Dear Brandon High School Music Department,

I would like to tell you a story. It begins, as many stories do, with a girl looking to find herself in a new, exciting place. It was her first day of high school and she was understandably terrified. Moving to a larger environment where the unfamiliar faces outnumbered the ones she knew - some of them even old enough to be considered adults by law - was the first real bought of culture shock she had ever experienced. The only thing keeping the caterpillars in her stomach from forming into rambunctious butterflies was the fact that she had a secret.

As the girl walked down the pavement that connected the student drop-off point with the school's main entrance, she made polite conversation with the neighbor boy she had spent the last ten minutes sharing a back seat with in her mother's Chevrolet. He was nervous about not being able to find his first class, confessing that he wasn't sure if he would be able to tell if it was upstairs or down. The girl nodded along, clutching her freshly printed schedule in her clammy fist.

He turned to her, asking if she shared his fears, hoping that he was not alone. She gave him a small smile and agreed, telling the first lie of her high school career. Something she hoped would not happen often, if at all.

The girl was a bite naïve.

Together, the two 14-year-olds looked ahead to a set of four doors that separated them from the newest chapter of their lives. The girl couldn't very well tell him her secret, she rationalized in her head. It would take away the subtle wave of relief that colored his rosy cheeks. The same awe, in fact, that continued to wash over him as he as he craned his head and squinted at the painted sigil of a Blackhawk in mid-flight; a symbol that let them know that let them know that, at least for now, they were in the right place. Who was she to take that small sign of victory away on a day like today?

They entered together, looking for the locker numbers scribbled onto their timesheets, and found them nestled in a long hallway adjacent to the gym. Twisting the unfamiliar padlock, it took the girl a few times to get it right. She looked over at the boy, his locker a few yards away, and saw a similar struggle. Turning back, her eyes flickered above her locker for just a moment. The simple glance was enough to make her stomach clench as she met a pair of unfamiliar eyes. A photograph of a young woman smiled against a dull grey backdrop. The image was attached to a plaque and the girl had to squint to read it, the edges of her chubby cheeks meeting the cool metal of her wire-rimed glasses.

All-State Tennis, 1998.

The girl raised her eyebrows. How talented this person must have been to have received such high recognition, nailed to the walls for nearly a decade. The plaque was not alone, surrounded by dozens of others. What an inspiration they must be to all the athletes who walked this hallway every day. And indeed, the girl felt a little inspired herself, though she was far from an athlete. But the boy was and she looked over to him as she shut her locker, only to see him staring at one of the many adjacent trophy cases. He had been drawn to the basketball display, filled to the brim with golden statuettes and framed clusters of various teams old and new.

The boy made his way back over to say goodbye before they parted ways. The girl turned, the hallway seeming smaller now that she had already walked its length, and let out a breath that had been bundled up inside her chest. Her backpack lighter now that she had dropped off some of her books, she walked the familiar path and ended up outside an equally familiar set of metal double doors. Her secret, her safe haven, was finally in front of her.

You see, the girl was one step ahead of her classmates, who were no doubt skittering about in search of their homerooms. Instead of joining their skirmish, she took pride in the fact that she already knew where she was meant to be. In a way, she had known for most of her life.

Hidden away in a nook far from the everyday hustle and bustle of jocks and nerds was a room the girl had visited many times before. Visited, but never belonged. It was always a special occasion that led her to this room - a celebration or something even more spectacular. And as she opened the rightmost door, knowing that the other wouldn't budge because of a faulty hinge, she was met with a musk of old black dresses. An invisible cloud of hairspray. The echo of heels clicking further and further down the luminescent white hall, decorated only with old homemade collages of performances past and the talent that had made them possible.

The girl let out another breath, pocketed her schedule, and made way to the choir room at the end of the music hallway.

The door squeaked and slammed at exactly the right moment. Months before, she had walked this path as she performed her last show as a middle school singer, dressed in a gaudy blue polo and long back slacks. The space had been filled with familiar faces then, mostly girls putting on their first attempts at stage makeup, making sure the stage lights didn't wash out their perfectly pinched cheeks on their parents' recordings.

The girl braced herself, knowing she would be met with a much different sight. Still, she clung to her secret for it was the only thing keeping her from tripping over the hem of her jeans.

The door was secured at the end of the hallway, the space next to it already filled with posters for music camps and scholarships the girl could never dream of pursuing. Fiddling with the strap of her backpack one last time, she opened the door. It was still early, the first bell was still ten minutes shy of chiming, but already people were gathered. Backpacks were slung on the backs of chairs. Laughter bounced off the acoustic panels that lined the walls. Girls were lined up at the full-length mirror at the far end of the room, checking their makeup and hair. Perhaps some things hadn't changed.

