Practicing Stream of Consciousness Writing

I wandered into the main hall and found Amanda sitting with Chris Gillingham, whose red hair was as frizzy as ever, and – my heart skipped – Randall Hopkins. Randall had grown yet again over the summer; he had to be over six feet tall now. Stupid attractive boy and his stupid attractive tallness. Chris had grown too. Now they towered over everyone.

Breath, Kayley. Lick lips, fix hair, breathe, be calm, act natural, don’t forget to smile. Crap! What am I going to say to him? Hey? Hello? What’s up? Gah, no. Just say hi to Amanda first and talk to her for a minute first and then you can talk to Randall. Patience, girl. Chill out.

“Amanda!” I cried once I got within her hearing range. We hugged again, and I looked her over properly. Gorgeous as always, and taller than last year. “I could have sworn I used to be taller than you,” I teased her, standing on my tiptoes. Am I the only one who’s not growing?

Amanda stood on her tiptoes too. First time she ever stood taller than me even when I was on my tiptoes. It was wonderful to see her. We laughed and hugged again.  It was good to be back. It’s odd to think of Woodbridge as home, but it is really the closest thing to a home that I have.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

More hugs, and then Amanda gave me an eyebrow wiggle and nodded towards Randall. Don’t be obvious, he might notice! I returned the eyebrow wiggle. I am screaming on the inside and am eternally grateful to you for helping me see him so soon.

“Hey,” I said cheerfully and hopefully casually to Chris and wonderful-brilliant-Randall.

“Hey!” Chris beamed at me, as always. Chris is always like that. Honestly the cheeriest person I know.

Randall was a little shyer. Why is that so attractive? Stupid shyness should not stupid be so stupid attractive. I had spent many hours trying to figure out what it was about Randall that made my stomach feel like it was trying out for the Olympic gymnastics team, but had never come to anything more conclusive than “he’s just so Randall-ish.”

“Hi, Kayley,” he said. He said my name! “How was your summer?”

Thank goodness I actually have something to tell him about my summer. “It was really really great,” I told him.

Remember to talk to Amanda and Chris, too! Don’t look like you’re totally engrossed in gorgeous-Randall’s fantastic facial features. Even though you totally are, chided sensible-Kayley.

“My dad got to come home from Afghanistan for the summer-”

Shut up, I’m trying to have a conversation here! Retorted lovesick-Kayley.

“-so we spent the entire summer-”

Well you’re sucking at it!

“-on the craziest and best road trip of my life.”

Stop distracting me!

Randall smiled and laughed in all the right places, completely oblivious of the argument sensible-Kayley and lovesick-Kayley were having in my head. Amanda didn’t kick me in the shins, and she usually did when I was being super obvious about liking Randall, so I must have been doing a decent job at acting natural – ha! – and casual – ha! – and nonchalant – ha! Conversation’s going well!

“You’re still doing orchestra this year, right?” perfect-Randall asked me.

Are you kidding? Would I give up the chance to stare at you for an hour every day and pretend it’s because I’m just awesome at following the group when we play?

“Yeah, of course I am!” is what sensible-Kayley managed to translate from lovesick-Kayley’s gushing. Randall smiled at my answer, though I knew it was only because he knew that I was the best violist in the school and someone had to whip the other violists into shape. Randall told me that he and Chris were also still doing orchestra this year – obvious, since they were both really great at their instruments – and that his summer had been spent with family and at various camps for his church.

                Oh you wonderful boy, I am going to marry you someday.

Fandom

Learn everywhere. Learn from everything you do. Perhaps it’s because I grew up thinking that educational television was the only television out there, and that all games involved some aspect of learning that I have learned to look for lessons to learn from everything I come across, particularly the media I consume. All media – all books, stories, television, movies, or plays that are worth watching have truth in them. That’s why we as humans tell stories. Our stories, our fiction, our lies, reveal truth deeper than just plain words ever could.

“Story makes us more alive, more human, more courageous, more loving. Why does anybody tell a story? It does indeed have something to do with faith, faith that the universe has meaning, that our little human lives are not irrelevant, that what we choose or say or do matters, matters cosmically.”

― Madeleine L’Engle

            I suppose that’s why I love fandom. Fandoms understand that stories are not just events that happen in an interesting way, but powerful treasure troves of emotion, feeling, splendor and heartache – an emotional roller coaster, yes, but one that brings you to highs you never could have imagined.

