Pump-kin

Another day has gone by. This morning, I woke up early for church - we have to drive about an hour to where our church is. We love our church, so the drive is a ritual every Sunday and most Wednesdays. I don't usually mind the drive at all, but today I had to face my arch nemesis:

Don't get me wrong - I love this book. Tolstoy is an amazing writer and I've fallen in love with Russia and his characters. I even adore their flaws. But, when I have to read books, I can't read them. I can devour a 400 page book in like three hours, but I have 11 days to read this for Honors English. I just . . . can't.

OH - another reason I can't read it: in the introduction it tells you how the main character KILLS HERSELF. Seriously? Who does that? I was enraged when I read it and went and bought a new copy that did not have the stupid introduction. -_-

But, still, I know I have to read it . . . eventually.

Procrastination!

After I got home from church I wanted to work on my pitch for my book contest in January. For those of you who don't know a 'pitch' is a short summary type thingy (great definition, right?) that would go on the back of my book if it ever went into stores.

My goal is for the potential reader to buy it and hop up and down while shrieking or possibly doing high kicks, joyously thrilled at the concept of reading such a marvelous piece of work.

I can dream, can't I?

   This beautiful (sarcasm) piece of art is none other than my designated 'Riley Girl draft folder'. I toted this around for about a year, when I first started to edit my book. That was right after my 15th birthday - I got my first hard copy my 16th birthday. Imagine my joy at having to go through this draft yet another time as I try to a) write a pitch and b) pick the best 3,000-5,000 word entry to enter into the contest.

Why not use a book copy, you ask? Lovely question, avid reader, but sadly my three newest edited versions are on loan to two of my teachers and my step-dad. So I get to deal with the tree I murdered to print my old-old-old draft.

Karma.

But, alas, I have Trig homework.
Sigh.

Before I managed to accomplish anything besides eating my weight in oatmeal cookies, my family had our annual pumpkin patch outing. I don't usually see them more than once a month, much less twice in one weekends, but, hey, they're dorks like me and I gotta love 'em.

 Pumpkin patch SPAM time!

 These things interested me greatly.

My sister stole the pumpkin I won.
I rarely win things, especially pumpkin related -seeing as I only have access to them once a year, of course - and I was a little reluctant to let anyone else hold my prize. But, I can't say no to that face.
Usually.

 I was very excited that the goats liked me. I haven't had the best track record with animals with vertical pupils.

 I got the feeling some of them liked me a little too much.

This game is how I won my pumpkin, by the way. Corn shooting. Note the way my tongue is sticking out - it's very attractive.

 The people there liked me so much they dedicated a beer in my honor.
 I, of course, couldn't partake in the drinking, but I appreciated the gesture.
:)

This is segregation.

To show my disapproval of this law, I immediately proceeded to break it quite thoroughly.  

 The clan. Or kin (my witty title for this post).

 Behold the excellence.

 After claiming the pumpkin for my own - the whole event started to draw to a close as everyone rounded up their pumpkins, children, and final tickets for a hay wrack ride.

By the time we left the pumpkin patch a fine layer of dirt clung to my clothes, I smelled of hay and fall time, and my mouth tasted of Carmel apples and root bear. As we said our goodbyes, I looked back at all the people making their way to their cars and couldn't help but wonder where they were going. I was going on, out to eat with the people who loved me, but lately I can't help looking at a person and making up what I think their life is.

I don't know if it's the writer inside me that does this, but sometimes reality is too beautiful for me not to capture it in words. When my sight fails or my memories fade, I'd like to think that my words will still be somewhere - floating in a desk somewhere or on a weathered bookshelf. I'd like to hope, that someday, my words will feel some one's mind and captivate them.

I think it is my human nature to think this way, but sometimes I can't help but love the joy I get when my fingers fly over a keyboard or when I create a character in my mind. I let my mind take me away and create a reality, and it feels so perfect.

It's getting late, so this is where I will leave you.