As predicted, the girl was met with a masquerade of unfamiliar faces. People who were taller, older, prettier, and far more talented than she would ever be. Still hovering in the doorway, she darted her eyes around, searching for something familiar. Someone. Her gaze fell upon a bushel of brown hair, paired with a knit pencil skirt and wool zip-up sweater that somehow managed to compliment each other. The figure turned and gave her a kind smile, gesturing to a nearby chair in the front row. Pressing her lips in a fine line, the girl bowed her head and followed her director's orders.

Her secret now discovered, fully manifested around her, the girl felt her protective wall begin to waver - transforming from brick to straw. She tried to stay calm, reminding herself that her friends would be here soon.

Her eyes wandered as she twiddled her thumbs, trying to find something - anything - to focus on. For the second time that morning, she was met with a picturesque stare. Another smiling young woman atop a shining plaque. Her name was also written, except instead of tennis, her achievement read:

2003 State Honors Choir

The girl had seen these plaques before when she visited, of course, but never paid them much mind. They were always of people much older than she - people from another world. Now, she would see these faces every day and sit in their seats. Faces she didn't know, faces from the past, smiling down at her. Judging her. Questioning what she was doing there. She could fool herself, but could she really fool them?

The bell rang, followed swiftly by the director managing to bring order to the room by tickling a few chords on the piano. A cacophony of voices unrehearsed from months of vacation filled the room and the woman let out an almost invisible wince.

A few more chords in, and the girl's fists began to unclench. Her lungs began to stretch. Singing had always relaxed her, ever since she was little. True, it was also when she was at her most vulnerable, open to the judgement of others. But here, in this room, there was no judgement. At least, not this early in the year. The girl knew she could sing to her hearts content, unleash her very essence, and have it come back to her in once piece, untarnished by bullies or teachers with silver tongues.

The plaques continued to smile, though she could have sworn a few pairs of still eyes twinkled as the group harmonized together for the first time. Though her feelings of doubt would never really go away, the girl still wanted this feeling to last forever. She wanted to be among the eyes on the wall and watch as others felt what she was feeling.

The girl was not an athlete, nor did she have any interest in being one. But still she admired the faces on the wall, feeling like she was in the presence of a greatness she could never attain. But here, now, surrounded by other smiling faces real and framed, she felt as if greatness was in her grasp. No matter how ridiculous it seemed, she knew that she belonged here. She knew that she was safe.

The girl kept that feeling close to her until it eventually stuck on her chest. Through hardships, triumphs, and everything in-between, it never wavered. Not even when she watched as her own photo was placed on a special space above the door. She still felt safe. She still felt like she belonged. But greatness... that was up for debate. She did, however, manage to leave high school with a lightness in her step, a fact that many who have survived its trials cannot boast.

She left, but was never truly gone. The girl remained among the eyes on the wall and hoped that she would do her part to make other feels safe and maybe even inspired to achieve greatness of their own. Whether that greatness be preserved in a photograph or in the company of lifelong friends, it didn't matter, as long as those who felt its touch were where they belonged. The same could also be said of those eyes across the building; the ones who looked upon the trophies of their athletic teammates forevermore and left similar impressions to the twinkling eyes of aspiring Beckhams' and Williams'. Both sets served as testaments to the coaches who greeted them with a smile on their first day. They passed on that welcome long after their mentors were gone, and beyond when they inevitably followed.

Eight years, two graduations, and one retired choir director later, only one set of plaques remain impressed on the walls. The girl hears about it from a friend, whose mother had managed to save her picture before it was thrown into the trash.

Perhaps she should have been an athlete after all.

If Google says it's a word, why do the red squiggles keep showing up in Chrome?

Figure 1. Me when I heard the "new" news.

Figure 2: Harry Potter, a summary,

"I thought, 'What if we switched it around a bit and see how a boy does,' and, you know, it’s about the same." 

Figure 3. A girl who actually does stuff? Blasphemy!

For me, editing has always been an evolving process.

When I first started writing fan fiction at age 12, editing was simply looking through a chapter once or maybe twice before I posted it for the whole world to see. After a few years of doing that, I enlisted the help of a beta reader via email who helped take some of the pressure of grammatical editing off my hands so I could focus more on the content. I still looked over the chapter once in a while but, if I'm being honest, I didn't care all that much and trusted that the beta fixed most - if not all - of the major grammar mistakes in my writing.

After attending college for four years and participating in workshop classes, I changed my technique. Not only was I writing completely original content for the first time (not counting the two projects I started in high school... we don't talk about those), I was also writing short stories for the first time. Kinda. One-shot fan fictions don't really count, seeing as they're more snapshots in an already- developed world. In college, I was faced with the challenge of creating my own world and characters all under 10,000 words (sometimes 8,000, depending on the professor). This required a much more vigorous form of editing that I like to call: Obsessively Checking Everything So I'm Not Embarrassed in Front of the Class.

