This is personal...

Let me be abundantly clear.  I’m not entirely sure of the direction of this post, so please forgive me, as it will likely be scattered, personal, and maybe even confusing.  Actually, if you know me at all, you should expect that just about anything that comes out of my mouth (or that I put on paper) is relatively nonsensical. 

So, there once was a girl who had some very close friends.  These friends were different from the usual high-school friends that most have, I think.  They were all smart and beautiful and funny in their own way, and they all brought out the best in each other (and occasionally, the worst).  The time she spent with those girls would be some of the best times of her life, when they were young, relatively carefree, and unconfined by the pressure of being an adult, although I assure you they did have their fair share of responsibilities. 

These friendships were woven together in the most fascinating of ways, with not one girl inextricably tied to another.  That relationship created a web…a support group.  Mostly they did fun stuff and bonded through things like visiting the beach at all hours, talking about boys, and stuffing their faces with popcorn, salsa, and sparkling grape juice (they pretended to get drunk off the last one, but they were merely high on life, good times, and their mutual friendship).

But all good things must end, or so they say.  Each of us is destined for something different, to follow paths that will eventually break off, narrowing so that it would be impossible for all of those girls to follow the same path…at least, not together. 

And so, it disintegrated.  Because they knew what was coming.  Life.  And it was scary.  The girl knew she was going to lose this freedom, this group of people who bonded through some of the most ridiculous of things, and it didn’t scare her like it scared the rest.  It terrified her.  So she took a step back, figuring the best approach was to slowly disentangle themselves from their dependency on eachother.  She should have known that the best way to pull off a band aid was just to rip it off, all at once.  She took that one step back, afraid to lose the people she loved like sisters, and then it seemed like everybody else was pulling away. 

That girl was wrong.  She had been dreading what was going to happen, the way everybody was going to turn in a different direction and their relationships pulled thin through distance, it’s very fiber tested.  She should have held on, fought for that friendship.  But we all have a fight or flight instinct.  Sadly, hers was flight.

To this day, that girl still doesn’t understand exactly how everything happened.  When she looked back, it seemed as though it happened slowly and all at once.  Looking back, she would see where she’d been wrong.  Looking back, she realized she’d have done it differently... not been afraid to admit she didn’t want to let go, not been captive to the idea that maybe things could still be different if only…

 Great friendships followed the death of that one, another girl took the place that one had vacated, and they became like sisters.  And though they were close, it was never the same.  That girl found the courage to let go of the last bits of that old friendship, realizing that her life was no longer tied to theirs, no matter how desperately she wished it was.  She cast off the last vestiges of that life and started anew.  And she found a once in a lifetime love, the kind that you can only dream of as a young teenager.  That love was the greatest thing to ever happen to her, and it might not have ever happened if she had taken a different course of life.  And though it is the kind of love and he is the kind of man who can make anything okay (better than okay, actually--pretty, freaking amazing), he can’t make her anything other than human.  And a trademark of humanity?  We are the only species concerned with the past.  We care about the past, because it shapes who we are in the present and future.  We look back with fond smiles and heavy hearts on the things we enjoyed and the things we lost, and we remember.  And we miss those times, those people, those feelings.  Because only when we look back do we realize, what we had was defining… life-changing.

That girl would go back and do it differently…but not if it meant giving up the people she had now.  Because the ones she had now share so much with her, things that are profoundly different from the experiences of the naiveté of her youth.  If she could only have both, then life would be perfect.  But this world, our lives (despite what we try to make other people believe) are not perfect.  They couldn’t be further from it.  Maybe that imperfection is beautiful in a twisted way.  Only after experiencing sorrow do we know what it means to truly be happy.  Only after we’ve stood in the storm do we understand what it means to be dry. 

If this makes any sense…. You may need to check with a psychiatrist, because I’ve been told by more than a few people I’m crazy (Nobody in a white coat, for what it’s worth).  Or maybe you’re no more crazy than I am.  Maybe you too, feel the same way about someone or something.  If you do, know this… we can’t change the past.  We can’t change the future.  We can only control what we do and say in the real world, with this breath, this heartbeat, this very second.  And so, if you’re reading this, know the thing I’ve been thinking for years, the thing I may have mentioned but never really proved…

For the way things happened, I’m sorry. 

