Blood + Lungs = Hospital

(and no, my lungs are not filling up with blood).

Vince, I'm sad to say, is not the Ironman. He's not even Superman or Batman - no kevlar, just cotton. The problem, is that he thinks he's 'Invincible' - and therefore, will not go to the hospital. (In order for my friends to get this, I told them he's hospital-a-phobic... if I hadn't I don't think they would've understood how I just cant make him up and go to the hospital.. they seem to think I'm in charge of the story, not the characters!)

But anyways, I need Vince to go to the hospital. He his knee hurts, leg is infected and had lots and lots of bruises. Seriously, it's not plausable for one good rest to revive him. So, in order to get his stubborn arse (I'm sooo english, eh? - Actually 1/4 l'Anglais) to a hospital, I'm sending him over a cliff, into a lake and getting a rock to fall on his ear (just to add another hurting bit if blood). Then, when he finally gets out of the water, he'll be shot in the back. Lungs filling with blood, Vince will ride down the mountain and just make it to the hospital, where he'll survive - barely. During that time, I'll POV change to the other group of good-baddies (with Paul and Eddie, and recently, Wings).

Sounds... not very plausible. But I need to get him to the hospital, or else it'll be even more not plausible. Does anyone know the statistics for lungs + blood? It only has to be a small hole, but enough for him to freak and get some perfessional help.

Any ideas for added reality with the whole lungs and blood bit?  Or just reality overall?

Invincible pages 17-18

I grabbed the bike, knowing two things for sure.

One: There were at least 3 other people on this mountain.

Two: Someone was going to be very mad that I stole their bike.

It was almost a perfect fit - maybe a little bit too small, but I had a habit of standing up on bikes anyways.

I rode away. The bike was top quality - disc brakes (which were perfect for mud) a sweet odometer to check my speed, back and front suspension and an awesomely durable but light frame. Across the middle bar, a name had been messily drawn in front of the brand name. Tyson.

A smile swept through my face, but was quickly gone. My knees killed, my arms hurt, and biking around a mountain was a lot of work. Every three seconds there was a rock, just hidden from my view, which I had to jump over or somehow avoid, and the path was like a condensed rollercoaster - steep up-hills followed by a series of turning down-hills, which ended up with a log across the path…

I checked my speedometer for a dangerous second. I was going about 22 kilometers an hour - good. At least, if it came down to that, I could outrun my pursers.

Or not. A shout sounded from behind me and I heard someone running behind me. What the-

“Yo, dude, that’s my bike!” I spun around, taking a sharp corner around a tree. Some sort of animal had made a smooth dirt path heading down - towards what, I had no idea. But at least it was away from the chair lift and the boy.

Or not. I checked over my shoulder and I saw him running behind me. He had a pale face with lots of freckles and extremely straight black hair. I think it was dyed, but didn’t dwell on it - how could that help me? Instead, I watched the ground, making sure any upcoming roots and branches were avoided. The leafy, light green forest was replaced with the darker green of hemlocks and pine trees. A shadow was cast over the path and the prickly branches whipped at my arms. I checked my speedometer. With the downhill I was going at about 30 kilometers an hour. I looked behind, confident that I wouldn’t mess up and go off-track - where else was there to go? - and searched for any sign of the Trainees, or boy. Neither showed positive.

I looked ahead and the air was sucked from my lungs. Water. Water and me, falling into it.

The makeshift ramp below me fell away, and held on tight to the bike. The lake was big and very, very open. A bike floating in it could be the cause of a confrontation with the Trainees, and that was very, very bad.

Avoidence

Hi, I'm back again.  Sorry for my.. 3-day silence.  I've been really busy.. I'm part of the stage crew for my school's play, filming a movie (about a half hour long) and I have a ton of homework.  I haven't even been able to put aside some time to write - sad, eh?

But here I am, typing to you, so I obviously have some spare time, right?  Well.. I'm in between stuff and taking a break.. with my adorable 7-month-old beagle named Odie sitting on my lap (about 20 pounds... kinda heavy on my legs, but oh well - the cuteness makes up for it). 

The funny thing about my dog is that when he's really comfortable and tired, he make these "old man groans" (no offence to any old groaning men out there) which are really cute and hilarious.  He just did a few now, lol.

That's what he looks like now.. that face is stopping me from working and making me imprisoned sitting in my own chair.  Good excuse, right?

Anyways, back to school and writing... from what I understand, my teacher is making our science report go towards out English mark!  Ahhh!  Say good-bye to that dream of a short-story or poem, and hello to talking about cells for English!

