A Little Self- Reflection with my Morning Cereal

Often times we wake up in the morning feeling like this poor fellow to the right, Edvard Munch's "Scream". This painting is infinitely famous despite how creepy the main attraction to the canvas is. Perhaps that's because we identify with the horribly grotesque centerpiece? The way he clasps his head, opens his mouth in the silent cry of monotony and purposelessness, how his eyes bug wide from fear that maybe, somehow, this really is all there is.

Well, thank goodness I don't believe that this is all there is to the world and my purpose in it. How hopeless I would be without my faith in Christ! Depression often leaves me exhausted and without motivation. Utter, irrational and causeless despair sometimes makes sleep seem better than living. Through much trial and error I've seen the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.

Though I grew up with Christianity, I never truly had a peaceful and full relationship with my Creator until the world I had built for myself came crashing down around me and I looked an awful lot like Munch's painting. I was stabbed in the back, the blade was twisted around an around, and I thought "This pain isn't worth living for". Through the help of the Bible, supportive friends and The Purpose Driven Life, my journey ended much happier than it began but it was a close one, and I'll never forget that.

We come through these things with a scream on our lips and horror in our eyes in order to better understand our fellow man, and to reach them with our stories of triumph. Even through moments of despair we can be comforted in knowing that pain brings about infinite possibilities of purpose and meaning. Through my struggles with chronic depression, I've become interested in mental illness and plan on writing my next project on a character who has one. Through the "explosion" of my fake little world, I can better help my friends through similar situations. Through my experience with anorexia I can look at my friend and say, "No, seriously, you need to eat".

Though these experiences were, an are, painful, they still allow me to feel as if I'm here for a reason, and I personally think it was worth it.

Old Hallows Eve

On Halloween, children and even adults quiver in fear at the thought of ghosts, goblins, monsters, and killer ninjas. It's a night of fright, however irrational, and people love it because of the thrill of adrenaline that accompanies a spooky surprise.

I pose the question, what about real evil? Not the things that go bump in the night, not the little brothers in Freddy masks, but the real, tangible evil that pulses in the hearts of serial killers. They are the real monsters, and they surpass time and culture, simply living everywhere and in every era.

From H.H. Holmes to Albert Fish, Jack the Ripper to Bundy, they are men (though women are among the number) who violently, sadistically and tortuously end the lives of their fellow human beings. They are around 365 days of the year, and many are still unknown to us. Because of their estimated number, is in fact statistically possible that you, yes you, have come into contact or crossed paths with a serial killer once in your life. They may even have looked at you as a potential victim, eventually switching their attention to some unlucky stranger while you go free and unaffected. That doesn't mean you weren't there, and it doesn't mean you weren't in the presence of evil. Not the image, the mirage of dark things presented to us on Old Hallows Eve, but the real, true-blue evil that runs in the blood of those who take life after life with little or no remorse.

This is the world we live in and what we have to contend with. Why do we create evil, an entire day dedicated to evil, when evil is all around us already? This Halloween, instead of switching on a scary movie with some Freddy or Jason villain, try a serial killer documentary. I guarantee you'll sleep with the lights on, and isn't that what today is all about?

Be a Modern Day Abolitionist

The slave trade in the Civil War Era was considered booming. It was a big industry then, with slave traders sailing to Africa and other such countries to steal unsuspecting people from their villages. It is estimated that there were 4,000,000 slaves during this time.

The slave trade in Our Era is considered exponential compared to pre-Civil War times. It's a massive industry now, with international sex slave traders swooping into villages and making false promises to children who want to monetarily support their families. It is estimated that now, in 2010, there are 27,000,000 slaves.

There is some sort of disconnect here. When people of 2010 are reminded of the black slave trade, they're filled with outrage (and rightly so). Now, picture this. Skin color no longer matters. There is no one group of people who need protection. Every child is in danger. It could be your daughter or son, nephew or niece, brother or sister. They could be Cambodian, Asian, Russian, Thai, or from the Bronx.

These children are stripped of their names and given a number. They're put on a menu for men to choose from. They are raped an average of 5 times per night. There is no limit to how young they are.