XO

 

Once Upon a Time...

There was a book.  It was an ordinary book, with a simple cover and simple words.  But I was intrigued.  I bought that book, and I read it in maybe a day.  Like I said, the words were simple.  It was a quick read, propelled by action, not bogged down by a lot of unnecessary language, and lifted up by interesting characters.  The book was called Vampire Academy. 

I didn't know it then, but that book would be life changing.

You may recognize that name from the movie that came out on Valentine's Day this past year.  You know, the one by the director of Mean Girls. 

Yeah, the movie kinda sucked.  Not in the good way that a vampire film should suck, in the "Well, honestly what were you expecting?  It's a book-to-film adaptation!" way.  But, honestly, the first book kinda sucked.  And I say that with a grain of salt, because it is one of my favorite series.  I have forced these books upon my mother, sister, grandmother, two of my best friends (though one still refuses to read it-Tara, I'm looking at you, kid), and my boyfriend. 

Honestly, the prose in the first book was not Richelle Mead's best.  But I liked the book.  Heck, I REALLY liked the book, for reasons I still don't understand because I find myself drawn to a different writing style than what Vampire Academy first presented.  So, because of my inexplicable love for the first book, I bought the second.  And it was great!  The series, the characters, the plot, and the writing style all developed a bit, and I was hooked.  So it was on to the third...and the trend continued.  The plot thickened and darkened.  All of a sudden, the series was not a silly account of vampires in high school, but a true blue saving-the-world-one-strigoi-at-a-time love story. 

I said Vampire Academy changed my life.  It's a common expression people say, not always seriously, usually to describe an episode of their favorite TV show, or the sushi at some new Hibachi restaurant.  I say this, not lightly, and not in jest.  I read Vampire Academy voraciously, book to book, and was distraught when I had to wait for the last installment- Last Sacrifice.  I needed something to fill the void while I waited for that book.

I'd had dalliances before into the world of FanFiction, specifically with the Harry Potter series.  But that was a series I'd grown up with, my love for it growing with each book, film, character, and tragedy.  But I fell in love with Vampire Academy all at once, and for that reason, I felt compelled to write Vampire Academy fan fiction.  I didn't ever expect the generous outpouring of support I got when I started writing that fan fiction.  I didn't expect that I would wake up daily to emails on my phone with exclamations of praise, virtual squeals of excitement, and people begging for my updates.  To date that fan fiction has elicited 724 reviews, 171 favorites, and 148 followers.  That was life-changing.  The feeling of reaching so many people, of having them rely on me, of being somebody's drug...  It is the most incredible high I can think of.

So, I would recommend you read Vampire Academy, because it spurred me on the adventure you're now witnessing.  And because I am sharing with you a snippet of my fanfiction, written prior to the release of Richelle Mead's Last Sacrifice. 

"I thought I was going to die once, back in Russia.  Dimitri had been so fast and so strong, so intent on changing me...or killing me...that my death was imminent.  That was not really Dimitri in Russia, for he was Strigoi, and that was what had made the situation, and my fear, all the more real.  Even when I'd been captured by Strigoi with Eddie, Mason, Christian, and Mia, our deaths were obviously close.  Mason may have been the only one of us to die, but we had all come precariously close to death. And yet I had never felt as doomed as I did now."

If you're in the mood for more, I'd recommend the first five VA books so you know what's going on, but if you're feeling froggy like me, here ya go.  But don't forget to leave the love because I love the love. 

XO, BelleCeline

Last Sacrifice-Blood Lust by BelleCeline

I Finished Watching Grey's Anatomy...

Spoiler Alerts and Nonsense May Ensue!

In the beginning of May, I embarked on an adventure of sorts.  It involved a comfortable, fuzzy blanket, my puppy curled up in my lap, and Netflix.  It was an epic journey, spanning the course of ten seasons in a matter of some sixty days.  I know, it may not sound as though I have a life.  I mean, who seriously binge-watches ten freaking seasons of a medical drama in two months? 

