The Blogging Hiatus

I'm not even going to bother apologizing for being offline for so long. Too much time is wasted apologizing for not writing sooner. I will simply cut to the chase and update any readers I have left, or am making up, and update you all on the last few months.

Since September, I have made almost no considerable accomplishments, save pulling my grade up in Language Arts from an F to a C. With my teacher, this is a considerable accomplishment. She is retiring, at least for a month. If she decides to return in February as a half-day Advanced Content teacher, at least ninth grade honors literature will seem easy. Whoopee.

But I've had an enjoyable holiday thus far. I didn't receive the "big" present I'd been hoping for, a camera, but I got a camera pencil sharpener instead. I also obtained a Jane Austen-themed diary which should do me for five years, a button maker, rhubarb-flavored lip gloss, and over 50 paint chips. Eclectic, I know. But the paint chips are the promise of a new tomorrow, of a new bedroom, of a new life. They are the best present I have ever acquired from the old fat man. Literally. THE best. Ever.

I will now depart to watch Harry Potter. Hasta luego, imaginary readers.

Look what I just made!!!

http://prezi.com/u39t1beap0cy/edit/#21

A rather graphic summary

I guess I should give you some background information about my newest story endeavor before I start.

Picture a Panem-esque world. Let's call it...uh...I'm not sure what to call it yet. Any ideas, drop me a line, my few and faithful readers. But that's beside the point! So we're in a very Communistic, poor area of this country in the quiet beginnings of a revolution. Led by kids, naturally. If you see any similarities between yourself and any characters, that's probably intentional. You're a hero, most likely, but if you make me mad, that could change...(cue dramatic eyebrow wiggle.) My oh my, do you ever ramble, Miss Franks! Rosalynn Ingram (me) is 14 years old, not exceptionally well fed, strong, or fit to lead the revolution. Yet, somehow, she gets stuck in this super-important position and is always high-strung and tense. Her sister, Roxana (my sistah, naturally) is 10, a bit of a motormouth, and adorable. Don't even question the latter. There's also Reed Collins (Hi Reid! If you're reading this, don't worry, I'm making your character awesome!), 14, the supergenius who has the "Seam look" to him, dark hair, olive skin, grey eyes; Kitty (Hi Katie!) Moss, 14, who can heal anything you hand her, and Ash, 16. You'll find out about him later...

The villans are the Brutes, an army of red suits with one goal in mind: do anything your commanding officer tells you. There's also the Leader of All Peoples, or the LAP, and his band. He works underground, messing with our attempts to bring him and his rigged government down indirectly. He doesn't like to get his hands dirty, you could say. And now, picture him with the ability to kill people, no weapons, purely with the powers of his MIND. He's pretty evil, but cool in the way only a supervillan can be cool. And 5 kids are trying to take him down.

You're uuber-interested, I can tell. 

You can find my book, page-by-page, on here or on Facebook. Look up Darby Franks, there aren't too many of 'em.

lovelovelove,

Darby

The Katie Tomlin Look-Alike Contest has a WINNER!!!

Got a keratin treatment done today. Nearly 4 hours of combing and pulling and snipping gets me stick-straight hair a lot like my friend Katie's. Here are the results:

It feels nice to have hair swishing over my face, even if it's a really bland brown with absolutely zero tones or highlights in it! They also had to snip off 2 inches of raggedy broken ends. NOT FUN. But whatevah! It'll be nice to have no more dense mats of thick curls right against my scalp for a little while. :D

Branson, Montana, and stop-motion animation

When I posted the summer make-up, it was about 10:30 at night in my grandparents' house in scorching Oklahoma. So, it being so late, and since Dad was getting onto me about how we had a flight to leave for at the crack of dawn, I didn't post any Branson. And now, we only have what I'd call a 1/2 day left in less-scorching, beautiful Montana. How about we go in chronological order and I get Davis time in Branson first?

One thing everyone who hasn't been to Branson before needs to know is this: beware of the millions of shows there. It's very much a performance town, and almost all of it is country music and impersonators. Some things there I would willingly go to (which we didn't), but others just look cheesy. Cheez-Whiz-coated cheddar topped with Swiss cheesy. So tourists be warned: if Elvis impersonators and Dolly Parton's Dixie Stampede aren't up your alley, avoid the shows altogether.

Another thing non-Bransonites should know: there are a lot of the following tourist sites:

-mini-golf courses

-wax museums

-old-time photo places

-condos

-resorts

-tattoo shops

-misc. other tourist traps, Ride the Ducks, for example

If you can't tolerate big crowds and glittery suits, then just avoid this town altogether.