When we see our little ones, the children we know and love, picturing them in that kind of situation is painful enough. Now imagine it's happened, and you're helpless. They're forced to take hard drugs to keep them from complaining or fighting back. They are horribly abused. If this were the case, if it were more obvious, everyone would be outraged NOW. Last year, I, Kate Thompson, at the age of 19, should not have been hearing about the modern day slave trade for the first time.

If you're interested in doing something big or small (everything helps!), here are a few organizations you can look up:

1. Love146
2. Not For Sale
3. Invisible Children (focus on child soldiers)

Look them up, read the stats, and see how you can help.

Be a modern day abolitionist.

Even death may die - H.P. Lovecraft

"That is not dead which can eternal lie
And with strange aeons even death may die."
- "The Call of Cthulhu", H.P. Lovecraft

For my Writing the Literary Novel class last year, we had to write to one of our peers at the end of the semester. This person had to be the one whose writing we enjoyed the most. My classmate Ryan compared me to a man named Lovecraft, who I'd only heard of in the vaguest of ways. Today I went to Twice Sold Tales (owned by Jim Logan) in downtown Farmington, Maine in search of one of his books. There was only one copy in the entire store, and I snapped it up for $3.50! I read the first few sections while waiting for my fiance to get out of a meeting, and I loved it. I can't believe it took me 20 years to discover Howard Philip Lovecraft!

His life was sadly short, but full of meaningful friendships, though some only flowered through the writing of letters (it is said that he penned 100,000 letters in his 46 year life). Both parent's died of insanity (or at least in insane asylums after surgeries) and he lived a lonely life swathed in dreary and chilling stories. He was a visionary, and someone I intend to look up to from now on. More on him later! Time for dinner!

Change of Plan, NaNoWriMo, and George Eliot

Wednesday is the busiest day of my week. I'm up at 7:30AM, out of the house by 8:45AM and don't return until after 4 in the afternoon. Yet, now at 4:16PM on a Wednesday, I feel the need to blog my little heart out. Perhaps it's guilt at having neglected "Abyssopelagic" in the past, but more likely I want to satisfy my vanity by imagining someone actually reads these posts. This blog began as a chronicle of my character, Daniel, as he navigated the murder of his sister, and joined in the investigation to catch her killer. Through out the process of discovering Dan, I discovered a personal fascination with crime, criminals and criminal psychology that I didn't know I had, hence the change in the purpose of this forum. Now, I'm working on the idea that by investigating and blogging on various crimes, I'll learn more about what crime really is and how criminals really think, as well as how I feel about each case. Maybe this idea will completely ruin this blog, but I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who reads it anyway.

On another note, I've entered the NaNoWriMo contest. November is apparently National Novel Writing Month, and the challenge is to write 50,000 words (12,500 words/week --- 6 days a week = 2,083 words/day) from November 1 through November 30, 2010 (though it does commence every year). Because I've reached approximately 70,000 words in my novel thus far, I've decided to aim to ADD 50,000 words. Hopefully, this challenge keeps me motivated!

Since reading Middlemarch, by George Eliot (pseudonym for Mary Ann Evans), for my English Novel class, I've decided that I absolutely LOVE her style. In fact, I can't recall ever reading anything so fantastic. I went into it with a bad attitude because I hated Silas Marner with a fiery passion. Middlemarch left Silas in the dust. Now I have this crazy idea about abandoning Daniel for a more "Dorothea" kind of character... can't really make Daniel a "later born Theresa"...

Aileen Wuornos: Her Story and My Thoughts

There are a lot of things I don't understand in this world, including the government and Teletubbies, but nothing stumps me quite like the mistreatment of the mentally ill, and the abuse and neglect of children. As human beings, we're programmed to survive and protect ourselves at all costs. The fight or flight response is a fine tuned machine that spans over our entire species. What happens when the person wielding this machine was sexually, physically and mentally abused as a child? The effect that can have on a person is evident in the case of Aileen Wournos. This picture is of a devastatingly charming little girl. Honestly, she's beautiful.

