Tag Archives: Writing

Birthdays, Birthdays

2 Jun

Well, hello world.  You’ve stumbled upon my own version of those 365-blogs everyone seems to be doing.  Here, on the daisyflyover, I will be writing once a day.  These writings may include some fiction…some non-fiction…definitely some pictures…or, quite simply, things that I observe or think of on any given day.

Today, for instance, was my 25th birthday.  It was pretty perfect, I’m not gonna lie.  Family, friends, good food, a pedicure – though quite honestly, anything that involved a pedicure is pretty high on the list of awesomeness.

I think this project will be good for me.  Anything that forces me to write is a good thing, and being forced to really see things, to think up something intelligent and halfway interesting to say every day will surely sharpen my writing skills, and by the end of this year I hope to walk away with…something.  Not sure yet, but definitely something.

In other, late breaking news, I’ve decided to move my new blog here; I want to start fresh, and if a new blog space won’t do it I don’t know what will.  Maybe you’ll see me back at daisyflyover after this year is up.

I’ll leave you with some pictures of the evening.


1 Jun

Stuff no one told me, but i learned anyway:

  1. Blogging every week can be tedious…but also FUN.
  2. Being in a good relationship is hard…but also FUN.
  3. You can teach yourself anything by reading about it…and there’s probably a YouTube video for that.
  4. If you really want to walk on ice, take off your shoes and walk in your fuzzy socks.
  5. People are kind.
  6. Carpet in an apartment isn’t as bad as I always thought.
  7. You CAN do what you love…you DON’T need to have a traditional 9-5 job…therefore, don’t listen to those people who put you down.
  8. It is possible to not have roaches in a place of living.  You’ve just got to have the right tools.
  9. Nights in, with pajamas, snacks, and a movie?  Priceless.  Most of the time, it’s better than a night out.
  10. Atlanta is an awesome place to live…no matter what anyone says.

Could I elaborate?  Probably.  Will I?  Most likely not.  I like leaving people with a little illusion, and sometimes what you create in your head is better than reality.

It’s been 52 weeks since I started this blog.  52 weeks of laughter, fear, happiness, sadness, and a myriad of other emotions that people should feel.  Life has changed, and so have I.

Here’s to the next 52.

Tomorrow, I start my new blog, where I will be posting once a day.  Tomorrow is also my birthday, in which I am a quarter of a century old.  Good things will happen this year.  I can feel it.



18 May

As clichéd as this sounds, it’s quite hard to believe that it’s been almost a year since I started this blog.  Things have changed; yet some things have stayed exactly the same.  It’s hard to pinpoint exactly which things match this description, unless you dig down, sifting aside the mundane…maybe, eventually, you’ll uncover what really matters.  But does it really matter without the dust of the everyday?

As I sit here writing this morning, the gears of opportunity, luck, and talent are turning.  Did I mention that I’m writing book reviews for Random House?  My good friend George with Peerless Bookstore set me up with this gig; they sent me the first book, a few weeks ago, wrapped in paper and addressed to me.  The Night Circus, by Erin Morgenstern, was in short, perfect.  It was different, yet familiar.  Magical, yet with realistic tendencies.  I pretty much want to marry it.  Anyhow, the review I wrote (which you can find here) was sent back to Random House…and they loved it.  I was nervous, actually, as I spent too much time staring at the screen and trying to make my words convey how much I loved it.  I didn’t think it worked; apparently I was wrong.  There’s talk of a book club (that I would host??) and a competition, though I’m not sure of what kind of competition or what the prize would be.  But they liked it, and I have this feeling in my gut that this could really be something.

In other news, reading and reviewing The Night Circus made me quite anxious to start writing more of my own stuff.  I have some ideas, but have been delayed with worried ideas of lack of theme, narrative arc, and other kinds of writing terms that don’t mean much to the common reader but mean a lot to a writer.

Other than that, my time has been taken up by nannying, planning birthdays (mine and Ry’s), reading blogs and reading books.  It’s a good life.

I’m also starting a jogging program next week.  Running of any sort is not something I really want to do, but being healthy unfortunately, and fitting into my old jeans, is.  I’m sure I’ll have lots to say about that next week.



12 May

For some reason, this year more than any other in recent memory, I am looking forward to summer.  Not just a passive wishing, though, no.  This is a full bodied yearn, a fervent desire, almost palpable.  My insides are happy when the sun falls through the fresh green leaves, and when I can walk outside in the afternoon to warm temperatures.  I can’t even think about cold weather, or snow, or ice.  We had enough of that this year, and I think I’ve gotten my own personal taste of the North, and thank you, but no thank you.  I’m a Southern girl, through and through – no more ice.  Ever.  Except in my sweet tea.

Moving beyond the simple meteorological aspect of these upcoming months, I am also rather excited for the events the summer will bring.  From wild and crazy nannying (where I will get in the pool and get a tan), to reviewing books, to teaching a dear friend how to play her guitar, this summer is going to, quite simply, rock.