But I did a lot in these past two months, I swear.  I was a bridesmaid in one of the most ridiculously fun weddings I've ever been to (yes, I'm biased), and did bridesmaid activities.  There was a bachelorette weekend, mother's day festivities, father's day shenanigans, my sister's eighteenth birthday, her high school graduation and the subsequent party I hosted.  We also got our first tattoos (together), I watched all of Game of Thrones Season Four in two days, I worked a lot and spent almost every other free moment watching people fall in and out of love, have their hearts shattered, their dreams realized, their lives torn asunder, and their whole worlds changed.

Obviously, my sojourn into the world of the thrice-named Seattle Grace/Mercy West/Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital has led to a suffering of my writing.  Because how can I write when I am so busy enjoying another fictional world, with people who are as real to me as the characters I create on my own?

It's not that I don't love writing more than almost any other act in the world.  Trust me when I say that I imagine myself as the modern equivalent of a Starving Artist, so in love with my craft that I'd suffer for it.  I would.  But I'm also a modern woman with a real life, living at least part time in the real world.  I have lots of dreams, and while my most ambitious one is to see my name in print, to know that the musings of my silly, tired, sometimes fragile mind made a difference in someone's life, I also
have goals that are more easily attainable.  Like becoming a manager and owning a home, and being a wife, and a mother, and the best person that I can be, and helping those who need it.  And most of those goals benefit from hard work, because hard work reaps a financial leniency that writing has not yet given me. 

As I said, it's not that I don't love writing, because I do.  But writing is like having a second job.  It's consuming, demanding, and often times thrillingly exhausting.  Seriously, it's like I've got a thousand children spread out between all of my stories, developed or not, and they're all demanding my attention.  Tell me what to do, where to go, tell me who I am!  Will I fall in love with Jack or Jim, will I eventually get my happily ever after, what is wrong with me?

As a quick side note--there is a trope that writers depend heavily on coffee and alcohol.  I don't consider myself dependent on any substance, but I didn't miss the irony of my made up Jack (Daniels) and Jim (Bean) example. 

That last question is one of my own, cause after rereading those last few sentences, I sound crazy.  I think you have to be crazy to be a writer of any sort.  Honestly, you have to be nuts to commit to a life of deadlines, interviews, and press releases.  And to write about historical fiction, you'd have to be a few shades of mad.  Don't even get me started on how mentally unstable you'd have to be to write mathematics textbooks for a living!  The point is that I have to share my world not only with all of my coworkers, family, friends, customers, all of you, my dog, and a bunch of insistent fictional people.  It's like having two jobs, and working forty hours a week with all these real people, then coming home to do it all again with even more helpless people. 

It's easy to burn yourself out as a writer, even if it is the thing you love most.  After all, it is a consuming art.  I know when I work at my first job, my mind can engage on other things, like what I'm doing for the weekend and how much I want that pair of boots I saw on Pinterest.  That's not a luxury afforded to writing.  When you're creating flesh and bone people from pen and paper it consumes every spare bit of your brain, which spins in a mad, carnivorous dash to get your fingers to get it out before you forget and move onto the next thing.  I can't speak for others, but that's how my brain works at least, tripping over itself in an attempt to sole everybody's problems all at once, while simultaneously musing over how to improve the tension in a scene that hasn't even been thought of.  Yeah, I'm not one of those organized writers...my brain rebels.

That is why it is important for me to take breaks every now and then.  The aforementioned is why I step back from writing on occasion and binge watch overly-dramatic television or swallow entire books whole.  Because if I try to solve Linden's dilemmas while also helping Lillith find her place in the world, all the while watching Lexie* perform neurosurgery with the love of her life, I'm sure to mix up my details and cross my signals.  And let's face it...vampires don't often find themselves in need of a subdural craniotomy (which I may have just made up, or not),just as in a post-apocalyptic world, my heroine probably wouldn't be concerned with a need for plastic surgery.

If you're confused, you're in good company.  Because the whole point of this post was to let you know what I've been up to, why I haven't updated much, and (SURPRISE, MOTHAFUCKAS*), to get myself a little warm-up exercise for the writing onslaught that's about to ensue.  Sorry I tricked you!  Thanks for listening!

Love, BelleCeline

* Lexie= My favorite character in Grey's Anatomy.  Funny, smart, a chameleon, and a brilliant surgeon.  Rest in Peace. 

*SURPRISE, MOTHAFUCKAS= Famous words of Sergeant Doakes, the intelligent, crazy, too-nosy-for-his-own-good character in Dexter.  Rest in Peace.