Still, if you have plenty of family members who don't like to humiliate you too often (like, enough so you know that they're related to you, but not so much that you think that everyone wants to be your little brother) it can be fun. We did a couple of traditions: we went shopping in the outlet malls, did a 37-year old waterslide that never gets old, and had our meals in Granny and PaPa's condo when we weren't go-karting or fishing. It was nice, just some traditional family bonding time. There wasn't much we did that we hadn't done before. Usually, I DON"T like that, but sometimes it's comforting, not boring. I was sad we had to go, but not too sad, because we'll get to come to OK for a few days before we head home for good.

The flights went somewhat smoothly. The only bad thing that happened was airport security decided to randomly buzz me at the metal detector. "Yeah, she's definitely a terrorist. Let's buzz her!" So, it wasn't really a big deal. They swabbed my hands, and I failed the ever-confusing TSA test again because I put on deodorant with glycerin in it that morning so I didn't smell like shtankiness. I don't know what glycerin has to do with anything, but they had to pull us aside AGAIN, and disassemble Mom's purse, and my purse too. At least the screening people were women so it wasn't as humiliating when they swabbed my tampons. And then, they took us into a side room, locked the door, and explained that since I was Mom's "property" they had to pat her down instead of me. I didn't look for most of the process. The peek-a-boo scan in the Atlanta airport isn't half as invasive. It was 6 AM, we were grumpy and starving, and our little plane to Denver was cramped. But at least we were away from the TSA agents.

Getting into Big Timber was nice. So was being able to walk everywhere in town. One day, Dad decided that he'd lug his first 2 girls up Airport Hill. I was amazed by the view, but the whole trek is 3 miles, and 1 1/2 are uphill. I wanted to get a picture of the 5 mountain ranges you can see from the top, but Dad hasn't gone back up. Whatever. I got some good pictures anyway. We did some of the usuals:

-Virginia City and Nevada City

-Bozeman

-Livingston

-time with the cousins

-an old-time photo (last year it was a bag-dress, this year it's bug-eyes...I can never look the way I want in those photos :-(.....)

-the usual lazy afternoon with ice pops and back patios involved

But there was one UNusual--we slept in a trailer. Grandma wants to call it a guest house, Mom calls it a tin can. I'm sticking with trailer. It's not too bad, even though it creaks a bit, and when it rains there's one spot that drips on the carpet even with the vents closed, and there's a weird noise my table-converted-to-a-bed makes when I roll over...

Again, whatever. I'm still fine in our guest can.

Oh, and the stop motion! I'm experimenting. I decided not to spend my money in Branson (a difficult choice) and blew my whole wad on an animation book from one of my favorite publishers, Klutz. I made 4 with this free software. Here's my best one, starring my sister and Plasticine clay:

The summer that I didn't talk about at all

Ok, so I'll bet you're all getting kind of tired of finding nothing but my story, and nothing about my life, because you all love me so much and need to know what I'm doing all the time, because you love me to the point of stalking me.

Ok, maybe not THAT much, but I'm sorry I haven't talked about my AMAZING summer at all. So I'll make up for lost time and just do that now.

Nashville Workcamp wasn't my favorite, to be honest. I mean, I loved getting to go to Tennessee with my youth group (most of us, anyway) and get to know some of the older high schoolers better, but there was exactly one person I knew in my crew. So for, like, 6 hours, I didn't have my best friends near me. Breezy's awesome, and I'm glad I know her now, but we barely knew each other before. We stuck together mostly--she even bought me a slushie at Sonic once--but I missed Katie. And since I couldn't go on ladders, I could hardly do anything of importance. If the windows weren't just out of reach, I could have done that, but I had to stand tiptoe on a bucket just to get halfway up the shutters. And I thought 5'5'' wasn't bad for 12 years old!
By the way, I was talking with Breezy and Victoria from the YG, and they kept saying, "You do NOT act like a 7th grader! You could pass for a high schooler!" And I'm like, "I wish!" But I digress.
So I spent most workdays sitting around, texting Mom about how there was NO WAY I was going to hold an A-frame ladder for someone, or offer any more "moral support." One of our co-group leaders asked me to offer "moral support" to the people who could actually paint, like we were supposed to, and I kind of made a joke of it. I filled a spray bottle with cold water and spritzed people with it. They seemed to appreciate it, but I could really have done more to help out than just spray people. So that particular trip is not on my top 5 list of favorite youth trips ever. IMPACT, however, stands at #1.