It really sucks.  School really sucks at the moment.. too much work and tension and people being way awesomer than you.  I mean, it's so unfair!  Everywhere I look awesome people are doing awesome things in their awesome lives.. and then there's me, missing peices me. 

But I'm not going to make all you nice people read about my problems.  They're for me to deal with, not you, not anyone but me.  Usually I'm ok too, and next year I think things will be a lot better.

On a happier note, I am glad to announce another country has been added to my list of awesome, amazing countries which read my blog.  Those awesome countries are:  Canda, USA, Germany, Belieze, Ukraine, Greece, and as of today, Turkey!  It feels really, really cool. 

Another thing that feels cool is volunteering.  Currently, I'm trying to find somewhere to volenteer and work over the Summer.  Ideally, I was to volenteer maybe every Saturday for 2 hours in the afternoon or night, and then work every morning (starting at 9!) at some babysitting place.  There's one right beside the library, so I actually might organize it so I can just walk between the two. 

Really, I don't want to waste this Summer.  They say time flies when you're having fun and slows down when your bored, but at the end of the Summer, no matter how long it "seemed", you still look back and it seems short if you didn't do anything.  I wanna do stuff.  (Stuff which also includes biking and shopping - and going on vacation to Vancouver!)

Anyways, have fun in the nice weather (well, around 14 degreees celcius.. which is pretty nice), and I'll be here trying to write a nice excerpt for you - and stop Odie from eating all my pencils!!!  (He really likes them.. and I doubt they're all too good for him).

S a r a h

Weekend Assignments

Okay, so as seems to be my habit, I've spent this entire week saying "oh, I'll do it on the weekend" - which, obviously, isn't too fun when it gets to the weekend. So here I am, making a list of all the things I have to do.... and, because I have nothing better to say on here, I'll put it in my oh-so-wonderful blog.

1. Read chapters 1-13 of my french book called Le Bibliocaire Mysterieuse
2. Keep jot notes for each of those chapters and assemble into a rough book report
3. Write one page of Invinicible (at least!)
4. Analyze "Good-bye and Stay Cold" using TP CASTT
5. Write a resume
6. Write a letter explaining why I should enter highschool
7. Spend 4 hours filming a movie
8. Find some time to sleep, eat and ride my bike

Doesn't that just sound like the funnest thing ever? I have (yet another) busy weekend. But hey, it isn't impossible - and some of the stuff is even fun. Like the poem analyzation.

This is the poem I'm doing. It's by Robert Frost, probably the most famous poet of all-time (and the bestest - DON'T take Shakesphere's side on this.. Shakesphere is so overrated).

Good-bye and Keep Cold by Robert Frost (1874-1963)

This saying good-bye on the edge of dark
And cold to an orchard so young in bark
Reminds me of all that can happen to harm
And orchard away at the end of the farm
All winter, cut off by a hill from the house.
I don't want it girdled by a rabbit and mouse,
I don't want it dreamily nibbled for browse
By deer, and I don't want it budded by grouse.
(If certain it wouldn't be idle to call
I'd summon grouse, rabbit, and deer to the wall
And warn them away with a stick for a gun.)
I don't want it stirred by the heat of the sun.
(We made it secure against being, I hope,
By setting it out on a northernly slope.)
No orchard's the worse for the wintriest storm;
But one thing about it, it mustn't get warm.
"How often already you've had to be told,
Keep cold, young orchard. Good-bye and keep cold.
Dread fifty above more than fifty below."
I have to be gone for a season or so.
My buisness awhile is with different trees
Less carefully nourished, less fruitful than these,
And such as done to their wood with an axe
Maples and birches and tamaracks.
I wish I could promise to lie in the night
And think of an orchard's arboreal plight
And when slowly (and nobody comes with a light)
Its heart sinks lower under the sode
But something has to be left for God.


I love that poem... and as for my in-depth analyzation (which I may not have space to include - there is a limit on how long our stuff can be! "GASP" - inside joke) I think it's him talking about leaving his collection of partially-finished poems and etc. and going to work on something else. (It's his "Forest Of Fiction" ..haha)

Blogingly,
Sarah

An Icky Poem Of Mine

Recently, we've begun to analyse poetry in class. We have a project to analyse 2 songs and 2 poems. This made me think of the poetry I've written - which was mainly in grade 5 through 7.

This poem is one of the two which I'm willing to actually share - the rest are horrible beyond normal, human means.

The reason why I don't like my poetry is because it's not depressing enough - or at all meaningful. The stuff I'm reading on the U of T site, Representative Poetry Online, now that is pretty powerful and deep stuff. My poems are on the surface, face value, etc.

