Here is an excerpt of my short story, Like Father, Like Son, to give you a little taste of what you might hear:

—

In the late afternoon another sedan pulled up, a dent in the front bumper being the only identifiable difference from the rest of the sedans parked on the street in front of the extravagant house. A woman in a tight black dress that ended above her knees, short black heels, and red hair that waved but didn’t curl emerged from the driver’s side, then took surprisingly long and carefully articulated strides up the redbrick walkway, between the two lawns trimmed neatly like a freshly processed scalp. Norman tried to keep his eyes away, looking instead at the bobbing of a bouncer that had been rented for a birthday party a block down. But when she got to the front door he couldn’t keep his eyes on the giant inflatable Clifford, and instead met hers; wide, gray, and curious. She stopped in front of him.

“Is this—” she began, but Norman cut her off with a jerk of his thumb towards the door.

“Party’s inside,” he said, his attention beginning to shift to her dipping neckline, but she turned away from him before it became sinful. Slender knuckles clenched the golden handle, Norman safely away from the noise of the party on the other side of the pillar. The sound disappeared again, muffled against the eerie quiet of the suburbs, stuffed and suffocated into expansive Greek architecture.

Several cigarette butts littering the front porch later, Norman found himself again with company. The woman stood beside him, offering him wine in a plastic cup, freshly poured from one of the cardboard box coolers. He took it but didn’t drink it.

“How did you know him?” Norman asked her as she leaned against the other side of the pillar. He looked down; he could see little painted toes sticking out of her black heels, bare leg and the hem of her dress. Her face was obscured unless he turned, but he didn’t.

“I was his file clerk,” she said. Her voice was lower than he expected, more sultry, Norman thought. Slutty for a funeral; then again, the deceased was her boss, and he sardonically allowed himself the assumption, given the occasion. “You?”

“He was my father,” he said.

—

Hope to see you all there!

Bold
3/16/11

Because I was not bold the gods stole
flowers from the red wine wood—taken

from luminescent evening gradients
of the robin’s lacking stomach.

Because I was indwelled in barn wood
experiencing only through noctilucent technology.

The gods ripped our backs apart, stripping
skin from skin, flesh from bone, bind us

up with sewing scissors, separate, weaving through
the vertigo of utero with hemp cord.

“You can look into each other’s hearts if you
are bold enough to find them.”

Also if you haven’t done so already please support me by checking out my Etsy store:

http://www.etsy.com/shop/CarbonNanotubes

All the proceeds go to my college tuition.

UC San Diego sent me this exciting little image along with my acceptance letter last Saturday. They also included a pleasant little surprise; I got in to the engineering program as a NanoEngineering major! The name of this blog is no longer irrelevant as carbon nanotubes (and their many siblings) will undoubtedly play a role in my future.

But as the acceptances (UC Santa Barbara, UC San Diego), rejections (UCLA, UC Berkeley), and waitlistings (NYU Tisch) came rolling in, I realized that there is something much more dire than the college application process–paying for it. I received a hefty chunk of money from Cal Grants (and a small amount from the school itself), and I haven’t received anything from the FAFSA yet, but I predict that the money I’m awarded will still only cover a fraction of what’s needed to actually pay for college without wallowing in years of debt. Plus, after paying for two years of private school (and getting screwed over, slightly, but that’s an irrelevant tangent for another time), pinning all of that money on my family isn’t exactly my ideal solution to the problem.

So what’s a poor, artistic, college-bound teenage girl to do? Why, start an Etsy store of course!

(A handmade notebook available at my Etsy store for $6.50.)

If you buy things from my Etsy shop, all of the money goes to a big, bad college savings fund that I am starting. I know this is a little late compared to all the people who have had funds since they were in utero, but better late than never, right?

I am selling handmade notebooks, cards, paper wall decorations, zines of my poetry, and since I have a die cut machine I am capitalizing on that as well. (Not all of these things are in my shop yet, since it takes a while to make them.)