Oh, IMPACT. How can I describe it? Even saying there's 1000 kids all singing in the giant (and FRIGID) Allen Arena on Lipscomb's campus isn't adequate. Because there's amazing lecturers and speakers, and a little entertainment thing that includes improv, and there's a drama every day, and Coffee House gigs that include free coffee every day, and you can open up to everyone about whatever you need to say, and all the other things that happen there isn't enough. To really get it, you need to GO! My first experience was incredible, if you haven't caught the enthusiasm in my words yet. And my family I'm going to see starting Friday will probably hear all about it, but for those of you who haven't gone to IMPACT, please look into it. If you can, get your church to go, if you attend one. It is indescribable. Oh, and while you're at it, learn the Interlude. I'd be beside myself with joy. :)

The Untold Saga of the Mellark Children, Part 6

After hearing the door burst down, Rue blocked out all the images flashing before her eyes. There was just a slowly fading scene of a dark warehouse room with some blurred figures. One figure was weilding a large hunting rifle, light streaming behind it from the door it busted in. The other two figures were standing off to the side, motionless. As the hunting rifle cocked, so did a pistol in another blur's hand. The room grew whiter and whiter, and the shot rang in her ears for what seemed to be an eternity. The white grew deep and overpowering, and the noise faded.

A wavering voice brought her back.
"We h-havvvve to get yyyyouuu h-hoome, R-Ruuuue...Mom's g-g-getting anxiooousss..."
The first thing she saw thought the whitish fog was her brother's bruised and mortified face.
"Can you w-w-walk?"
Rue said nothing, as it seemed she could not speak. Something almost overpowered her will to stay awake.
But then she saw her brother's face again, and her feeble, dying mind told her otherwise.
"OK, I guesssss that's a n-n-no...WHERE'S THAT STUPID PHONE?!"
As Cinna panicked and hunted for his phone in the dim warehouse, her eye fell upon 2 bodies sprawled across the concrete floor. Her eye wandered, taking it all in but not comprehending. The pistol was about 3 yards from her, and she could see it had made a straight shot...to her very bloody, but perfectly toned calf. Someone had hastily tied strips of fabric around the bullethole, but blood had completely soaked all of the bandages. She could see that the gun had fallen out of Claude's hand, and that Hattie had tried to get the weapon back, but had it wrestled out of her hand after it fired a shot. Cinna was pacing furiously, trying to contact authorities. As Rue blacked out for the third time that day, she just managed to croak into the phone, "I've...been...shot..."
***
"She's been out for a week, Mrs. Mellark. I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do but wait. She's on the strongest meds we have."
The raven-haired, broad-chested doctor spoke in a deep baritone. Katniss was not comforted. Even her husbands arms offered little reassurance. Her daughter was dying. She couldn't have that, not after all she'd seen, not after the ones she'd lost...her firstborn would be the most painful by far. As they left the ICU, Katniss thought of all the death she'd seen: her mother treating the broken miners, the bloody battlefields of the Games and the revolt, her sister, her friends, even her game, illegally obtained--all seen by her Seam-gray eyes.
"Peeta, I can't see anyone else I love die. I can't even see those I DON'T love die!"
Peeta stopped and tried his best to stifle her sobs, but it was difficult, seeing as he'd seen many of the same things she did. Tears soaked his shirt as they both shared in their fading hopes for life.

As Rue slept, she dreamed of the Meadow, which she never would know was a graveyard.

The Untold Saga of the Mellark Children, Part 5

Rue awoke in the dark, both figuratively and literally. She was aware of the fact her eyes, wrists, and ankles were bound, but not much else. Her mind was foggy, like she'd been drugged, and could not remember anything beyond hearing footsteps behind her. Slowly, after a little while, she regained her thoughts and memory.

She had been walking through the streets of her district, 12, at about 20 minutes past 9 P.M. Rue was rushing to get home because her journalist work had her in The Capitol for a while, and she had to pay a visit to her brother, Cinna. Her car hadn't been returned to her yet from her travels, so she was forced to walk about 6 miles in her business heels, which she was not too happy about. After 2 miles, she had oozy blisters, which freaked her out, and Rue wallowed in her awful mood as she took step after aching step across the darkened avenue. Then, she heard heavy footfalls behind her. Turning swiftly, a sudden rush of adrenaline consumed her, but she saw no one in the dark night. Ignoring her blisters, she began to speed walk, then run, but the steps continues still. A rock struck against her foot, and she began to fall, but not before an unknown arm caught her...and another whacked her with tremendous force on the back of her ponytailed head, knocking her out cold.

