Hypoxia

Hey faithful readers. Missed me? I certainly missed you, that's for sure. So I'm all moved in to my apartment up here at BYU-Idaho (you know, the sister school of BYU, that one school with the football team and Jimmer? Yeah, that one). Anyway, I've been writing bits and pieces here and there for at least three different stories. Yes, Diary of an Agent's Sister: Year Two is still on a front burner, but so is the story of Liz.

Liz is a runner. Her parents are gone for the weekend, and what promised to be a nice, peaceful weekend turned into something from a nightmare. Two evil men have marked Liz as their prey, so she needs to do what she does best: run. She runs to the home of a coworker, Duke. Instead of finding Duke and his parents, she finds Duke, his parents, his sister, and his thirteen unofficial siblings, most of whom have criminal records and look just as scary as--if not scarier than--her predators. Her new adopted family has sworn to protect her, but now the question is, can Liz run fast enough?
Read the first three chapters of Fast Enough on goodreads here.

Meanwhile, I'm neck deep in my EMT class. There's certifications left and right, chapters to read every night, and stories upon stories from the instructors. I'm taking a full course load, and tomorrow I'll begin the job hunt. I have enough chapters of Fast Enough so that I can post one or two a week for a little while, at least.

Also--a huge point of excitement in my life--Codename: Sam, the boy who printed the bound copy of Diary (remember?) is coming home from his two-year mission in Virginia for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints in twenty-five days!!! How exciting is that? I haven't been able to hear Sam's voice or see him in person in almost two full years, and finally I'll get to properly hug him in gratitude for the massive gift he gave me.

I hope you're all having a fantastic week, and that everything works out well for everyone in the week upcoming.

Love always,
Jordy

Teasers!

Back up to school this week. Maybe a regular posting schedule with it? We'll see. Until then, Year Two is officially being written by scene, not sequentially. Hence why I have not been uploading everything. Anyway, a few lines from stuff I've done lately, just for fun:

"I wear yummy lipgloss so I can taste it and look pretty, not so you can eat it all off!"
"Mmm, minty."

“She’s my partner, it’s just an alias.”
“Okay.”
“You…you don’t believe me.”
“What? Alex, of course I do.”
“You don’t. You still don’t trust me. After everything, you don’t trust me. What can I do to make you understand? I’m coming back. I love you, Sascha Dell. Why don’t you see that?”

Last, but not least:

“They’re dead. They shouldn’t be able to do this to me anymore. I was nothing more than a lab rat to them. One they only realized they couldn’t euthanize easily after I’d been created.”

Endless Summer...

...which will ironically be ending in less than two weeks.

I kind of took the summer off blogging, as evidenced by the long strain of post-less weeks. It's been more of the same stuff, really. My parent's house entered escrow this week, my job at the theater has been keeping me busy, and life has been continuing onward.

As far as writing goes, I have a new toy, and I absolutely love playing with it. It's a program called Scrivener. It's a word processor geared specifically towards authors, and is used by many of my favorites. It's doing a beautiful job of helping me format Diary of an Agent's Sister into a proper manuscript, and has helped so much in the creation of Diary II. Gosh, I really need a name for the poor book. Maybe I should just call it "Diary of an Agent's Sister: Year Two"

I suppose that could work.

I'm using a trial version of Scrivener right now, which is the same as the paid-for version, but I only get 30 days out of it. I'm pretty sure it'll be worth the $45 when my trial is up.
Anyway, here's a couple screenshots off Scrivener, so you can get the idea of what I'm working with.

[click the pictures to make 'em bigger, and get peeks of what I'm working on]

News about my hands, in case you were wondering:
I went to see another doctor here at home, one who specializes in sports medicine. Because we all know how writing and music are full-contact sports. Anyway, it boils down to a whole boatload of nerve damage, muscle inflammation, and other shiz that really isn't fun. My hands were put on bedrest for two weeks, during which time I did my best to do nothing with them. No writing, no music, no sign language, nothing. I learned to sit with my hands very still, which is a new talent for me.

