A few weeks ago, I picked up the book The Weekend Novelist, by Robert J. Ray and Bret Norris. The book is a year long exercise in creating a novel from scratch, as the title says “one weekend at a time.” It gives a set structure to developing a novel from the beginning of the idea, plotting along a line or circle (depending on your novel type), and writing exercises in order to shut up your inner editor. It isn’t until the plot and outline are complete that you even start writing at all.

So far, I’m only on my fourth weekend, and I’ve skipped ahead for parts that don’t matter to me. My plot idea fits nicely against a line, and the circular plot (the journey motif) doesn’t apply. I’m only partially through the book, and I’m already taking its advice to heart. The authors have a lot of useful tips, exercises, and techniques to apply.

The first lesson if that if you want to be a successful novelist, you need to manage your time wisely. This includes hoping into a routine, and making sure that you aren’t wasting valuable writing time strictly because you aren’t in the mood to do it. In order to get in this mood, it gives timed writing exercises. As the book explains, just as your body needs to be warmed up before a strenuous exercise, your mind needs to as well. This timed writing allows the right side of your brain free reign, and shutting up the left-side (the enemy!) until it is useful during editing.

So far, I’m learning a lot of how to structure a novel, and how to take advantage of your time. I’ve always had the impression that you needed to just go all out, no plan, no problem. I realize–at least for me, personally–that leaves a lot of unfinished work because I’ll see a scene and have no overall picture to put it in.

I don’t know if I will create a novel out of this, but I’m taking it as a period of self study in creative writing. I think its valuable to learn something outside of the classroom, and spend time in your interests. Otherwise you’re just a cog in the machine. This is my way of breaking out from all of that.

I’m all for Internet humor and jokingly terrible grammar. I’ll be the first person to admit that my friends and I will text back and forth with, “o u kno i got dat swag life #yolo,” but it’s all fun and games. It’s actually amazing to see the same people type almost incoherently for one post and then craft a beautifully argued opinion on a controversial issue. In all honestly, I love the Internet and how many ridiculous things it has brought us, even if it means conditioned responses.

However, there are those select few who have seriously taken to this language, and that scares me. Technology has become so consuming that people can hardly remember the last time they picked up a book. I’m not sure if this problem will ever be fixed, but I sure hope it doesn’t get worse.

I felt ridiculous when I rubbed the toe on the way to a midterm, and to my surprise it ‘worked’. I received an A for that midterm. Sure, it could be credited to my hours of studying for the exam, or being genuinely interested in the subject, but I wanted to believe that it was The Toe. Before I came to Drexel, I was a notoriously bad test-taker. I still have extreme anxiety when I know a test is coming up. I’m an overachiever and getting a B is like a stab in the heart. In a silly little way, it soothes me to touch The Toe before an exam. You know…just for an extra push of encouragement.

I’m slowly finding out about things around campus that are a little off. I know the tradition of the Toe has been around for generations of Drexel Students, and no one knows where it came from. All legends have a start somewhere, and I’m sure there are plenty of secrets around campus. I’m still trying to figure out if there is any place on Drexel campus that is haunted–not firsthand of course. I’m sure if you go to the Main Building at the stroke of midnight, you will see the eyes move on the bust of Drexel on the staircase.

I have what is probably a very irrational fear of birds and butterflies of all kinds. I’m crazy, I know. Who doesn’t think butterflies are pretty and want for one to land right on her nose for what is sure to be the best Kodak moment of all time? Me. They’re terrifying. As are birds, which are just fine from a distance, but up close and personal are just no good. The wing flapping is of particular concern to me.

So, a few weekends ago, I went for a lovely zoo trip with some friends. They had suggested going to the lorikeet feeding room where you can apparently get right up close and personal to these terrifying things and have them land on you and eat food from your hands. I would probably run out of there screaming. I told them beforehand that I wouldn’t be participating because of said phobia, and would wait outside. But, apparently, keeping birds in enclosed spaces is not exactly what the Philly Zoo likes to do, because there were giant peacocks everywhere. They roamed around freely, and I was prepared to run for it if necessary. Keep in mind, there were toddlers all around me trying to chase them down because of course, I am insane and am scared of things that even babies aren’t afraid of. Oh well.

Near the end of the visit, I discovered something else that the zoo doesn’t keep in enclosed spaces. Ducks. I was standing outside talking to my friends, when I got smacked in the head by a flying duck, which promptly started flapping its wings around me and doing all sorts of terrifying bird things before landing on the ground behind me. I got into meltdown mode, which does include crying. I was setting a really good example for the children. In any case, watch out for the ducks at the zoo. They’re coming for you.

Despite my social anxiety, I really am looking forward to Week of Writing because the events that are planned should really take the edge off of feeling out of place. Whether you like to write, read, eat, or play video games, there’s an event planned, and I can guarantee you that I’ll be inviting as many people as possible to this thing. Additionally, it is a week of writing. If I can’t make one day, there are still four more days of events I get to check out, and I think that’s pretty great.