A knife cut off her blindfold, and Rue's sapphire-blue eyes unfocused in the sudden exposure to a bright light above her head. Still temporarily blind, the smudgy figure in front of her didn't match with the voice she heard.
"Are you sure this it the right one?" said a baritone, gruff sort of voice.
"Positive, absolutely positive," responded a higher, but equally gruff voice.
"Hey Rue," the baritone voice said to her, "remember me?"
Her eyes focused, and her jaw fell to the floor.
"C-C-CLAUDE?!"
"That's right, Rue! It's your grade-school buddy, Claude! And guess who's with me?"
Blood-red nails scraped at Rue's face slowly, leaving white marks on her cheek. A face, heavily coated with makeup, popped up half a centimeter from Rue's. Before she could take it in, the face smiled grimly and said, "It's HATTIE!!"
Claude stepped up beside his accomplice with an evil smirk. He was clearly thrilled by the fear behind Rue's blue eyes.
"I-I have 1 question, C-Claude." Rue made a fruitless attemtpt at appearing without fear. "Why kidnap m-me? If it's b-because I left school, that wasn't m-my fault."
"Sweetheart, this is so much bigger than you can imagine. When you left school, people began to wonder why little Mellark had gone right after the new teacher came. Ms. Trimmer wanted the old ways, the way things were before the final Hunger Games, and she fixed us to be just like her, and we want the old ways. Your parents are powerful, influential, and they don't think like we do, which is a problem. Origionally, we were just going to kill them, quietly, but then we heard of their children. Cinna fell away, and if he were to-heh heh-be hurt, your family wouldn't react as much as they would if it was their daughter, Rue. Little, perfect, sucsessful Rue, all alone in the dark, with no one to help her. But we offer them a chance to recover their angel girl: just give us 50,000 dollars and a TV spot where they say they want the old ways back. Really a small price for such a gem," he said as his clammy hand brushed Rue's injured cheek. She shuddered at his touch.

About this time, Cinna decides to bust in the door.

The Untold Saga of the Mellark Children, Part 4

Have you been wondering where Cinna Mellark's been all this time? I'm going to catch you up on his story, because the brother-sister duo are going to come together in these next few sections. Please comment! It's the only way I'll know if you like anything I've done!

"CINNA?!"
The surprised look on Rue's face was pure gold. She had no idea I was coming, thought Cinna. Her surprise turned to a giant grin that he matched. The next 5 minutes was a flurry of hugs, smiles, and tons of frantic questions.
"Where have you been? Geez, how tall are you now? Why didn't you ever respond to my calls or letters? Oh my gosh, you look completely different!"
"For cryin' out loud, Rue! Stop talking for half a second and let me answer!"
Rue collapsed onto the ancient leather couch that had sat in the family room since their childhood. Breathless and excited, she had no energy left to respond. Cinna sat next to his long-lost sister and started filling her in on the past few months since they'd last met.
He'd been working long and hard in the rolling hills and fields of District 11, right next door, to try and pay the bills of his new apartment he could barely afford. The friction between him and his mother got so intense, he decided to move out. The descision was made rashly, however, and he didn't pick as well as Rue did someplace to live. The stress was incredible, trying to keep his parents at a distance, the 15-hour workdays, the crime and drugs enveloping his inner-city area. Just trying to get by was giving him migranes that kept him from work, which cut into his paycheck that was too small already, which caused more stress...worry lines already creased the brow of this 19-year old man. Rue now understood why he hadn't called or written--it was just too painful, too hard to relay his crumbling life to her. When he finished, Cinna started massaging his temple with a boiling expression on his face. His dismal little apartment reflected it perfectly. Without any warning, he jumped up and said, "Well, nice seeing you again, Rue. Hope you have a good time working for the paper." Completely stunned, Rue allowed him to push her out the door without another word.
***
A note was pasted to Cinna's door. Ripping it off the cheap plexiglass, his dark gray eyes scanned the words. Suddenly, his eyes widen, making them seem grayer than ever. With trembling fingers, he pulls something from the envelope attached to the note. He mutters, "No way on earth..." and stops short when he sees it.
A scrap of fabric, black pinstripe.
The suit.
Rue's suit.
Cinna dashes inside, quick as lightning. He grabs a shotgun and a cell phone before racing to his clunky old car.

The note is a ransom note.

My Artistires, which will knock your shoes AND socks off

Et voila!

This is actually a school project due tomorrow, so you're getting an inside look!

This is the oil pastel version which I almost used, but didn't thanks to a certain person's critique and suggestions (this person also shares my blood and was celebrated today with toast and a present she'd already read.)

If you don't know what it is, which is a common mistake, it's a girl with her hair over her face. I call it, Girl With Hair Over Face.

This is from an activity book with guided drawing stuff. My paintings used to look rather primitive, but they are much improved now thanks to the pastel how-to bok I found!

Last but not least, these are based on my sister's purple Chucks. The white tiled part is our bathroom floor before we changed it.

Thanks for watching my online art show! :-]

The Untold Saga of the Mellark Children, Part 3

I am not a baby anymore. This is very possible. I can do this myself.

