It’s been a while.

It really has been quite a long time since I’ve updated this blog. I guess fiction writing has taken up most of my time, as well as all that coursework. I’ve been quite deliberate in ignoring the world, actually, so I can concentrate on all the other things which occupy my time. There is no room for pointless cyber crusades against situations I cannot change; those are reserved for holidays when I have nothing else to do, although I have been engaging in an argument about why Kingdom of Heaven is the way it is. I love that film. Maybe I should do a review of it sometime.

The Narrow Path

I have been pondering about the narrow path. In the New Testament, Jesus says that the path to Heaven is narrow. Traditionally, people have most interpreted that is following one set of extremely strict rules, and that all deviants would go to Hell (or at least not reach Heaven and get eternal life). However, it seems awfully cruel to me. Why would God exclude so many people from His presence? Is he not supposed to be a God of Love, and not the God of Discrimination?

I’ve pondered this for a while, and at one time, came to believe that there were many many narrow winding paths which led to the same destination in the end. That didn’t seem quite right either, so at last, I have come to a conclusion. Acceptance and love for others, no matter how much they deviate from your set of beliefs, is the only way to Heaven. We find it hard to love and accept those who are different from us. In fact, many of us (including myself) do not quite manage it. Since it is so difficult, then is it not the narrow path? If we can all practise acceptance and love, then we won’t have to wait until we are dead to get to Heaven. If you truly love someone, you try your utmost not to hurt them. If we all care about one another to that level, then we will have created Heaven on earth. And that, my friends, is a wonderful thought.

Where have all the good books gone?

Seriously, I have not read a good fantasy book in a very long time. All right, I have not had much time to read fantasy books, but I have picked up a few recently, and I am appalled at the quality. Have my expectations gone up, or have the standards gone down? I was reading a book about a battle between the Greek and Atlantean gods, and the main character, who is an Atlantean god bound in human  form, is basically the author’s wet dream. In his human state, he is helpless and is a prostitute. She has him whipped, castrated and basically puts him through more hell than I put my characters through, but here’s the twist–he’s not horribly scarred. No, he’s Artemis’ toyboy, and she simply just heals him after everything.

 That’s not even the worst of it; the Atlantean and Greek gods say ‘okay’. That really puts me off the story. ‘Okay’ is American slang. It doesn’t belong in anything set before 1900, much less a time before Troy was destroyed. Honestly, is it just me who’s feeling that fantasy novels aren’t what they were?

The Stupidity of Some People

The thing with some people is that they don’t do proper research before making arguments–or accusations, in this case. I uploaded the latest chapter of my crossover on Friday, as per usual, and I got a review not long after saying that I’d confused the meaning of ‘hermaphrodite’ with ‘androgynous’, which I did. So I fixed it, and planned on writing the thank you note to the anonymous reviewer when I next updated, but then today, I got this:

you can erase this review as well but that does not change the fact that you
are stupid and a noob. LOL. and you even had the guts to change the chapter
after erasing my review? STUPID NOOB! nothing changes the fact that you do not
know the difference between a germaphrodite and adrogynous! STUPID IMBECILE!
do us all a favor and quit writing all together!

Truth is, the first review got pushed down to the second page. This person only checked the first page when there were nine pages of reviews. Did they really think that their review was so brilliant that it was going to stay on the first page forever? Or did it not occur to them that someone can have more than one page of reviews? I don’t know which one it was, but either way, my respect for this person plummeted. Sure, I’m grateful to them for pointing out the mistake, but it really shows that a big vocab list doesn’t mean intelligence. So, if said reviewer is reading this, thank you for pointing out the mistake, but note that your review is going to get relegated to the third page, or the tenth, sooner or later, just like all the other reviews. Have you noticed that no one else complained about me deleting their reviews, even when they weren’t on the first page?

And for your information, quitting writing is not on my agenda. It might be yours; I mean, common sense is necessary for authors, and if you can’t figure out that there is a second page when there is a drop box with page numbers…well, you know what it means.

First Week of University–A Summary

Yeah, I’ve had my first week, and it’s run me ragged, not because of the work load (even if I have to catch up with the reading because I’ve been too busy watching Gossip Girl today), but  because I was not fully enrolled until the second day. It just really annoyed me, because I hate having unfinished business.

And one hour in class just isn’t very good for socializing, you know? One of my goals this year is to meet more new people, and it’s sort of difficult for me, because, let’s face it, I’m shy. I’m the type of person who cannot start a decent conversation in real life. I have no problem with typing conversations, or long drawn out monologues, but I guess muses don’t work when it comes to spontaneous exchange without text. I did meet someone when I went to do my placement test for my Chinese course, but I haven’t seen him since.

