01 December 2006

31 days of December, an entry for every day

An introduction to me. Now, that doesn't sound self-involved at all, does it?

There's only one other entry in this journal, and that was recording the progress of my NaNo for NaNoWriMo. Happily, November is over, but my NaNo still is unfinished--but I did reach 50,000 words! So the month's goal was met, but I have to keep plowing at the plot until it is finished. And I will. But not here.

I wanted to occupy this journal with something else--and Holidailies gives me a reason to write here every day. I did not discover this occupation on my own. No, my friend Measi has done this for the past few years, and I am merely following her cue this year. I tried to do it last year, but then my journal was private, so there seemed to be little point. I still have a private journal, but this one is not.

I'm not sure what subject to approach for my first entry. Me? That's a tired subject; if you think about it, everything a writer ever writes is about them. Even if it doesn't sound like it's about them, it is. It doesn't have to be "me, me, me" but it is always "my thoughts about 'x' subject." And sometimes 'x' is "me."

NaNo was (and is) one big self-indulgent dive into "me" where I was treading comfy and familiar mind waters for 30 days and nights. Holidailies will probably be similarly self-involved musings, but without a running plot. I haven't decided whether that will make it more or less interesting than a novel. Maybe somebody else can be the judge of that.

For the sake of strangers who happen to come across this running monologue, my pen-name is Amari la Recha. I am 23 years old, and I've been writing stories (often poorly) since I could form sentences. I still find copies of them in odd places, and my mother likes to torment me by reading them aloud over the telephone. Certain stages of development make me cringe.

I am from Pennsylvania, but I live and work in Boston, MA. And I firmly disapprove of this warm weather nonsense. Late autumn and early winter in New England should not feature sixty-degree days. Had I wanted that, I would have stayed in North Carolina--which is where my parental units have resided since the Summer/Fall of 2000. They're both from Massachusetts, but work has driven them farther and farther south over the past two decades. My father doesn't mind, but my mother hates it. Still, I digress (though not nearly so awkwardly as I could).

I've been living in Boston off and on since September 2001, when I started going to Boston University for my undergrad. "Off and on" because I returned to North Carolina for the summer seasons, and lived in New Zealand for six months of 2004. I graduated in a timely fashion in May 2005 and decided to stick around. So here I am. Working and trying to save money for my next great escape. Where to? I have yet to decide, but I haven't enough money to even run away to New York City for more than a week, so it's really a moot question at this point.

My favorite topics of discussion? Religion. Politics. Sex. Death. Basically, I like making frank observation about all the things people would rather not talk about. I also rent a lot of movies from Netflix. And if they strike me in any great way, I like writing about those.

I may also write about writing--but that will be due to the ghastly self-indulgence I was talking about before. I sooth my ego by referring to this as introspection--but it's actually just unforgivable conceit. Reader beware: this journal will likely be chocobox full of personal conceit.

Till next time, kidneys. Happy December!

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