Oh, what's the use of trying to convince myself that this will work? In a few years I'll be crawling back home with no money and nowhere else to turn. The name "Rue Mellark" will have to be changed to "Mud." That will have to do. "Oh, hello, Mud! How are you doing, living in the sewer, foraging for food? Very well, I hope." This was just a crazy dream anyway, becoming a journalist. Why did I even think I could get a job like that with no experience, no resume, no connections, no nothing?!

Look at yourself, Rue! All humped in a corner acting like you've been turned down by the meanest person in the world. You haven't even left District 12! Stop being a whiner and get up off your rear end! That's the only way you could get to any interview whatsoever!

Now I'm talking to myself. Am I going off the deep end? Maybe that nagging voice has a point.
***
Rue put on her most professional-looking fitted suit: a pinstripe jacket and skirt of gray and black that made her shoulders look regal and perfect, a pink scarf, and not-too-high high heels of the same color. Resume in hand, she walked across the busy Capitol streets towards (hopefully) her office. After about 6 blocks, she reached it: the looming tower of The Panem Herald. Now that the districts are free to exchange goods, information, and tourists, there could be a newspaper for all of Panem, not just the individual districts. Gulping down the nervous lump in the esophagus, she stepped inside.

The lobby was spectacular, to say the least. It held vast arrays of expensive furniture all in brown, but it made the room seem very serene and undistracting, and not at all dull. Rich mahogany tables were surrounded by large leather armchairs studded with dull bronze. Brown rugs sat beneath, and the cherry display cabinets held old news. Stepping closer, Rue took a closer look at the headlines. Most were about the rapid changes that occured while her parents were growing up, and read things like FREE TRADE BETWEEN DISTRICTS 5 AND 6 ESTABLISHED, MORE DISTRICTS TO FOLLOW SUIT...MEMORIAL OF HUNGER GAMES VICTIMS BUILT IN HEART OF CAPITOL...and a much older one, almost twice Rue's age, was titled KATNISS EVERDEEN AND PEETA MELLARK OF DISTRICT 12 WIN HUNGER GAMES.

The paper broke apart into sections to reveal the editorials, all on the same subject. Someone named Phineas Frederick's column was headed SCANDALOUS WIN OF HG, DONE WITH NIGHTLOCK? Though the print was old and faded, one could still read his play-by-play of the nightlock incident, and why he thought the young victors should be disqualified (code for executed) because of threatening the rules of the Games. Beneath so many angry, snide words, was a picture of Katniss and Peeta holding up the poisonous berries, looks of despiration and just a tiny bit of revenge plastered on their dirty, sunken faces. Rue was in shock. Were these her parents? Her bright, intelligent mother, her solid, always-there father? These faces could not be theirs. These were too full of pain, too sleepless, too grief-stricken to be 16 years old, no matter where they lived. A shrill voice called out to her over her angry, horrified thoughts, pulling her to the shores of reality.
"Rue Mellark, Mr. Rettinsly is ready for you."
Pulling herself back together, she strutted into the Human Resources Department.

Allow me to gush

Um, is it OK if I go on and on a bit about how much I adore my favorite book trilogy? 

Not waiting for permission!

Check out what I found on that blessing from above, Google Images:

Cool, huh? For those of you who have not read the best sci-fi series of all time, Katniss Everdeen is in the center, Gale is on the left, and Peeta is on the right. The artist did great with keeping the faces accurate, and the characters look exactly as I imagine them. I desperately want to paint like this. DESPERATELY. I would probably get a major self-confidence boost, especially after my latest artistic failure on a $6 canvas. My remaking of this photo from the 80's didn't work out, and she looks like a poorly drawn vampire. Here's what

I wanted it to look like:

Here's what it turned out like:

Get the picture?

Back on Hunger Games. I have now recommended this personally to 4 people, and now I'm recommending it to the e-universe: READ THESE BOOKS. As you know, I'm writing a story based on these characters' children, I was so inspired by the story. I have one last picture to show you. This is Katniss's token going into the Games, and the bird is a mockingjay. The shape to me is so beautiful, and it's been reinterperited so well for the cover art:

I'm done gushing now. Phew...