Well, let’s make a correction to the above paragraph. I am getting to know some people in my classes. History is much too interesting for socializing during class. I love that class, even if  I do have to write a three thousand word essay for it. It shouldn’t daunt me. I’m the girl who can happily write seven thousand words of fanfiction a week. (Not quite, but I did reach that number this week, although it included a snarky reply to the person who sent me that second illiterate flame.) However, academic writing and creative writing are as different as men and women–interpret that any way you will. Then again, the head of History seemed to like my subtle sarcasm that I used for some essays last year. Perhaps I should try that again.

Yeah, I’m procrastinating right now. It’s easy to tell, isn’t it? Having nothing to say, I speak interminably, or rather, write interminably. That’s paraphrased from some guy writing about humanists during the Renaissance. The lecturer mentioned it during class the other day.

So, back to my week. It was dull, pretty much. I had some nice outfits, but considering this is not my fashion blog, I won’t mention them here. You might find some detailed descriptions on Style of Mine when I actually get around to posting there. I want to take photos of my outfits, but I really can’t be bothered posing or going off to get the camera. I’m so lazy, but you’ve probably realized that by now. I have a Chinese oral assignment. The topic is so boring that I am running out of things to say. Just what can you say when you’re greeting a total stranger at the airport? And no, I can’t be sarcastic and silly in my usual creative way, because this is Business Chinese, so it’s formal. Unless, of course, I make up a back story about the journalist and the businessmen she’s meeting. Not sure whether my partner will agree to that. Most people don’t get my sense of humour. I’m still not sure whether it’s my fault or theirs.

I did go shopping on Friday. It’s a highly unhealthy activity for the wallet. I bought scarves, a black, gloves, and my first ever pair of skinny jeans.  Seems like I’m all set for winter. Now, if only I can find some decent cold-weather day dresses…

Boycotting Yves Saint Laurent

They might have some of the best make-up, shoes, and handbags around, but I’m boycotting any Yves Saint Laurent products. I have nothing against the man himself, but rather against what his daughter is about to do. She is trying to auction off national treasures looted from China by the French armies which had invaded in the 1800’s, and will not return them to their rightful owners unless China does something about the ‘human rights’ in Tibet. Media exaggeration about the Tibetan situation aside, did the French consider ‘human rights’ when they invaded China and looted the capital city? I think not.

As a country, China cannot sue, but as a people, we can boycott this woman’s company. We might not get our treasures back for a while yet, but we have to show them that we do care; that we have national pride and that anyone who offends us will not get off scott-free. The politicians might not be able to do much to her, but the consumers can.

Another illiterate flamer?

What is it with me and illiterate flamers? I’ve had two flames so far (not bad for a two year career in fanfiction) and both of them are written by people who cannot use the English language. If I’m going to get flamed, then I’d at least expect to be flamed by someone who knows not to neglect the shift key.

Here’s the latest little gem:

This is the crappist wolverine ooc i’ve ever read.

A) he would never would alow anyone to treat him as you have Aragorn treating
him. B)(he’s not stupid, and he would never act as you have written him. C) He
would not mistake middle earth for france (as old as he is he most likley been
a lot of times) being and allied soldier for wold war II.
_

/individuals/w/wolverine.htm
or
http://en./wiki/Wolverine_(comics)

But given this stated comic sarts in the 70’s he’s aready
60 i’d say he’s older then argorn who’s 83 i think.

_

So given i grew up whith these comics and toons for oh 30 years or more. Let
me just ask – are you fucking stupid? how old are you ? 12? – cuase–you would
have to be to write this shit..plus tolkien is probably rolling in his grave.

This sounds like Ego-eimi, I have to say. He even uses the two fullstops. And he’s supposedly thirty (or older)! It makes you wonder about the education system of the seventies.

Here’s my response: (haven’t actually posted it yet. I hope the person gets it.)

Wow, you’re thirty? Rude language aside, let me just say that your English language skills are dismal for someone who would have supposedly gone through elementary school. May I suggest using spell-check and capital letters at the beginnings of sentences? That would give the impression that you passed elementary school.

 

As for Wolverine, comic-wise, he would be extremely OOC. However, I’m using the X-Men movies for a basis.

