It's November!

It's November! Which can only mean one thing: I'm doing NaNoWriMo. (Actually, it can mean a lot of other things, but I don't happen to be writing about any of those things right now, so I think it would be easier for all of us if we pretend my opener sentence(s) didn't suck.)

The point of NaNoWriMo is to write 50,000 words in 30 days. They don't have to be good. No one expects you to produce quality fiction when your fingers have gone into turbo mode and you don't even know what you're writing about. I don't understand why people think this is such a difficult concept to grasp. You go and you write this many words. I mean, the hope is that those words aren't all "I am a bear made of poop", but if that's what you choose, go for it (although you will probably regret it, mostly because you'll start doubting that "bear" is an actual word).

Today is the first day of NaNoWriMo. You know what that means? You can still hop on the bandwagon! ("You" being my grand total of two followers, so I'm not sure what I'm doing writing a pep talk here). Go. Start. Now.

So the question is: How did my first day go? Well, I planned to get to at least 2000 words (although once I passed the suggested 1667 it was difficult to stay motivated to keep going, despite the fact that I bribed myself with chocolate), and I did! I actually got to 2101 words! According to the NaNoWriMo website, I would now only have to write 1597 words a day to "finish" (pass 50,000) on time. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got chocolate to eat.

(So the real question is: Why am I writing a blog post after doing something that very likely will give me carpal tunnel in the near future? Because I feel extremely motivated right now, but I can't stand to think about my characters and their dusty faces. Or my homework, because that sucks too.)

Um...what?

I've been feeling pretty sick lately, sitting out often during sports practices and wearing far too many layers of clothing. For some reason, my eyes have been pretty dry as well. I keep trying to make myself drink more water (MOAR WATER! DO IT! DO IT NOW!) but I'm afraid my poor bladder can only hold so much fluid before it explodes. Which is quite unfortunate because I like to think that my bladder is, y'know, not exploding. (Well, I don't actually like to think that. Like, I don't just sit there and smile to myself and whisper "My bladder is not exploding." Did I just give someone nightmares? You bet I did.)

I started homework way too late today, and I have a LOT of it. So I should probably go do it. On the other hand, my hands are kind of hypnotized by typing quickly. But on the OTHER other hand (teehee, I have three hands now), I'll get plenty of typing time in November, and I've still got an outline to type. Homework it is. This is the most stupid blog post ever.

It All Ends

I have never waited in line to get the book as soon as it was released. I have never gone to a midnight premiere. I don't own Hogwarts robes, Gryffindor or otherwise. And yet somehow I get the feeling that this inner dying of mine, while not unique, is most certainly rare - even among those who waited past midnight, who own scarves and hats and wands. I didn't go to the midnight premiere - I watched it a month later. And now that I have, there is a part of me that wishes I hadn't.

It's not just seven books, not just eight movies, not just countless works of fanart and fanfiction and goodness knows what else. My skeptical friend, the one who tells me I''m just building a fantasy reality for myself, and that I need to get over it, could never understand. It's not that it's a global phenomenon either. It's that it's magical.

I started watching the final movie with much the same attitude I'd had while watching Deathly Hallows part 1, as well as many of the others - picking apart each conversation, internally moaning when I could remember the exact words they should have said and didn't. The popcorn stung my mouth, and I kept chewing, complaining about details, and dying a little inside because it was ending. It really was ending.

The tears came and left at "always". From that moment  - as horrendously late as it was - the popcorn sat untouched. No more thoughts about "I wonder what this looks like without the 3D glasses", no more analyzing the soundtrack. I watched.

I sat through the credits - all of them. My head was starting to ache a bit from the white letters on black, but I sat there, waiting. And when the Warner Bros. logo appeared - not dark and stylized, as in the beginning, but bright and colorful - I took a picture of it. It then vanished.

I walked out feeling like a ghost. I stepped slowly to the 3D glasses receptacle, slowly dropped the glasses in. I felt like the popcorn bag would slip from my hand. I walked past that idiotic poster that says "Your stubs are immortal. How cool is that?". Nothing is immortal, no one can be. Voldemort learned that the hard way. I was seized by a strange desire to put a little post-it on the sign saying "The Last Enemy That Shall be Destroyed is Death", but decided against it.

The popcorn bag sits on the dining table. Sooner or later, someone will insist that I throw it away. Until then, I'm not touching it. The ticket stub is on my desk, right on top of "Rango" and "Ratatouille". It is unbelievable that something so important and exciting could cause so much pain. I look in the mirror - my hair, dyed red last summer, is noticeably blonder. I was never meant to be a Weasley, only a Californian. Only a day ago I was anticipating re-dyeing it. Today I wonder if I should even bother.

All around my room, I have objects of fandom - Ravenclaw crests, Hogwarts crests, the Deathly Hallows symbol inscribed upon numerous surfaces. Dead objects, now. Only this morning, everything in me was chanting "He will never be gone, not as long as those who remain are loyal to him". Now, suddenly, it's all over.

The internet probably exploded with posts like these over a month ago. I don't understand what I'm going to do now. Anything in my life that was Potter-related - and believe me, that was a lot - doesn't mean anything at all right now, because nothing I do will make the story go on. Nothing I do can make it not end.

It all ends.