            My first fandom was the Harry Potter fandom, which I discovered when I was only ten years old, and had no idea what I was getting myself into. After reading the books, which transported me to a magical land of witches, wizards, spells, potions, flying brooms, ghosts, paintings that talked, monsters, giants and the boarding school environment, I was desperate for more Harry Potter. And so my young hands reached out to my parents' computer and searched the internet for Harry Potter. I was delivered, fresh and young blood, to the Harry Potter fansites, and without knowing what was happening, formed an allegiance to my favorite fansite, joined the legions of shippers, and delved into fandom - where the stories didn't end when you closed the book.

It was through Harry Potter that I found fanfiction, graphics, fanart, and learned about writing for fun. It was in the Harry Potter fandom that I grew to love fictional characters like I did my own friends. I thought that Harry Potter was everything.

“For now, all I could do was stare at the words I had just written on my screen, words that would shape the next several months of my life, that signified the end of an extraordinary time, a time that had given me confidence and purpose and independence, an era in which millions of people found fun and community and enchantment under one boy wizard's thrall.”

― Melissa Anelli

But as time passed, and the last book of Harry Potter was released, my involvement in fandom continued, for it wasn't only Harry Potter that stirred up the passion of fandom in me and the many other strangers I had encountered through the fandom.

First Lord of the Rings, and then Sherlock, and then Doctor Who all came along, each stealing my heart. The joy, the anticipation, the terror, the heartbreak, the sense of community, the feeling of pure aliveness that the fandoms brought was unmatched. I cried all through Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. The Lord of the Rings helped me understand how a world torn apart by war could still hold hope and happy endings. I found excitement and community in the Sherlock fandom, and messages of hope for all the universe in Doctor Who. And from these experiences I have concluded that fandom is good, fandom brings people together, fandom awakens our minds, hearts and souls to worlds beyond our sense, and allows us a glimpse of what we are capable of.

 “There's a time and place for everything, and I believe it’s called 'fan fiction'.”

― Joss Whedon

            The fanfiction of fandoms allows us to create in worlds we’re comfortable with, much like the blocks and dolls from childhood pretend worlds. It allows those who would never try their hand at writing to explore what they can do with words in a world they’re read and dreamed about and come to know as their own. Fanfiction has most notably brought the Sherlock community together, with the entire fandom united under a banner of grief after reading Alone on the Water and squealing at the romance in Performance in a Leading Role. Fanfiction allows the story to go on even after it’s over.

            Fandom awakens in me, and, I believe, most of my fellow passengers on this journey through mortality, a passion for life, for others, and for the power of our imaginations and what we can create. Fandom is a support community, a playground, a place for passion and creativity to fuse into discovering eternal truth, and I am proud to be a part of it.

Edelweiss Pirates Excerpt

So many women think rain is romantic. There’s nothing romantic about the rain, really, when you think about it.  I’ve heard so many women talk about how they dream of being kissed in the rain. Dancing in the rain. Having someone confess that they love them while they’re being completely soaked by an absolute deluge.

These women have clearly never done the aforementioned activities. A high school boyfriend of mine, Dan, took me for one of those romantic rain things one summer. I guess his sisters subscribed to the “rain is so romantic” philosophy and told him to take me out in the rain or something. Anyway, we went for a walk, and kissed in the rain, and he told me he loved me. And it was sweet and all, but it wasn’t really that romantic. Less romantic than it would have been if he had just told me in his living room, like he had for the first time. Because the rain just made things kind of awkward. Kissing is so unromantic when there’s water dripping down your faces. Hugs are awkward when you’re both covered in sopping wet cotton. And sure, the smell of rain is nice, but the smell of rain-soaked cotton is not what I like to snuggle into when I hug my boyfriend.

But the worst part was the talking in the rain thing. I loved that he loved me, but honestly, it would have been a lot better if we hadn’t both been blinking as fast as we could, making the world look like a strobelight was on. But with this water falling from the sky, what else can you do?

Don’t get me wrong, I do love the rain. It’s just not romantic to be out in it.

Do you know what is romantic? To be sheltered from the rain, snuggling with your sweetheart, watching the storm. Sitting outside on a porch, a blanket wrapped around you, leaning into the man of your dreams, who doesn’t smell like wet cotton, but smells like himself. It’s romantic to just sit there, the two of you, watching the sky pour down liquid life into the world around you. It’s romantic to go outside for the first time all summer, because it’s finally cool enough to go outside without roasting. That’s romantic.