In forty-eight years this child will have been put to death as a serial killer, with the blood of seven men on her hands. It doesn't seem possible for such a metamorphosis to occur, that a face like this could be changed by a hard life of drugs, drinking, smoking and highway prostitution. Aileen was a very sick woman, and her innocence didn't last long past the taking of this picture. She became known as a "cigarette pig" at the age of eleven, because she would have sex with local boys in exchange for cigarettes. She was abandoned by her mother, sexually abused by her grandfather, had incestuous relations with her brother, Keith, and eventually ended up a withered woman on the end of her tether. Her life is a story of being used, but she didn't start killing until she fell in love with Tyria Brookes. Her obsession with Ty overshadowed everything else. Ms. Brookes wasn't frightened away by Aileen's famous and well documented rages. They were together for four years.

It seems like the triggers for Aileen's highway killings were moments of insecurity in her relationship with Tyria. Wournos felt that in order to keep the woman she loved, she had to be able to provide some big money to keep them comfortable. At this point, the cute little girl above had changed into an overweight alcoholic and any remnant of her good looks were completely gone. Men stopped to pick her up for sex less frequently than ever before, and she was desperate. So when Richard Mallory stopped to pick her up (presumably as a hitch-hiker, but we'll never know for sure) Aileen began her immediate rationalizations. Soon, she'd convinced herself that 51 year old Mallory was going to rape her. Later that same night, her first victim was dead (1989), and the year long spree had begun.


Aileen is the perfect example of what I don't understand in this world. Used and abused from a very young age, is it any surprise that she became violent in her later life? In her last interview and final words, it's obvious that she was not in her right mind. The question is, was she ever? Did she deserve to die by lethal injection, or was her place in a mental institution, where her paranoia and rage could be treated, or at least handled? Towards the end, it didn't matter. Aileen stopped protesting her death penalty sentence. She was unstable enough to become a serial killer, but not unstable enough to warrant help. Her last words, while strapped down and waiting for the lethal injection to be administered, where the following:

"I'd just like to say I'm sailing with the rock, and I'll be back like Independence Day, with Jesus June 6. Like the movie, big mother ship and all, I'll be back."

Aileen Wuornos (February 29 1956 - October 9, 2002)

NOTE: I am not in any way suggesting that Aileen Wuornos was innocent. The evidence proved to 12 people beyond a reasonable doubt that she was a murderer. I simply wanted to share Aileen's sad story and get a few thoughts out there. As someone who struggles with a mental illness, cases like these really hit home. Chronic depression is no paranoid schizophrenia and I'm no Aileen Wuornos, but just think about how many times this has happened over the years... Who decides when someone needs treatment, and when someone needs to die?

A Daily Page Goal

I've decided to try something that I've left by the wayside for about five years now (if time went any faster I think it would cease to exist altogether). A Daily Page Goal towards the completion of my manuscript. Seems silly that I have to tell myself to do that, but planning a wedding and taking a full course load leaves me want for time. A page goal is exactly what Daniel needs to get across the finish line. I was going to go with ten pages a day single spaced, but rushing through the end of the project is NOT the point of a page goal. Rather, the point of the goal is to get you pumped!!! So, I'm thinking five pages, single spaced, with at least an hour set aside to do it per day. Being familiar with the monster that is inspiration, I don't expect to always succeed. Writing five passable-first-draft-pages and writing five-completely-forced-pages are on the opposite sides of the spectrum.

Patch and Stuff.

For anyone in the world who actually reads this blog (God bless you for the effort) I've mentioned my dog a few times. This picture is of Patch's first summer, and he's bigger now, but less than 20lbs. I owe a lot to him, to his unconditional love for me. Sure, he has stanky breath and barks too much, but he's my best friend, the best friend a writer could ever have.

But now on to crime things.

What makes a person murder? Gives them their MO and takes them into the dark place that leads to the spilling of blood? Some say brain chemicals, other say an abusive upbringing, and still others assert that it has to do with plain, untainted evil. The truth is, we're all capable of murder. It's inside all of us. The killers and serial murderers simply have a hard time controlling themselves. Ted Bundy had a normal upbringing. He had loving parents, went to college and graduated, and then started killing people. In his last interview before his execution, he told Dr. James Dobson that violent, sadistic pornography was the reason for his sick lusts. He was not raised to be a killer. Albert Fish preceded Bundy by decades. He practiced cannibalism and even sent letters to his victim's families, telling them how their loved ones suffered before they died. He could be explained as pure evil. His nature, his entire life, tainted by darkness through and through. We just don't know why people do what they do.