I hope everyone is having an excellent summer, and wish you all the best!
-Jordy

Teaser! (I know, I'm so cruel)

Just as evidence of my progress, I've decided to release a teaser of what I'm working on now. Probably from about the second chapter to be posted on goodreads.

"As I flipped down the visor and began layering on the black mascara, I caught sight of Markus' wedding ring again. In training, they'd told us that lasting relationships are rarely possible before retirement.
"You're married?" I asked, curious as to how he managed it. Technically, since he's my partner now, I figured I should at least be able to ask some questions about him, right?
The look he gave me made me think something was wrong with me.
"I'm not married," he said tersely. "We are."

Hopefully more will come soon! Also, hopefully I'll have a name for this book soon. Did you know that the first thing that came to me with the first book was the title? I thought up the title and built the book around it. Not so with this one.

Much love and gratitude,
Jordy

This Is Me Swallowing My Pride...

I'm getting pretty good at these disappearing acts, aren't I?

First, a confession: I just read a book all the way to the end for the first time since I left home last April. I've probably started half a dozen books since the semester started, reading many, sometimes making it all the way to the beginning of the climax, but never finishing it. It was frustrating, to say the least. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I've had to do a lot of healing this semester, and little things like the feel of holding a book with just a few pages to go, the deep sigh that comes once the last sentence has been read, they all let me know that I've made progress.

To my friends who read this, I feel like I can finally get this out. Writing it somewhere other than my own diary, getting it out to real people, might just take me a little bit further.

This semester started with a new sensation for me: homesickness. My second semester at college, certainly not the first time I'd been away from home, and I wanted to be anywhere but here. Which was ridiculous, because I loved my classes and had made friends. Still, the only reason I wasn't packing up my car, jumping on the I-15, and driving 'til I hit the Golden State was because I knew I needed to be here, and had enough willpower to make it happen. Still, I called my parents from inside my car (the only place I could get privacy) every night for days, seeking any comfort and help they could give.

I hit a second speed bump as I realized that I was letting myself sink into some pretty destructive habits and behaviors. I realized I needed to change that, and with the help of my church leaders, was able to get myself back on track. Life seemed to be picking up, I was back in touch with my characters, and for a few short days, I was happy. About this same time is when my roommates health started failing, as I mentioned in an earlier post, just to give a point of reference. Exactly three days after I made major breakthroughs with my behaviors, I got a devastating call from my parents:

They were selling the house. It was that, or file for bankruptcy. I'd lived in that house for twelve years. It sheltered me from all the awkward middleschool years, was my respite from the storm of highschool, was my stronghold during my terrible breakup. And just like that, there was the possibility that I'd never set foot in it again.
Of course, though, that could never be the end.
My brother put in applications to serve his country in Iraq and the Arizona Warzone. My brother already goes to work everyday in a bulletproof vest. This new development was so Not Okay.

I was scared. I was angry. I felt alone. I didn't know where I would live in the summer, let alone where I'd eventually call 'home'. I didn't want to talk to my parents, because I couldn't say anything without crying. It grew worse than that though. I stopped going to class. I went when it was crucial, but if I could afford to miss, I did. I was battered by constant streams of "what's wrong" from those closest to me. I stopped eating. I'd be starving, but the thought of food repulsed me. I hated eating. I'd just sit there, day in, day out, unable to make myself do anything of value. Life had lost its savor. Everything was just...colorless. I stopped finding happiness in the onset of spring, the beauty of my college campus, even the company of my roommates. Later, I'd describe this as a time when the Dementors attacked daily in full force. My world had turned to Azkaban, and I saw no hope for escape. It was at this time that the Carpal Tunnel set in, stealing from me my music and my writing, my last few feeble forms of escape, which were already weakened anyway. At the coercing of my roommates, I finally signed up for my school's free counseling center. I was wait-listed.

