Chelsea M. Cameron's Blog, page 18

After the State of the Union, watch this...

Gotta love it.

A list of Swell Things...

I was watching this movie earlier, A Star Is Born. It's from the 1930's, so it's really old, but it's in color. It's about a small town girl who goes to Hollywood to become an actress. She meets this guy and then gets a role in a movie and becomes a star. He's an alcoholic who's career was once hot, but has faded. They get married and he gets drunk because he's jealous of her career. Then he overhears her saying that she'd give up her career to take care of him. I won't spoil the end, but it's sad.

There is a point to that story, so here it is. Every other word in this movie was "swell." Now, this has always been one of my favorite words. It just makes you smile when you say it. I've been on a crusade to bring it back, but so far, my efforts have been in vain. So today I thought I would make a list of Swell things, to celebrate the awesomeness that is this word. Without further ado, The List of Swell Things:

fascinators
pinstripe Suits
fedoras
wingtips
bobby pins
typewriters
martinis
The Charleston
red lipstick
library books
peacock feathers
diamonds
Big diamonds
door knockers
chandeliers
quill pens
clawfoot bathtubs
pocket watches
afternoon walks
umbrellas
wax seals
pearls
trips to the seaside

Oh, and Audrey Hepburn. And Clark Gable. And Vivien Leigh. Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers, Gene Kelly, Cyd Charisse and Leslie Caron. Anything else I should add?

Why The Bachelor is Good Television...

Hear me out on this before you judge. #judgementfreezone

I don't have any delusions that if you want to find real, true, lifelong love, The Bachelor isn't the way to go. Unless you're one in a million. In which case, you might as well go outside with an umbrella because you're more likely to get hit by lightning. Not that I would encourage such a thing.

The Bachelor has everything. Oh, the drama. The intrigue. People going behind people's backs. Kissing. Hot tubs. Romance. Kissing. Hot tubs. Cat fights. Drinking. Kissing. Hot tubs. Roses. Ambulance visits. Kissing. Hot tubs.

On the last episode of The Bachelor the following things happened. There was kissing. I don't exactly remember who. There were a lot. Ben told one girl she was the best kisser in the house. Courtney The Model made the girls upset. Again. The girls skied in bikinis. A cute blonde named Brittney decides that she doesn't want to compete with other girls for a guy (what show has she been watching?) and leaves in tears. Ben takes Lindzi (who the hell spells it like that?) on a date and she tells him how the last guy (douchebag) she dated dumped her via text after a year and a half of dating. Harsh.

Then Shawntel, from Brad's season (you know, the one who embalms people for a living and went on and on about draining body fluids while they were eating dinner? Yeah, her.), decides that she's madly in love with Ben and shows up at the rose ceremony. One girl faints. Twice. During said ceremony. Another girl is so overcome by tears that she can't even keep quiet. Ben has a WTF face on the whole time which isn't much different from his normal vacant expression.

*SPOILER ALERT*
Ben doesn't give Shawntel a rose and the girls don't sacrifice him to appease the Love Gods.

*END SPOILER*

All of this makes for riveting, real time television. This show has it all. It doesn't matter if it's fake. Staged. Ridiculous. I can't stop watching it. Neither can millions of other people. Thank the Love Gods.

Writing is my brand of heroin...

I was a little tentative to title this post that way, but I decided to go ahead and do it anyway. Partially to see what kind of people find it. Probably people Googling for drugs. Which is kind of funny. FYI, if you understand the reference in the title is not about drugs, but a quote from a book, kudos. Extra points if you can tell me who said it. But on to the point of this post.

I was thinking the other day while I was lying in bed (insomniacs unite!) thinking about why I write. I'd just woken up from a weird ass dream where I was wandering around in Portland (The only Portland Eastcoasters know is the one in Maine) and I was supposed to meet some of my friends. But the think was, it wasn't Portland. I'd made up an entire town with shops and everything. I've dreamed about this place before, and it doesn't resemble any place I've ever been. My dreams create a ridiculous amount of detail down to what sandwiches they serve in one of the shops. Where am I going with this? Don't worry, I'm getting to that.

I've always had insanely detailed dreams. I had this recurring dream when I was a child where I, along with a bunch of other random people I've never met, are kidnapped and have to come up with a daring plan to escape. Of course the plan would be foiled by the bad guy or guys, and we'd have to come up with another one. Once it involved a mall and rollerskates. I don't know how that works out, but it did. These dreams were so real and so disturbing sometimes that I would wake up in the middle of the night, thinking they were real. I was a terrible insomniac.

I started writing seriously when I was 18. And the dreams stopped. I was finally able to sleep through the night for the first time in my whole life. Since I finished Nocturnal, I've been working on editing the sequel, Nightmare, which I wrote during NaNoWriMo, so I'm not working on anything new. And I'm going crazy. I pace my house and feel like there's something I need to be doing or that I've forgotten and I don't know what it is. I call it the Writer's Itch. It's like something tickling my mind that I can't scratch. I really hope I'm not the only person this happens to. I don't think I am. I really hope I'm not.

So, in conclusion, I write so I can sleep. I write because my brain must make up stories. It's something that just happens. I might as well do it while I'm awake and maybe make some money off it, yes? I think this is true for all types of creative people. It's not a matter of them wanting to be creative, but needing it. I could stop writing, but I really don't want to. I like sleeping at night. I also love the actual storytelling part. I love meeting these new crazy, wonderful people that come to me fully-formed and ready to talk my ear off. There are several of them doing that right now, and I've got to give them some attention very soon or else my brain might explode. Sometimes, my head is kind of like this:


Please don't judge me.