When I was much younger and even more naive I decided I was going to write a book, and I did. I finished it in the summer. It was a grueling, thankless job and the biggest achievement of my life.

It was written in a green notebook from Target and with a Bic mechanical pencil.

When I finished it, I remember calling everything in my family to spread the good news, much like my sister did when she birthed a real life human person.

Apples and oranges.

I was beaming and banking on it making me millions.

(Spoiler: it didn’t)

Those who were privileged enough to read it didn’t exactly share the same excitement I did. So I packed it away until it caught up with the times. I imagined someone finding it years after I’ve passed and, of course, realizing its brilliance- publish it. It would be that sort of deal.

I just recently found it, unwrapped it from the shoelaces I had double knotted around it for safe keeping and dove it.

Just as I had feared- trash.

The first big problem- the pencil has, over the years, faded. Making reading it a little hard.

#2 I spelled almost nothing right (lolz still struggle with that.)

And #3 there’s HUGE holes in the plot line. Like big.

What the frick Ava?

(There also is a point mid-book where I do change a main character’s name, however, I leave a little note about the change at the top of the page so the readers would be able to keep up- really what’s the big deal?)

It’s 167 pages of confusion.

A little bit disappointed, but a lot a bit not surprised.

The world moves on, right?

The 13 year old in me is still enthralled with the story, and the 19 year old in me is keeping it safe until I feel like rewriting it. All it really needs is a facelift, a little Botox and a good pep talk.

Good as new.


writer’s block & and other illnesses

My grandfather tells me that you can’t wait for inspiration to strike, you have to strike it. “Chase it down Ava, and beat it. You can’t spend your time waiting or it will beat you.”

My grandfather is, in my opinion, a brilliant man and I think what he says is true. However, I don’t follow his advise very closely. I tend to sit and wait. I’ve grown accustomed to staring at a blank piece of paper ( or lately a blank screen ) and waiting for some flicker of inspiration to drift past. I try to string pretty words together in my mind, but they look crude and poorly planned all typed out. I lay and wait for something good and awe-inspiring to come flooding in.

Sometimes it works and my mind bursts with sweet sounding words and interesting ideas. But more often than not, I just wait and wait and wait and then listen to sad teen music about breaking up. I don’t know why, but it helps.

For 14 days I’ve been sick with writer’s block. I’m stuffy with the build-up of bad ideas and misused commas. I’m about to throw up from all the words cluttering up my mind that have no order and I’m hoarse with the conversations of underdeveloped characters I’m dying to plan out.

It’s dreadful, incurable and an epidemic in the writing community.

So I sit here, drinking tea and flipping through my thesaurus trying to find new words and slowly piecing this short and very late blog together. It’s not half bad- 55% decent, give or take. But something none the less to throw into the void.

I hope those of you who are also suffering from writers block find release And if you do, please tell me how you got out of it. SOS. Any information will help.

Under The Weather

I’m sick today, like i was yesterday and the day before and so on and so forth. I don’t even know what it feels like to be well at this point. All the days are strung together by shots of nyquil (which, previous to writing this i thought was spelled with the word ‘night’ in it? who knew)  and coughing. Lots of coughing. 

There has been separations of time where I reflect on the good days when my throat wasn’t constantly throbbing and drinking something didn’t send pain through my body. Those were the days. 

I’ve also been hallucinating a little and having extremely vivid dreams. Which has made waking up from naps a sort of horrifying experience. I find this extremely upsetting since naps are, quite literally, my favorite thing. 

A normal human being might think it was a good idea to start going to bed early and get lots of sleep but it’s finals week so that’s just not a thing for me.

I might never recover.

On the off chance that my body pulls through and my head clears and my throat stop burning and I truly begin to live again, I’ll never take wellness for granted.

Thank God for essential oils and sleepy time tea.

Yea, that’s all I got.