Now that I'm graduated and finally working on the projects that I want to work on, not just those for a grade or to experiment with a different format, I am forced to once again completely change my
editing style. This is for three reasons: One, I'm working on a novel. My college education didn't cover novel writing, unfortunately, so that means some of the editing techniques I used for short stories are not applicable. To be clear, I'm speaking of larger-scale editing - so those focused on plot, pacing, character development, etc. I suppose grammar could also be counted, but more along the lines of diction. This also leads in to reason number two that I changed my editing style: I'm writing a fantasy novel.

Figure 1. Barbosa gets me.

In college, I was taught the "rules" of writing (see Figure 1). This included the actual act of words-on-a-page, editing, peer reviewing, brainstorming, outlining, and overall storytelling. These "rules" were nearly always set within the perimeters of literary fiction. For those unfamiliar with the term, it basically groups together the books that don't really have a genre. Most of the time, these are books set in present day and have a character-driven plot. Character-driven means that only the acts of the character dictate how the plot moves instead of the plot pushing around the character.

In genre fiction, it is believed that the plot, more often times than not, moves around the character (I wrote an entire post about my feelings on that subject, which you can read here). Because I am writing a fantasy book, which would fall into the genre fiction category, I have to pay special attention to basically all facets of writing I was taught in equal amounts of detail, if not more. Most especially believably and character. If a fantasy world isn't believable, especially one created from scratch, the story will flounder. I also feel the need to pay special attention to character because of the ground-in stereotypes I heard all throughout college. It's a lot of bases to cover and henceforth needs a lot of pre-writing development referred to in the writing community as "worldbuilding." What does this have to do with editing, you ask? Well, in my case, my worldbuilding is constantly growing around me - like flowers in a fertilized garden. I set the soil and watered the seeds by building the world and the rules and the characters. Only after writing the first draft, the watering process if you will, will I be able to see those flowers start to bloom. Some of those flowers will be beautiful and look exactly how I want. Others will be damn ugly, so I'll have to rip out their roots and try again. I did not run into this problem in college or before when I was writing fan fiction, hence the need for a change to accommodate the pretty flowers.

Figure 2. Accurate representation of me literally writing away my soul. Or voice. Or both.

The third and final reason why I am changing my editing style: This book carries a piece of my soul within the pages. Yeah. That's right. My book is a freaking horcrux. (See Figure 2)

Now, I'm not saying that this book is the only piece of writing I've ever cared about. That is the furthest from the truth. Every story, article, blog post, tweet, Facebook update, journal entry, short story, flash fiction, essay - everything that I've ever written means something to me. My number one rule for writing: Never write anything you don't care about. Ever. This book, however, has a piece of my heart, soul, and hours upon hours of development that I spent taking the images and characters and scenarios and transposing them into words. I have been working this project on and off for about five years and have had the main character in my head for eight. She, and everything about this book, is singed into me like the mark of a branding iron across every one of my essential organs. It's hard to capture in words what I feel for this manuscript but that's as close as I can get.

What does me loving this book - probably too much - mean in terms of editing? It means I will ware myself dry editing, revising, and rereading every little detail until it is perfect. I can safely say that I have never done this with any other piece I have written. Of course I have put an unprecedented amount of time into them and cared about the outcome... but not like this.

Figure 3. Hnnnng.

Now, I understand that perfection isn't possible. I'm not that naïve. We can't all be Mystique from X-Men, gawked at by a young Magneto for our effervescent blue skin. We can, however, picture him saying "Perfection" every time we write a really amazing line/scene/plot twist (See Figure 3). While I know I will never reach Mystique-level greatness nor call over Magneto to my crib via Tinder, I will still continue do my darndest to get as close as I can to perfection without developing arthritis or pulling a brain muscle. This includes utilizing editing strategies I've never used before and abusing ones I know too well. Sounds exhausting, right? It is. In fact, I am now in the "I Hate Everything" phase of editing, which basically means I've been looking at my manuscript for too long. I didn't even realize it was normal until talking to a fellow writer recently. On top of being a giant relief that my book isn't actually trash (well, probably), our conversation also reminded me that it's okay to walk away from your draft for a bit - and by "a bit" I mean more than a few days. You should to give yourself a few weeks before even glancing at it so as to look at it with fresh eyes and a fresh perspective. I plan to take this advice for my second read-through edits, something I have never done before. In the past, I have set aside a piece of writing for a few days, maybe a week at most, but never for very long because I had deadlines. As I have yet to be signed by a literary agent, or even seek one out until I think the draft is ready, I have time on my side to utilize a strategy that I have never had the opportunity to try before. The thought both thrills and terrifies me.