But here you go, your enjoyment for today:


Senses

I see an animal in the forest,
One life alone among the rest.

I hear a drum-beat in the rain -
A spooky rap on the windowpane.

I feel the tremor of a ‘quake,
A reminder of lives at stake.

I touch the first snowflake fall,
A pioneer of them all.

I smell salt of the sea;
Find the hope to set me free.

I sense the coming of disaster,
And keep running faster.



Pretty, err, uh, interesting eh?

(sorry for the wierd formatting earlier)

Love Story <3

Sorry this isn't a regular post... but seriously, music is so amazing.. it's so important to me, and currently, since my ipod is finally recharged, I'm totally obsessed with it!

And anyways, this song has a lot to do with me... tomorrow I'm going to go see Romeo and Juliet at some theater - right after I do the Champ Math Test (wish me luck!!)

Also, I need to say... GO TAYLOR SWIFT!!! (she's the singer of this song... and because of that, totally rocks!)

Love Story lyrics - Taylor Swift lyrics

Love Story Video - Taylor Swift Music Videos

Music Videos by VideoCure

P.S. if your confused about how I deleted a post... I was going to post the lyrics to Hey Stephen.. which I also love, but changed to this video... so yeah, slight confusion there.

InVincible Tyson

Once again, I was along and on the run - well, kind of on the run. Actually, I was sitting in a chairlift heading up this gigantic mountain. A few chairs behind me, my attackers steadied their guns. A strong wind swept the chairs from side to side, almost throwing me off. This place was old - I doubted it’d been used in years - and the cable was loose around the track. Somehow, I’d gotten it to work… how, was a miracle. But here I was, one hundred meters above ground with nothing protecting me from the guns behind me besides open air and a thin metal seat.

I looked back just as the first shot rang out. I jumped back and the shot punctured the metal a few centimeters away from my arm. Relief was short-lived as I felt the chair slide backwards.

I looked up. Above me, the cable had just started to go back upwards, meeting the post 8 meters ahead. The chairs were designed to tilt back and forth, to stop the customer of this long gone ski resort from falling out when the cable drooped down. But now the top of the chair was rusted, and the grip not tight enough to hold on to the cable.

I slid back some more. A terrifying thought of me and the Bishop’s trainees battling it out in mid air, both stuck in the middle came into my head. No, no, no. That couldn’t happen. There were two of them, each with their own supplies of guns and knives. I was alone with one knife. It wasn’t rocket science about who would win, even with my skill in fighting.

I needed to make the chair lighter. I looked over at my pack. Food, water and spare clothes. I didn’t need all of that stuff, right? Quickly, I unloaded some of the water and food, along with a few clothes. They tumbled below me and I looked down for some marking. Maybe I could go find them again later.

A rock jutted out of a steep cliff face below, and a pair of pants looped around the peak. Perfect, I thought, then turned my attention back to the chairlift. It’d made steady progress, climbing slowly but surely uphill for a few meters now.

But what worried me was the cable. It seemed to be derailing from the track above. Already, two of the wheels had lost the cable and were slowly rolling still. As I watched, horror-stricken, the third wheel let go of the cable. The drop was hardly noticeable with the wind, stick rocking the chair back and forth.

But there was nothing I could do.

Quickly, I checked behind. The wind had caught the Trainees off-guard and they were having trouble setting up the sniper they had chosen to use. It wasn’t the smartest choice of gun - even a hand-held would have a better chance of getting me - but I realized that they were playing. Smiles shone on their faces as they looked up at me.

They knew they would get me before the chairlift was over. They were taking their time, creating a story to tell their friends once they got home. I shot a man out of a chairlift with a sniper. I could hear them already, bragging.

Solid jerk. Only one wheel remained, and it didn’t look like it’d remain for long. As soon as the last wheel let go, the whole cable would fall until it was caught by the remaining ones beside. It was going to get pretty scary. I wrapped my arms around the seat and armrest, and hugged onto my lifebag with all my might.

Drop.

Fall.

Caught.

The sudden jerk stopped my dreamlike fall with a halt. Chairs ahead and behind slid closer to me, suddenly the middle of a steep v in the already swooping line.

A chair crashed into my knees. Immobilized by pain, I stayed stationary. Slowly, I tried to move my foot.

I could move it. Great. I pushed the chair away and used my hands to help my legs up onto the seat of the chair.

Another fall. The post ahead of me let go of the cable. The weight of the chairs caused the loose cable to be pulled through.

