You Say My Name Like Words That I Made Up

Take a long,hard look
Because I have a million words to say to you, but I figured I wouldn't bore you with details

I'm Thinking...

Of several things.
One of the first things being writing movie reviews. Probably not on here, to myself mostly because I wouldn't want any traffic coming in due solely to the fact that I'm reviewing movies, but it'd be a good way to articulate myself. I have a few things to work on: writing bolder and more interesting dialog trying realistic fiction, and handwriting again.
Hope I can accomplish some of this

Busybusybusy

It's been so long since an update, I'm not sure where to start.

First and foremost, I'm so dissapointed that I can't post the short stories that I've been writing as of late. If you haven't caught up on the rest, check out mccandycane.blogspot.com (I'm not shamelessly advertising here, either, it would only make sense to check out that blog as well, seing as how I tend to reference stories I'm writing and that blog has stories I've written) and you'll notice there's a draft of stories. The reason why? I've been compiling a collection that I could hopefully turn into a book one day. They're all about the future and the theme is the same but I'm trying to make them as diverse as possible. Maybe I'll call it UTOPIC or THEY CALLED IT NORANGE, due to the material, but trust me when I say that I'm so bummed that I can't post them because they might potentially be my first large peice of work. That's all I can say about them now.

Secondly, I got my laptop back...pretty evident.

I'm typing on Q10. It's pretty nice to focus with, but I was debating on whether or not to buy the desktop version of Write or Die. I also have a job now, so doing that will be a lot easier.

My birthday's August 4th; next month. I'll be eighteen and responsibility will begin to be held solely on my shoulders. Didn't I write some blog about how bad being seventeen was? I think it was called The Seventeen Year Old Void. I believe that if I went back and reread it, it'd seem stupid; this year kicked ass.

I'm heading off to college very very very soon. For Creative Writing, so don't expect any of these updates to change, as scarce as they are. I do try to post on here whenever I can. But try to expect more of me. My laptop is fully mine along with the power that comes with it and my yearn to actually get stuff off of the ground is stronger as well.

I figure I should close this with a list I want done before I'm eighteen:
-Compose a large peice of work
-Finish all of my short story collection
-Finish my end of the script for Fade to Black (comic I'm doing)
-Write The Comedown and decide whether or not you're going to write it like a comic or a movie
-Don't fail out of college
-Get at least one new reader of my work

Watch me rise, watch me sink. It could go either way.

-Derrick

Disenchanted

Dont get me wrong, i love the people I am with, don't mind school most of the time and enjoy living at home. But it's time for me to move on. I've overstayed my visit with the high school experience and it has tautght me a lot. But I'm ready for application. I'm ready to move on and grow as a person, but I can't do it here.But at the same time, is it worth losing all that I love?
I guess this is growing up...

Christian Liam Connelly

The bright golden arches next to an interstate covered in white distracted me from the fact that I was in front of a funeral home somewhere by Beechview. While my aunt and mom where having a cigarette break / briefing of what to expect inside with my grandma, I stood staring while my little cousin, Tyrese asked me questions. I personally viewed his being there the most admirable because he chose to do it on his own accord, which is a pretty big decision for a 10 year old. I myself was there to pay my final respects and apologize on my sister’s behalf. Dressed in clothes that I normally go to school in every day except with a tie, I was physically prepared for the occasion. Soon enough, though, the adults had crushed their worn down cigarettes into the stationary ash tray and where ready to go in and I would see if I was mentally prepared.

Hanging up my jacket in the hallway, I found out that the halls twisted and had many junctions, making it hard to navigate. Many signs were placed at hip level so that you could read and follow to find your way to places, but we personally moved to a sign that hung above the door that read: Christian Liam Connelly. Thinking back on it now, I think that’s the first time I acknowledged that he had actually passed. It was an odd feeling, but little did I know that things were going to feel even stranger.