I’m happy here, in this little condo in eastern Sandy Springs.  The air is on, as are the lights, and dinner is awaiting the arrival of the boy while tainting the house with the smell of spicy sausage and dirty rice.  We’re getting cable and internet installed on Saturday, and mom and I have been exercising every night, which makes me feel an interesting kind of energized.

It’s interesting to me how we spend our evenings.  Ry watches shows or plays games on the desktop in the bedroom, while I settle on the left side of the couch, laptop in lap and / or book in hand.  For example, tonight Ry is watching Craig Ferguson (interviewing the actor who plays Sheldon Cooper on The Big Bang Theory, one of our favorite shows) and I’m settled into the couch cushions, a  new Word doc open and about to write a book review.  I write my reviews in fun fonts; I pick the one that reflects the tone of the book.  This most current book was about a circus, so the script is stylish, wavy, with flourishes here and there.  In any case, the coffee is brewing and the lights are all on, and I’m loving this life right now.  It’s peaceful, seemingly right on track, and while nothing is perfect I’m feeling pretty damn close.

And…my birthday.  Is.  In.  Three.  Weeks.  Three weeks from today, actually, and I can’t wait.  Lots of fun things planned, three days worth, actually, because one only turns 25 once!  That day will also mark the commencement of my new, freshly improved daisyflyover, a daisyflyover in which I, Laura, will write every day.  YES, you read that correctly, dear readers, it’s my own personal 365-day project.  I’m finally jumping on the bandwagon.  We will see how this goes.



1 May

Last Monday, I returned to Ogle-land to see and hear Dr. Weiss deliver the traditional Last Lecture of the year, which also happened to fall upon the year of her retirement.  Now, Dr. Weiss was the very first professor I met when I set foot on campus all those years ago.  I was a scared, sheltered girl, not really sure why she had chosen something so new when she was just fine where she was.  I’d walked into the student center, and subsequently stopped, lost and bewildered, when this tiny woman came around the corner.  She instantly took me under her wing, showing me where to go, what to do, and even letting me sit with her at lunch.  I later took Chaucer, where I learned to speak and read Middle English, and discovered that certain energy that Dr. Weiss brings to her classes.  She is passionate, excited about her subject, literally jumping up and down and times as though her words can’t be contained.

Such is the spirit I got to behold once more on Monday.  As I settled into the red fabric chair I felt myself settling back into the familiar role of student, reverting two and a half years to a role I thought I’d left behind.  It’s funny how easily the past comes back, even when you think you’re so far away from the person that you were.  I felt at home, however, really, really, really at home…like slipping on a nice pair of broken-in jeans, fresh from the drier.  And as Dr. Weiss began to speak, I was pleasantly reminded of days long gone, sitting in class on the top floor of the library, pen and paper in hand, books opened before me, quietly listening, trying to absorb everything.  Seems a lifetime ago.

I later ran into another beloved professor that night, too.  Dr. Taylor (whom I believe I’ve written about before) spent many hours with me, both in class and office hours, helping me mold my writing into something worth reading.  I was good before I took her class; I was amazing when I left Oglethorpe.  Her favorite pastime was to drag me, metaphorically kicking and screaming, into writing what she knew I would be good at.  In a way, all my Ogle-professors took turns, each pulling me along, trying to mold me into the kind of writer they knew I could be.  And now that I’ve long left the hallowed halls, the responsibility lies in my hands.  It is my duty to make them proud, to make something of myself and my writing, because they believed in me.  I can’t let them down.

I hope I can one day pay these wonderful professors back for everything they’ve given me.  The lessons they taught me, I take with me wherever I go.  They are amazing people, both personally and professionally, and I feel honored to have had the opportunity to learn from them.

Dr. Weiss…Dr. Taylor…Dr. Brightman…Dr. Shrikhande…they’ve given me everything I need.  And so much more.


12 Nov

So many times I just log on here and write whatever is in my head. It can’t be very interesting; my life is not the exciting kind, where something fun happens every day. I’m actually pretty boring. Right now, it’s Friday night, 8:00pm and I’m already in my pajamas in the bed. The dog is sitting beside me, watching the screen as if he’s reading everything I say. I have no big plans, I’m just doing research on cars and houses and other boring, adult things. The thing is, I really like these boring adult things. I don’t want to be out at bars, getting drunk, meeting new people. I’m fine with the people I already have. I hate getting drunk. It was something I did in college, and that seems as far away as China now. That’s not my life anymore. I don’t want it to be my life anymore. I have moved on, to real things.

So here I am, Friday night, the little yellow house in Chamblee with the dog and my laptop and possibly some tea and Nutella. I may be boring to some people, but I’m damn happy with myself and my life. And really, that’s all that matters.

“Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.”


5 Nov

Today, it is very cold and I’m wearing my new white fleece jacket and my favorite, old turquoise scarf. I’ve been running around this morning, and this weather gives me even more energy than even coffee does. November is, I believe, my favorite month, with all the leaves and jackets and scarves and being so close to Thanksgiving and Christmas.

I’ve also been craving pizza, some of which I believe I will indulge in this weekend.

