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a so called novel... or something. [03 Aug 2004|11:17pm] i'm someone whose constantly trying to actually write a novel or story, and keep up with it, so maybe one day it could even be finished. it never happens. except for some reason, i never got sick of this story. i think because it became so cliche and cheesy that i loved it so much. i don't promise quick updates. as in daily. but maybe once a week, if i can get myself to work on it. the reason it doesn't happen so fast is that i don't want it to appeared forced either. so i finally got around to writing a story that has no real title and no real plot except for the ideas in my head, yet. this is not a livejournal where i post daily about my life statistics. this is a story journal. it is, as the title suggests, a so called novel. even though this isn't a livejournal it is friends only, just for the pure purpose of me not wanting anyone to decide to copy and paste it and call it their own. if you feel you can respect that decision, add me. you don't need to comment and ask, just do so, and i will add you back asap and you can read up on it. the first chapter is viewable public, because how else can you know if you're interested or not? read it below. it's probably really unprofessional with lots of spelling and grammar mistakes, and maybe it'll come off more as a journal or something, rather than a real novel, but i like it so far. i don't imagine it to be published or anything. it's my personal thing. that's all. to some of you, it may come off as a horrible attempt at trying to be sophie kinsella (author of the shopaholic series) or any other author. usually, because i'm, inspired (no that isn't a clever way of saying i want to copy someone) after reading a book. or maybe you'll actually like it. this is not based on real life. there are no real rules except to respect that it's my story. i love feedback, which is why comments are viewable for each update. i'm starting off by doing it chapter to chapter, but who knows. enjoy. :)

Chapter 01 (A Hell of a Long Year) [03 Aug 2004|11:16pm] "Carlson, Lyn." "Carlson... Carlson... ah, here we are." She pulls out one white sheet of paper, and hands it over to me. I smile, and take it, with slightly shaky fingers. I don't know why I'm nervous, after all, it's just a schedule isn't it? Absolutely. It's just a schedule, and as I scan it over, I realize it's just one piece of paper that sort of defines me, right? It's got my student id number, my full name, my parents name's, my address, and my phone number. All the necessary information. But if you really think about it, it's a bit dangerous isn't it? A total stranger could pick this up and have all the information he needs to stalk me. I suppose that's a bit sexist, to automatically assume my stalker's a male, but it's pretty rare for a female to stalk another female right? Unless, of course, she's a lesbian. Anyway, that's not the point. The point is, I finally have my schedule, and I'm finally... here. I take a deep breath in, and I look around in a hopeful attempt to recognize someone. The first day of school is always pretty much hectic, but do you know what I hate the most about it? How all the girls just seem to know everyone, and they're running to and from each other with open arms, screaming, "How ARE you? How was your summer? I've missed you babe!" and the guys kind of grunt, yet still manage to say, "Hey. So school's back. Bummer." Then they continue to have a conversation. And while all this is going on, I suddenly realize I took a deep breath in, but I haven't actually exhaled yet, and as I do so, I suck my breath in again, because this is getting a bit scary. I don't think I would have been such a nervous wreck, if the school system was just a little less complicated. Just because I was moving in to grade nine, did not mean that they had to separate grades nine to eleven, onto a whole different building, where you could easily get lost, and knowing me, could easily embarrass yourself with a greater number of people, and new and different teachers. So far, I've managed to enter the building and get in line to get my schedule. Ok, I really need to calm down. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in; ok what do I do first? Oh right, go to homeroom, I think. Breathe out; shit! Where's my homeroom? How the hell am I supposed to know where to go? I don't know where my home- Breathe in; Oh wait, my schedule. Breathe out. I grab the paper, delicately. You might think I'm a bit weird for doing this, but every time I get something new, I'm usually really fragile with it, unless I'm so excited I fumble. The reason for the delicacy is because, I absolutely love new things. They always smell good, and look good, and everything. I try to savor them, because if you don't, the next time you blink, you'll realize that it's not as new and as good as it was before. Like, this schedule. Right now it's straight, crisp and pure white. Not the kind of fake worn out white, but real fresh white. But by the end of this term, you can bet there's going to be crease marks, and the white will have faded into a light brown. It's not like I'm messy, that's not it all. It's just... what happens. Anyway, I gaze down to look at my schedule, trying to figure out where my homeroom is. It says: Homeroom Rm. 101 M. Kirkland - Rm. 101? What the hell? Is this college? I don't think so. Why are they pressuring me like this? Doesn't 101 sounds like a college class? Isn't that what they always say? Like, Math 101 or Chemistry 101? Whose brilliant idea was it to make homeroom 101? Breathe in. Concentrate Lyn. Concentrate. Head to homeroom. Breathe out. Somehow I manage to get back to reality, and move through the quick and fluent crowds, until I've managed to get out of the foyer, and into the hallways. God, I forgot how big this school was compared to my old building. Ok, rm. 101 - I begin to look around for rooms and their numbers, but all I recognize is the office, and the foyer. There are two other hallways on opposite sides of me, but the problem is, I'm not exactly sure which