I can write as many manuscripts on crime that I want, but it's only my interpretation and could b e far from the truth. The truth is beyond me, but I'm searching for it. Why do people hurt their fellow man? How can one person so viciously and torturously take the life of another human being?

Off to discover.

Kate

Freelance and the Blood Countess...

The Holy Roman Empire, Transylvania

Along with my Psychology major fiance, I've been reading a book on female serial killers. This picture is of Elizabeth Bathory, and she is the only one of her kind. All known female serial killers since Elizabeth were influenced and led by an alpha male. That was not the Countess's experience. She began her bloody campaign while her husband was actually away fighting the Turks- he had done nothing to encourage her sadistic desires.

In the late 1500s and early 1600s it is believed that she tortured and killed over 600 servant girls and young women. Her methods were brutal, and a lot of the truth is worse than the legend. She was arrested in 1610 at the age of fifty, and was entombed alive with only a small window through which she received food. Only her noble blood kept her from immediate execution. She survived four years before supposedly being found dead on the floor of her chamber, still looking as cruelly beautiful as ever.

They called her a vampire because when she was finished murdering a victim, she was often sopping with the girl's blood. The peasants who lived beneath her castle were terrified and the population was dwindling- almost all of the eligible girls had gone to work for Elizabeth, and had never came home. Pretty grisly, huh? When we were reading about her I couldn't help but think of a fiction story I could write. Maybe Elizabeth was a vampire. Maybe she didn't die on the floor of her tomb. Maybe she's alive today...

On to freelance. I've fiddled around with the idea for two years now and have finally decided to give it a try. My resume is built, my web page is http://www.google.com/profiles/katethompsonportfolio and I'm shaking in my boots. When you first go to college, you don't think about life after the fact. Everything is new an exciting and the real world can wait. That novelty wears off around junior year, which is where I am now. Now, I have to pay attention to the real world, because by next summer I need to know how I'm going to make enough money to feet my dog when I'm done with my BFA. Next year, I need to find me a grad school. I'm confident that I can write about almost any subject (except any form of math whatsoever) as long as I'm given a directive and research topics. All I need are professionals and private parties who are interested in what I have to offer. Hmm... where are you?

And because this blog is supposed to be about Daniel Bellamy, I'm going to put some new information in here about him, too. The pieces are starting to come together. Suddenly, there's hope for Daniel in his quest to catch the person responsible for his sister's murder. Before he gets the information he needs, he receives a phone call. There's been another double homicide. They hadn't been quick enough. When I last left Daniel, he was on his way to the scene of the crime. This one will be grislier than the first.

Kate.

No, really, I AM Batman.

Well, I've been MIA and have no excuse for it. Schools back up and running full force but it's been enjoyable for the most part (except for ART- I like to draw as much as the next person, but who says, "I want you to capture the emotion of your model" in reference to a messenger bag?). My English Novel class is so good I actually look forward to it... which might be slightly twisted, but that's a-o-k with me. For one of my classes I get to just sit and write. Yeah, I said it. It's the best class ever invented. EVER.

I got engaged at the end of the summer and have been planning a wedding (245 days to go) and yes, Daniel's story has been progressing. I'm around 225 and have enough material and thoughts to hopefully get me another hundred pages. Afterward, it's copy editing time! I have more news about Dan, but breakfast and class calls my name. I'll have to get back to you on that.

Quick-Quip

Hey everyone, just a quick blog to let you know that I haven't vanished. Family Canada trip took up the end of the summer (I got engaged!) and now I'm back at school, starting my second day of classes... it all goes by so fast.

I'm loving the apartment and our new roomie, Kels! It's finally a home here at 101 Water Street! I dont have much else to type right now because homework calls.

204 and a Dog Named Patch

Daniel has been out in full force over the last week. Sebago Lake, Maine seems to be my place of catharsis, my zenith, my mecca of inspiration. Sitting on that porch on a balmy summer day is like a defibrillator for my creative heart. Dan and I got to 204 pages today. It's not a huge number, and I'm not half done, but it's a solid, good, three digit number that I always like to get to. At this point in a manuscript, there's just no turning back. Finish it, even if it sucks, because of the countless hours and backaches that went into the process.