I've read about a dozen different articles about editing and what the best strategies are. Some were very helpful. Others, not so much. It is my belief that editing, like writing, is a process unique to every person. It is also, as the title of this article alludes, the best and worst part of writing. It's the best because it allows you to make as many changes as you want, look at the progress you've made, and get some personal time with your story as a reader - a neurotic, detail-oriented reader, but a reader all the same. Editing is also the worst because of, well, exactly what I said before. Some changes you make to the draft end up causing a chain reaction that sets off major plot discrepancies. Looking at your own progress can be intimidating if you're doubtful on some of your ideas. Reading as a writer can also be a painful experience when you're looking at the flaws of your own draft.

The trick is to embrace the positives of editing. Use it like armor and fight away any negative feelings you have with an iron sword. And take breaks. Lots of them. Unless that doesn't work for you. In which case, I am eternally jealous and bow to your everlasting glory. Also, don't be afraid if your editing style changes from story to story. Each unique tale is entitled to its own unique editing approach, just like how every story is unique in the way it is read by someone. You can't control how people read your story or how they perceive it, what you can control is how the story is written. Think about that the next time you sit down to edit whatever project you're working on, creative or not, and know that you are in control of your own words just like you are in control of your own destiny. If you're lucky, the two might even be closer than you realize.

❤ Dae

Well, that wasn't really a hiatus, was it? It was more like a long-atus or something equally as scandalous.

There are a bunch of reasons I've been inactive for more than a year. One was travelling abroad last summer and starting a travel blog (which I was also quite bad at maintaining... are we sensing a pattern here?) but the other was my crazy senior year of college and not having time to do all of the things that I wrote about. Ergo: watching TV, keeping up with pop culture, and most importantly reading, was all basically forgotten as I focused on graduating and finishing up my writing degree with a bang.

In case you were wondering: I most certainly did. Here's some photographic evidence, courtacy of my Instagram page

A photo posted by Dae; (@xshar) on Apr 24, 2015 at 5:51pm PDT

Now, in my 2 1/2 months post-grad, I've had a lot of me-time. And by me-time I mean endlessly searching for jobs and wallowing in my self-pity. But that's the same thing, right?

One good thing has come of this, and that's been plenty of time to read, write, start some new TV shows, and even take up a new hobby: video games. Now, will I be writing about all of this? Probably. Since being away, I've kind of lost sense of what I wanted this blog to be. My original intention was book and movie reviews, but in all truth, my interests span much father than that. I'm always saying to both myself and others to "write about what you love" and if you don't, there's a good chance you're going to not be as happy with what ultimately comes from your labors. This isn't because you didn't necessarily put all of your effort into it - you probably did - but there's a good chance you didn't put your heart into it. At least, not all of it. Writing about what you love makes it easier to write from the heart, and that's what makes a good piece of writing.

Now, writing about books and movies is all fine and good, but since graduating I want to test my limits. I want to see what else I can write about other than what I've already done. I'll still be writing about them, of course, but they won't be the only things on the menu.

That being said, my first posts will probably be ones I'm more familiar with, such as books. This summer, I've probably finished about seven books, many of which were part of two series. Series overviews will probably in the immediate future, with me branching out about my video game escapades and then who knows? Travel tips, perhaps, to prove that my internships abroad was worth something? Only time will tell.

Until then, it's good to be back, and I can't wait to see what the future is going to bring. As always, thanks for readings, and I'll talk to you soon.

❤ Dae

Well, lovely people, this is it.

I'll be leaving for London on Friday and holy crap am I nervous/excited/weirded out. I'll be there for eight weeks, and while there I'll be doing a few things:

1. Interning. The reason I have this amazing opportunity to begin with. I'll be working in PR for the full eight weeks and getting my first real delve into the professional world. 
2. Keeping a travel journal. This is both for me and for my school. I'm applying for a Distinction in Writing for my graduation in April 2015 and to do this, I have to do a great many writing-specific activities outside school. One of those things is keeping a travel log and writing in it every day I'm abroad for at least six weeks.
3. Travel blogging. For the entries that need a more multimedia presence. And to keep everyone at home updated on my shenanigans without spamming Facebook.
4. Contributing to an online magazine. I've already been doing this for a few weeks but it'll be quite a challenge writing articles pertaining to my school while I'm... not at school. 
5. Blogging for my internship class. I have to be enrolled in an internship course in order for my internship to count for credit. In order to receive credit, I need to blog once a week about either my internship or an assigned reading. This is on an official GVSU Writing Department blog, so these posts are more private.
6. Enjoying London. I've dreamt about working in London for a long time. And in order to really experience that, I want to gain every experience I can while I'm there. I don't know the next time I'll get an opportunity like this so I might as well enjoy it.

I leave for London in 11 days.

Woah.

