I haven't written in several months, as all of you are aware. The last post I wrote was in April 2012.
Unfortunately, my computer has been in and out of life-support for the past several months, and now it's completely unusable. My school blocks all blogging sites, so I haven't been able to access it there, and I've since borrowed my brother's laptop so I can write once again.
Also, I haven't had much to write about, really.
However, I recently met one of my readers, who just so happens to be my best friend's cousin. While speaking with him, I realized that I really haven't been keeping up to date with this blog, or any of my writing, for that matter.
I've hit a sort of... slump, shall we say. Yes, I've been writing for classes and whatnot, but I just can't get into that zone of sitting down and just writing for hours like I used to. I still have my usual distractions, but usually when I get an idea in my head, I just keep writing and writing until I positively can't anymore. That hasn't hit me in months.
It's not like I don't have time to write. Time is not an issue. I simply have no confidence in the ideas I come up with after I start writing. Will they like it? Will they hate it? This idea sucks. This one's already been done. The references in this are too vague. This isn't good enough.
I can't count how many times I've thought these exact things. It drives me into a pit, and I can't crawl my way out of it. I become paranoid about the littlest of details in my writing, and it drives me even further downwards. I can't put into words how agonizingly frustrating it is to start a ridiculous number of pieces and just deleting them all because of their blatant mediocrity. Even as I write this, the same thoughts are circulating through my mind.
It's honestly one of the most terrifying things I've ever experienced. I'm stuck deep within this pit, and the claw marks upon the walls are my intentions and failed attempts at escaping.
The inherent problem with this is that I really fucking want to write.
I listen to the bands that always give me inspiration, I start to gain ideas, I sit down at my keyboard, and... nothing. I'll type a sentence, delete it. Undo it. Delete it. Write a paragraph. Delete half of it. Re-type it. Delete the entire thing.
It's an endless spiral of bullshit that keeps me from doing what I love. It's that demon on your shoulder, constantly telling you that you're not good enough. Now, as much as I adore playing devil's advocate, allow me to just try and swat away that fucking demon so I can try to continue on with my life.
For now, I've got to learn to swim. This pit is filling up fast as my life goes on, and I won't let myself drown at the bottom.
See ya'll at the top.
Monday, November 26, 2012
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Made in Germany: 1994-2012
Engulfed in flame, the poet Lindemann gazes into the pit, smiling at the people within and demanding their screams. They reach for him, clawing for solace.
"DU!" he proclaims, sauntering away. The pit erupts in applause.
"DU HAST!" they cry.
"DU HAST!" they cry.
Kruspe turns and smiles at Lindemann. Landers does the same. Lorenz continues to walk in place. Riedel solemnly stares into the pit, expressionless. Schneider's frenzied movements from high above draw the pit's attention.
"DU HAST MICH!" Lindemann growls, pointing into the pit, demanding more from the wretched youths within. They mimic his cries in off-key screams, hoping to appease him. He smiles, obviously pleased.
Lindemann pounds his fist against his thigh, banging his head to the beat of the drums surging through the arena.
The youths shriek, begging for more... and the onslaught of flames rise into the sky...
A little over a year ago, I fell in love with the incredible Neue Deutsche Härte band, Rammstein.
Their origins lay in the ruins of the GDR, or what was formally East Germany during the Cold War, and their legacy as one of the most influential and theatrical metal bands of the century lives on in their Made in Germany Tour.
I was blessed with being able to see their show in Philadelphia a few days ago.
(I'd like to thank my wonderful friend, Linda, for offering me her spare ticket to the show at the last minute, otherwise I would not be writing this. Linda, you're fucking awesome, and the show was fucking phenomenal.)