I walked into the giant room and immediately saw the body. Small in his casket, his bright face illuminated, demanding attention for mourning. That’s when I realized that it was the first time I had ever seen you without a smile and made me wonder just why a boy would lose his life a week prior to his tenth birthday. However, I took my focus away from the body and started to look at all of my family members. There were some from California, some that had changed drastically, and others that I had seen recently. Regardless, however, they all shared the same expression: a happiness to be reunited with their loved ones and a new appreciation for the value of their lives, but they all also shared a veil of misery that surrounded the reason for the occasion. This was cause for tearing up, emotional disconnection, and a general sadness in people’s voice. I soon found myself with this veil.
After seeing a few family members and telling them of what I was doing currently and what I planned in the future, my Uncle Bill came approached me. Hugging me tight, he took the loss hard, being Christian’s grandfather. However, he explained to me his beliefs. “You have to consider though,” he said looking at the boy, his arm around me. “That when he was first diagnosed at 8, the doctor said that he had a 50/50 chance of surviving. And neither of those happened. So I consider those two years a blessing.” He finished confidently. We agreed on how happy of a life that he lived and then he had to go greet other family members.

Soon after that, my Uncle Jim directed me to a separate room with a few couches and chairs. Here, there was a clothes line with paper cut outs of video game controllers hanging by unfolded paperclips. He explained to me that Christian was liked video games (I felt guilty because I felt like I should’ve known), so people were writing messages on the back of these paper controllers for his parents. Because he knew that I loved writing, he told me that he expected me to write a really good message for the clothesline. The rest of the night, I would spend trying to think of what I was going to say. I spent most of the night quietly thinking and answering ‘yes’ if people asked if I was okay.

Sitting in a longue type room where the adults where having coffee, I drew a lot of information from my surroundings. I stared at two prayer cards, one with An Irish Blessing written by it, another with the Wizard of Oz’s Somewhere Over the Rainbow, a lullaby his mother used to sing to him. Also, copies his obituary lay on the table which took up a half a page and glorified him as a warrior against cancer. Another observation that I made was Christian’s brother Coleman, who now looked disturbingly identical to him, playing in the room next to us. He was too young to determine the severity of the issue, but probably old enough to remember it. With all of these thoughts in my head, it was in that room that I decided that I knew what I was going to say and along with Tyrese, I weaved my way through the network of hallways to find the paper.

My writing was small because I prepared for the message to be a long one. I apologized for not taking the time to know him completely and talked about how I remembered him to be happy and that’s how I thought he was now; wherever he was. Proud of my work, I hung it up and wrote a message in a book for his parents, apologizing that we hadn’t seen each other in a long time until that point. Though they had both thanked me for my being there, I didn’t feel as this was enough on my part, so my apology was an extended one, ending with my full name.
We left soon after that, but before we did, we said our goodbyes to him one last time. After we said goodbye to those living, my family unit took one last time to say goodbye to the deceased. Having not touched him all night like my other members, I honestly feared doing it, but with this being my last time I would ever see him, I rested my hand on his and said goodbye. The results brought closure, but at the same time in an unsatisfying way. As silly as it sounds, I had looked at his peaceful face and relaxed body and thought that perhaps he was just resting. Staring all night, I had sworn I saw his ribcage go up in down to inhale and exhale and had childishly tried to tell myself that he would just wake up. Touching his hand, cold and lifeless, I had shattered my hopes and confirmed his death.
I still haven’t cried about it yet, like everyone else. Perhaps it was because I and he never knew each other all that much. Or maybe it was because our disconnection surfaced guilt that I had not taken the time to say goodbye while I still could. But I did feel one emotion ring strongly throughout that day; a sense of entitlement. I realized that I had to remember this and address it somehow. I chose through writing. Hopefully it eternalizes my thoughts forever of my cousin, Christian Liam Connelly.

Lessons

Lesson learned: DON'T say that you're going to do a project or are going to release a project until it's actually done.
Lesson not yet learned yet: Second day of school and I'm up at 2 a.m. There's definitely a problem with that