20160 minutes

I’m so close I can almost taste it. I wonder what a diploma even tastes like, after I get it, I’ll let you know.

I have two weeks left, 20160 minuets, probably a very large number of seconds and almost no patience. It’s been grueling. Miserable I would even say, The endless hours spent listening to ideas and instructions and being reprimanded. I’ve never been to jail, but I wonder if the two have similarities.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had some of my best moments inside the cinder-block walls (which they painted yellow to somehow liven up the place). And stuck behind the drafty windows and surrounded by my peers who mostly smell of weed, I’ve wanted to end it all. No in-between most days.

College is a wild place. There’s such a contrast of people- some of us are already who we are going to be for the rest of our lives. We’re responsible and smart and getting good grades and we shower and know how to wash our own clothes. And, unfortunately, there’s a larger number of us who behave like wild animals (you know who you are). Sometimes my mind can’t even process how such irresponsible, mindless beings can exist. How have they survived up to this point? It makes so sense to me.

I’ve seen some of the most bazaar things take place within school property, hidden behind the masses of other dysfunctional students, cloaked behind the excuse that this is how college students behave.

It’s wild. And it’s also a beautiful thing in a way. This whole college culture of young adults accumulating regret in their early years to be sorted out later. All being traumatized together, as a team. Group work at its finest. A somehow accepted chaos.

Being so deep within the dysfunction, for so long you find that it all begins to feel normal. Socially acceptable functions become few and far between as you continue to be brainwashed off of second hand vape and get headaches off of the stale beer cologne everyone wears.

The masses come in sweatpants and baggy t-shirts, bad attitudes and reeking of C- averages. They bicker among one another and slowly start forming opinions in their barely developed brains. Here is higher education.

We fork over the money and we live with the chaos and we don’t question the professors and at the end of it all we get handed a really nice piece of paper.

As much as i hate it, i’m going to miss it- the lawlessness that is college.

Right now, i’m just trying my best to put my head down- get through it as quickly and as painlessly as possible. It’s been working thus far, except for the brief blackmailing situation, but that’s a whole other story.

1577846.3m minuets down, only 20160 left.


The Void

Here I am, shouting into the void. Screaming, feeling every tone rip through my lungs. Desperate and frustrated. Intoxicated off of moody music and a little in love with a boy who has the most beautiful eyes. My friends exist in different worlds than me these days, my mind is foggy and I don’t get much sleep as of late.

So I’ve decided to write- in an attempt to re-start my mind. Warm up my soul a little, use up all the words swarming in my brain. I’m thinking that pushing all the words out will bring about a peace of sorts; a stillness or hush that a library has. That’s what I’m looking for- the sort of silence that wraps around you when you walk into a library or a bookstore. I need that in my mind.

I’m evicting Loneliness from my being, shoving sadness out and destroying Panic completely. No more room in my mind for all that jazz.

This is an outlet, I think. A hobby? Can complaining on the internet be a hobby?

I’ve started this whole blog thing a billion and one times. I’ve ended it a billion times, but not this time baby. I’m in it for the long hall. Fully inspired. (I just watched Julie and Julia and WoW. what a film) See here’s the thing. Before, whenever I’ve written anything I get nervous about what the people around me are going to think- I’m worried about saying the wrong things or  oversharing. Mostly worried about offending someone. I’ve decided on being uncensored and politically incorrect these days.

I’m thriving in it.

I recently cut off my hair and dyed it dark, I burned some bridges and reinvented myself.  I’VE GOT NoThInG to lose.

You, along with myself, might be wondering if this is the beginning of a mental break of sorts? maybe, who knows. Regardless, it will be well documented and posted for the world. Or the void. Entertainment or enlightenment. Mind over matter.

I want this to be a place where ideas are. A growing ground of sorts or a garden if that tickles your fancy. I don’t even really mind if no one cares about this blog- the point isn’t to get popular or have people like me.

This is the void and I’m screaming into it. Loudly.