hallway leads to Rm. 101 - Great. I look around to see where everyone else is heading to, but it's useless because half of them are going to my left, and the other half are going to my right. I even spot some grade niners heading through, and as I do, I begin to feel a bit inferior. I thought I had a reason to feel so lost. After all, I'm new. But even the new kids seem to be walking through the halls like their experts and know exactly where they're going, and I don't. With a sudden yearning to be like them, I myself begin to walk expertly to my left. As I walk down, through the crowds and faces, I notice that posted on the walls are graduation pictures of the preceding 4 years. That's kind of sweet isn't it? To look back at history. Oh well, I really should stop getting distracted. Concentrate. Homeroom. Rm. 101, stupid rm. 101. As I reach the end of the corridor, I realize that there's a door leading to two staircases. One leading up, and one leading down. Using my oh-so better judgment, I decided to go down, because the bottom floor seems the most sensible place for the 100's room's to be, right? As I go down the stairs, I suddenly realize that everything's gotten a bit quieter than before. There are less and less people and the crowds have suddenly dispersed. I look around, and notice lots of closed doors. Wow, that's a lot of classrooms. But as I look closer I see one or two of them are open, and notice a mop, a bucket, and numerous cleaning supplies. Classroom's with cleaning supplies? That doesn't make any... wait a minute. These aren't classrooms are they? They're closets. Oh, ok, closets. But even as I'm reassuring myself, it's not doing much good, because this hallway seems to be never ending and I still haven't seen any real classroom's as of yet. Suddenly, I realize, that I'm alone. It's gone from quiet, to complete dead silence. All the noise is gone, and as I look around, everyone's gone. Great, just when I get the courage to ask for help, everyone decides to leave me. I stop mid track, and notice one door open, and there seems to be someone moving in it. "E-E...Excuse me?" I say hesitantly. The figure turns around, and I suddenly realize with a shock that it's not just a figure. It's figures. Two people. In a closet. A boy, a girl. They both turn around to stare at me with menacing looks, and I as I spot the boy's hand on the girl's thigh, a jolt of realization passes through me. "Oh. Oh! Oh my god. I'm so sorry! You go back to uhm," using my index finger I make a circular motion in the air, "that," leading it to point to the end of the hallway, "while I go there." They both continue to stare at me, and now they're looking pissed more then annoyed. "Right, ok." I nod. I quickly walk away down the hall, feeling a bit guilty, but as I do so, I hear smacking and moaning in the background. Well, it's nice to know I didn't kill the mood. I continue down the hall, hoping that something would maybe start to get this bright white glow around it, like it does in the movies when the main character finds something that's important to the mission. Of course, in this case, the mission is just to find homeroom 101, but I have a feeling that it's the same thing. As I've reached the end of this hallway, there are only two other options I can turn to. Straight ahead, where there's a staircase leading to an upper floor, and a bottom floor, while I could also turn left to another hallway. The school has gone from a silent movie, to horror flick. Just like I told you before, high school was reuniting with it's tiny soldiers down this hall as well. Girls, left and right were flinging their arms around each other with squeals of delight, while their boyfriends hung around in the back waiting for them in a little huddle talking about something or the other. Still, at least I've found human contact again. That corridor before was beginning to get a bit lonely, and I'd take the squealing over the two in the closet any day. You see, I'm still a little hesitant to enter into this whole teenage drama thing. I mean, I understand, turning 15, is kind of a big deal. It's one year away from sweet sixteen, and I know that that's a really big deal right? Except, somehow, nothing's changed for me what so ever. I'm actually a little worried. I mean, obviously, I know I'm a teenager. Of course I am. I mean, I have all the symptoms don't I? I get oogly eyed every time a Teen People magazine is being passed around in class. I have that scary, yet inviting longing to cut out the pictures of celebrities and paste them in a nice collage in my agenda. Except, that might have just have to do with my fascination with Pop Culture. Never mind that then. I'm still a teenager. First of all, it says so in my age. Fif-teen. Exactly. "Are you gonna go in?" says a voice behind me. It takes me a moment to realize where I am. I look up, and notice a sign with the words, "101" imprinted on them. Oh right! Homeroom! Yes, mission accomplish baby, I am in homeroom. "Helloooo?" replies the voice. I turn around and notice a line of people are waiting behind me to get inside. "Oh! Yeah, of course. Sorry!" I step inside, but before I get the chance to take in my new homeroom, I'm being run over by what seems like hundreds of students piling in to the same classroom. I've basically been pushed aside by every other student coming into the room, so I figure, I'll save them the trouble. I suck in my breath and push my back against the wall, allowing others to come in, without any brain damage to yours truly. Right after the wall I'm leaning on, there's a brand new blackboard, still black. I know, most blackboards stay black, but after all the erasing and rewriting teachers do, they sort of fade away into this grayish black, but these one's seem unused, and you can tell, black is there true color. I almost feel sorry for them. To be all new, but to get destroyed in a manner of seconds. As I'm thinking about this, I notice a girl pick up a straight new piece of chalk and begin to write on the board, "Emma and Jason, 4ever." She pauses for a moment, staring at what she's written as those it's the greatest new