As my departure quickly approaches, I find myself teetering back and forth between two extremes: extreme excitement and extreme anxiety. It's been my dream to live in London since before I can remember and now that it's actually happening I'm not quite sure how to wrap my head around it. I mean, I'm going to be in an entirely different country in a week and a half. That's heavy stuff. Plus, I'm going to be alone. Well, okay, not alone in the literal sense. I'll have roommates and program advisors. And I'll be working full-time so that'll be a nice distraction. But it's the small things that are starting to get to me.

You see, I grew up in the country. I live on a ten-acre plot of land on a dirt road behind a ginormous horse barn. You can't get more country than that. Unless of course I was living on said horse farm. But let's not get crazy. The gist of it is that the closest I've gotten to city life is living on a university campus that neighbors a corn field. It's safe to say that I'm a bit nervous about being plopped in the middle of one of the most famous cities in the word with just enough money to get by and spending most of said money to rely on public transportation. I'm no germaphobe but, again, the only real experience I've had with public transport was my college's jank bus system and a three-day trip to NYC four years ago. Supervised.

Jeepers.

I'm already predicting severe homesickness. I love my family and my bed and my crazy half-clean room. I also love my friends. I've been hanging out with them a lot lately since the beginning of summer had us all in a tissy schedule-wise and thanks to that I'm reminded of how much I'm going to miss them. International calling is no fun for either party and the time difference doesn't help even if I am on Skype whenever I'm at my flat. It's going to be hard to keep in touch and, honestly, I'm hoping that I'll be so busy enjoying the experience to forget about it. Because that's what usually happens, right? Right?

On the bright side, this will be one of the most amazing experiences of my life thus far, if not the most amazing. I'll be living in freaking London, gaining work experience abroad, and travelling around Europe (hopefully) all before my 21st birthday. I mean, that's a pretty big deal. At least that's what I've been told. Still, I've always struggled with homesickness and am afraid it will take precedence while I'm there. Plus, I'm kind of terrified of finding my way from the airport to my apartment. I've always been horrid with directions.

While it looks like the cons are outweighing the pros here, I really am struggling with being both excited and terrified. It changes hourly. Hopefully, as the date approaches, I'll gain some clarity and it'll kick my butt into gear.

You're going to London, kid. Stop being a wimp.

This week, the fifteenth installment of one of my favorite series, The Dresden Files, was released. I looked at it with hesitancy as the last two books haven't been that enjoyable compared to their predecessors. Harry had gotten himself in quite a predicament after the conclusion of the twelfth book, Changes, and, quite frankly, it dragged the next two plots along at a slow, dismal pace. The momentum of the series was seemingly at a standstill while Harry dug himself into a deeper hole. I also noticed a change of tone in Harry's usually sharp wit. While it's understandable after all he's been through - when you're on the fifteenth book in a series... you gotta keep in mind that it's the fifteenth book in the series. After a while, readers expect a path towards resolution and maybe even happiness for the characters. I prepared myself for a continuation of this lack of movement. Thankfully, I was pleasantly surprised.

Skin Game held many of the original elements of the series that had been missing for quite a while. Firstly, Harry was actually on a job for the first time in a few years. Since he started the series as a little-known crime-solving wizard - the original hook for the series, really - he has gained more momentum, more titles, and has gotten thrown deeper into Fae politics. Underneath all of that, the original feel of Harry going on a job, fighting the good fight, was lost. Skin Game brought that feel back and then some. While under the command of Mab, he went after one of his old foes, Nicodemus, and opened up a new doorway to the illustrious urban fantasy world that Jim Butcher has created: Greek Mythology. An automatic win, in my books. But I could be biased.

Another element that really helped regain the flavor of the series was the appearance of the entire Scooby Gang. At some point, each of the main characters (save Thomas, unfortunately) made an appearance. And they were all civil! Sort of. I'll be waiting for that Harry/Thomas brotherly awesome in the next installment, but, until then, I am very satisfied by the plethora of amazing characters I got to read.

The last hundred pages of the book were by far the most intense. Harry met a freaking Greek god, the final battle kicked a whole bunch of ass, and, in true Butcher-style, a last-minute curve ball was thrown into a plot that seemed completely covered. Also, my girly Harry/Karrin feels were very happy by the end. I honestly almost cried. Twice. I don't want to give a full play-by-play, but by the time I finished the book, I was fully satisfied while simultaneously getting impatient for the next installment.

Also while reading the book, I discovered something about my own writing, weirdly enough. I guess that whole "reading like a writer" thing actually taught me something. Anyway - I tend to break paragraphs in odd, fragmented ways when I write prose to bring attention to certain phrases/one-liners/etc. I didn't realize this tactic was unique until I took a few writing classes and got complimented on my stylistic choice. Flattered, I took it as a good sign. Little did I know that I was actually mimicking one of my favorite authors - Jim Butcher. I realized this a few chapters into Skin Game and had a little laugh. It's not uncommon for writers to adopt traits from each other. In the end, I believe everyone's style is unique while also being a hybrid of traits from others.