This wasn't my first concert, but it certainly felt as if it was. Standing in the pit, it really didn't hit me that I was going to be actually seeing one of my favourite bands until the six of them--Till Lindemann, Paul Landers, Richard Z. Kruspe, Oliver Riedel, Flake Lorenz, and Christoph Schneider--slowly walked down the aisles of the Wells Fargo Centre towards the stage, Riedel carrying a flaming torch, Schneider toting a tattered Rammstein flag, and Flake carrying my own state's flag. All I remember is standing not twenty feet from the band, almost in tears, and squeezing Linda's hand while babbling something along the lines of, "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, what the fuck, it's Rammstein right in front of me, holy FUCK, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna throw up, holy shit, THIS IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING."
I stood there, trembling, as Riedel's red-shadowed eyes bore into mine, his face expressionless. I screamed his name, "OLLIE!", and cheered. The corners of his mouth tugged for a small grin, but he kept calm, before slowly looking away into the stands. Till Lindemann stood perfectly still, hands behind his back, black-lined eyes staring forward into the pit. Paul Landers and Richard Z. Kruspe stood on either side of him, faces blank. Christoph Schneider's calloused hands gripped tightly around the pole of the tattered Rammstein flag. Fans around me tried their hardest to reach it, only to be denied by security. And Flake Lorenz, in his glittery camouflage jumpsuit, stood holding the Pennsylvania flag, proudly displaying respect for us fans.
As they crossed the industrial catwalk to the main stage, Linda and I hooked our arms together, took a deep breath... and hauled ass to the front of the pit, getting as close as we could to the main stage.
Which was right about here.
First explosion of the show, shortly after the performance of Sonne.
For those of you who aren't aware, Rammstein is known for their very controversial and incredibly theatrical performances. Fire is a HUGE part of their stage presence; There hasn't been a Rammstein show without it since they first formed in 1994 in Berlin.
After the fireworks were shot over the audience via a rocket launcher wielded by Till, I knew I was in for something incredible.
And it was.
Being able to see my favourite musicians on stage was exhilarating, to say the least. It was unreal, simply because a few hours prior, I didn't think I'd be going.
My dear friend, Linda, was kind enough to give me her spare ticket to the show at the very last minute. Since the tickets went on sale in November, 2011, I was constantly badgering my parents to let me go, and, while they certainly would have loved to do it, the money for tickets simply wasn't in the cards. Defeated, I moped like the distressed teenager I am for months, and when the day of the show rolled around, I was, in a word, depressed.
When I told Linda to have fun at the show for me on the way to class that day, she looked at me and said without a second's hesitation, "I have another ticket, and nobody to go with. You want to go?"
As my friend Nieriel can certainly testify for me, I was close to tears. Ecstatic, I squealed and danced around like a fucking moron in the middle of the hallway. (An 11th grade Punk in combat boots, dark makeup, and a studded jacket flailing about like a spider monkey who just snorted a thousand dollars worth of cocaine certainly gets a lot of odd looks...)
So, again, I thank you, Linda. You are awesome. *virtual hug*
Performing Ohne Dich on the second stage
But, along with an insane concert, comes insane fans. Though I was indeed one of them, there was one man at the concert who really got what was coming to him.
First of all, let me say that he was a wanker. I will refer to him as such along with other explicitives for the remainder of this post.
During the performance of Mann Gegen Mann, deep in the moshpit, a man not 30 feet away from me got hit in the face. Hard.
Concerned, Till Lindemann leaned over during an instrumental stanza to see if he was alright.
This asshole turns around, and I kid you not, gives the Nazi heil.
Till's face went blank. And as this wanker blatantly insulted the men before him, Till shouts in his thick German accent, "FUCK YOU! WHO GIVES A SHIT?!" and spat on him.
Shortly after, that motherfucker was hauled off by security, which resulted in much applause from everybody else in the pit.
Flake, surfing the pit during Haifisch
Thankfully, though, this didn't hinder their performances. Quite the contrary, it made them even more personal with the audience.
When the band crossed the catwalk one final time to the main stage for the finale, I took a chance, and screamed Paul Landers' name from where I stood. Amazingly, the guitarist heard me, looked down, and smiled warmly at me with a wink and a wave.
I kind of melted on the spot.
