Occasionally, however, I engage in another quiet past time: imagining what the movie would be like if I were the main character. When I say this, I don’t mean that I picture my own face pasted onto, say, Arnold Schwarzenegger’s body, and that suddenly I’m running and jumping and exploding bad guys and governing the crap out of things. I mean that I imagine what I, Leah Kaminsky, the slightly neurotic, still lacking in self-confidence writer would be if I were just deposited into the scene.

This happened again recently when [someone who prefers to go unnamed] and I were watching The Hunger Games (don’t judge). There’s this great a scene in which the main character, Katniss, is on her way to the ring, only to be stopped by the words of her mentor, Cinna, who says something along the lines of, “I’m proud of you. If anyone can win it, it’s you.” (I’m butchering it here, but I’m not about to go back to the movie to find the exact line). Katniss, being the strong, silent, badass type, fixes Cinna with a meaningful stare, then nods her head and continues on without speaking a word. Though she faces her imminent death and the nasty task of killing her peers, she is imbued with quiet confidence, and an abundance of strength.

(That’s the trailer, not the moment I was thinking of, but you get the gist of what Katniss is like).

I was really impressed with Katniss at this point, so I tried to think of what I would be like if I were in her shoes. Here’s what I came up with.

That’s a blockbuster right there, or at least an art house flick directed by Woody Allen.

You’re welcome, world.

This story means a lot to me, and I hope it will mean a lot to you, too. You can find it here.

And then I met a man we’ll call “Rajiv.” At once a landlord and the bane of my existence, Rajiv was a neat freak extraordinaire. I couldn’t move without him clearing his throat or tsking or saying, “Yes, Leah, about that dish rack. Really, you should not leave dishes there. You can drain them over the dish rack and then wipe the dish manually, but the dish rack is not for dishes.”

For many months, I put up with the situation, trying my best to please, until one day, I had enough. I decided to take my power back, to embrace rebellion, to be free. I decided use that dish rack.

The story is hosted at one of my favorite sites (used it all the time when traveling), StudyAbroad.com. Check out “When Your Roommate Sucks, Rebellion Lies in the Kitchen” and perhaps add a few rebel stories of your own.

In this article up at Geek and Jock, I present a few tips I’ve gleaned from my experiences combining households in semi-peaceful manners. I left out all of the pranks I wanted to pull on Stephen, like leaving creepy porcelain dolls in unexpected spaces. Just…Staring…That’s for Part Deux of this article series: How to Seriously Creep Your Partner Out.

So, yes! Go and read!

But, perhaps more important than that, I started a minor global protest of a major coffee chain. And by that I mean, it was major to me and I was traveling around the globe at the time. All went well, until I met match. I won’t give the climax of the story away here, but let’s just say, “Baked goods” and leave it at that.

I’ve written about my (ridiculous) hero’s journey in this recent article: A Coffee Addict’s Tale of Woe. Read it, empathize, judge me, whatever, and know that when it comes to coffee. I. Don’t. Stand. Down.

(Until I do).

Friends and family to whom I sent regular emails about my travels, may recall this story. It’s not “Dishrack Girl,” but it’s pretty close. Thanks to Daily Shot of Coffee for the print!

Which is bare, too, you know. Bare and crumpled with dry, winter’s leaves that crunched beneath my feet as I came to you in the way of withered and dying things. At the stoplight, I spotted two faded butterfly wings, folded together like an overlarge purse before a polite departure. By the riverbed, which is always more stone than water, a bird nestled down into its coat, puffed itself into a ball and shivered into the wind. Shaking, I set my things down here, where my numb fingers could safely peck at the keyboard, a small defense against the advancing front.

But now I must leave, tree, as the air is cool and growing colder and it is time for me to slip back into a cave of my own. In the spring, we will both have fresh haircuts and emerge youthful and blushing to embrace the season.

Will this same squirrel join us then, or will he have leapt far away from here in his hunt for survival, ending his journey somewhere unknown to you and me? I cannot answer that, tree. But I look forward to seeing you then, and, too, all the furry rascals that call you home when times are good and the weather is fine and we are all so full of life and cheer.