Click here and it will take you to my Etsy shop. This is the link, in case you missed it. You should click it.

Or, if you don’t want to buy things from my shop (though I really hope you buy this stuff from me, because I don’t really have anything else to do with it), you can donate directly to my PayPal account. You have to log in to PayPal and stuff, then click on send money, and enter my email address (amber.t.morrell@gmail.com). I tried making a ‘Donate’ button, but WordPress didn’t like it.

I’d like to finish off this blog post by shamelessly asking you, whoever you are, to contribute to my college fund. I’m going to do everything in my power to try to make it through college debt-free, and every little bit counts!

Thanks again,

Amber

And for me there is good news! I’ve won a couple awards recently. I mentioned about a month ago I won something in the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, but didn’t know what. It turns out I won a Silver Key for my short play Holiday Cheer (which means I placed regionally but I am not moving on to the national level) and a merit certificate for my general portfolio. This is super cool! And comes with a really spiffy pin of a silver key.

I was also a finalist (although not a winner) in the Poetry Society of America’s  Louise Louis/Emily F. Bourne Student Award. This is apparently super spiffy because I’ve been informed that no one at our school has won or been a finalist in this contest since Carey Powers won in 2007. So this was a terrific ego boost that helped cushion the unfortunate college news I received yesterday.

I guess it’s not that big of a deal, but the only college I’ve heard from so far is UCLA, and I’ve been rejected. It’s really upsetting because they were my second-choice school, and it’s the first news I’ve gotten, which makes me feel pretty down on the weather. I’m still waiting to hear from Santa Barbara on the 21st, Berkeley on the 24th, NYU and Sarah Lawrence on April 1st, and San Diego some time amongst all of those. There’s only a few more days of waiting, but I’m bummed my first word was a rejection.

I have been working on a lot of new projects so I might post some updates on those soon. I am going to try to post more regularly (psh, like that will actually happen).

- Amber

Star Hunting

January 24, 2011

Go star hunting in the early
evening, when the sun sets and

the December day chills in its
pitfalls. Go star hunting when

the atmosphere lies its golden hair
among the tops of trees, the still cold.

Go star hunting in the labyrinthine
pine cones, coniferous needles,

carnivorous beasts challenging your
ability. Go star hunting when I tell

you because my voice carries on
water that enters the brain and causes

migraines; don’t tell the doctor that
you have been star hunting.

WHAT I SHOULD HAVE BEEN DOING:

Actual updates soon, once I get back into the swing of things.

Hope you all had happy holidays.

In the bathroom, the flower
in the Styrofoam cup
is wilting by the window

It used to be yellow.
So did the bananas.
Why am I running out of yellow things.

A few days ago I came across a couple of sites I wish to share with you. The first of which is the most relevant to my blog, because it is a site that hosts several poems about carbon nanotubes. This, coincidentally, happens to be the same site that helped me survive writing my research paper in physics last year. And, even more coincidentally, is hosted by Michigan State University, where I spent a week last summer at nuclear physics camp. Wait, why I am not applying there again?

Anyway, if you missed the link above, the poems can be found here: http://www.pa.msu.edu/cmp/csc/NANOTUBE-99/varia/1.html

They are by a Peter Butzloff, who I have not heard of before, though I am assuming he is a MSU professor with rather interdisciplinary hobbies. While his form is rather cut-and-dry, I commend his subject matter, and it reminds me of the math love poem at the end of Harald and Kumar 2 (which, by the way, I am very proud to say I have memorized).

The second site I wanted to share is just plain cool: it’s the Best NASA Photographs of 2010 from the New Yorker. I love the New Yorker and I love astronomy, so this post was just a match made in heaven.

Link: http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/photobooth/2010/12/nasa.html

I promise that both of these sites are very much relevant. Ever since junior year I’ve had a strange obsession with the sciences. I had never been much of a poetry writer, so when I was forced to write poetry for class I would insert metaphor and analogy by way of physics references. Much of my interest in physics expanded upon my love for science fiction, which I’d cultivated the year before when I discovered Star Trek and Joss Whedon’s Firefly. Ever since then I haven’t written a single piece of poetry or prose that I did not consider inserting at least a fleeting reference to physics; I believe that it’s what makes my writing colorful, and makes it stand out from a lot of other writing I’ve come across.