(I thought it might have been enough when Roger Daltrey cursed at me and my friend Allie in September when I saw him at the Mann Cantre, but... SORRY, ROGER, THIS WAS SO MUCH BETTER!)
So, just as the band thanked us, the crowd, after their performance, I would like to thank them.
To Till Lindemann, Paul Landers, Richard Z. Kruspe, Oliver Riedel, Flake Lorenz, and Christoph Schneider... I give you my thanks. I give you my love, my respect, and my undying loyalty. As you took your bows and clapped for us, the audience, my only thoughts were that these men, who all grew up in the Communist-controlled society of the GDR in the decades following the second World War, who struggled to get their hands on suitable instruments, who never thought they'd break out of the GDR and make music for the world... were bowing for us. Their humbleness and love for the people who listen to their music is astonishing. Till's macabre, incredibly poetic lyrics, Richard and Paul's signature Rammfire sound, Ollie's deep and heavy bass lines, Schneider's frenzied drumming, and Flake's signature craziness behind his keyboards make Rammstein. From the flame-spurting angel wings in Engel to the flamethrowers and cauldron in Mein Teil, Rammstein will forevermore live on as one of the most influential bands in the metal genre.
Danke, Till, Reesch, Paul, Ollie, Flake, und Schneider.
LIEBE IST FÜR ALLE DA!
The youths shriek, begging for more... and the onslaught of flames rise into the sky...
A little over a year ago, I fell in love with the incredible Neue Deutsche Härte band, Rammstein.
Their origins lay in the ruins of the GDR, or what was formally East Germany during the Cold War, and their legacy as one of the most influential and theatrical metal bands of the century lives on in their Made in Germany Tour.
I was blessed with being able to see their show in Philadelphia a few days ago.
(I'd like to thank my wonderful friend, Linda, for offering me her spare ticket to the show at the last minute, otherwise I would not be writing this. Linda, you're fucking awesome, and the show was fucking phenomenal.)
This wasn't my first concert, but it certainly felt as if it was. Standing in the pit, it really didn't hit me that I was going to be actually seeing one of my favourite bands until the six of them--Till Lindemann, Paul Landers, Richard Z. Kruspe, Oliver Riedel, Flake Lorenz, and Christoph Schneider--slowly walked down the aisles of the Wells Fargo Centre towards the stage, Riedel carrying a flaming torch, Schneider toting a tattered Rammstein flag, and Flake carrying my own state's flag. All I remember is standing not twenty feet from the band, almost in tears, and squeezing Linda's hand while babbling something along the lines of, "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, what the fuck, it's Rammstein right in front of me, holy FUCK, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna throw up, holy shit, THIS IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING."
I stood there, trembling, as Riedel's red-shadowed eyes bore into mine, his face expressionless. I screamed his name, "OLLIE!", and cheered. The corners of his mouth tugged for a small grin, but he kept calm, before slowly looking away into the stands. Till Lindemann stood perfectly still, hands behind his back, black-lined eyes staring forward into the pit. Paul Landers and Richard Z. Kruspe stood on either side of him, faces blank. Christoph Schneider's calloused hands gripped tightly around the pole of the tattered Rammstein flag. Fans around me tried their hardest to reach it, only to be denied by security. And Flake Lorenz, in his glittery camouflage jumpsuit, stood holding the Pennsylvania flag, proudly displaying respect for us fans.
As they crossed the industrial catwalk to the main stage, Linda and I hooked our arms together, took a deep breath... and hauled ass to the front of the pit, getting as close as we could to the main stage.
Which was right about here.
For those of you who aren't aware, Rammstein is known for their very controversial and incredibly theatrical performances. Fire is a HUGE part of their stage presence; There hasn't been a Rammstein show without it since they first formed in 1994 in Berlin.
After the fireworks were shot over the audience via a rocket launcher wielded by Till, I knew I was in for something incredible.
And it was.
Being able to see my favourite musicians on stage was exhilarating, to say the least. It was unreal, simply because a few hours prior, I didn't think I'd be going.