Also this weekend, I will be writing. November, aside from being the best month of the year, is also National Novel Writing Month. One has 30 days to write a 50,000 word novel. I have 600 or so words, and I just started yesterday. I can see my Friday and Saturday evenings consisting of some hot beverage, warm pajama bottoms and an open Word document. Hopefully, this month will result in not only yummy Thanksgiving food with both family and a boy I love, but also autumn pictures and a completed novel. I encourage you all to write a little, even if it’s not 50,000 words. Writing is good for the soul.

Happy November!


17 Sep

Happy sweet 16! Or, in other words, it’s my 16th post, which makes my dear blog one of those surly teens, who stalks about the house with its iPod buds permanently stuck in its ears, kicking at things, scowling. But I prefer to think of her as one of those slightly dorky but very nice girls, who sometimes wear glasses and reads a lot and can’t wait to get to college.

In light of being 16 weeks into my 24th year, or perhaps being 36 weeks away from being able to say I’m a quarter of a century old, I’ve decided to write about something very basic.

This is my desk. It used to belong to my mom, until I moved out and took it / she gave it to me. I used to do my homework on it in elementary school, and I think there are some pen or marker spots in the top drawer. Nevertheless, it is mine now (I think!), and as we all know, the desk of a writer is a very important thing. It can’t be too big, because then our ideas would be too spread out to be useful. But it can’t be too small, either, because then we couldn’t cross our legs underneath, and uncomfortable sitting just doesn’t make for good writing. The ideal size is cozy, with some drawers and hiding places to put things, if only to fish them out when you’re stuck in the land of writers block and are avoiding the page altogether. You can’t write when your thoughts are flying everywhere; the writer’s desk has to be a sort of home within the home, a place you can go to unfold your thoughts slowly, piece by piece, and lay them out out on an uncluttered, non-judgemental surface.

On my desk? My Paris box, which makes me feel all sorts of nice whenever I look at it. A picture of my family, which is, of course, the most important, as they keep me in food, entertainment, and good material. Pens, of which any good writer should be in abundant supply. There is always a spot for coffee, since there is always coffee. And finally, one of those little paper organizers stuffed with cards my girlfriends have sent me over the years, ones that always make me smile and make a note to call the sender later in the week. These things cushion me, they surround me, they make me who I am, and therefore, make my writing better.

So this is it! This is where the brilliance will hopefully one day spring from. I can’t wait for fall to really start, so I can sit here, drink my coffee, and watch all the leaves cover the driveway. Maybe I’ll be a real writer soon.


12 Aug

Happy August!

This is one of my favorite times of year. No, not because of the heat and humidity that clouds your glasses every time you walk outside. That’s endured, not enjoyed. I love August because of the school supplies that appear at Target. It used to remind me that my sweet summer days were numbered, almost time for early wake up calls and homework. Now, though, it makes me happy I’m a college graduate, and can sleep late pretty much all the time. I could write for pages and pages, go on five different tangents about the end of summer, new beginnings, fresh ideas, and such. However, I’d much rather focus on one particular and very important part.

When I was a young whippersnapper, the one thing I looked forward to more than anything each August were new notebooks. They’re still my favorite thing to buy, and in the past years, I’ve watched manufacturers come up with some pretty nifty new designs. From traditional composition notebooks with fancy new covers to entirely green notebooks printed on recycled paper with soy based ink, the once traditional paper search has become more of a treasure hunt, and if you don’t want to leave a carbon footprint, you don’t have to, missy.

One of the best things about these new notebooks is the smell. I’ve always loved it, fresh paper, unwrinkled and blank…leaf through it, and you can almost feel the words waiting to be written. I’ve heard of the blank page terrifying some people; I just find it freeing. Always have. Because you can write anything, anything at all. There’s nothing more freeing than the chance to start over, to leave your past behind you and begin again.

So every Fall, while the green leaves turn brown and the trees do some new beginning of their own, you can find me nestled in some coffeehouse, coffee beside me, new pen in hand, and my fresh notebooks, writing a whole new me.


15 Jul

I had coffee with a friend late last night at Caribou in midtown, and she made a comment about a mutual friend of ours being in a “transitional” stage of life. Things are changing, he’s coming into himself, he’s realizing what needs to be appreciated and what doesn’t, and coming to terms with the surprises life holds.

It’s happening a lot lately.

I feel like I’ve talked an awful lot about jobs and interviews and ideas these past weeks. But it’s something giant in my life that changes daily, and interesting insights are always at hand. I’ve met with two of my Ogle professors, one last week, the other this morning at Starbucks. They know me better than any career coach ever could – they’ve seen me as a freshman, they’ve seen me win the Anne River Siddons award my senior year of college. They saw me play my music in public for the first time and they watched me walk across the stage wearing my cap and gown. They taught me how to write – creatively, critically, and everything in between. And no one can tell me my chances of being successful better than they can.

I came away from both meetings with ideas, a handful of contacts and a new resolve that I haven’t felt in a long, long time. I think I’m ready now. I think I’m ready to take life by the horns and yank it around to face me. It’s time to take control, get off the sidelines and into the game.

It’s going to work. I’m going to be a successful writer. Just you watch.