Thanksgiving prep

Dear everyone,

It’s almost time for Thanksgiving, but unfortunately I still have to write a blog next week. Not that I hate doing it, just that there won’t be much to say, will there?

Andrew handed back our detective stories today. I would post mine, but I only got a 97% grade on it, so I do have to fix up a bit. Has to be at least 99.99% to be worth reading at all. Plus, that longass story could put a ghost to sleep (because, you know, ghosts don’t sleep). No, actually, I’m quite proud of it, but I’ve been told that a few of the things I’ve inserted aren’t 19th-century-ish. If you couldn’t tell, I’m not really 19th-century-ish myself. Short. Cropped. Sentences. Were. Not. Considered. Good. Grammar.

That paragraph rewritten in Victorian language (from what I know): 

This very day I have received feedback from Master Andrew concerning my detective narrative. I would love to share it with you dear reader, however I did not earn sufficient praise from my teacher for me to feel at ease sharing such a piece. It is quite possibly long and boring enough, to induce an immortal soul to slumber. Actually, though, I’m rather proud of the results thus far. Perhaps it could be a bit more true to the period, because my writing style isn’t so fair to it. However, I will try my best to correct what errors have been made.

Uhhh... More writing.... in fiction we’ve done like three or four stories already. It’s amaaaazing. I love it. No more poetry, right? Zip! Zero! None! Nilch! NOPE. In Karin’s class today, we started on... Poetry! There goes my fucking luck, right?? Gah. We did poetry. During academic class. I thought I’d gotten through it--- nine hours of poetry a week for what, nine weeks? Ten? That’s literally over, like, three days straight. I think I deserve a break. For a lifetime. But nooooo. More more more poetry, just shoveled in like horse manure for sickly plants.

Ahh, similes. Metaphors. Raymond Chandler used like three per page. It was amazing. We finished “The Big Sleep” and now I have to read “Farewell my Lovely” and some other story over break. Added to the fact that I have to write this, edit and finish my detective story, and do other homework on top of that. Why don’t we add whipped cream and a cherry. Mmhmm.

My friend Ashley wants me to write a story about her. She has a really interesting tale, and I think it would be really fun to write it. I have a shitload of questions to ask her-- after the first ten she said she felt like it was an interview or something.

The rest of my life is currently uneventful, at least public life, you know, what I’m willing to share. It would be awkward to put in everything. Yeah, stop reading this! You stalker.

Sorry. I’m a bit jumpy... tired, is all. Have homework still. Must pack for Thanksgiving. Have to clean room. Don’t have to, actually... but want to clean room. Weird coming from me, huh, mis padres? Español no es dificil, pero hago la tarea por la clase. Hehehehehe, could you understand that? Hehh...

We have this thing called All-School, which is a weekly assembly every Friday during which things are announced. You know, like field trips, deadlines, dance shows, readings. Stuff like that. Guess what, though. This one kid went up to the stage and ten people followed him. Everyone was holding one of those big posterboard things. Then he's all, "-name-" and everybody turned their signs over-- they read: "will u b my gf" And he had the one with the "?" on it. It was the sweetest thing ever. Everybody was talking about it all day, and us girls kept telling the boys that he was a real man. Haha. Anyway........

The hike in P.E. class today was strenuous, but you have no idea how good it felt, physically, when we were done. It hurt like hell during the uphill, three miles uphill I might add, and when I had to walk to my next class right afterward. But then, when I sat down, it was almost excruciating. Then it just felt relaxing. Yaaay exercise.

Jesus Christ, Idyllwild, what have you done to me.

Well, hope you enjoyed reading this. My detective story should be done before 2012. Before I’m fifteen. Meaning I’ll have been fourteen through the whole journey. Yaaaay.

Okey (that’s the spelling Chandler used in the 1940’s), that’s all, folks. Seeya next week. Well... Write to ya next week (doesn’t sound as, um, colloquial).

Love,

Callie