The Beauty of the Struggle

Tonight I watched nearly three hundred young adults walk across a stage.  It probably took them thirty seconds, even in heels and long robes, stopping for a picture, and worrying about not tripping over their own two feet.  Yet that thirty second walk they’d spent a week practicing for and thirteen long years full of anticipation.  Being back in the same place I was five long years ago, naturally got me thinking.

I mentioned in the past that I write YA, and I mentioned it’s because that’s what I fell in love with.  It sounds like it’s marketed exclusively for teenagers, doesn’t it?  Those people that are on the precipice of adulthood, unsure of where they stand in this world, unsure of everything?  But, really, as an adult, do any of us really know where we stand?  Are we sure of everything?  If I am an adult (I think I am), then the answer is no.  Am I sure I am happy with the people in my life?  Yes.  Am I sure that these are the people I want to have in my life for the rest of it?  Absolutely.  Am I certain of my faith, my beliefs, my morals, my ambitions, and the capabilities and goodness of my loved ones?  Undeniably.  But I would say I am far from having everything figured out, and that’s ok.  I write as I go, I learn as I go, and I live as I go.  And I do all of this at my own pace.

But there is something that comes after graduation.  It is not an unfailing sense of who you are and the things you’ll do.  It isn’t even a sense that after the night’s over and the last party guest leaves that everything will magically be different.  It is the knowledge, which slowly creeps up on you, that life has a tragically beautiful impermanence. 

Sure, you may know that in high school.  Maybe you’ve lost a family member, or a friend, or just an acquaintance.  Maybe you haven’t lost anybody, but you feel loss as acutely as though it were one of your own limbs, and that’s ok.  But in high school particularly, things have a way of feeling torturously unchanging.  I assure you, life is not.

They call it the real world.  As if you haven’t really been alive all this time, so much as biding your time in a bubble watching the world around you.  But we’re all living in the real world, and we always have been.  The perception is simply that what happens in high school dictates the rest of your life.  Perhaps you believe as I did, that your friends would always stay your friends, that the people you thought you loved would forever be by your side, that you would never make a mistake again or have regrets.  The understanding is that everything will change, and nothing at all. 

In those hallowed purple halls that I spent four years, I lived a lifetime.  I learned things about the world, myself, my friends, even complete strangers.  I had some of the most fun-loving, crazy, beautiful, hysterical, and (sorry, but if you were my friend, it’s true) dorky girls and guys to call my family…brothers and sisters, all different but the same in our passions.  And when I was with them, those were some of the best times of my life.  I would have never made it through high school without the group of friends I had, because for all the fights, all the silly drama, all the things that seemed oh-so-important, they understood what you were going through in a way nobody else could.  In that vein, I felt like a bit of a loner my first two years of high school.  I spent a lot of time in a world of my own creation, but for those who don't, I hope they will read YA, and know that there are others who feel the same way.

I have an amazing, supportive family, but the most supportive family in the world couldn’t have stopped me from feeling occasionally worthless, not good enough, pretty enough, skinny enough, smart enough, a good-enough friend, a good-enough person, a good-enough human.  Not through any fault of their own, but because being a teenager, experiencing your whole world changing at once, is infinitely complex.  Because it is infinitely confusing.  Because it is infinite.

I am certain today, as I am certain of my name or the color of the sky, that I was not the only one who ever felt the creeping hand of insecurity.  Now I am wise enough to know that it is OK not to do all the same things as all your friends, that it’s OK to feel like the whole world is against you, that it’s OK to question your purpose and that it’s OK to wonder if it’s all worth it.  In high school, these things compound, and the pressure of them threatens you, wants to push you into the ground and grind you into dust.  It’s heavy, it’s dirty, and it’s never even close to perfect.  But it’s beautiful, the way tragedy is beautiful in the way it brings people together, the way a butterfly looks upon it’s wings and truly appreciates who it was before. 

Being a Young Adult is a time of innocence, a time for mistakes.  A time when every single emotion feels like it could be bottled and reused or enough to end your world.  A time when we learn the most about who we are and who we want to be, when a kiss seems like the sweetest spell, a look can make you smitten, and a single kind word can make your day.  It is the time where you experience all the joys of adulthood-driving, gambling, working,- and retain all the joys of youthful innocence.  It is the time where we are the most influential, the time that molds us for the future, the time that every joy is a passion.  And it is one of the most beautiful things I can think of, in it’s own rite.