I ended up about 10 meters from the ground. Enough to jump? I hoped so. Quickly, I tied my bag to my legs, hoping the added weight would ensure my safe landing on the ground head-first. I planned to do a somersault to take the impact and avoid my legs getting hurt even more. Already, my body killed.

I jumped, freefalling through the air until I hit the ground, right on target. The soft, lush green forest of young trees and ferns had overtaken an old ski hill, and the added padding made the impact somewhat lighter.

I was still blinded with pain. Eyes closed, I rolled in the direction I hoped was towards the forest. A few shots splattered the ground above me, and I think one of them shaved off some skin on my torso.

But I made it. The cool earth of the forest was moist against my cheek and I lay there for minutes, just waiting for the pain to subside. Call it a weakness, but I didn’t like to be in pain. It wasn’t a nice feeling.

But a few moments later I knew I needed to get back up again. The Trainees were, no doubt, bound to follow me, and the longer I stayed here the longer I risked being seen. I started to jog, slowly, making sure to be careful about how I put my weight on my knees.

I worked my way diagonally across the mountain. I went down, hoping they would think that was the easy way and think a pro like me would go up - but super pros like me go down.

After about twenty minutes of running, I hit another hill. This one had a chairlift too, but only a small one. It did, however, have a very nice landing with a very nice bike resting against a bench.

I grabbed the bike, knowing two things for sure.

One: There were at least 3 other people on this mountain.

Two: Someone was going to be very mad that I stole their bike.

It was almost a perfect fit - maybe a little bit too small, but I had a habit of standing up on bikes anyways.

I rode away. The bike was top quality - disc brakes (which were perfect for mud) a sweet odometer to check my speed, back and front suspension and an awesomely durable but light frame. Across the middle bar, a name had been messily drawn in front of the brand name. Tyson.

Yes, I included my bike - but hey, I'm the writer! I can do whatever I want... and anyways, the whole bike riding scene will be pretty cool.

Anyways, how'd you like that? It takes place partway through the book (I skipped, lol). If you have any questions ask me!

A Great And Terrible Beauty - BOOK REVIEW

A few days ago I started to read A Great And Terrible Beauty by Libba Bray. From all the great reviews and the really well-done synopsis, I thought this book was going to be good - really good.

But it wasn't.

The story takes place in the turn-of-the-century 18/19 hundreds. It seems to me that the book should have taken place in a different time, maybe around the middle of the 18 hundreds instead because they didn't seem to act at all what I think my great-great grandparents would - but hey, I hardly know anything about those times, so I may be wrong). But in this time, in England, the world is filled with icky pompous (and yes, they are pompous) men and humble, dainty, faint-hearted women, all of which, seem to be speaking a wierd mixture of modern-day English with some olden stuff you can find on Wikipedia.  Their thoughts, however, are totally modern.)

This book does not sound like the type of book girls would like, right? (Well, at least not me). I thought it was going to be about how Gemma, the wierdly-named main character, overcomes all this and leads the world into a better state of mind about women (and ends up killing all those disgusting men).

But that didn't happen. Instead, A Great And Terrible Beauty was exactly that, except without the great. A Terrible Beauty. Filled with vain, dimwitted girls and arrogant, deserves-to-die men. The girls can't stop talking about how pretty they look (along with the whole gossiping thing... they are Queens of gossip) and how they wish to find Prince Charming (who, most likely, they dream to be the type of guy who orders them around like slaves) and how their favourite dress has a stain in it.

Oh no! Those girls make me sick. They are a disgrace to the female race.

But who would've thought the book would be that bad? I mean, the back cover is amazingly interesting and good... the beginning starts out the same (ish) but then... then you meet Pippy and Felicity and Ann, all obsessed about their 50-year-old husbands and how beautiful they are (Insert scream here).

And as for the magic? Ooohh.. how delightful! The magic, which was supposed to seem dark and dangerous comes out as a perfect little paradise which, of course, the girls get into trouble for trying to take back.

Yes, they try to take the magic from Paradise and make their lives perfect. Perfect looks, perfect French... for a disgusting moment in the book, they are perfect. Eww. No one wants to read a book about perfect people, especially not me. And I mean, seriously, did Libba Bray (the author) actually think she could get away with a simple Adam and Eve story? Oh, don't steal from the perfect world - you'll have to stay!

Wow. Nearing the end of the book, I found myself skipping pages until I found the only character I liked (who now, was so impressive that I forget his name). Suprisingly, my favourite character was the only one she based off a real person.