If you’ve heard of people with synesthesia, you’re familiar with the concept of pairing things that don’t necessarily go together. A lot of people with synesthesia always see numbers as particular colors (seven is green, for example). I had a friend in high school that always associated people with colors (I was very excited to learn that I was a nice magenta). Well, I don’t really have synesthesia, but I associate words with foods. So it’s similar.

Every time I hear certain words, I think of the food that goes with that word. All the time. The first time I noticed this association, I was pretty young. My parents were telling me a story about my great uncle Henry, and I promptly responded that Henry was peanut butter and went on my merry way like that wasn’t a super strange thing to say. They probably thought I was insane. But still, to this very day, Henry is peanut butter. My own name goes with chicken nuggets. The word “company,” is lasagna, and I can’t hear talk of engineering without thinking of those really awesome cinnamon graham crackers. When people ask me to explain just how company is lasagna, I can’t do it. I just hear it or see it or say it and it’s just so lasagna. Seriously, that is the best I can do.

Not all words have foods associated with them. And some are only associated because they sound like the foods they’re associated with. For example, “poster” is toast. How unimaginative, right? But alas, I don’t have any control over my food associations (“associations,” by the way, goes with Fruit by the Foot. And, because I am a child, I love Fruit by the Foot and will gladly eat twelve inches of artificially colored and flavored fruit gel any day).

When I first starting browsing these books, none of them really caught my interest. I didn’t want to read about old war heroes or non-fiction, I did that enough when I was studying for my advancement exams. Then I stumbled across Ender’s Game, a sci-fi fiction novel about a young boy battling an alien species. I had no idea why it was even on the recommended reading list, and figured that some Admiral somewhere enjoyed it and wanted to push it on the ‘young sailors’. Now, I realize that it’s a book crammed full of codes of honor, respecting the ties to your family, and enough military strategy to shake a combination cover at. Not only does it teach valuable lessons, the story is entertaining and captivating. It’s a small book, and I still find myself going back to it time and time again.

All of this being said, I am stoked about the news that it’s finally going to be turned into a movie. I was able to watch the trailer yesterday. I hadn’t known much about the movie, but the cast list looks amazing so far. I hope they do the book justice. And by the way, Harrison Ford is also starring in the movie, who was practically born to play a tough man in space.

It’s freeing. When I’m so concentrated on studying, I spend a lot of time sitting down doing homework. I need a distraction from all of that and I need to start doing something for me. It’s a pain getting back into it, but once I hit my stride I feel like there isn’t anything stopping me. (Especially now that season two is available for “Zombies, Run!“)

As any distance runner knows, a good pair of socks is just as important as a good pair of running shoes. I have a grand total of two pairs of running socks. Both of these were in the wash, and I made the mistake of wearing cotton before going on a planned three-mile run. By the time I hit two miles I felt like my feet were wrapped in razor wire. The next day, I vowed to track down a good pair of running socks. I wanted to trust this one to the professionals, and I was able to find a good running store in University City, Philadelphia Runner.

Now Drexel, this store is incredibly helpful. You walk in, they greet you, if you’re looking for a pair of shoes they’ll help you decide which ones are best for whatever type of distance or speed you’re going for. I felt a little funny when I walked in, they asked me if they could help me with anything, and I responded “I just need a good pair of socks.” Not only did this feel a little awkward, but little did I know, the store is located smack in the middle of Penn’s Campus. I was wearing a bright blue Drexel Dragons sweater. Walking through the valley of the shadow of Penn, limping slightly, just wanting a good pair of socks.

So, there is only one section of French 3 here. One section. I had initially signed up for French 4, which I tested into by providence of the French gods of grammar and vocabulary. When I arrived on the first day of the term, I was asked, in French, what my name was. I promptly had a meltdown in front of my professor and half my class, telling them how I didn’t belong there and I hadn’t taken French in two years, and why am I even here oh my goodness help me. And that is how I ended up in French 3, which only meets from 6-8 on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I begrudgingly signed up for this class, but I was pretty sure it was going to ruin my life. I have things to do from 6-8, ok? Why would I want to trek to Main Building when it’s all dusk-y outside and learn about this language and do work and stuff and why is this class trying to ruin my life? I’m not dramatic, I promise (ha).

It turns out, night class is code for “class people know you don’t really want to take at that time so it’s pretty chill.” Night class is not the life ruiner that I thought it would be. In fact, I actually like it. It’s much more relaxed, and I don’t find myself staring wistfully out of the window in the general direction of my bed, as I am wont to do during my morning classes (unless I’m in Drexel Plaza, in which case I am staring down at the ground, towards the remaining eight circles of hell below me).