So for everyone who considers themselves a Young Adult (and even those who don't), for everyone who walked across that stage, and especially for my sister:  I have heard people say that graduation shouldn’t be made into such a big deal.  I have heard them say that it is not an accomplishment.  I have heard them say that it is more of an expectation than an achievement.  I say they’re wrong.  Surviving a tidal wave of feelings, going back day after day, running through the halls to make it to class on time, staying up late to finish essays you couldn’t care less about, and most admirable of all, never giving up…that’s something to be proud of.  Congratulations, class of 2014.  My wish for you is that you will grow and learn and be happy, but never forget the way things felt for you as a young adult.  Never let go of this, not completely, because it is truly a beautiful time.  But should you ever lose your sense of wonder, pick up a young adult book, and remember just how strong you are for all that you’ve already overcome. 

Thought I Wasn't Coming Back, Didn't You?

Well, SURPRISE! I made it to my second post, which means this venture of mine has already been a success.  So, now that I found my way back to you, let me preface my post with a little warning.  I was asked if I had any sort of schedule for when I would be updating my blog.   If you read my first post, you know how I feel about commitment.  I don't know about you, but to me a schedule practically screams commitment, so the answer is no.  But that's okay, because for now, you have a blog post to read.  And in the unlikely event that you start to experience symptoms of withdrawal, you can always re-read it or, even better, leave me comments demanding more.

I started this blog as a means of communication, of opening myself up to the people who have been unfailingly supportive of my writing habit dream despite not really knowing much about it.  As a part of this process, allow me to shed some light on those things I usually keep to myself.

First and foremost, the pen-name.  If you found your way to this blog via my personal Facebook page, then there is no mystery as to who I really am.  There may, however, be a few lingering questions about who Belle Celine is.  There was, for me, never any doubt that I wanted a pen-name. Even if you know who I really am, that smoke screen allows me a layer of security, which manifests in my writing when I feel that I don't have to hold back.  Simply put, Belle Celine is the ambitious, less-fearful part of me, the girl who sees her name in print along with the text 'New York Times Bestseller'.  No, I don't have multiple personalities (although all of the characters that live in my head may disagree).  I chose the pen-name rather spontaneously years ago, because it was pretty.  In French, the name Belle means beautiful, and Celine means dream.  Put that together, and you can see what my greatest ambition is.  Writing is quite literally my beautiful dream. 

Probably the question I get asked most and, to be perfectly honest, the one that makes me squirm uncomfortably and wish I could disappear is "What do you write?".  If that sounds like an easy question for you to answer, you're either A) Not very shy or B) Not a writer.  I am both A and B and a little bit of C) Scared that the world will judge me.  Sure, it's a simple question, but it's implications are not so simple.  You see, first and foremost I write fiction- I make stuff up!  My target audience is 'Young Adult'.  I'm 23 and certainly don't feel like an adult most days (unless I'm drinking coffee and reading the Sunday paper, which is rare but has been known to happen).  A teenager on the edge of adulthood is at a magical time in life where every experience resonates with unrivaled intensity.  There is nothing greater than learning all about the world, love, responsibility, friendship, the true value of family, your self-worth, and still relishing the newness of it. 

But when people ask "What do you write?", neither of those things are what they want to know.  They want to know the things I write about, the people, the plots.  They can't be answered summarily because I've written about a dozen different worlds, a hundred plots, and a thousand people.  I can say though, at the moment I have two works in progress.  One is paranormal, involving all kinds of things that go bump in the night, with a spiritual twist and a general lesson on how finding your place in the world isn't easy but it is enriching.  The second takes place in a world that is picking up the pieces of war and learning that it's easy to assign blame to an entity, but hard to deal with the truth.  Ambiguous (and boring) as those descriptions are, I am not inclined to divulge the nitty-gritty details just yet.  But fear not...when I am, you'll be the first to know. 

Welcome To My World

I started a blog once...and then I never updated it.  And then I lost the password.  And then it got deleted due to inactivity.  This time will be different...I hope. 