I'm sorry if you love this book or I came off a little harsh, but I needed to vent my frusteration. I read this entire book, two days wasted, and now I'm left with a disgusting feeling (oh, did I mention her extremely mature dreams? (Which luckily I was able to skip with only minor scarring) but now I feel.. well... betrayed. All those kind words and good reviews and suggestions to read this book from friends.. and now I'm left with no amazingly good story of rebellation against the vile system of the somewhere-around 1800's, but a tale of 4 vain girls in their very vain lives, complaining how none of them are beautiful enough.

I feel like I've been tricked, and it's not a good feeling.

But hey, if a story of vain girls and pretty, non-dark magic makes you smile, go out and get A Great And Terrible Beauty. Maybe it'll be just what your looking for.

But it wasn't at all what I was looking for. No, now I'm going to get out a nice book with girls who aren't afraid to show their wrists and don't care about how their facial expression is when they stab their enemy (which, in A Great And Terrible Beauty, never happens because there doesnt seems to be much in the way of enemies - besides a few "friends" who gossip rude things. Oh my!) Maybe I'll read The Hunger Games - that's a nice, dark book with plenty of killing. Definately my type de livre.

All-in-all, I, Sarah, dislike this book MORE than Twilight.

And that's saying something.

Thank-You

A few days ago I got Google Analysis, and now, 7 days later, I have some amazing news.

As of today, I have readers in 4 different countries!

I seriously reloaded the page and couldn't believe my eyes. Welcome Germany and Ukraine to my awesome blog! I hope you liked it :)

I feel so accomplished now, knowing that my blog is so popular! (ok, so Analytics says there have been 21 unique visitors... but that's still almost 3 per day!)

It's times like these when it pays to have a blog. Somewhat. I still only have 5 commenters! (Ever, not just the constant ones). But oh well. (coughcommentcough)

But a big, major THANKS to everyone reading and commenting all around the world (or 4 countries).


Besides checking up on Analytics every day (religously) I haven't done much. Bikeriding, very little writing, and a lot of school (although not so much work). It's finally started to feel like Summer around here... and although the warmth is nice, I hate shorts. I'm more of a jeans, t-shirt and jacket girl, not a tank-top and shorts one. Add in pool parties and I'm running to the nearest patch of snow. (Isn't it always that way though? You want the Summer in Winter and the Winter in Summer... always speeding up time, never wanting it to slow down... and then one day you look back and realize you little you've matured in the past few years and want to go back, back to less responsiblity and worries...)

Anyways, I'll end this with a new and scary thought:

The Car Chase, my latest short-story, is... well.. a short story. And it was Career Day in school (parents come in and talk about their careers - and of course, there was a writer) so it got me thinking.... would The Car Chase be magazine-quality? Would it need a better name? Do short-fiction-publishing magazines exist without going bankrupt within a year? In Canada?

Questions.... but it would be amazingly cool to have the answers as yes, and my story in a magazine.

Who Is Vince?

Hi, I'm back with an excerpt and a question... who is Vince? It's been on my mind for a while now - every time I try to explain my story to someone:

"Oh, my new story? It's called InVincible and is about a guy named Vince who is a... well... someone who used to be in training to eventually work for a bad guy, but broke out and is being chased by them (they're trying to get him back)."

Doesn't sound too great, does it? I think it'd sound a bit better if I had an actual title for him though.

Anyone have any ideas?

(P.S. Here's the excerpt I promised.. sorry it's not much, but I can't type a lot with chocolately fingers :P I'll have more tomorrow.)

Invincible

“You know who they are?” She said, pointing over to the tight circle of boys she’d been trying to get into earlier.

“Nope.”

“They call themselves the Midnight Mass, or Masters.” Wings told me. She had this earnest look in her eyes that almost never went away - like every time she spoke, it was from the inner depth of her heart. “Apparently, they’re some sort of escaped convicts or mobsters.”

I almost laughed, imagining how bad these guys were compared to me - and Wings was afraid of them? She had much more of a reason to be terrified of me. But people seemed to like me - I hadn’t caught anyone giving me funny or scared looks since the scene in the shopping alley. It was part of my training, I guess, to be friendly… and deadly.

I watched the group - Midnight Mass. What a random name… couldn’t they have thought of something better? Like… Nightblade or The Dark Devils or something? I wasn’t good at names, but I was better than them!

One of them turned around and I caught a glimpse of his face.

Total recall.

My eyes became glued to the face, the young man’s eyes searching the crowd, and landing on me. I fought the urge to hide, not liking the extra attention any more than I’d been brought up to like it.