Patch is sitting with me, my little writing assistant, always there to cuddle with me when I hit a road block or a particularly hard passage. He's never far away and I always know it... because his breath reeks to high heaven. Patch looks at me with those big, brown, wonderful eyes that are always saying, "Mom, I love you." I couldn't ask for a better four-legged companion as I take on my writing journey. For example, he's creeping in front of my face so I cant see the screen of my laptop. Let me tell you, his breath is PHEW! I need to get this dog some Greenies ASAP! Well, as Patch is always here for me, I always need to be here for him, and right now, he needs some lovin'.

Venting Part 2

Ever heard the expression "Guns don't kill people, people kill people"? Well, that's taken on new meaning for me as I've researched and written Daniel's story. Morbid curiosity leads me forward into the darkness, where I learn reasons people kill and the methods law enforcement use to apprehend them. The problem is, the good guys don't win as often as we'd like to think they do.

People kill other people in horrific, brutal ways, and that's just a fact of life we have to live with. It goes all the way back to the beginning, to Cain and Able. One man, jealous, smashes his brothers skull in with a rock. What kind of world is this? We fight the government, put up a fuss about health care, insurance, gas prices, life in general. WAKE UP AMERICA, there are other threats we need to open our eyes to. RAPE MURDER INCEST KIDNAP TORTURE SLAVERY DIVORCE these things are killing our country, too. Who cares about finances when our streets are bathed in blood, when we can't walk down the street without being scared when a car slows down?

Let's no forget WAR in all of this. It deserves a paragraph of its own. I'm not going to complain about the wars we're in, because THAT is not going to get us out of them. What I am going to complain about is deeper than some political decision, some disliked president, some ignorance. What about the victims? When did they become "civilian casualties"? Where are the mothers and fathers and children, the wives and husbands and friends? They become statistics, numbers, things to be seen and forgotten.

That is the real threat. People kill people, and we look the other way. Think about that.

Take a Bite Out of Crime

Yesterday was the most productive day I've had in a month. It's those days that make choosing writing as a career seem like an okay idea. I think I've identified my problem. Being motivationless is not a good life choice for someone who wants to write a novel. So far, I've stuck with the 5-10 page a day quota, and I'm going to do my best to keep it up. I hit the 154 page mark last night and did some thinking. I'm just about half way done telling the story. Daniel has so much to say!

I found this picture of McGruff the Crime Dog and thought it was a real blast from the 90s. He was THE crime deterrent for young children, and I remember him fondly. I thought he needed to make an appearance on Dan's blog. Weirdly fitting. Dan in canine form.

An Inadequacy Shared by Neurosurgeons

It's difficult to keep things straight. Despite a binder overflowing with details, facts and figures, important information is still lost in translation (or transcription). When I read the interviews of some of my favorite writers (Writer's Digest Magazine), it sometimes seems like things come easy to them-- that they have something I don't have.

For whatever reason, inadequacy is something all writers feel at one point or another. This might seem like an inappropriate blanket statement, too much of a generalization. Well, sorry to say, it's true. It's not only writers. I'm sure neurosurgeons feel it, too. Am I doing the right thing? Is this what I'm supposed to be doing? Will I ever succeed? And... what happens if I don't?" For people who have other careers and write on the side, there is some underlying hope... a plan B if the writing doesn't work out. For Creative Writing Majors (who have no interest in journalism or teaching in any capacity) there is no plan B. You either make it, or you don't. Either tuition money was well spent, or it was horribly wasted.

When I sit down at my computer, thoughts circle in my head. Who would read this? This is horrible. I can't write. And who knows? Maybe these thoughts are the truth. But in the unlikely event that they are completely false, I'm going to be there to scream "BOOYAH" at the top of my lungs from the nearest rooftop.

Vent-o-tron

I'm a little angry right now. Justifiably? I'm not sure, but that doesn't make me any less angry. I worked as a tutor for one full semester. I never called out sick, I was never late, and I always took what ever client my boss sent my way. I thought I was professional and respectful with my resignation, and my boss seemed fine with it.