Now, you've been here for all of two seconds and you already know I'm not good at finishing things.  What can I say?  Commitment makes me nervous (unless we're talking about my wonderful boyfriend)!  But in an effort to commit myself to you, I am going to lay it all bare.

I discovered my love of writing in the fourth grade.  There was something fantastic about stringing together otherwise innocuous words, and from them creating meaning.  The delight in my teacher's voice when she read my paper out loud kindled a feeling I still can't describe, even for all my love of words.

See, I like people (most of them, anyways) but I am shy - always have been, probably always will be.  For some people, interactions with others comes easily- those same people know the joy they get from other people's reactions.  Whether it's the class clown who feeds on other's laughter, or the girl next door who is so confident in who she is that others can't help but like love her.  For me, the only time I can truly be myself, unhindered by what people will think of me, is when I write.  And so I do it, because it is the only thing I've ever wanted to do.  I write because it is the only time that the world makes sense.  I write because I can't not do it.

But writing is a selfish act.  You sit at a desk with your laptop or notebook, tune the world out, and create a world that is entirely yours.  You pour your heart and your soul into something that no one may ever read, and you do it because you're chasing that feeling- the one I had in fourth grade, of "I'm changing someone's life".  It's not at all as glamorous as a surgeon working hours around the clock, or a police officer chasing down criminals.  You don't need to be a hero to change someone's life- sometimes, inspiring thought is enough.  That is, perhaps, the single most beautiful thing I can imagine coming from a selfish act.  

And just as I am selfish in my writing, I am selfish in my privacy.  It is my fear to not be accepted once my writing reveals my true nature that has kept me from sharing it...until now.  You see, going for your dreams is something that can't be attained while you're bound to silly things like caring about what other people think and being selfish.  That is why I am here, making a commitment to let you into my world.  If you hate it, I've made a commitment to myself not to let negative opinions destroy my passion.  I'm not saying it will be easy- getting to know me is a process that takes a long, long time (I'm still finding some things out myself), but I promise it will be worth it.  Cause if it's not worth it in my writing, I'll make you cookies and then it will be even, right?

If you're lucky I might not even burn them.

"It is the mystery which lies all around the little we know which makes life so unspeakably interesting.  I am thankful that which I do not know, is so immeasurably greater than that which I know.  I am thankful that I am only at the beginning of things."   -Reuen Thomas, Thoughts for the Thoughtful

It is the mystery which lies all around the little we know which makes life so unspeakably interesting. I am thankful that that which I do not know, is so immeasurably greater than that which I know. I am thankful that I am only at the beginning of things.

REUEN THOMAS, Thoughts for the Thoughtful

Read more at http://www.notable-quotes.com/k/knowledge_quotes_ii.html#K8lEDxEWyvdpwvq6.99

It is the mystery which lies all around the little we know which makes life so unspeakably interesting. I am thankful that that which I do not know, is so immeasurably greater than that which I know. I am thankful that I am only at the beginning of things.

REUEN THOMAS, Thoughts for the Thoughtful

Read more at http://www.notable-quotes.com/k/knowledge_quotes_ii.html#K8lEDxEWyvdpwvq6.99

It is the mystery which lies all around the little we know which makes life so unspeakably interesting. I am thankful that that which I do not know, is so immeasurably greater than that which I know. I am thankful that I am only at the beginning of things.

REUEN THOMAS, Thoughts for the Thoughtful

Read more at http://www.notable-quotes.com/k/knowledge_quotes_ii.html#K8lEDxEWyvdpwvq6.99

It is the mystery which lies all around the little we know which makes life so unspeakably interesting. I am thankful that that which I do not know, is so immeasurably greater than that which I know. I am thankful that I am only at the beginning of things.

REUEN THOMAS, Thoughts for the Thoughtful

Read more at http://www.notable-quotes.com/k/knowledge_quotes_ii.html#K8lEDxEWyvdpwvq6.99

It is the mystery which lies all around the little we know which makes life so unspeakably interesting. I am thankful that that which I do not know, is so immeasurably greater than that which I know. I am thankful that I am only at the beginning of things.

REUEN THOMAS, Thoughts for the Thoughtful

Read more at http://www.notable-quotes.com/k/knowledge_quotes_ii.html#K8lEDxEWyvdpwvq6.99