My dear friend, Linda, was kind enough to give me her spare ticket to the show at the very last minute. Since the tickets went on sale in November, 2011, I was constantly badgering my parents to let me go, and, while they certainly would have loved to do it, the money for tickets simply wasn't in the cards. Defeated, I moped like the distressed teenager I am for months, and when the day of the show rolled around, I was, in a word, depressed.
When I told Linda to have fun at the show for me on the way to class that day, she looked at me and said without a second's hesitation, "I have another ticket, and nobody to go with. You want to go?"
As my friend Nieriel can certainly testify for me, I was close to tears. Ecstatic, I squealed and danced around like a fucking moron in the middle of the hallway. (An 11th grade Punk in combat boots, dark makeup, and a studded jacket flailing about like a spider monkey who just snorted a thousand dollars worth of cocaine certainly gets a lot of odd looks...)
So, again, I thank you, Linda. You are awesome. *virtual hug*
But, along with an insane concert, comes insane fans. Though I was indeed one of them, there was one man at the concert who really got what was coming to him.
First of all, let me say that he was a wanker. I will refer to him as such along with other explicitives for the remainder of this post.
During the performance of Mann Gegen Mann, deep in the moshpit, a man not 30 feet away from me got hit in the face. Hard.
Concerned, Till Lindemann leaned over during an instrumental stanza to see if he was alright.
This asshole turns around, and I kid you not, gives the Nazi heil.
Till's face went blank. And as this wanker blatantly insulted the men before him, Till shouts in his thick German accent, "FUCK YOU! WHO GIVES A SHIT?!" and spat on him.
Shortly after, that motherfucker was hauled off by security, which resulted in much applause from everybody else in the pit.
Thankfully, though, this didn't hinder their performances. Quite the contrary, it made them even more personal with the audience.
When the band crossed the catwalk one final time to the main stage for the finale, I took a chance, and screamed Paul Landers' name from where I stood. Amazingly, the guitarist heard me, looked down, and smiled warmly at me with a wink and a wave.
I kind of melted on the spot.
(I thought it might have been enough when Roger Daltrey cursed at me and my friend Allie in September when I saw him at the Mann Cantre, but... SORRY, ROGER, THIS WAS SO MUCH BETTER!)
So, just as the band thanked us, the crowd, after their performance, I would like to thank them.
To Till Lindemann, Paul Landers, Richard Z. Kruspe, Oliver Riedel, Flake Lorenz, and Christoph Schneider... I give you my thanks. I give you my love, my respect, and my undying loyalty. As you took your bows and clapped for us, the audience, my only thoughts were that these men, who all grew up in the Communist-controlled society of the GDR in the decades following the second World War, who struggled to get their hands on suitable instruments, who never thought they'd break out of the GDR and make music for the world... were bowing for us. Their humbleness and love for the people who listen to their music is astonishing. Till's macabre, incredibly poetic lyrics, Richard and Paul's signature Rammfire sound, Ollie's deep and heavy bass lines, Schneider's frenzied drumming, and Flake's signature craziness behind his keyboards make Rammstein. From the flame-spurting angel wings in Engel to the flamethrowers and cauldron in Mein Teil, Rammstein will forevermore live on as one of the most influential bands in the metal genre.
Danke, Till, Reesch, Paul, Ollie, Flake, und Schneider.
LIEBE IST FÜR ALLE DA!
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Remember when...?
I feel terrible for not updating often. :(
So, I'm currently in the process of waiting for a webcam to arrive in the mail.
I ordered it, like, eight days ago, and it's still not here. *sad face*
But, my point is, and my entire plan for the future, is to start vlogging.
Of course, I will be updating and keeping this blog, as well; I'd never abandon this. :)
However, once my webcam finally fucking gets here and I gets tapes and a new charger for my actual video camera, you'll be getting Adventures in REAL TIME. (Well, maybe not real time, but, y'know... You'll be getting videos n' shit.)
Until then, here's a picture of George Takei.