And that’s what Ryan and I were doing. His mom came outside and watched with us for a few minutes, but she’s seen plenty of rain in her time. I guess Ryan had as well, but he was humoring my amazement at just how long and how hard the rain could come down.

This is something the rest of the Pirates don’t understand. Sure, the mountains are beautiful, wonderful, majestic, glorious, everything that we say they are. But there’s something to be said for the quiet of the rain, falling into the trees that are all around. The rest of the Pirates have never seen a rainstorm go on for hours like this, except for those times in London, Seattle and Tokyo. But it’s not the same, even then. Those times, the city bustled all around us, and the rain was just an inconvenience, not a beauty. We couldn’t exactly have taken time to just sit and watch the rain when we were on tour, and that was probably a good thing. But if we had, maybe the rest of the Pirates would understand just how wonderful the Louisiana summer rain is.

Ryan’s fingers began tapping on my arm. I don’t think he even realized that he was doing it, it was so natural to him. They started out at a decent speed, and then slowed as he dramatically struck chords on keyboard keys that weren’t there. I gave him ten seconds before he jumped up to find a piano, counting down in my head.

Ten. Nine.

I heard Mrs. Waterbury yelp as some pans clattered in the kitchen.

Six. Five. Four.

The pans finished clattering, and I could hear John laughing.

Two. One.

Predictably, Ryan startled and moved to get up. I slid away from him so that he could, and he turned to me, still dazed by the musical idea in his head. “I need a piano,” he said unnecessarily.

“Go,” I bade him cheerfully. “I’ll go see if your mom wants help with dinner.”

Ryan nodded and darted back inside the house, fingers tapping the empty air now.

I sighed happily. I couldn’t help it. I was in such a lovely place, with Ryan’s family, who all liked me, and I liked all of them. Everything had gone splendidly, and there wasn’t a single thing about my life I wanted to change.

But such happiness cannot be kept to oneself, I have found, so it was only a moment before I found Mrs. Waterbury and John and Erika in the kitchen. Mrs. Waterbury had three pots on the stove, and was checking the oven for something else. She had Erika chopping vegetables on the counter, and John was doing his best to annoy her while he rummaged in the pantry for something.

“Do you want some help, Mrs. Waterbury?” I asked, trying not to giggle at John’s frantic head shaking behind his mother’s back.

She returned to one of the pans on the stove, facing me. “Call me Helen, dear – Mrs. Waterbury is my mother in law!”

I cringed. “Right. Sorry. I forgot.” I was not remotely used to the idea of calling someone as old as Mrs. Waterbury – er, Helen – by their first name, but I supposed I’d have to make an effort. “Do you want some help, Helen?” The name felt funny in my mouth, but Mrs. Wate – er, Helen – accepted it happily.

“I’d love some, dear. Could you help Erika with the salad? There’s a good paring knife in the drawer to the left of the sink.”

“Sure,” I nodded. I found the knife, and sat on the stool next to Erika, who slid the cutting board over towards me so that we could share it and nodded towards the pile of vegetables to be cut. I picked up some tomatoes and began slicing.

John gave a cry of triumph and emerged from the pantry, a bottle of reddish stuff in his hand. “Found it!”

“Great,” replied his mother, who beckoned him over, and the two began discussing how much of the mystery substance to put in some other mystery substance. Erika rolled her eyes at them and turned towards me.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “It’s great to finally balance out the men and women.”

That confused me. Why did their male/female ratio need balancing? So I asked her. “Um, why do the men and women need to be balanced?”

Erika chuckled. “Well, before you, Waterbury family gatherings were great, but a lot of times the numbers just didn’t work. Like any time we wanted to play something in teams. Or when the boys went off to be boys, it was a little weird to have it be just me and Helen. But mostly when Simon and Helen and John and I were having our couple time. Poor Ryan was just kind of left there, all by himself. Fifth wheel, kind of.”

“But not anymore?” I asked tentatively.

She smiled. “No, not anymore.”

I tried not to smile too widely as we cut the vegetables, but I couldn’t help it. Just thinking about Ryan made me happier than anything ever. I must have looked ridiculous, grinning like an idiot with a knife in hand, because Erika glanced over at me and giggled.

What? I asked, already knowing that she would laugh at my silly young lovesick self.

