Tag Archive | Writing

Graphic Drawings

cyanideandhappinessdrawing” – Oh look, you drew something!
– Yeah, do you like it?
– It’s wonderful! [more gushing ensues] But… um… What is it?
– What do you think it is?
– I, uh, a representation of death?
– No, it’s a forest.
– Oh of course, I totally see it now! Right, and here’s a person walking through it!
– That’s a tree trunk. Maybe I’ll start over again.
– I’m sorry, I really did try to be enthusiastic.”

I’ve never been the most gifted person with colored pencils, pastels, paint, blood or any of those artistic devices used to create a masterpiece on paper, canvas, cupcakes, corpses or whatever. My family has always been artistic: grandparents, aunts, parents and even siblings have a certain magical talent to create these wonderful drawings that look like they could be in any art museum. They each have their specialty: still life, nature, surreal forms, architecture… And of course I have one too, one that requires great, well, nothing: stick figures.

You see, the drawing gene seems to have skipped me. Sure, when I was little I took great pride in being able to connect the dots to make a snowman appear or color in a certain amount of shapes without going over the lines, but my abilities seemed to stop there. My brother started showing promise early, concocting things like trains and dogs, while I was left drawing teepees (why you ask? Teepees are basically triangles. That much I can deal with.).

At this point you’re probably thinking to yourself “Nah, she can’t possibly be as bad as she’s making herself out to be..” First of all, if you really are thinking that, it means that my mind manipulation techniques are finally working and I can start putting my world domination plan into action. Secondly, shucks guys, you’re so nice! Thirdly, I forgot what I was counting for. I know that they say that practice makes perfect, and while I agree to a certain extent, I have to concede the fact that at a certain point, if it ain’t happening, it ain’t gonna happen. So instead of lamenting the fact that I have the drawing talents of Godzilla, I’ll keep  proudly drawing stick figures living in houses consisting of squares and triangles under a sun that lives permanently in the upper right corner of the page.

Why am I suddenly being so generous and forgiving myself for making a drawing of Mars look like a giant apricot? Because I can paint in a different way: with words. The Mostly Confused Teenager is my canvas, the keys on the keyboard my brushes, the posts my masterpieces (I have a weird notion of masterpiece I know) and you, fellow bloggers, are my critics.

So in conclusion, thank you for making me feel artsy. In return, I promise never to publish a collection of my drawings, for the good of the world.

Live long and prosper \V/

Sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

 

Advertisements

Spelling it out

Oh the irony...

Oh the irony!

As a little American girl growing up in a foreign country, my parents were practically neurotic about teaching me the language that they had grown up with: English. Now I never had any issues speaking English, I have a bona fide American accent, but spelling and grammar were more difficult, because I was learning two languages at the same time. See French and English are two very different languages with different sets of rules, yet some words, such as marriage (in French; mariage) are annoyingly similar.

So I was brought up in the cult of good spelling, and I suppose reading a lot of Calvin and Hobbes helped somewhat (you’d be surprised what a six year old and his stuffed tiger can teach you about life). Everything was going perfectly according to my parents quiet scheme until 6th grade. With 6th grade came great responsibility. Sort of. In the form of a giant Nokia brick that I loved with all my might. All it could do was call, text and let me play snake, but it was enough for me. I discovered the wonderful world/time sink that is technology.

I started texting with my friends in an abbrieviated language form. “Ne t’inquiète pas” (don’t stress your pumpkin juice don’t worry) became “tkt”. In English, “see you at four” was transformed into “c u @ 4″. At first, I freakin’ loved it. I felt cool and hip. My very smart parents, seeing what was happening, yelled at/alerted me that my french spelling grades were slipping fast and threatened to cut off my cookie supply if I didn’t fix things. This being, of course, unacceptable, I started writing the full words in my text messages. Some people thought is was lame, but looking back, I couldn’t be happier that I started writing correctly again, because seeing how some of our world is spelling today, I’m rather scared for generations to come.

I’m not saying that I’m perfect, on the contrary, I make mistakes like everybody else, but seeing my baby (um… 14 year old) brother asking a girl out by proposing ‘wana go sea a movi?” on Facebook makes me sad, worried and angry all at the same time.

Am I taking this too far and over-dramatizing the situation?

Dear readers, thank you for listening to my rant. It means a lot. In other news, I got A* on my IGCSE (international GCSE) so I’m really proud right now! Next year, SAT. Ugh.

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.