interest, but I wasn't sure why. The story wasn't terrible, and they seemed like believable teenagers, more so than most portrayed in movies. It just wasn't my thing.
Then suddenly, it was. All that changed my mind was Hazel's realization about funerals being for the living. It's a simple concept, one that doesn't take much thought to get, but I'd spent the rest of the night thinking about it and how much sense it made.
The next day, when Marisa asked if I liked it - she'd been too busy crying to ask me when we actually watched it - that's all I talked about. She'd rolled her eyes but I knew she saw it coming.
So, when the opportunity to attend a Performing Arts Charter school an hour away from my house with the promise of a Critical Reading class sprung up, I jumped at the chance. Getting to take a class that revolved around something I do and love already paired with classes meant to improve my writing sounded almost too good to be true.
I thought the only catch was going to be having to get up at 5:30 every morning to get to the bus stop before 6:30 so we could get to school at 8:30, the bus ride being lengthened by an hour to swing back to get kids from the opposite direction. I hadn't taken into account the obnoxious music major in the back and the one sentence he'd say to make me love him, like he himself was a walking movie or book.
One sentence and five God damn words.