But, after all, I am a writer, and that means I’m great at recommending things in articles and not taking my own advice.

Which is to say, for my second post in two days, I’d like to say, hey! Do you know about the awesome Austin blog, the Austinot? Well you SHOULD because, it’s packed full of delicious info on everything there is to do in Austin, quirky and otherwise. I had the pleasure of meeting the blog owners at a local event here in Austin, and wrote a story on the awesome Austin event, Dionysium, which you should all check out tomorrow if you’re in town and up for some verbal fireworks.

So, without further adieu, I bid you check out the article HERE, explore the Austinot far and wide and get yo’ debate on!

1. The Hollywood Version: I, THE GENIUS, shout EUREKA! while I’m in the middle of a shower, abandon the tub for my study and a pad of paper, and, shower still running, pen an entire story in one sitting.
   
2. The More Often Version: I, THE GENIUS, shout EUREKA! while I’m in the middle of my shower, abandon the tub for my study and a pad of paper, remember that I most often write on a laptop, eagerly tap out five brilliant lines, go eat a slice of an entire box of pizza, forget about the story, return to it a week later, try again, hate myself for not being a better writer, eat an entire box of pizza, and repeat this cycle for several years until something finally manages to reach a somewhat conclusive ending, oftentimes because my house is at that point flooded and I have other things to take care of.

Sometimes, though, a story is something you carry with you throughout your life — something that grows as you grow, both personally and as a writer who goes from thinking ALL SENTENCES ARE COOL to knowing the precise rhythm and feel that make her heart sing.

And that, friends, is the story of the story I’ve just had published on InfectiveInk.com, And How the Algae Twines!

The first time I wrote this story, I was a sophomore in college, staring out my dorm window at the shifting snow drifts howling across the campus quad, thinking of another time when the world was also made of snow and I could feel my first real relationship reaching its zenith and beginning its long, slow descent into the frozen ground. The result: a creative short essay, and the feeling that I wasn’t done.

The second time I wrote this story, I was mored on the shores of a criticism-ridden grad school workshop, trying to be a better writer than I felt I could be. Somehow, I stumbled upon this old essay, languishing in an ancient Word file, and found myself horrified at my use of language, yet intrigued by the thoughts, images and emotions that lay behind it. I returned to my keyboard, and tried to remember what it was to feel. The result: a thirty page behemoth, with ten pages of striking imagery, ten pages of a writer reaching for a moral, and ten pages of a 24-year-old woman, demanding her true experiences find an outlet. And a workshop with an excess of praise and an excess of criticism that would change my writing forever.

The third time I wrote this story, I had been torn down to my core. There were no safe places left — not for me, not for my work. Everything I did was wrong. There was no warm hearth upon which I could nestle. After so many years of fighting for independence, I was on my own and barely able to breathe. Left with the few words that meant something to me. The few words that wouldn’t leave me alone.

It’s been three years since the third time. Three years, and this story has won awards, and finally found publication. The joy of finally seeing this story in print…well, I can’t quite put that into words. Nor can I promise I won’t write this story a fourth time, as I navigate the shriveled climes of my very non-snowy setting. But I can say that the story of this story — this story that began nine years ago and continues on — is one I will carry with me, wherever I go. This story has not left me.

You can read And How the Algae Twines at InfectiveInk.com.

Or, in other words, I’ve had an Onion-esque piece satirizing yuppie behavior published the wonderful online publication, Defenestration. Check it out HERE. Huzzah!

That’s me in the back, mid-routine. I had just flown in, and boy, were my wings tired!

But, alas, my distractions were more jealousy than anything else. I’ve always admired DIY practitioners, and often wished I were one of them.

Enter Krysten Brown, a designer friend of mine here in Austin. When I was asked to write an article on last minute Halloween DIY decorations, she stepped up to the plate, guiding me through a series of spooktacular Halloween designs until we had just about the coolest DIY house the undead world has ever seen. Afterwards I sat down with my laptop, pulled a mic to my mouth and did a little routine.

Check out the results at the article below, and DIY your own home in the most spooktacular of ways.

Last Minute DIY Guide to Halloween Decorations…of Awesomeness.