The Untold Saga of the Mellark Children, Pt. 2

It was a blustery Monday morning when Rue went to her own personal nightmare. The day before, 3 years ago on the day, her parents had told her what happened to so many people that they loved dearly, people that she would never get to meet. One of them was a girl her age, 12, when she was murdered by a boy from District 1 20 years ago. Rue carried her name, and she also carried the name of an aunt Katniss had never spoken of until that day, fighting tears valiently. She was blown up by the powerful Capitol during a revolution that ended the Hunger Games, in which both her parents played twice in a row. One of the few people still living that her parents spoke of was Gale, the current dictator, who was apparently much fairer than the Capitol's president, who was executed before she was born. She remembered the day perfectly, because that day she realized the sadness that her mother hid from them, why when she stood on tiptoe with her hands stretched out, Katniss tried to cover up her sobs with coughing. Both Primrose, her sister, and her friend Rue had that same pose. Now,  walking up the concrete steps of Meadow Junior High School, she prserves this day in her mind, because Social studies will be torture for her now for the next 4 weeks. For an entire month, the students of Mr. Fattern's class will be focusing on The Hunger Games Revolution.

Both of her parents being former contenders and catylists in the revolution, and just because Mr. Fatterns was an idiot, Rue will be bombarded with questions about her mother's and father's thoughts and ideas, of which she had no clue, and of their hardships, which neither Rue nor her parents wanted to speak of. His questions would get her classmates started, and it so aggravated her that she didn't consider any of the people who asked her about the revolution no longer her friend. But when Rue stepped inside the dreary grey classroom, she found not a plump, balding man but a young, slim lady in a pale green pantsuit. Her lemon yellow hair was piled up on her head in a bun, and she wore bright pink lipstick and green eyeshadow, which matched her eye color perfectly. She spoke in a flutey voice.
"How are you, Rue? Mr. Fatterns told me about you. Apparently, your parents are Katniss and Peeta Mellark! I'm the sub, Ms. Trimmer."
Ms. Trimmer seized her hand and shook vigorously. Rue was stunned by her clearly false perkiness. Didn't her mother mention somebody named Effie Trinket? Ms. Trimmer behaved in an excruciatingly similar way. The high voice with the Capitol accent, the odd hair color, the fakey energetic persona...this could only mean that her substitute teacher was the daughter of her mother's least favorite tour planner. This unit was getting off to a smashing start.
***
The stench of faux chicken and soggy vegtables filled Rue's nose, and she inhaled gratefully. Anything smelled better right now than Ms. Trimmer's hairspray. Choking down a bite of "chicken leg," she reflected on the torturous class. It was many times worse than she expected. Ms. Trimmer actually was Effie's child, and was talking nonstop to her about how her mother told her so many stories when she was a child about being a part of the last 2 Hunger Games and the revolution, and how her mother was so pretty, but caustic and groggy in the mornings, and how her father was such a gentleman. All period long, she would pause and check her reflection in a small compact every few minutes. The accent grated her nerves down to powder. It seemed the period would never end. After 1 and a half murderously long hours, the bell rang for lunch. It wouldn't be long before the questions started from her classmates. At least her friend Claude understood. He was nearly silent and never raised his hand, but got A's in all his classes. Rue felt she could trust him a lot more than the other people in her classes, especially Hattie, the rude girl who acted like a 5-year-old child. She was always out to get Rue in trouble.

After the school day ended and she walked home, she told her parents all about Social Studies. After talking privately and hearing that this was the last straw, they told her surprising news: they were going to have an adventure in homeschooling.
"But when will I see my friends again?" whined Rue.
"We can call and arrange something. There's always festivals and camp." Her father spoke so calmly it drove Rue insane.
Yes, thought Rue, but not Claude. He didn't go to camps or festivals because of his acute shyness. Would she ever see him again?
"We can't have you being this aggravated all the time. If she's going to replace Mr. Fatterns, you would never get work done from what I'm hearing."
"Well, if this doesn't work, then put me back in!" Rue hadn't thrown a tantrum since she was 6. Was another one starting up?
"I promise, Rue." Her mother crossed her heart.

So began the adventure in homeschooling.

A little fan fiction

My friend Samira recommended fanfiction.net to me today, and I'm a bit inspired. So, in this very post, I will now attempt genuine FAN FICTION. (dun dun duuuuuuuun!)

The Untold Saga of The Mellark Children, Pt. 1

Rue Primrose Mellark ran ahead of her younger brother. Her icy-blue eyes took in everything in the Meadow--every flower, every stone. An A-student in her school, she was very observant of everything. When her brother, Cinna Gale Mellark was coming about inside her mother, Katniss, she noticed how sick she was, and her odd quirks. As the lump continued to grow, she observed her mother devouring odd things, like bananas and roast duck washed down with chocolate milk and cinnamon bread for dessert. She stood aside as her father, Peeta, never left her side as the baby bump enlarged, helping her through doorways and fetching her the odd meals she requested. And she also eavesdropped when they talked with each other when it was well past her bedtime.

She never meant to be spying on her own parents. But when she heard a cry from her mother, she had to know what happened. Stealthily, she crept to the door and tried the handle. Locked! She put her ear to the keyhole and silently listened.