Godspeed, Adventurers. *salutes*
So, I'm currently in the process of waiting for a webcam to arrive in the mail.
I ordered it, like, eight days ago, and it's still not here. *sad face*
But, my point is, and my entire plan for the future, is to start vlogging.
Of course, I will be updating and keeping this blog, as well; I'd never abandon this. :)
However, once my webcam finally fucking gets here and I gets tapes and a new charger for my actual video camera, you'll be getting Adventures in REAL TIME. (Well, maybe not real time, but, y'know... You'll be getting videos n' shit.)
Until then, here's a picture of George Takei.
Godspeed, Adventurers. *salutes*
Saturday, December 17, 2011
A Nerd with an Ocarina...
I've been playing videogames virtually all my life. My older brother, Sean was who got me into gaming, and for that, he's pretty awesome.
When I was little, too young to actually play our N64, I would hopelessly watch my brother as he hacked away at every level in GoldenEye, Star Wars: Shadows of the Empire, the Turok games, StarFox64, Super Mario64, and countless other games that shaped our childhood.
The game that always fascinated me, though, the game that I could never stop playing, once I was old enough, was The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time.
We never really owned a copy of the game, but I would always beg my parents to let me rent it from our local Blockbuster. (Do they still exist...?)
The romanticism of the adventurous hero was what drew me in, I remember it specifically. The fact that I could play as the Hero of Time, save the Princess, save Hyrule! ...Made me feel invincible.
I wanted to be Link; To travel anywhere in Time, saving the world from the evils that lurk within it's shadowy depths.
For years, I played every Zelda game I could get my hands on, and when I really became entranced with the series altogether was when I played The Legend of Zelda:Twilight Princess, which, to this day, is my favourite game in the franchise. (I haven't been able to play Skyward Sword yet... *dramatic sob*)
After I beat Twilight Princess, I began scouring the web for anything Zelda related: Clothes, accessories, books, anything.
What I found was an ocarinist.
David Ramos, a YouTuber whose plethora of videos I found, enraptured me. I found his rendition of Zelda's Lullaby, in which he played on a replica of the Ocarina of Time, and immediately thought, "I need that fucking ocarina."
For months, I did nothing but watch his videos, listening intently to the ocarina and loving every moment. I dug through the internet and found dozens of sites from where I could order an ocarina, and fell hopelessly in love with Songbird Ocarina's replica of the Ocarina of Time.
I knew I had to have it.
I gazed longingly upon the ocarina whenever I had free time, comparing it's impeccable craftsmanship with those of other ocarina makers.
Nothing compared to it.
This very ocarina is my own, which I received for my 15th birthday, a little under two years ago.
I had finally become what I had so dreamed about for my entire childhood... I had the Ocarina of Time!
Since then, I have expanded my ocarina collection, now having three different ocarinas, including my OoT.
I've fallen in love with an instrument that I thought was a simple toy from a videogame, and learned that it's legacy stretches farther back than the history of Hyrule itself.
The ocarina is an ancient flute-like instrument that originated in Asia over 10,000 years ago, though the modern ocarina, which is what I have, didn't appear until little over 150 years ago in Budrio, Italy.
Giuseppe Donati, an Italian brick mason, introduced the modern ocarina to the world after he made his first ocarina in 1853.
Since then, the ocarina has exploded into Western Culture, making its name infamous in the aforementioned Zelda game.
The enchantment that this simple videogame has cast upon me will never die.
There are many people in the world that oppose videogames entirely, refusing their children to be exposed to such "mindless drivel".
Fuck that.
Videogames shaped my childhood and made me the woman I am today. Without videogames, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't nearly have the sense of stamina and--let's face it--hmour that I have today.
Playing Ocarina of Time, all the Zelda games in general, opened my eyes to a world beyond the walls of my bedroom.
When I wasn't reading Harry Potter, or drawing, or running along the beach, I was playing Zelda.
Link's adventures sparked the love of adventure in me.
And that spark has never faded even a little bit.