In conclusion, I was very happy with Skin Game. It rekindled my love for the Dresden series and made me eager for more. I have nothing but high hopes for the last few books in the series - and a few worries, obviously, but mostly on the character front. I always put a little too much emphasis on that. Oops. Anyway, I give this a 4.5/5 - there were a few minor things that didn't tickle my fancy but they were vastly outnumbered by other, better, elements.

Well, it's been a few days since I've seen the newest X-Men movie so I feel I've had enough time to mull it over during my breaks of hideous sickness. Being bed-ridden does that - gives you time to think. Not only about a movie you saw a few weeks ago but how horrible you feel. Seriously. Gross.

Anyhow, this review contains spoilers so, as always, proceed with caution.

As a whole, I was sort of let down after exiting the theatre. The plot, while compelling and action-packed, lacked a certain something that made the other films so great (let's not count X3, just for arguments sake). I think it started with my brother pointing out the poster on our arrival to the theatre (see right). Mystique and Wolverine are at the forefront, followed by a young Professor X, Storm, etc. It's no coincidence that the two frontrunners are X-Men's darling and Hollywood's most in-demand actress. While I am not diminishing each actor's talent or their ability to hold the lead role in a film, I merely suggest that perhaps too much attention was paid to them - to the point of negating the other character's presence at all. For me, I was most excited to see the past and future Magneto and Professor X crossing paths. The only glimpse we got into that possibility was a two minute heart-to-heart, which was all sorts of amazing, but a little underwhelming after it was over.

I believe this film made many promises about the crossover without following through with the results. If they would have marketed it differently, maybe I would have gone in with different expectations. As it is, I went in expecting an epic time-battle with all of my favorite Marvel nomads banding together to defeat a mutual enemy. Instead, I got an unpredictable Erik screwing things up for everyone. Again. I also got an vengeance-driven Mystique and drug-addicted Charles (who had an underlying sexual tension that I actually kind of enjoyed?). While these were formulae for a great story-arch, I completely discarded them because of my disappointment about the latter issue. Call me picky but I like me some time-travelling sci-fi and I thought X-Men was the perfect franchise to use it. I just wish they exploited the surefire formula for success more, well, successfully.

On the positive side, I loved Peter Dinklage's role in the film. He was just brilliant as an ignorant scientist. That man can do no wrong in my eyes. I also loved how all of the characters were very true to themselves - yes, even stupid Erik with his stupid mood swings. Mystique was a bit harder for me to wrap my head around. She arguably has gone through the most changes since we last saw her in First Class. I only wish we knew what kind of changes. We know that Erik was framed for the JFK murder and left his followers to their own devices. Now Mystique is pissed at him, and they share an intimate moment in a phone booth (or something), hinting of a possible romantic past. Since it's never fully explained, I can't see how Erik has no problem going after Raven nor why Raven hates Erik. I can only guess. I suppose as long as we get that sequel, I shouldn't complain.

As hinted by the last scene at the end of the credits (a la Marvel predictability), the new villain was introduced: Apocalypse. It was more of an introduction of his powers and his history, but still made me curious and excited about the new installment of the series.

I'm going against the grain on this one and giving Days of Future Past a 3.5/5. I'm sure the score would be higher if the film came through on the trailer's promises. While films don't always have a tendency not to do that, I expected more of X-Men and Marvel in general. Come on guys, get your shit together.

I was going to post this last night after I got back from the movie to make my deadline but returned late and felt like a review written while I was half-awake wouldn't be one worth reading. It would have been a disaster. A funny disaster, probably. But still a disaster.

Recently, Divergent and The Fault in Our Stars actress Shailene Woodley has been under fire for her comments about feminism to Time. When asked if she considered herself a feminist, she answered:

No because I love men, and I think the idea of 'raise women to power, take the men away from the power' is never going to work out because you need balance

After the interview surfaced, feminist-friendly websites like Tumblr blew up with comments shaming Woodley. Following their stead were sites such as the Huffington Post and Jezebel, writing the actress off as ignorant and a shining example of what is wrong with the image of feminism. According to them, what she described is feminism and the fact that she doesn't consider herself a feminist is an insult to the term and society. Woodley instead labels herself as a believer of "sisterhood."

Not many have jumped to Woodley's defense but I would sure like to try. It is my belief that Woodley was a victim of the press and her statement, however true or not, is an overblown opinion that only received this outcry in result of a targeted article.