As I’ve said before, if you’re going to flame, do as Flame Rising does and leave a signed review or an email address so that I can actually get back to you. My flamer friends all do it. The responses are the reason why you flame. Flames which don’t offer a way for the flamed person to get back to the flamers just makes the flamers look like they know that they can’t out-argue the person they flamed.

Dream Dress

So lately, I’ve rediscovered my passion for fashion (and shopping for fashion) and spent many hours on the internet looking for trends and style tips. I came across this site. Untouched World is a New Zealand company which specializes in wool blends using merino, silk and possum fur. I browsed through their winter collection and fell in love with this:

Untouched World Ombre Sweater Dress

This chic item is perfect for winter day wear (or evening wear for less formal events).  It would look great with a thick red belt, a red hat, red gloves, or a pair of black tights with red boots. (I do have thing for red. Can you tell?) The dress is made of  a merino, silk and possum fur blend, which I imagine would make it wonderfully soft and warm. The only problem was the price. Unfortunately, NZ$340 is too much for a student to spend on any dress, no matter how nice.

Tel Goes A-Camping

Sorry, I seem to have gone missing recently; I haven’t, really. I’ve just been preoccupied, and distracted…all right, enough excuses.

So, last Monday, as in 2 February, I went off to a medieval themed camp with my friend. We were going ‘tenting’ (not sure if that’s actually a real word, but it was what living in a tent was called, at least to us Kiwis). The first day, it was overcast, and rather cool. I’d set out in a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. When I got there, I had to pull out my orange ‘Mickey and Friends’ sweatshirt from the bottom of my backpack, because it was just awfully cold. Yep, very medieval, Tel. My friend G and I spent some time walking around the campsite and looking for a place to set up our tent. Most of the good places seemed to be gone, but we did manage to find a relatively flat spot close to a horse paddock and next to a tree. After clearing the ground of rocks and pinecones, and me pulling a muscle while trying to lug around too many bags in one go, we began to set up the tent. G informed me that she was very proud of herself for bringing a hammer. Then she realized that she should have brought two, because I ended up hammering pegs into the ground with a rock. Luckily, our neighbours lent us a hammer, and all was well.

While we were setting up our very modern tent, our neighbours in hose and tunics were polishing their swords and armour in preparation for the tournament the next day. It was very surreal. Of course, it felt more like a film set than an actual medieval town, and it wouldn’t even be Sir Ridley Scott’s film set. I mean, you wouldn’t expect to find such a large array of costumes anywhere outside of Hollywood. Things ranged from sixth century tunic dresses to feathered hats which bordered on the Italian Renaissance. And it was all insanely colourful. I’m talking about neon colours (almost).  Vegas meets Monty Python, possibly not in a good way.

My First Flame

No, I’ve already written mine. I just received my first flame. It was a beautiful eloquent one too, from someone named ‘Meh’. (And it’s an anonymous review, so no matter how much I’d like to reply, I can’t. It’s a pity, because most of the fun in flaming someone is reading the reply.) I’ll post it here so you can all admire it:

I can’t believe you ended your saga on such a PATHETIC note! arggh…you know what? it might have been better for everyone if you just ended the series with part three…but no…you just had to go and make another one…and guess
what…it was an EPIC!

an EPIC FAIL that’s what! do us all a favor and quit writing these horrendous crossovers!

Personally, I laughed at the thought of someone who cannot capitalize the beginnings of sentences calling someone’s writing an epic fail.  This is my reply.

If you’re reading this, then I’ll have to say you gave me quite a laugh. It’s quite something for someone who can’t even capitalize their sentences to call someone’s writing an epic fail. If you’re going to flame, then I advise you to do so with correct punctuation. By the way, there will be another crossover. I guarantee it. By the way, thanks for the review and for reading, even if you did hate all four instalments, each a hundred thousand words or so long.

A note to all flamers: If you’re going to flame, then do as Flame Rising does (no, not copy and paste flames) and leave a signed review, or at least an e-mail address so the flameater can reply. Otherwise, you look like a coward because you seem to be afraid of getting a verbal lashing from the flameater. Just a little bit of advice.

Happy Lunar New Year

Well, today I celebrate New Year, mainly because I did things which were more suitable for such a festival (i.e. clearing out my wardrobe so that it no longer looks like a war-zone). All right, so I slept till three in the afternoon. I’m still a teenager; I’m entitled to be nocturnal, aren’t I?

On another note, I’ve had a rather ditzy week, preparing for camp and then realizing that it wasn’t this week, but next week! Holidays create ditzes, or so I feel. And when February comes, I’ll have been on holiday for two and a half months. That’s a long time of not doing anything.