And then I ask her for a reference, and she says she's not comfortable giving me one because of the way I left so suddenly...WHAT?! I'm a people pleaser, plain and simple, especially towards authority figures. Her words bruised my ego. I hope they aren't true.

Moving on to Bellamy-type things. As soon as I'm finished posting this blog, I'm going to get to work on a new scene. I have a quota I want to meet (10 pages a day max, 5 min). This quota will hopefully help me hit over 200 pages before I get back to school. I have so many scenes and details in my head, I feel like it might spontaneously combust. It isn't about the page count, though it might sound that way. What it's about is motivation. Hey, maybe I wont get to 200 pages at all, but I want to have said that I was at my computer every day, trying to find out what was going to happen next.

The Anxiety of a Christian Writer Writing a Non-Christian Book

Daniel's been going through some rough times over the last few days. Poor devil. A female serial killer with a good batting swing can do a lot of damage, even to a trained killer, especially if he's haunted by his sister's untimely murder.

I've been worried since yesterday, thinking about all of the things in my novel that people in my church, my family, and my group of friends wouldn't necessarily be crazy about. It's a story about raw human emotions, the barest form of pain and angst that comes with loss and failure.

I've kept F&%$ out completely. That's a word for shock factor, and I'm hoping the manuscript has enough of that on it's own. Also, "Shit" is out, too. I just don't like the idea of that coming out of Dan or Samuel's mouth. They're hardened investigators, but they aren't sailors. The words they do say are "hell" "damn" and "bastard". But tell me, if you're little sister and her husband had just been murdered, would you have pleasant words to describe the killer at large? Realistically, no. In fact, if anyone touched my little brother I'd have a lot more than words for them. Shank to the ribs, that's all I can say.

And, for when my brother Matt decides that reading is an A-OK idea, and Benjamin learns to read in the first place, I dont want them to have to read something I'm not proud of. So, on that note, there are also no sex scenes in my untitled manuscript. I think they are, on principle, completely and utterly uneccesary to the heart of the story. Sure, maybe there will be insinuations and allusions, but no sex, no way. I'm not a prude. I just want my work to stand on its own two feet without any sort of literary cop out.

If I remove the parts of my novel that make it true to life- the life of a non-Christian cop searching for answers, then I wouldn't be being true to the story I'm writing. I can't do that. I can't betray what I've found, or what's found me. I hope the people in my life can handle that.

Back from the Baltics

The words are finally coming. I've been waiting for a month and it finally paid off. I guess Daniel got tired of windsurfing in the Baltics (thank goodness). The problem is, real life dictates I have little time to actually sit and write. I'm not at a place in my life where I can stay home and write. If I was, I'd be much farther along in the novel.

But that's real life, real difficulties. Every page is a small victory, and I can't take much credit. Daniel is the conduit and God is the inspiration. Now I have to go to work and be an adult. When I get home, I'll have company. Writing will have to wait, Daniel will have to take his turn with impatience. His story will continue... when the real world stops knocking and gives me a moment to think.

Grenada or the Baltics: Daniel's on Vacation

It's okay to be unsure of things when you're writing. Life's a constant adventure on the keyboard, and thank goodness there's a backspace. No matter what you tell yourself as a writer, you're not in control once the inspiration hits and the character comes to life. It's all backseat driving from then on. Sadly, Daniel Bellamy has been taking a break somewhere in the back of my mind, possibly sunning himself on the beaches of Grenada or wind surfing in the Baltics. Either way, he isn't where he's supposed to be. It's not his fault, of course. I made him, breathed life into him, and it's my responsibility to make him work. My lack of motivation has pushed Dan far away from where he needs to be, and I desperately have to get him back. He's the downtrodden hero, the man behind the magic, and he's MIA. Get back into gear, Daniel! I cant go it alone, and neither can you.