I couldn’t move. It just wasn’t possible as the man said something to the rest of the group and slowly, they all turned to look at me. I knew each and every one of them. If you want, I could list there names, but they would mean nothing to you.

Instead, I’ll say everything about them - in school, before the fighting, we had been forced to meet all these different random people and figure out their innermost personality in about an hour. All of these people where my roommates. I’d spent almost 8 hours every day of the year for 5 years with these people. I think I knew them.

First, there was Paul. Tall, blond-haired with a sharp, angular face, he’d always been the calmer one of our group. Of course, Paul wasn’t his real name, he’d just picked it because he loved Paul McCartney from the Beatles. He thought the Beatles where the greatest rock group ever. Once, Paul had said he was going to get out and play the drums for the real Paul - even though his passion was the hand-made piano made of paper he’d drawn. Paul wasn’t one for fighting, but if he had to, he could beat just about anyone. If he wanted to, Paul could kill everyone.

Paul started to walk over, closer to me.

“Look,” Wings whispered beside me. Oblivious, she was, to everything that had happened in the last few moments.

Another member of the group, Peter Wright, as he supposedly remembered his name being, stepped in front of him and Paul fell behind. I almost laughed. It was just like before, Peter could never let anyone lead anything, everything had to be him, him, him. But that worked. We all worked well with Peters organization and knowledge of everyone’s different skills.

With Peter in lead, Paul and the twins, Leddie and Zeddie followed. Obviously, their names were the creation of their younger selves, and had stuck like the glue they use to put heads back together when stitches wont work.

The rest followed in behind, all eight of them, as it had been before they’d moved on and I’d stayed behind. If I hadn’t stayed behind, I would’ve been with them now. But we both got out, right?

“Vince.” Peter said, his bright, light blue eyes shining in stark contrast against his dark olive skin and chestnut brown hair. Born only a few degrees away from blind, Peter had undergone years of constant surgeries before he could see enough for the Bishop to let him pass through the training. He was already old when he started, and was the oldest of all of us - and the toughest. I guess the constant surgeries had changed him; never knowing whether he’d emerge healed, or totally blind.

“Peter.” As if to prove I still knew them, I looked around at each face, pairing it with a name. “Leddie, Zeddie, George, Paul, Frank, Josh.” Some half-hidden smiles shone through their tough demeanor, but where quickly gone.

“Where’s Herve?” I asked, trying to bury my creeping emotions.

“Dead. He died the night we escaped.”

Good? Bad? Did something not make sense? I can't give you the whole story, so I understand how it might be confusing (hey, the whole story althogether may still be confusing!) and if it is, ask me.

Oh, and any name for what type of person Vince is?

- S a r a h

Here I Stand

Here I stand.... alive. The huge pile of work to be done has (almost) magically transfered into the finished prodect (although I know it isn't magic because I remember ALL the work I put into it - including two 18-hour days. Now I only have to make sure the stuff is printed off and handed in on Tuesday.

Standing ovation anyone? :P

But anyways, I'm still really sorry I haven't done any writing... I promise I'm going to open the file now and write a little bit. I'll post an excerpt from InVincible tomorrow (or, if you want me to work on something else just tell me... I'm in the mood to write, no specifications of what).

Hey, how about I post you the ending bit of my 3R (Retell, Relate, Reflect) for the article "Profs Blast Lazy First-Year Students"? It's kinda current and interesting... and it's an excerpt, I guess (although I won't label it as one).

Here you go:

......An editorial in the Barrie Examiner backs that all up. Ouropinion, as the authors call themselves, says "four years isn't long enough." And that already, even before the change in the high schools, ""Many teenagers weren't mature enough for the high school grade they're in, whatever it might be. And the reason is they're teenagers. They're still growing up. They are not mature, and it's both unrealistic and unfair to expect them [to behave like adults]."

It’s also unfair for the professors to have to teach from “an underresourced secondary school system.” Because of the high schools recent focus in “stemming high-school dropouts, punctuality and discipline are no longer reinforced.” That’s not good for the universities, who are afraid to fail students as they “are funded by a per-student basis”.

An obvious fix, as Danish Zakir says, is for there to be “an initiation program in high school to prepare them for university”. But even still, the plan to cut the 13th grade and save money for Canada is actually costing more, as the provincial government announces their new funding plans, including $780 million for infrastructure and an immediate $150 million for universities and colleges.