Writer’s block has got me bad. I can’t seem to write a single thing unless it’s blog-ish in style and very very modern. It’s not exactly auspicious for a person who’s attempting to write a historical novel set in the twelfth century. Last week, I just didn’t bother, and took a really big break. I should restart later tonight, and just churn out some paragraphs, no matter how bad. I can always delete and rewrite them later. That’s the beauty of writing on a computer instead of paper. Editing becomes a lot less messy.

So, lately, I’ve become interested in fashion, of all things. Not that I think it’s a bad thing, because shopping is so much fun. I bought so many dresses and skirts, and a few jackets. I now realize that I almost have more dresses/skirts than pants. Perhaps I’m becoming more feminine. Just last week, I bought two more dresses–winter ones. The first one is red, with a slight A-line skirt, textured cotton weave and a roll neck. That was NZ$30. The second one is a turtleneck grey jersey dress with charcoal bamboo print on a lighter grey background, and an elasticized hem.. If it hadn’t been $10, I wouldn’t have bought it, but it was such a bargain that I couldn’t resist. Worn with a wide belt, black tights, and perhaps short boots or kitten heels, it would look pretty neat. I didn’t buy any pants (although I had been tempted by a rack of skinny jeans. I’ve never worn a pear before.) I have a lot of pants already (four pairs of jeans, two pairs of dress pants –black and brown–, a pair of thick army green pants, another pair of not very dressy black pants in a material which I can’t name, a pair of khaki pants, two pairs of –newly bought– black trackpants), even if most of them are for the winter, and some others don’t fit.

That’s why I cleaned up my wardrobe. You still can’t see the floor, but at least the stacks of clothing are not falling over and creating mountains. As I was cleaning out my clothes, I came to realize that my wardrobe has the stupidest design. Some of the shelves are hidden behind walls, and others are hidden behind the hanging clothes. It’s awfully dark, and I have to navigate through it with a torch. Most of my clothes I have forgotten about because they are always in the shadows, and I can’t see them. Going into my wardrobe is like venturing into a pyramid. You expect treasures, but you also expect traps and unpleasant things to leap out at you.

Current clothes: blue jeans with patches on the knees, white t-shirt with patterns on the neck. (I’m allowed to be boring once in a while.)

Out of Proportion

Can anyone else see the parallels between Jesus of Nazareth and Barack Obama? Like Jesus, the world expects Obama to be its saviour. In the short span of eight years (at the very most), we want him to fix the economic crisis, bring world peace, and stop global warming. His election has been seen by everyone as a ray of hope, just as Jesus’ birth was a ray of hope to those oppressed by the Roman Empire. However, it’s all been blown out of proportion. Obama is one man, and no matter how good a man he is, it’ll take more than just him to fix all the problems in the world. Then there’s the fact that most of these problems have culminated for years, and sometimes even centuries (in the case of the complete lack of peace).  Heaping all hopes on one man’s shoulders is unfair on him, and such high expectations can only lead to disappointment. Barack Obama is the first African American US president, not the Messiah.

In the eyes of the Jews, Jesus failed them because he did not free Israel from the reins of Roman rule, and so, they crucified Him. Let’s hope we’re smarter and more understsanding than we were two thousand years ago when this man, on whom we have placed all our hopes, fails to do the impossible.

I am Palestine –a poem

I am Palestine.

I duck as rocks fly at me,

thrown by those who scorn me.

Some say I should not exist

just because I follow the crescent

instead of the cross.

 

I am Palestine.

I hold my child to my bosom.

Blood pours from his wounds.

I cry out for help, but no one heeds me

for I follow the crescent

instead of the cross

 

I am Palestine.

My hands are bound behind my back.

The coarse rope cuts into my wrists.

They jeer at me and spit at me

because I follow the crescent

instead of the cross.

 

I am Palestine.

Where are my mother and father?

I am lost and frightened.

I just want to be safe. 

I call out for them, but my cries

are lost in the din of war.

 

I am Palestine.

I live in exile in the desert.

Walls of tanks prevent my return.

No one takes me in,

or even gives me water.

My pleas for help go unheeded.

 

I am Palestine.

My patience has reached its end.

I will not cower like a beaten dog

when they throw sticks and stones at me.

I can fight back too;

I have my own sticks and stones.

Let them know they cannot tread all over me

For my father was Ismail, the son of Abraham, a father of kings.  

I have been here since the beginning,

And I will remain until the end.