The weeks dragged on. I called my parents regularly, considering options for finding off-campus counseling. Even with insurance, it wouldn't be cheap, which wasn't really an option. Finally, just over two weeks ago, I got an appointment with my school's center. My counselor was nice, she listened to me talk--erm--cry, and after a lot of discussion, I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder caused by a chemical imbalance in the brain, and 'flared' by current stresses. I know a lot of people don't like labels and psych diagnoses, but for me, a diagnosis means answers, and once I know what I'm dealing with, I can start to fix it.

Bless my counselor, she likes medications as much as I do. As in, a deep, dark loathing of them. So we started "Behavioral Prozac" instead. Everyday, I am required to do four things:
1: Record five specific things that I was grateful for, or that made me happy (i.e. "I saw a pretty flower that made me smile")
2: Get 30 minutes of physical activity every day.
3: Spend as much time around people as possible
4: Do one thing, every day, that I know makes me happy on the good days. Even if that means going to WalMart and watching the fish for half an hour.

For the most part, my Behavioral Prozac works well enough. I have fewer bad days, at least. It gives me an excuse to watch TV or read a book. I'm probably one of the only kids who goes to a therapist, tells her she doesn't hear the characters in her head anymore, and the therapist says, "It's okay, they'll come back in time. Just let them come. They'll be there when your mind heals enough."

Like I said, I guess I'm healing. I've written seven pages this week, more than almost the entire semester. Maybe I'll have some Diary to post by the end of summer. I'll keep better updates now, with my progress going as it is. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.

With much love and thanks,
-Jordy

Unfathomable

Two pieces of crucial information are required before this post will make sense:
First, there's this boy, Codename: Sam. Sam is serving a 2-year mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints in Washington D.C., and he teaches in Spanish. He is not allowed the modern conveniences of Facebook, is allowed thirty minutes each week to email family members, and can only call home twice a year: Christmas and Mother's day. For the past twenty months, he and I have communicated solely by means of handwritten letter and the old fashioned postoffice.
Second, my birthday is soon upon us.

In one of Sam's last letters, I was told that I'd be getting my birthday present from him soon, but he wasn't specific about when it was coming. He just asked that I wait until my birthday to open it. Well, today I collected the mail and found a large, flat box with my name on it, from some indiscernible company. Curious, and not thinking, I began to open it.
First, I saw this:

I thought I read it wrong, and couldn't help myself. I tore off the packaging.

I was in shock. I turned over the sturdy, hardcover book in my hands, and found this:

A message from him on the back:

411 pages of my writing. In a hardcover book.

I'm still dying. I don't think I've ever laughed and cried when I received a present before. I was struck speechless for almost an entire half-hour, and my mom thought something was seriously wrong when I called to tell her. It's just so beautiful!

If you helped this come to fruition in any way, thank you so much!

More Rocks

Quick post, because it's late, I have class in 5 hours, and my hands hurt.

Every writer's nightmare: Carpal Tunnel. In the words of my favorite internet felines: i haz it.
It reared its ugly head pretty hard about two weeks ago and has had me in it's grip ever since. I wear two clunky black braces almost constantly, which look a lot like the bracers that I strap my characters into. At least, that's what the roommates who've read Diary agreed on. They also agreed that it makes me, the sweet, innocent Jordy that no one ever suspects of anything, look decidedly like I could take down a linebacker. Most of my conversations now go like this:
Friend: Jordy, what'd you do to your hands?
Me: Got in a fight with a polar bear.
Friend: *laughs* ah, really.
Me: Yeah, you think this is bad, you should see the Polar Bear.
(Both laugh)
Me: Nah, it's just Carpal Tunnel being a jerk.

Ok, long story short, I refuse to let this keep me from writing...just from writing legibly. Which is great if you only read what's typed. My teachers and my notes aren't as lucky. I'm also very, VERY slow at writing now. It's dreadful.

Please know that I'm still writing stuff and have mostly gotten out of my psycho funk, it's just...well...ouch.

Love always,
Jordy

(The demon bracers)

(My latest desktop creation)