Aspiring to Counthood

I’ve returned to the land of college. You never really realize how much you miss a place until you return to it, and the same is true of the people. One month, one twelfth of a year, is a long time to be apart. I’ve been reunited today with so many people. It’s like parts of me are slowly reintegrating into the whole. It is sad though, because most of us aren’t here yet, only the college vanguard has arrived. They’re outside right now, cavorting, gaming, and having a fantastic time. I’d like to join them, but I need to write. I’ve committed to this writing daily thing, and I can’t let things slip this early into the semester.

I’m actually taking a creative writing class this semester. Actually working with an expert in writing is something that I’ve looked forward to for a long time, and after reading over some of the course material, I’m very optimistic.

My friend Jesse and I always ride to and from our hometown and our college town together, and we’ve been listening to my favorite classic work of all time as we go: The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas. During the trip that we made this morning we picked my friend Laurel and needed to explain the story to her. During that explanation process I suddenly realized the sheer complexity of the plot of this story.

I think that’s one of the reasons that I really like it. The characters are connected together in myriad ways that are difficult to explain, yet Dumas does an excellent job of communicating their relationships, so that you don’t get lost easily once you’re immersed in the story. I’d really like to know how he does it. That’s something that I intend to look into in the near future: an analysis of Dumas’ style of characterization. From a research paper that I wrote during my senior year of High School I know that Dumas based his characters on some model that he developed from studying the works of William Shakespeare, but none of the sources that I employed for that work were very specific as to what this model was. Could it be possible to reconstruct it?

On a related note, I cherish an ambition to someday become a Count, mainly because of that book.

I feel the need to be with my Boone family now, so I bid you goodnight internet, sweet dreams.

Today’s First Sentence: I’ve never had a first day of class that wasn’t catastrophic, and today was no exception.

Here’s to Cone

I’m a student at Appalachian State University in North Carolina, and I live in a residence hall bearing the unassuming name “Cone”. The building is, tragically, a rectangular prism, and is physically similar to pretty much every other dorm on campus. On paper it is in every respect normal. Yet Cone Residence Hall has something, and advantage that sets it apart from everywhere else on campus that I’ve been to.

Cone has the right people. Cone is the perfect mixture of different kinds of amazing people, and it generates an incredible culture. I live on the fifth floor, and I am missing the people on that floor so much it’s painful. I’m normally the cynical person when people get very emotional about their friends. In the back of my head I find myself thinking about how that set of friends will never last, how their emotions will fade over distance, how they may not even feel the same way when they wake up tomorrow. I suppose those things are true of Cone, but don’t care. Might we drift apart in the future? Yes. But right now, in this moment, I love Cone Hall. Facebook is a poor substitute for their laughter, tears, hugs, voices, crazy dances, and melodrama. I want to go home.

Take me back to Cone.

Today’s First Sentence: I could have sworn I turned the power off before I left, but the police assured me that the first was electrical.

Travelling to Tennessee

Tennessee. A wide, flat land, like a hyphen connecting the central states to the eastern. In the era of horse and buggy travel, it’s length would be months of journeying. We make it in 10 hours. Ten, miserable, cramped, loud hours on poorly maintained highways, struggling to stay awake. Leaving at 6 in the morning lets us arrive late in the afternoon, assuming we stop a few times to eat and take care of other necessaries.

At least, that’s how I think about the trip while I’m making it. The car is always the wrong temperature, it’s too hot or too cold, too loud or too boring. But when we’re driving back, everything changes. I think about how much fun it was to spend so much time with my family, how much I enjoyed the audiobook that we listened to, and how much I’ll miss the relatives that we’re leaving behind. I know that I’ll feel that way when we leave, yet I keep catching myself being pessimistic. I don’t know whether I’m just naturally a pessimist, or whether it’s just travelling making me unpleasant to deal with.

I had an exciting moment earlier today. One of my cousins told me that he thinks I’m a “calm” person. I wouldn’t have described myself like that, but it felt good to have someone look up to me. Maybe I’m doing something right. At least, I think being calm is a compliment.

Vacation is making it hard to write consistently, but it has given me some valuable insights into some of the things I have written. Two summers back I completed the 50,000 word challenge of NaNoWriMo, leaving me with a 217 page novel manuscript, the first in a trilogy that I hoped to write someday. However, I haven’t re-read that manuscript since. I guess I’m somewhat scared of what I’ll find there. I wrote it so fast, I have troubled believing it could be well done. On the drive here we’ve been listening to The Fellowship of the Ring Audiobook. I have trouble reading that book, but I’ve found the story enchanting when read aloud. It helped me to mentally define the role of my manuscript in the history of its world. I appreciate J. R. R. Tolkien’s work so much more now.

It’s hard to concentrate on anything with my family everywhere, so I’ll sign off for now.

Today’s First Sentence: Carnivorous dinosaurs have terrible breath.

Relatives

First Sentence: Relatives are strange creatures, I discovered, and often they feel more alien than total strangers.

I’m in Tennessee now, my motherland. I was born here, nineteen years ago, and soon spirited away to live in North Carolina. It’s something of an identity conflict for me. I like NC, but I constantly think about the fact that I wasn’t born there. But I have no memory of my childhood in TN other than visiting my maternal grandmother once a year. Those are good memories, some of my favorites, and the only things linking my to this land.

On an intellectual level, I know that state boundaries are arbitrary, that feeling a sense of kinship with a particular region — especially one that you’ve spent very little time in and explored no significant part of — is silly. I feel it nonetheless.

I’m with my paternal grandmother now. I love her, but her way of life grates on me. Her whole house feels like something of a facade. Everything is decorative, even the towels. Everything genuinely useful or necessary is hidden beneath some kind of covering, and everything is pastel.

She has a set of etiquette that she expects us to follow when we come here. I suppose deciding how we should act in her house is her prerogative, but… it makes me uncomfortable. I’m always bothered by rules that don’t make sense, and there are a lot of them here.

I know that there have been books written about people resolving differences with family members whom they don’t understand, but I wonder whether sometimes it’s impossible. Reality, in the short term, doesn’t always have happy endings.