For me, a lot of people tell me that what defines my writing is my use of science within it, and I’m fine with that; it’s my style, and it makes my writing identifiable to people. But it doesn’t have to be physics, or science at all for that matter: what makes your style? Using something you love, even when it doesn’t fit into a piece your writing, is a great tool for creating metaphor. Having an interest in something other than writing also means that you will have a broader range of topics and experiences to write about when you finally do sit down in front of your keyboard.

This is why, in addition to an English major, I am also considering double-majoring in physics. A lot of people have discouraged me from doing this, since the two are so drastically different classes most likely won’t overlap. But guess what I found out? Sally Ride, the first female astronaut, double-majored in English and physics. So if she can do it, why can’t I?

The key to caring for anything and keeping it in shape is commitment. Sure, you can put a lot of effort into something for a day, maybe a couple days, maybe even a week or a month, but this does not guarantee a long, healthful life. People who are successful are the ones who are committed to what they do, no matter what it is. They work hard to make sure everything is in perfect working order, and then strive to go above and beyond that level of safety. Sure, you might be able to raise your kids on bread, water, and vitamins, but wouldn’t you rather spice up their lives with some creamy mushroom linguine and lime every once in a while? They will love you all the better for it.

When deciding to commit to this blog I try to think of all the other things in life I am committed to. I am committed to my education; this is, what, my thirteenth year in school? Unless you count preschool, that makes this fifteenth. I’ve only been alive seventeen years, and yet most of that time I’ve spent learning. If that’s not commitment, I don’t know what is.

Let’s try something a little trickier; writing. I mentioned before it’s hard for me to keep a blog, but I am still an avid writer nonetheless. I go to school for writing, so I damn well better be committed! But even so, I sometimes find myself slacking off on assignments that would otherwise be fun. My hobby that I loved and enjoyed throughout my life, all the way up until I came to Idyllwild my junior year of high school, became my job. I am suddenly put under this pressure where my writing as an art is not under the scrutiny of my teachers, my peers, and even more so than ever before—myself. While I still enjoy it, it stopped being my escape from other responsibilities once it transformed into one of those commitments, and I found other things to run away to. Just because I am doing what I love does not mean I no longer procrastinate.

I don’t think it’s just me, in fact, I’m sure it’s almost everyone else in the world, as well. Procrastination is a huge issue that sometimes leads to unfinished work and dire consequences. Other times, it leads to bursts of imaginative genius, and things just work out the way they want to (but that’s rare, and only when you get lucky). Most of the time it’s just a lot of close calls a momentary relaxation until you realize that other such and such assignment you also put off, and it’s back to the stressing out and still not being productive. But I feel like that’s life—you work “hard,” and you get what you put in. Sometimes.

When it comes to writing, procrastination can be both a curse and a blessing. If you try to force yourself to write in a timely manner, it won’t come out exactly how it should be, and it will sound just like that—forced. I find that if I wait, and wait, and then do some more waiting, eventually something I like will free itself from the turrets of my brain and fall into the arms of my princely word processor. Other times, I continue waiting, still come up with nothing, and then have to rush to at least turn in something. Writing is a lot of hit or miss, which is why writing, like the lottery, sucks.

Yet we do it anyway. We spill poems and stories and plays and articles out of our brain like milk. It’s natural and just seems right. Of course it’s difficult, and requires commitment—in fact, the process of writing never ends, as a beloved English teacher once told me: “Writing is never finished, merely abandoned.” But the thing about writing is that it leaves a definite feeling of satisfaction: the feeling that you’ve expressed something using one of the most basic elements of our culture; the feeling that you’ve accomplished something you’ve worked long and hard at; and the feeling that, after everything, all of this commitment has finally paid off.