"I just don't know when to tell them about...the past. Rue doesn't even know who she's named for! And Cinna..." Katniss trailed off.

"Katniss, look at me." The stern-sounding voice of her father seemed much louder in the sleepy house. "I think the time is now. Tomorrow. As soon as Rue moves up to fourth grade, they will do lessons on the Games. No doubt the teacher will ask her questions, single her out, maybe, because of who we are. I know you've been putting this off, but you can't anymore. She's nine years old now. She's old enough to know."

Know what? What have they been hiding from me?

"OK, I give up. You're right. As usual."

Rue walked away after the keyhole went silent, confused and tired. Part of her wanted to march inside her mother's and father's room and ask what were they hiding, but the good side of her said that this can wait until morning after a good night's sleep. The good side won, and she collapsed into her bed, half-asleep.

***

A bright sunbeam lit Rue's face. Her long dark hair was in knots and her eyes were stuck together with morning eye crud. A normal morning. Throwing on her favorite blue shirt and a comfy pair of shorts, she hurried downstairs to the kitchen. Cinna sat in his high chair, making gurgling sounds and giggling when he dropped his sippy cup on the floor. 

"Morning, Rue. How's cinnamon toast sound?" her mother called from the stove.

"Fine, Momma." Rue took her seat next to Cinna and picked up the sippy cup. It was a Sunday, a no-school day, and Rue was glad that she could stay home for what she heard about the night before. Warm sunshine filtered in from the large windows and her mother walked in with a plate for her. It was Rue's favorite Sunday breakfast: 2 thick slices of homemade bread crisp and buttery, with not too much cinnamon and sugar on top.

"I am so glad you learned to cook," said her father, kissing Katniss's cheek.

"After I about killed you with that meatloaf," she retorted back, but with a smile on her face.

Rue laughed quietly at the memory. It was so rock-hard that her father choked on it a bit, and her mother was so embarrassed that she signed up for a cooking class the came day. Her mother sat down and sighed. As Peeta and she exchanged glances, Rue could feel something coming. Something important.

"Rue, do you know what The Hunger Games were?

TO BE CONTINUED...

Peridots and Perseus

This Friday I got a hole punched in either of my ears. My aunt Jamie will be happy to learn that no, the holes weren't punched with a surgical needle multiple times, they were only done once with a little gauge-puncher-thing. I got my birthstone, a peridot, which is a fun word to say (Yay! I love fun words like peridot and Zulu and Ouagadougou!) and a cool lime green color. By the way, you say that o-word WAH-gah-DOO-goo. I'm having to clean them 3 times a day now, and can't wear hoops or even change them for months. Suckish, but I don't want to mess with my ears anymore for a while. I get to show them off tomorrow, so yay! AGAIN! Also, I'm writing a retelling of Perseus and Medusa, so I got online to do research because I may draw pictures, too. Either Greeks were really perverted, or people just walked around naked as a jaybird all the time. I really doubt the latter, but there usually is the little fig leaf of the scarf positioned just so to cover up what must be covered. Oddly, when I typed in "Medusa" some pictures of pretty snake-haired girls came up. Um, hello? She's supposed to be so hideous she paralyzes you? Gosh, the art world is being hypnotized by Hollywood to paint seductive monsters! WHAT IS THIS WORLD COMING TO!?!? Here's an example:

Hooray for random school breaks!

For some odd reason, the school board decided that we could use a shorter summer and more breaks in between. I do homework with lots of breaks, so I didn't object. But the calender called for a completely useless week-long break in the middle of Februrary that they called "President's Day Holidays." It started today, and I'm wondering what to do in the middle of the month with no school all the sudden. Others, like my buddy Britney in another school district, got her break taken away because of the snow week that swallowed Georgia. This is why you build snow days into the calender just in case, genius school board people! I do have some plans, however. I know for sure that Dad'll take us to Chattanooga on Monday, so I'm looking foreward to the children's museum. Mom may not want me going because last time, I sorta went crazy loco. 1 word: overstimulation. But I've gone there before, so maybe this time that won't happen. We also always go to Sticky Fingers. I believe my dad when he says it's in the Mosaic Law somewhere, because we never ignore it. As soon as Mom sails back from the FRICKIN' BAHAMAS, we'll hopefully go to Claire's and get our ears pierced. I got a gift card for Claire's (thanks Granny!) but Roxy managed to spend it all in one trip, on a bookbag. Only my sister could make $15 go that quickly. and I have a few minor project-type things for school, so there's that. But that'll only use up, like, 3 days. Then I have to figure out how to fill up the next 4. Roxy may want to burn the rest of her savings today, though, so a video game or a kit of some kind will come out of Target with us.