"Link, he come to town
Come to save
The Princess Zelda!
Ganon took her away
Now the children don't play
But they will
When Link saves the day!
HALLELUJAH!!
Now Link,
Fill up your hearts
So you can shoot
Your sword with Power
And when you're feeling all down
The faerie will come around
So you'll be brave
And not a sissy coward!
Now Link,
has saved the day!
Put Ganon
In his grave!
So now
Zelda is free
And now our Hero shall be
Link, I think
your name shall
go down into
History!"
When I was little, too young to actually play our N64, I would hopelessly watch my brother as he hacked away at every level in GoldenEye, Star Wars: Shadows of the Empire, the Turok games, StarFox64, Super Mario64, and countless other games that shaped our childhood.
The game that always fascinated me, though, the game that I could never stop playing, once I was old enough, was The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time.
The romanticism of the adventurous hero was what drew me in, I remember it specifically. The fact that I could play as the Hero of Time, save the Princess, save Hyrule! ...Made me feel invincible.
I wanted to be Link; To travel anywhere in Time, saving the world from the evils that lurk within it's shadowy depths.
For years, I played every Zelda game I could get my hands on, and when I really became entranced with the series altogether was when I played The Legend of Zelda:Twilight Princess, which, to this day, is my favourite game in the franchise. (I haven't been able to play Skyward Sword yet... *dramatic sob*)
After I beat Twilight Princess, I began scouring the web for anything Zelda related: Clothes, accessories, books, anything.
What I found was an ocarinist.
David Ramos, a YouTuber whose plethora of videos I found, enraptured me. I found his rendition of Zelda's Lullaby, in which he played on a replica of the Ocarina of Time, and immediately thought, "I need that fucking ocarina."
For months, I did nothing but watch his videos, listening intently to the ocarina and loving every moment. I dug through the internet and found dozens of sites from where I could order an ocarina, and fell hopelessly in love with Songbird Ocarina's replica of the Ocarina of Time.
I knew I had to have it.
I gazed longingly upon the ocarina whenever I had free time, comparing it's impeccable craftsmanship with those of other ocarina makers.
Nothing compared to it.
I had finally become what I had so dreamed about for my entire childhood... I had the Ocarina of Time!
Since then, I have expanded my ocarina collection, now having three different ocarinas, including my OoT.
I've fallen in love with an instrument that I thought was a simple toy from a videogame, and learned that it's legacy stretches farther back than the history of Hyrule itself.
The ocarina is an ancient flute-like instrument that originated in Asia over 10,000 years ago, though the modern ocarina, which is what I have, didn't appear until little over 150 years ago in Budrio, Italy.
Giuseppe Donati, an Italian brick mason, introduced the modern ocarina to the world after he made his first ocarina in 1853.
Since then, the ocarina has exploded into Western Culture, making its name infamous in the aforementioned Zelda game.
The enchantment that this simple videogame has cast upon me will never die.
There are many people in the world that oppose videogames entirely, refusing their children to be exposed to such "mindless drivel".
Fuck that.
Videogames shaped my childhood and made me the woman I am today. Without videogames, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't nearly have the sense of stamina and--let's face it--hmour that I have today.
Playing Ocarina of Time, all the Zelda games in general, opened my eyes to a world beyond the walls of my bedroom.
When I wasn't reading Harry Potter, or drawing, or running along the beach, I was playing Zelda.
Link's adventures sparked the love of adventure in me.
And that spark has never faded even a little bit.
"Link, he come to town
Come to save
The Princess Zelda!
Ganon took her away
Now the children don't play
But they will
When Link saves the day!
HALLELUJAH!!
Now Link,
Fill up your hearts
So you can shoot
Your sword with Power
And when you're feeling all down
The faerie will come around
So you'll be brave
And not a sissy coward!
Now Link,
has saved the day!
Put Ganon
In his grave!
So now
Zelda is free
And now our Hero shall be
Link, I think
your name shall
go down into
History!"
Sunday, November 20, 2011
OH, GOD, YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME.