Feminism is a delicate subject, mostly because of the negative images that many still associate with it. In its early stages, feminism was denounced by right-wing parties during the late-19th and early-20th century. Many left-wingers supported these women but they were still seen as revolutionary in their own right. After receiving the right to vote, the feminist movement continued to move forward with calls for other rights such as equal pay. There were a few extreme cases of violence to achieve this goal and they did more to set the movement back than move it forward. In the 60's, the infamous "burning bras" image started with a group of protesters in Europe. These few extreme occurrences were enough to denounce the movement for many. Today, the images still stick and feminists are widely regarded as bra-burning, violent, and greedy. Their agenda is spun to be an open attack against men rather than what it really is - a call for equality. There will always be extreme branches of any organization, but as a whole feminists want equality - not a power-shift. Because of the tendency of the media to only report on shock-value news, the message has somehow been lost. While it is up to a person to label themselves whatever they please, a lack of information on labels such as feminism can prevent an "accurate" stance.

Hollywood can roughly be labeled as a liberal industry. Many celebrities are activists in the gay rights movement, charity for third world countries, and feminism (among others). When a celeb comes out as against any of the "normal" views of the industry, there's bound to be uproar. After a few choice comments, Kirsten Dunst was labeled as an anti-feminist and went under similar scrutiny as Woodley earlier this year.

The problem is not with Miss Woodley, the problem is with society and the media. If you read the entire article, it is framed to make her sound like an ignorant young starlet. An example can be seen with her mention of The Other Women, a movie she mistakenly labeled as being directed by Judd Apatow. They seem to have quoted her verbatim, with her direct statement being "There's that new Judd Apatow movie [sic] movie coming out, The Other Women, and that looks really good because I think it shows women coming together and supporting each other..." Later, they made the point of clarifying:

Not everyone agrees The Other Women (which was not directed by Judd Apatow) is so empowering

They used the [sic] marking (meaning, roughly, "this is what they actually said") in a negative way, making it blatantly obvious that she made a mistake and using it against her argument against feminism. The entire article is a subtle attack against Woodley and she is merely a victim. I cannot say whether or not this frame affected how others read it, but it sure stuck out to me.

The point of the matter is that Woodley has the right to say whatever she likes, whenever she likes - just like any other person. The only difference is that her opinion is broadcast for everyone to see. Especially now, in what can only be described as the taking-off of her career, whatever she says will be scrutinized. No doubt she had at least a dozen people telling her what to say and when to say it. That's a lot of pressure for anyone to feel. While her statement can be read as ignorant, if one looks into the source of her statements, they can see the larger problem. Miss Woodley's words were framed in a negative article, one that used her as a puppet to expose the taboo of feminism and how anyone labeling themselves as anti-feminist is wrong and misinformed. It's not fair to Miss Woodley nor to the public to put the blame on one person and use them as the face of ignorance. The face of ignorance is in the mirror, more times than not, and the only one that can prevent it is you.

WARNING: THIS REVIEW CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR BOTH THE BOOK AND MOVIE VERSIONS OF DIVERGENT

This weekend, I finally got the chance to watch Divergent for the first time in theatres. I read the book last summer but put off watching the movie 1) because I was very busy at the time it came out and 2) I'm still mad about the ending of Allegiant so I was kind of boycotting it. Maybe.

Divergent premiered with many eyes watching and waiting to see if it would become the latest casualty in the search for the next YA hit franchise. While I believe these expectations to be "The Next Hunger Games" are unfair and unjust to YA books everywhere, they unfortunately make a difference in box office terms. Many great YA series have been panned because of their "unsuccessful" adaptations and there was debate whether or not Veronica Roth's best-selling series would be among them. Turns out Divergent had just the right ingredients to draw in a large audience and can be deemed a success in its own right.

I went into the theatre with dilapidated complacency, mostly brought on by the amount of time I waited to watch it. With this neutral outlook, I was able to sit back and actually watch the movie instead of picking it apart like I usually do with book-to-movie adaptations. Plus, it helped that I didn't reread the book right before watching the film. So my outlook is one of whom that is familiar with the book but doesn't have it committed to memory.

Honestly, I really did like it. With all thoughts of Allegiant out of my head, I looked at Divergent as it's own story - which it is, really. It's the beginning to a revolution, as so many YA dystopian stories are nowadays. The film kept the momentum and tone I loved about the book: something both daunting and hopeful. The audience developed with Tris through her trials and triumphs. I did, however, notice a lot violence from the Dauntless initiation period cut down in regards to one-on-one combat and training. Specifically, with the character of Peter. In the books, Peter is a sociopath and it's no secret. In the movie, he's just a bully. While his fight scene with Tris was kept in and added to his asshole-image, the audience only sees him as a boy making all the wrong choices - which comes to fruition in the final battle sequence (SPOILERS. Highlight white space to reveal) when Peter is standing guard without the influence of the mind control serum. A very disturbing scene involving a knife was not included, which would have made Peter a contestable villain. I'm not quite sure what the angle of this was - perhaps to make Peter more sympathetic as a character? Maybe to portray Kate Winslet's character, Janine, as the main antagonist? Regardless, I'm eager to see what role he'll be playing in the future films.