But regardless of which side you choose to take, whether blaming the students, the universities, high schools or just simply the generation, Kristen has been sure to show us all sides of the argument. She even added in a bit on the last page about colleges having the same difficulties. “Colleges, too, report troubles with unprepared students, especially in math, and have each developed their own way to deal with it.” No side has gone unspoken for, even though the actual speaking wasn’t the greatest. It seems that adults may be going through some of the problems the students are - Wikipedia is open to all, text messaging from cell phones blackberries is just as common in high school as in an office - the effects of that, you can see even in this article. The title only begins with a capitol, and transitions between on subject and side to another is choppy, and the ending… if it wasn’t for the “with files from Henry Stancu” at the bottom, people might not even know that the article ended and wasn’t just miss-copied.

Coming from part of the Wikipedia generation and knowing how badly other students are handling it makes me want to try harder to overcome the difficulties myself - but that’s not the same for everyone. As Jessica Whitehead says in the article “First Year Students Getting Lazier, Profs Say”, by Brent Davis of The Record, “I think we’re fairly spoon-fed through high school.” I think the same goes for all grades, even in kindergarten. There will always be those kids in your class whose parents help them in everything. Their parents tell them what to do and help them with every step of the way. My parents don’t, simply because they thing I’m mature enough to handle stuff on my own. But I’m not saying I’m perfect and will be one of those aces through everything - I struggle in a lot of stuff and know I will struggle more in years to come. The difference between my grades and the grades and lives of those who have extra help when they don’t need it is that they will struggle more - or, as it seems some or the time, will never struggle because they will always have help.

I think someone, in university, college, high school or something in between, needs to stop this before it’s too late. Before long, no one will know how to work themselves and education will never be the same after that. People always want the easier way, but now with that way being just a click on your computer or a knock on a door away, it’s easier and easier to just take marks you don’t have.

The students in universities are discovering this, and the only way to break the chain is to start now, get some people to help teach children to actually do work, and discourage parents from doing it for them. With little kids doing so much work by themselves, older people may see a way for them to get the sometimes impossible amount of work done. Then when the children grow up and hit universities, they will be ready.

But in order for that to happen, there needs to be some sort of stepping-stone. Right now, high schools are concentrating on stemming high school dropouts - the ones who are staying in aren’t getting the congratulations they need while their peers get extra time and output less effort, all for the same results.

It may seem harder on everyone, but eventually things will get under control and this “Wikipedia generation” may still be hooked on Wiki, but their kids wont.

link to original article: http://www.thestar.com/News/Ontario/article/614219#Comments


P.S. New iCarly episode today! I don't get the channel it's on though so I'm crossing my fingers it's gunna be online ASAP. :) toodeloo

Easter Tidings

Easter's one of my favorite seasons - not because of the religous reasons, but simply the chocolate! Seriously, whoever invented chocolate should win the Nobel Prize (or something amazing like that).

But easter... lovely, bunny-hopping, candy-eating, egg-hiding easter. Should be great - a four day weekend or rest and relaxation was all I was looking for - not six different projects all due on either the tuesday or the wednesday once I get back. Yeah, definitly not my ideal easter. But it's happening. I'm overflowing with homework, dragged down by this wierd writers block (even in french), and trying to somehow find the will to actually get something done. Not happening.

So far, I've been able to waste time by re-doing this blog, playing Bejewled and reading.

I'm so immature. This post ends my procrastination. I seriously need to work - my honours are at stake - and if I don't get honours... I'm toast.

Well, off I go. I hope everyone has a great, relaxing weekend (who knows, maybe I'll be able to have a day or two off too!). May the ... err... easter bunny leave you lots of chocolate!

Sarah

P.S. Oh, and a bit of good news: I have a bike!!! (Well, I'm picking it up tomorrow... but still.) It's a Diamond Back Response Comp... the picture is the one off the website below. I can't wait!

P.P.S. Devon... can't comment so I'll say it here: I LOVE your poem!! It's dark, but awesome and truthful. You sure have a lot of talent!

Freaky Picture.. Freakier Story

A few days ago I was looking for something on my computer (named Percy Rain) and then I found this... thing. I kind of remember writing it - kind of. But this seems... different. It's one of those things you look back on.

Any thoughts? (The picture below is the one I included with the summary below - the pic inspired me.. somehow. Sorry for the slightly scary, scarring effect it has)

Angela Westminster is not normal. In her head, she hears the voices of all seven ancient war heroes - worshiped today as either demons or gods. They tell her what to do, control her as if she was one of them; powerful and almost immortal. But Angela isn’t immortal - she’s a normal, natured teenage mage with a limited amount of magic. If she wasn’t able to control herself at least half of the time, she’d be already dead.