I just received an e-mail from my friend Nieriel that stated that this very blog now has readers in Ireland! YAY! *victory dance*
I've actually checked the stats for this blog just now, and have seen that I've got readers from all over the globe! *stunned expression*
So, to all my foreign readers, I give you my thanks. *bows*
I love each and every one of you.
(Especially you, Eamonn. Yes, you. *virtual hug* I don't even know you, but you get a special shout-out anyway.)
Much love from the U.S.!
xoxo
Lónannûniel
I've actually checked the stats for this blog just now, and have seen that I've got readers from all over the globe! *stunned expression*
So, to all my foreign readers, I give you my thanks. *bows*
I love each and every one of you.
(Especially you, Eamonn. Yes, you. *virtual hug* I don't even know you, but you get a special shout-out anyway.)
Much love from the U.S.!
xoxo
Lónannûniel
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Inheritance
So, I met Christopher Paolini the other night.
This is him. Ain't he cute?
After the Q&A, we all migrated back upstairs to get our books signed.
What we so hopelessly forgot was that EVERY FUCKING PERSON IN THE STATE OF PENNSYLVANIA decided to attend this event, and the line to get stuff signed stretched all the out into the alley behind the library.
Thankfully, Nieriel's mom saved us a place in line, but we still had hour wait. (It actually didn't seem that long, though...)
(And I know you're probably reading this, Mrs. Mulreany, so thank you for your awesome spot-saving powers. *virtual hug*)
I'll skip to the exciting part, where I got my copy of Inheritance signed.
(He's actually signing Brisingr here, but IT STILL WORKS.)
It was almost as if it happened in slow-motion. I remember standing in line, and a woman taking my books and placing them on the table to be signed. My heart raced, like I was preparing myself to jump off a cliff. My hands started to almost tremble as the people in front of me moved on. I was repressing nervous giggles and excited squeals as I tapped my fingers against my thigh.
He then called my name, a huge smile on his face as he said it. I made eye contact, briefly, but immediately looked away, almost as if I'd be turned to stone if my gaze lingered.
As he signed my book, our 'conversation' was as follows:
CP: "So, have you started the book so far?"
Me: "Oh, yes, I'm about ten chapters in, and so far, it's absolutely brilliant!"
CP: *laughs* "Well, thank you, very much. Thanks for coming!"
Me: "Oh, it's no trouble...!"
Wow. I sounded like an idiot. *facepalm*
You have no idea how fucking excited I was when this was taken.
And, in case you care, it says Mein Teil on my hand. It mean's 'my part' in German, and it's also a song by Rammstein. Just in case you give a shit.
You probably don't.
For those of you who have no idea what the hell I'm talking about, here's a brief synopsis:
Mr. Paolini is the New York Times Bestselling author of the the famed Inheritance Cycle, which consists of the four novels Eragon, Eldest, Brisingr, and Inheritance. On November 8th, 2011, Inheritance was released, finally ending a four year wait for the final book in the series. The next day, Nieriel and I trekked into Philadelphia, as we do, to get our beloved novels signed by the writer himself, Christopher Paolini.
This is him. Ain't he cute?
Unlike our last book singing adventure, we were able to get seats in the auditorium of the library, ones that were very close to the stage, actually. *epic squee*
And this time, we heard stories. Not just ANY stories, dear readers, but stories that proved how hard it is to write a novel. Allow me to demonstrate.
After a brief introduction, Mr. Paolini told us the story of how Eragon came to pass. For those who don't know, Eragon was first written and published when Paolini was 15 years old, right after he graduated from High School. According to the story, it began with a Viking Mead Hall.
Christopher Paolini: "After I graduated, the only thing on my mind was how great it was to be out of school. That lasted for about two weeks. Then... I got bored. Really, really, really, really, really, really bored. How bored was I? Well, I'll tell you. I was so bored... that I dug a hole. And it wasn't just any hole, this hole was 8 feet deep and 8 feet wide, and I insulated it with hay bales, chopped down some dead trees from the river near my house, lined them along the inside, and covered the thing with an old satellite dish. How did I get into the hole, you ask? I dug a tunnel. And it became a Viking Mead Hall."