Update: Bloody Hands

Murder isn't something people think too much about as a general rule. It represents something too frightening and familiar for most of us to bear-- namely, the potential for violence that all human beings have. What most people avoid I spend days thinking about, trying to piece together a story that reaches back sixty years, full to the brim with homicide and good intentions.
Daniel Bellamy thinks along the same lines I do, we're one person after all, breathing the same air and existing on plains separated by a paper thin barrier. Getting into his head is like opening a door in mine. He's a good man and a good cop, but with enough baggage to sink the Titanic. Sometimes just thinking about sitting down at the computer is too overwhelming. Motivation eludes me and I'm desperate for inspiration. The trouble isn't with connecting to Dan, it's connecting all of the dots of the story.

Exhausted, Daniel placed his gun and holster on the kitchen table and made for the sink. He needed to wash it all from his hands, the blood, the weight of failure. His sister was dead and the killer was out there, always three steps ahead. = Kate

Streptococcus

Well, I haven't written anything new since break ended, because I caught strep and it knocked the wind out of me for three days. Thank God for Penicillin! The little bugger to the right can be fatal, but lucky for me (not so lucky for Jim Henson) I just got the common variety. I'd forgotten how utterly painful it is! So glad it's over. Now I can go back to studying and trying to be productive. Not going to lie, when my fever went down, I enjoyed just watching Invader Zim and eating Red, White and Blue Popsicles!
The semester is finally almost over, and I've never been so glad to see one go. I think the feeling is all around campus, because morale is so low. I'd like to blame it on the nude women walkers downtown, but the truth is, it's just hierarchy and the same old upper echelon bull that plagues most colleges. Well, that's all for now. No Bellamy updates for now!

Update

It's been hard to be in Daniel's shoes this week. When I write, I like to make it personal- mixing in parts of your life, things you've experienced, makes the words more real. This week, April Break, I've been writing about Dan's sixteen-year-old daughter, who has anorexia. On the brink of death, her pain calls Daniel back into the role of father that he had foolishly and selfishly left.

Anorexia is something I've struggled with since I was fifteen. At my lowest weight, my hair fell out, my nails broke, I was always cold, and would often black out from malnourishment. To save energy, my body went on autopilot. I couldnt enjoy my life, my family, my friends. I was dead. Now, things are better, but I'm still haunted by the allure of anorexia, which you have to deal with to understand. I think writing about Gemma's intense struggle for life will be therapuetic
and inspiring. My goal for my writing is to help people, and if just one person can read my manuscript and think, wow, this is something, then I'll be satisfied.

Sorry it's been so long since my last post. I'll try to do better, Kelsey!

A Road Map in my Mind

With two tests down and only one follower (thanks mom!) I find myself so exhausted that a sense of overwhelming (and probably unhealthy) peace has taken the place of anxiety. The problem with this new development becomes- the semester isn't over yet, and things are only going to get harder from here. I'm ready to sleep, to not feel nauseous all the time, for this headache to finally go away- to be able to write. On a lighter note, I had a great, encouraging meeting with my professor today and she was very helpful in helping me plan out the next step in Bellamy's long journey to the truth. I missed my deadline, but I did enough research so that she understood I was doing the work- just not in a form that I could pass in. There's a road map in my mind and it's leading me deep into the abyss of Daniel's life- but I can't go there yet. As soon as I do, all of my other priorities (classes) will go straight to the back burner. I can't afford to do that just yet.

An Introduction of Sorts

A lot of the time, I don't know whether I'm coming or going. With my head either in homework or in the sky, it's become hard to find a storyline and nail it down, make it concrete, keep it in my head. For a about six months after I finished the very rough draft of my fourth manuscript never to be published, it seemed very plausible to be that I would never overcome my writer's block. It seemed as deep and real as an ocean, which is why I chose to name this blog "Abyssopelagic". My phobias are encompassed in the ocean and the endlessness it represents. I wont even touch it without someone beside me to make sure I dont fall in. That's how I felt about the barricade in my mind. I just couldn't go it alone. Thanks to a persistent professor and a lot of dedicated peer reviewers, I managed to find Daniel Bellamy, a character who has become more real to me than touch or smell or taste. I think it's only fair to myself, Daniel, and the people who have encouraged us both into being, that there be some sort of link, a documentation to keep everyone as interested in Dan as I am. Please read this, and embark on this fantastically wild journey with me to the depths of the ocean. I can't go it alone.