Also noticeably absent was the role of Uriel, another one of Tris's friends in the Dauntless initiate class. His positive and flirtatious attitude would have been a welcome reprieve from the dark overtones of the film. The whole Tris/Al relationship was also understated. While Al's romantic feelings were unrequited in the books, I believe they were important in his overall motivation for (SPOILERS) the cliff scene and his eventual suicide. While it was clear that he was a weak-minded individual, his romantic feelings also added to Tris's emotional distance and how Four was the one to help soften that disposition.

While the movie did not follow the book verbatim, I still think it was a wonderful adaptation. It helped me remember what I loved about the first book in Roth's series. The Divergent trilogy as a movie franchise looks to be in good shape, if it's gross income thus far is any attestment. The sequel has already begun filming. While I have mixed feelings about the third book being split into two movies, as do many people, I still look forward to future installments and wish the best for this new success story in the world of YA book-to-movie adaptations.

The best conversations happen after midnight.

Recently, I had a talk with my cousin/roommate about where we were going to be a year from now. At face value, we'll be picking up our cap and gown and finishing our last college finals as undergrads. It's a scary thought. It became even scarier when we started thinking about our careers and how we were going to fair after graduation. Scratch that - it became terrifying.

My cousin is a Therapeutic Recreation major but she has plans to go into an accelerated Nursing program after graduation. Even with a relatively steady profession like that, she's still nervous about where the future will take her. Where she'll end up, if she'll succeed.

After talking with her, I began to realize just how universal uncertainty is when it comes to a person's career. I've been told time and time again that it's only something people majoring in the arts deal with (myself included). But really, everyone goes through it. With all of the stories about the economy failing and job security becoming rarer with each passing year, all professions are being affected. It's your job to make yourself more marketable and gain experiences that will make you a better candidate for whatever you want to go into.

As a writer, I have a lot of dreams. But the most important one to me is getting a book published. I've have one of my short stories published in an on-campus journal, but other than that I know next to nothing about the publishing world or how to make myself stand out. And since I want book-writing to be my main source of income one day - with my work hours clocked in my own personal library, typing away at my computer - realistically, I'll need to find "normal" job first. Naturally, I want that job to be writing-specific so I won't hate going in to work every day and be using my strengths to their fullest potential. Call me greedy or what-not but I really don't want to work in retail for the rest of my life.

So, I'm trying to get experience that will make me marketable to magazines. Or maybe even newspapers. Anything to make me a prime candidate.

Yet as a writer, I am constantly hearing and reading work from people who are much more talented than I am - much more accomplished. While that serves as a sort of fuel to get me going it can also be my greatest drawback. I'll read short stories from fellow students and be like "Wow. This is amazing. How can I ever compete with this?" The same goes for my reading habits. I'll read a book and marvel at how amazing it is and how I'll never be able to write like so-and-so. It's really depressing, honestly, and I find myself fishing for compliments from random friends and family members to make myself feel better - not caring if they're telling the truth when they say they love my work.

Today, I gave a three-minute reading in front of a class for my final. It was a humor piece and my goal was to make everyone laugh, which, strangely enough, I did. After that, a classmate came up to me and asked if I considered to apply to the Lanthorn (our college newspaper). I'd been tossing around the idea for a while but didn't think I would be a right fit. I'm no journalist.

"Well, you should apply in the fall," the classmate said. "If you wrote for them, I'd actually read it."

My face reddened after that. It was a compliment I didn't ever expect to get - especially from a classmate whose work I admired.

For background: The Lanthorn, along with any college newspaper, doesn't get a lot of traffic with students. Sure, some headlines catch campus-wide attention but other than that, most don't take the time to read it. I'm guilty of this. I mean, I pick up a copy every new addition but I only graze the articles and look at the comic. There are editorials also, usually written by writing majors, but I never read them for fear of feeling inferior. No joke. I'm pretty petty.

So when someone suggested I apply to write those same editorials, I was pretty floored. Flattered beyond belief - but mostly floored.

Getting a compliment like that really made my day. Any day when someone compliments anything about my work is a good day. Just a simple "I really love your writing style" can mean a world of difference to me. And I'm sure the same would go for anyone else.

If you like someone's writing - tell them. If you think their dress is cute, tell them. If you think they're funny or liked what they had to say in class, tell them. Don't back down on account of sounding creepy or fearing that they won't appreciate your compliment. Chances are it'll make their day. Personally, I was having a pretty crappy start to finals week, worrying about deadlines that were approaching too quickly, when someone came up to me and told me I should write for the Lanthorn. With no fear of sounding cheesy, I can confidently say that the sun shined a little bit brighter on my walk to the bus stop.

Moral of the story: Make someone's sun shine brighter. Make them feel confident about their job choice. You never know what could happen.