Cool Kindles rock!

I am tapping my heart out with this post because I'm posting this from my Kindle. I may actually be in love with this thing. Really. Period. What she said. Not only does it let me get online and read books, it is a jealousy generator for pretty much everybody in my youth group, especially Tripp. If you can read this, continue the jealousy. Rarely can I ever say somebody wishes they were me. Amazon, if you can read this,I can advertize very well. ;)

There's good news, and there's bad news squared

The good news is I can do 6, count 'em, 6 things for LTC because of the double bad I'll tell you about.
The bad news is I didn't make it into Annie. Not because I was bad, but because they changed the musical and the audition format completely. See, Annie's doing a touring show, and nobody else can perform the same play while they're touring. Camp Rock replaced it, and I DO NOT want to make a fool of myself dancing and singing to (retch) CAMP ROCK. Nothing against Demi, but the story and the songs weren't even that good. Besides, I'm a terrible dancer.
The other bad news is the academic team didn't make it past semi-finals. Oh well. I guess top 22 in the state isn't half bad...still sad. :-[.... (that's a crying emoticon)
Oh! There's 2 more good news bits I forgot!
1) I discovered Grooveshark. I'm lovin' it, because it's free, and they have a library almost as big as iTunes. I'll use it to explore new songs, and I'll buy them if I really like a song.
2) I am getting better at calligraphy. I brought my pen to school today to practice, and I wound up writing approximately 5 billion names and titles in my red spiral with all my drawings. I'll really impress Mrs. Hughes, probably (she's my art teacher).

Hey, what's that white stuff falling from the sky?

Before I get into the main theme of the whole post, which you probably have guessed from the very revealing title, let me tell you some good news. Saturday, my academic team went to compete at Reigonals, and WON!!! No, not just barely got in, we won the WHOLE THING! The trophy was real, and not just cheap plastic! Why am I talking in exclamatory statements! Help me! Aaaaaaah! I can't stop! Why is this happening to me!

***

Heh-heh. Sorry. Ahem...a bit silly of me, really.

Moving on...

***

At Life Group, all of us seemed to lie in wait. The forecasters were predicting 100% chance of snow, and just about all the counties in North Georgia were called for in the news. The only question were how much, and will it be enough to close school? 

As usual, when any threat of winter is predicted for Georgia, we overreact. Salting the roads and stocking our pantries, it appears that there's a Snow-pocalypse scheduled. Most of us were munching oatmeal cookies and watching football, on occasion seeing a news flash for all the counties set to be buried. Josh Sanders held his smartphone in the air. "All Cobb County Schools are cancelled tomorrow!" The Adults all cheered quietly while The Babies, who didn't have school, scampered across the floor. I hurried upstairs to break the news to The Kids.

When I announced to my overstuffed bedroom, "All Cobb County Schools are closed tomorrow!" I was mauled by overenthusiastic grade-schoolers and fellow middle-schoolers. My bestie, who told me she didn't even like snow, was overjoyed. This proves to Adults that we Kids will accept any chance to get out of our penitentiaries/schools. Any change of routine, any slight mix-up, we grab at. But I never expected 5 inches of white stuff!

Sadly, it built little more than snowballs, seeing that it had an icy crust on top and powder in the middle. It was OK for sledding, but our little hill wasn't much of a ride. We were fearless snipers in an epic battle in the icy terrain that was once our yard, with no determined victor, since everybody went inside after about 15 minutes. I lugged Roxy on an expedition to the next neighborhood over, where we counted 2 stranded cars in that short distance, along with an escapee greyhound puppy. Overall, we had quite a day with no school. The good news--no school tomorrow, either. The bad news--my concert is postponed, for the second time. Oh, nuts.

Apologies and chocolate cake

I fully realize I have not been posting as of late. And...sigh...I apologize.

OK, now that that's taken care of...
I'm feeling the whole pressure cooker thing lately. THIS FRIDAY I HAVE A MAJOR ACADEMIC BOWL COMPETITION. I AM THE ONLY ONE ON THE TEAM WHO IS USUALLY THE LITERATURE PERSON. I HAVE LOWERED MYSELF TO WRITING IN ALL CAPS, I AM SO SERIOUSLY SCARED. AAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!
ahem...where were we? 
I also have a big chorus concert. That I'm not so worried about, but if I don't get over my code (cough cough) den Ibe bedder nod be tribing do singb. Then, on Saturday next week, I have auditions. For a musical. In a real theatre troupe. For Annie. God help me (and Shirley Temple too).

You're also probably wondering where the cake part is from.

I just baked a cake on Sunday for Life Group.

That is all.

Goodbye.

poof