But ever since she boasted of hearing voices when she was younger, her family has been waiting. Now, one cold night, they’ve kicked her out. On the run, thirteen, and alone Angela isn’t sure she’ll make it - and she wouldn’t have, if the voices in her head hadn’t decided to help her out. Suddenly, she’s overcome and can’t control herself against there power.

Weeks later, she wakes up in the biggest house she has ever seen, a meter away from none other than the Third Mage and his Mage-In-Training.

Apparently Angela had been wandering in the Wasteland for ages, a specific area nowhere near where she had been. The Wasteland has been slowly spreading outwards, towards civilization, and has been since the day the Seven Mages (or the voices in Angela’s head) died. Angela has spent a week, wondering the Wasteland, that she can’t even remember. And no one else knows how she got there - or why.

But the Third Mage, Forrester, and his son, William are determined to figure out why - and solve the mystery about her aura, a light blue-pink that has not ever been recorded.

The (French) Hunger Games

« The Hunger Games » Critique

Dans le paie de Panem, un jeu affreux est crée il y a soixante-quatorze année. Pas les enfants à le âge douze à dix-huit sont sûr. Tout les enfants sont inscrire dans « The Hunger Games » - seulement une enfant suivit à jeu.

Mais « The Hunger Games » n’est pas un livre de répugnant meurtrier et mourant. Dans le quatre cent pages livre, il y a seulement dix-huit décès. (Un mort par vingt-deux pages !) Et, parmi le décès il y a une histoire d’amitié, d’amour, de courage et de force. Simplement, « The Hunger Games » est magnifique.

Mais encore, il y a les erreurs. Manque de le histoire de Panem, en particulaire dans les premiers pages cause de confusion, et plus attention à le mode dans le début peut-être écarter le lecteur homme. Mais, pour le lecture femme, le mode et romance dans le livra est un plus superbe ! Aussi, le nom des caractères dominants sont très bizarre ! Il y a diminué le réalité de l’histoire (pour exemple, Katniss et Peeta - ce deux bizarres noms sont le noms de les caractères dominants ! Quand j’ai lu le livre, je ne reconnaît / support pas le noms - presque). Finalement, le endroit et temps de l’histoire n’est pas crédible. Mais en général, « The Hunger Games » est le plus écrire livre j’ai lu, et je vais lire - sauf le suite (que nom est « Catching Fire » et va être dans le librairie en le premier de septembre, 2009.

Avec des cruelles et des charmant changements des intrigues, un fois vous lisez « The Hunger Games » vous n’arretez pas !

And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is what you get from a french school. Fun eh? I have to write one other critique, just like that, a legend, and an advertisement, all by this week, all in "francais". (Oh, and by the way, that bit was entirely unedited, so please excuse the mistakes! I'm editing it tomorrow).

The Food Chain

I got another story idea!!!  But don't worry, it's on hold.  But this is my fleshing out time, so I don't forget about it.

So, it's called the Food Chain, because I was thinking about the food chain, then this just waltzed in.  It's about a wierdo named Mellie and a boy named Penn.  Mellie is magical - a mage-in-training - while Penn is.. well.. just Penn.  He's this blacksmith's son (do not think macho.  Penn's this wiry skinny dude, the ones you would picture steriotypishly to be with glasses) and really has no magic at all.  Which, Mellie thinks is a lot greater than having some - in thier world, the "haves" are grouped together, and as are the "have-nots" - so even though Mellie has (according to her)  0.000001 magic abilities, she still has them and is in the same class as the super, ultra-powerful gals.  Which really makes her kind of self-conscious (relation to how I'm feeling, subract the magical powers).  She tries to run away, meets Penn being beat up by some older guys, and runs back.

But that happened 4 years ago.  Now, Penn is 19 and she's 17.  (This is medival-ish - no electricity, just magic.  Think Eragon).   Penn's turned into this somewhat-better dude, and she's seeminly gotten worse with magic.  But she's been making nightly trips and has a few stashes of stuff - she's planning to escape.  Not so easy when the high-security school hunts you down, but oh well.  Suddenly, this old and famous seer gets a vision of her and a boy defeating this evil, corrupt, turned-bad wizard.  At the same time, Millie is found out of the school grounds and they are going to turn her to the dungeons (filled with eels and trolls) but luck is on her side and the vision saves her.  She's cast out until she defeats him.

Great!  She's out with no time limit of getting back.  No way will she go find that evil dude (Mr. Sinister for now).  But then she meets Penn and *something* drives them both to get to Mr. Sinister.  Maybe a teensie twilight-ness (if you know what I mean) but besides that, I have a really, really, really, really dumb kids story.

:) fun.

Sarah