Excerpt From Edelweiss Pirates

The lights were shining, bright as ever, as Natalie caught Abby’s eye and inhaled sharply. Abby watched her, anticipating her movement, both of them feeling the identical pulsing in their veins before suddenly, simultaneously attacking their strings.

                The piece was building, the erratic, syncopated rhythm slowly speeding, and the frantic chromatic notes, repeating over and over, growing shorter and tenser. Finally, the group and the music exploded into the final joyous refrain of the song, and Abby felt as if she were flying. Flying on the music, flying like her bow flew across her strings. The feeling continued until the piece ended, and then Abby’s heart landed back on the Earth.

                She panted, exhilarated, and saw Natalie and the others doing the same. It was always like that when they finished a piece: as if they had run a mile, or woken from a nightmare. But playing was no nightmare. It was a dream, the best of dreams, no matter how many times they did it.

                The applause thundered around them.  Still watching each other, the way they had done for years now, the group stood up together, rising swiftly from their seats, instruments still in hand. Abby shook her head out, trying to reorient herself. Her hair danced around her face as she shook her head, and Abby ran her hand through her hair, trying to get it off her face.

                Josh was looking around at them, ready to lead them in their bow. Abby blushed a little as she realized that she was the last one to meet his eyes, and that the whole group had been waiting on her, if only for two seconds. Following Josh, they all bowed swiftly towards the audience. Some of them were standing up, and they were all clapping.

                “Whew,” she heard Chris say next to her, wiping his brown on his sleeve. “It’s hot under these lights.”

                Abby nodded, still breathless from performing. She looked over at Chris, whose curly red hair was even larger than usual. “How’d it go, then?”

                Chris shrugged. “Not bad – although did you see my bow? I broke off a good chunk of hair tonight! Got a little overzealous on that sforzando, I guess. You?”

                “Great. I remembered to cue Natalie at measure 59.” Then Chris and Abby picked up their cellos and followed the rest of the group off the stage, ducking through a door to the backstage that was hidden behind a curtain. All around her, her best friends were rolling their necks, cracking their backs, stretching their arms, packing up their instruments, drinking chocolate milk from an absurdly large mug – all the thing that they always did after a performance. 

                The entire group, as always, was keeping one eye on Natalie. She was their leader. It wasn’t official or anything – she had never been elected or formally declared the leader of the group. She just was. Natalie had an air about her that made other people listen, and she had the natural inclination to take charge. She was also by far the most organized of the group, so she was the most likely to know what was going on at any given time. And so the group watched her as they packed up their instruments. After she had locked her violin up, Natalie called their attention.

                “Hey guys!” she called, as if they weren’t all already listening to her. “That was a good one; we did well. I think they really liked the Vivaldi number – that was a good call, Chris.” She nodded in the direction of Abby’s frizzy-haired stand partner. “So yeah, good job, guys.”

                “What’s the plan for the rest of the night?” called Kayley from Abby’s left.

                Natalie’s eyes rolled back; they usually did when Natalie was thinking or trying to remember something. “We don’t have anything going on for the rest-“ But she cut herself off, turning towards the man who had just come backstage. “Hey, Clark,” she greeted him, “What do we have going on now?”

                Clark looked around at the group, a slight smile on his face barely detectable. Clark was their manager; he had been with them for almost two years now, and in those two years, Abby had only ever seen him in his uniform of baggy cargo pants and Hawaiian shirt save two occasions, one of which had been at his brother’s wedding, where he had gotten the Edelweiss Pirates to break out some of their more classical repertoire.

                “Yeah, you’re free for the night,” Clark announced. “But we leave for Seattle at 9:00 tomorrow morning, so don’t have fun tonight. We’ll meet in the lobby of the hotel at quarter to nine. Also, Listen is doing a feature for the tour, and they want your responses to a survey for it-”

                He was cut off by several groans, the loudest from Randall, who turned from putting his violin away to give Clark a “you’ve got to be kidding me” look. “Seriously? Clark, c’mon, we’ve already-”

                “No, you don’t have a choice, it won’t be that long, and if you put anything scandalous down, I will personally strangle you.” Clark shot a pointed look at Chris, whose guilty smile made the rest of the Pirates laugh. “Alright, go have fun.”

                Kayley let out a little squeak of excitement, but those were so common from Kayley that no one bothered to ask why she was squeaking. Natalie called a “thank you” after Clark, who grunted and waved as he wandered off, probably to find the backstage food supply.

Abby opened her bright red cello case and gently slipped Archie inside it.