"...you can see through, but you can't get to the inside..."
I'm a funny person. Really, I am. I'm also a very weird person, and quite random. Anyone who knows me would agree. Why, just this morning on the bus Jessie said to me, "man, you're weird (and as I type this I realize how dyslexic I really am). You'll read for a little while and then laugh." I grinned in reply and mumbled something about it being a good book. "It" being Ellen DeGeneres' newest book, "The Funny Thing Is..."
It's a fantastic book. It really, truly is. She's so incredibly funny without even seriously trying. One hundred and five points for her. Hell, I was laughing by page 5, which was still in the author's note.
Ellen's book inspired me to write one of my own. Well, I had wanted to write *some* sort of book all my life. Several had been started throughout my seventeen years, nine months, twenty-five days, twenty one hours and twenty minutes of my glorious time on this extremely captivating earth. Lovely, no? I don't think so either. Am I really lewser lame enough to count out the days, hours, and minutes of my exsistnce? Yes. For shame, right. Right.
Okay, so I was sitting at my computer, supposedly doing my economics work, tragically, I got bored of that and switched to geometry, taking about a two minute look at that, then moved on to English. I wasn't feeling that either, so I let my mind wander from the monotony of school work back to The Book. Yes, that is how I shall refer to it, The Book. Like, The Bible...or something. I thought to myself, "if Ellen can write a book, why can't I?" Answering my self in a not-so-positive way, "because, goof, no one knows your name. If they saw your picture on the little author flap, they'd think, 'okay, next.' and walk off."
That got me thinking about the author picture and such. All sorts of ideas came to mind. It could be taken on a mountain, the wind blowing around me. I'd of course be looking off into the distance, a look upon my face that said, "I'm contemplating the meaning of life, quick, take a picture while I look serious and stuff." Or, it could be me, in a tank top and board shorts, barefoot, with my guitar standing up between my bent knees. My forehead would be leaned against the neck or my chin would be resting on it, eyes closed, a peaceful smirk in place. A mandatory hat would be perched on my head. It'd be a black and white photo, of course. The image then flashed to me reclining back, arms behind my head, eyes staring soulfully at the reader. At the moment "break!" was yelled out by my jolly (makes you think of a Santa-type figure, don't it?) teacher and I went back to reading...The Book.
My mind kept wandering back to the book idea. This time I thought of the little blurb about the author that accompanies the picture. "Kaye (that is if it's not changed again) Laird lives in Western Washington. She's still sometimes afraid of the dark. She likes to read, sing, and play guitar. Once, she even did all three at the same time. It was awesome." Or, how about, "Kayla Laird grew up alongside her twin sister and kid brother. She's almost mastered the art (though, when I was writing it by hand I wrote 'heart' for some reason ) of a headstand. See, she was perfecting it last night, but her mother kept poking her in the ass. She finally sighed and went to read." Given my luck it'd end up, "Kaye Laird. Born and raised in Western Washington. Has 5 cats (who the hell would need FIVE cats?!) and a dog. Hopefully by the time this is published a hedgehog named Pete will be included."