piece of art known to man kind, and after careful thought, she takes a pink piece of chalk and draws a heart surrounding it. I'm appalled. This is what she wanted to ruin perfectly new chalk board for? A relationship that probably won't even last more than 2 weeks? That's insane. Ok, now I know that you're probably thinking that I'm insane for getting so angry over something as little as a black board, but the black board it self was doing perfectly fine until this girl, or who I might as well refer to as Satan from on, decided to proclaim her 5 minute love onto. It's outrageous. "Ok guys! Guys! Calm down. Will everyone please take a seat?" I pull my ahead away from the graffiti on the wall, and turn to where the voice is coming from. It's a young lady who looks to be in about her twenty's. She's wearing an adorable striped pink and white skirt, with a white blouse on top. She's looking stunning, and when she smiles with her famous Julia Roberts grin, I can already tell who this is. This is the teacher who everyone loves. The girl loves her because they want to be her. They want to have her ruby red lipstick, her mysterious yet smoky eye shadow, and they want to move like her. The boys adore her, because, well, she's gorgeous, obviously. And I as I take a seat in the middle of the second aisle of desks, a small relief washes over me. Is this my homeroom teacher? I get to have the teacher everyone loves as my homeroom teacher? There is a God. I'm not even over exaggerating, because by the simple hushed silence that covers the class after the teacher flashes her gorgeous smile, is enough evidence to prove that I'm not the only one in this room who realizes w'e're pretty fortunate to have this teacher of all teachers. Especially for homeroom. I mean, normally, you don't do anything for homeroom. At least, that's what you think, but homeroom marks you on a whole different level system then any math or English courses would. That's right. Homeroom marks you on your social skills. It's the class that everyone works together to make a homeroom poster for, or the class that raises the most money. This is even the class of all classes to some. You know the students who've grown up living under their parents shadow? Aka, me? We've been raised knowing that someday we'd be going to the famous high school our parents used to go too. We grew up having to live up to the expectations of the magnificent mother or father, or sometimes both. I have the honor of having high school sweethearts as parents. Yes, that's right. My mom and dad fell... in love, I guess, in these same halls. Oh god, what if they were like the two in the closet? Bad thoughts, bad thoughts, go away. Anyway, it's the same story though. As soon a teacher catches the fact that my last name is, "Carlson" this light bulb flickers over their head, and suddenly I'm the most important person in the room. Which isn't as incredible as it sounds. Really. "Well now! It's great to see some new faces in the school! We're going to have so much fun this year, I can guarantee. If you guys have any questions, or need any help to getting to your room, just ask, and I'll be glad to help." continues on Ms. Perfect Teacher. She flashes a grin. "Oh, I can't believe I almost forgot! My name is Ms. Kirkland. I'll be your homeroom teacher this year. Ok great, now let's start off with taking attendance, ok?" As she shuffles through her desk trying to find the attendance sheet, my mind begins to wander away. I already know what's coming when she says my name. Actually, I don't. She's kind of young... I doubt she can give me the, "Oh, I used to teacher your parents before!" story, so maybe I'm safe in this homeroom. There are two sides of being the offspring of high school history. Some may think one negative, and the other is positive. I myself, would consider both sides to be basically... bad. Point A being, which is probably the most negative of all, is that I'm a rare kind of my breed. Yes, there are others just like me, forced to try to be as memorable as their parents, but I think I'm the only one who doesn't enjoy point B. You get lots of attention. Lots and lots of attention. Attention is just drowned on you. Which is probably what most adolescents want in life, but not me. I can live without having what feels like a million eyes all on you, watch every move you do, and judging it. As though to mark it. "Oh, her walk? Hmm... I'd give it a 7.5 for good effort, but she can't possible be as graceful as her mother ever was!" It's what happens every time people recognize the Carlson after the Lyn. "Carlson, Carlson... Lyn Carlson. Oh! A Carlson!" Ms. Kirkland looks up to smile at me. "Is Lyn Carlson here? I can't believe it!" she says with suppressed excitement. Everyone in the class begins to murmur wondering why the teacher's decided to make a big fuss over this special student, and they hear my small voice from the back of the room say, "Here." all eyes are like darts, searching for the voice, and finding their way onto my face. What feels like a million eyes, on me, judging me. See what I mean? "Here!" I say louder when I notice that the teacher's still looking for me. When she spots me she smiles, but for once I don't see that little twinkle of disappointment flash in her eyes like with most people. "Well. Carlson. Would I be wrong to assume that your father's Michael Carlson?" I slap on the sweetest smile I can muster, "No, that's right." "Well! Isn't that something? I used to go to high school with your father! He had a crush on me, you know? People thought he was infatuated with me. But then he found your mother of course. He had a way with words though. He could make anyone laugh!" she looks at me expectantly, as though I should reply with something really funny. "Oh... great." I say with the smile still imprinted on my face. Ms. Kirkland's face falls, and I can tell I've disappointed her, as per usual. "Well... nice to have you!" she looks back at her paper, and continues down the list. Attention. Stupid attention. This is going to be a hell of a long year. (4) / comment

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