(Quite honestly, given the chance, I would have done the same thing. Except, y'know... I would have made it a gaming sanctuary of sorts. With snacks.)
He also mentioned the original name of our hero, Eragon.
CP: "Eragon was not originally named Eragon. I've actually never told anybody this, and I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but... Eragon's name was originally Kevin. *cringes*
And he met a unicorn."
And he met a unicorn."
Needless to say, the audience kind of... well, spontaneously combusted with laughter.
(Yes, it's possible. Someone ran out of the theatre on fire, and it was funny as hell. This is my story, so shut up.)
A brief Q&A followed, and I actually got to ask a question! :D
Being a huge fan of Tolkien and his linguistics, I took it upon myself (while trying not to projectile vomit out of nervousness) to ask Paolini about his own language, The Ancient Language, and how he created it.
Me: "After reading your books, and really taking a look at the Ancient Language, I've noticed that it's really similar to Sindarin and Quenya, which are Tolkien's languages. Is language a passion of yours, like it was for Tolkien? You seem to feel very strongly about it."
CP: "My Ancient Language is based mostly on Old Norse, and Tolkien's, I believe, were based mostly on Finnish. There really isn't much of a difference between the two [Old Norse & Finnish], actually. *laughs* But, I wouldn't say language is a passion of mine, seeing as Tolkien dedicated his entire life to his work. I'd like to do something else with my writing. *laughs* I did enjoy creating the Ancient Language and using Dwarvish in my books, though. It was fun."
Me: "After reading your books, and really taking a look at the Ancient Language, I've noticed that it's really similar to Sindarin and Quenya, which are Tolkien's languages. Is language a passion of yours, like it was for Tolkien? You seem to feel very strongly about it."
CP: "My Ancient Language is based mostly on Old Norse, and Tolkien's, I believe, were based mostly on Finnish. There really isn't much of a difference between the two [Old Norse & Finnish], actually. *laughs* But, I wouldn't say language is a passion of mine, seeing as Tolkien dedicated his entire life to his work. I'd like to do something else with my writing. *laughs* I did enjoy creating the Ancient Language and using Dwarvish in my books, though. It was fun."
After the Q&A, we all migrated back upstairs to get our books signed.
What we so hopelessly forgot was that EVERY FUCKING PERSON IN THE STATE OF PENNSYLVANIA decided to attend this event, and the line to get stuff signed stretched all the out into the alley behind the library.
Thankfully, Nieriel's mom saved us a place in line, but we still had hour wait. (It actually didn't seem that long, though...)
(And I know you're probably reading this, Mrs. Mulreany, so thank you for your awesome spot-saving powers. *virtual hug*)
I'll skip to the exciting part, where I got my copy of Inheritance signed.
(He's actually signing Brisingr here, but IT STILL WORKS.)
It was almost as if it happened in slow-motion. I remember standing in line, and a woman taking my books and placing them on the table to be signed. My heart raced, like I was preparing myself to jump off a cliff. My hands started to almost tremble as the people in front of me moved on. I was repressing nervous giggles and excited squeals as I tapped my fingers against my thigh.
He then called my name, a huge smile on his face as he said it. I made eye contact, briefly, but immediately looked away, almost as if I'd be turned to stone if my gaze lingered.
As he signed my book, our 'conversation' was as follows:
CP: "So, have you started the book so far?"
Me: "Oh, yes, I'm about ten chapters in, and so far, it's absolutely brilliant!"
CP: *laughs* "Well, thank you, very much. Thanks for coming!"
Me: "Oh, it's no trouble...!"
Wow. I sounded like an idiot. *facepalm*
And, in case you care, it says Mein Teil on my hand. It mean's 'my part' in German, and it's also a song by Rammstein. Just in case you give a shit.
You probably don't.
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