My College Essay is more than just that (College Chats #3)

Today inspiration struck and I wrote my college essay. YAY! To the teacher who reads this  when I get 100% plagiarized on Turn It In, now you know why, though I am probably going to tell you anyway. Hi, welcome to my blog. Feel free to tell other teacher friends that I got 100% plagiarism. That’ll be funny. On second thought, I’m not going to tell you that I already posted this. Let’s see how much problems this will cause come September.

Anyways, the topic I chose was: Describe a topic, idea or concept you find so engaging that it makes you lose all track of time.  Why does it captivate you?  What or who do you turn to when you want to learn more?

I highly didn’t abide by it in like anyway, but it’s cool. I’m chilling honestly. I’m proud of my essay and I am prepared for my teacher to fail me for not really answering the prompt.

I mean I did touch upon the why and what questions, but the why wasn’t so obvious because I feel like the whole thing is the describe it and why and the what or who thing is a handful of sentences at the end explaining that I did this kinda on my own.

But without further ado, here is my essay…

I have spent the last three years of my life not only withering away on tumblr and YouTube, but building myself a safe place to ramble and rant and review and write and ramble some more. A place where I can criticize or praise books for no REAL reason. Side note: I’m not a certified critic, for from it actually. You probably shouldn’t rely on my reviews if you’re actually interested in a well thought out review.

Anyways, I’ve spent three years making my blog and writing and loving every second of it. TheOneWithBooks is a place where 431 amazing followers come to read ShortStorySaturdays, CollegeChats, book/movie reviews, and just random life updates. I have dedicated so many hours to making sure my blog is the best it can possibly be (even though there is plenty of typos and improper grammar, especially in terms of tense), but it’s not a chore. It doesn’t make me miserable. Writing, whether you read it or not, is my escape.

You have no idea all the time I’ve lost to writing posts that I never published. Stories I hate so much I’m embarrassed to share. But also, you have no idea how much love and time and dedication goes into each run-on sentence I’ve writen. How much fun I have and how much I laugh reading over what I wrote. How many times I’ve thought that no one reads, even though I see the views going up everyday.

Blogging about books and sharing my short stories and just writing for all of these people in general makes me lose track of time. And maybe nothing will come of it and maybe one day it’ll just be something I did in highschool to pass time, but right now, this blog is everything to me. I try my hardest to make sure that I post often enough to keep people coming and make them stay. And I try my hardest to stay true to who I am. And I try my hardest to make sure that everything makes enough sense. And I try my hardest to make something that everyone can find what they need in a specific moment no matter what it is.

Three years. 63 posts. 1,445 views. 431 followers.

I’m gonna be honest. It wasn’t easy. I lose interest easily in nearly everything. I even took 8 months off to improve my writing and regain my love for it. But, I’m proud of myself. I’m proud of how my writing has improved. I’m proud that I’ve stayed by my blog all this time. That people get excited when they get an email saying I post. I’m so damn proud of myself. I did this all on my own. I’m even working on buying my own domain.

I did this for myself and I did this for you. I did this for whoever reads this. This isn’t just some topic, idea, or concept that engages me. I built this on my own. I did this by myself. And I’d be lying if I said I turned to someone or something when I wanted to learn more.

I have designed this website and blog on my own.

But you. You made it a success. You made it worth it.

This isn’t just my college essay, this is my thank you. My thank you to everyone who takes time out of their life to listen to me ramble and rant and review and write and ramble some more with improper grammar, incorrect tense, and lots and lots of run-ons.

This is how I get my point across, sometimes in less words, more times in more. This is how I speak and write. This is my safe place. The ear that will always listen. The place where I write with no limit.

This is my blog.

This is my escape.

This is me.


AGH! Did you like it? I’m honestly so in love with my essay. I feel like it is really me in a 650 word nutshell (exactly 650 words, common app isn’t playing like they strictly enforce that rule which is unfortunate because originally it was 703 words).

But honestly, thank you. Blogging has been an amazing journey. I cannot wait to see what’s in store.

Happy Wednesday guys 🙂


J (Short Story Saturday #2)

“Get up” a deep voice whispers with a grunt waking me from my sleep. I feel something cold against my neck not able to exactly identify what it is. Presumably metal. The man grabs my wrists and pulls me from my bed. The cold floor makes my jump and the metal presses deeper into my skin.

Thoughts flood my mind. Who is this man? Why is he in my room? Why am I getting up? What time is it? Am I going to die? He pulls the metal from my neck, covers my mouth, and pulls my from my room down the hallway and down the stairs. I try to yell for help, but it’s nearly impossible. His hands have a strong hold on my face.

By this point tears begin to run down my face. I try to wipe them but his other hand is holding my wrists and guiding me in any direction he goes. He yanks me out the back door and into the cold night. He pushed me into a car where he tapes my mouth and covers my eyes with fabric. He then uses something tight to hold my wrists together on my lap.

Come on Jade, think. How can I escape him. I know this town inside and out. Every turn and street. Pay attention to where he’s driving. Keep track of where he’s going and maybe I can figure out who it is.

The car starts and pulls out of the driveway. Left. 15 seconds then a right. 47 seconds and a right. 5 seconds and a left. A stop. Is that a light or a stop sign? Stopped for 17 seconds. Light.

I continue to keep track of the location. We come to another stop. He gets out the car and leaves me a few minutes. I reach up and uncover my eyes. I look for the keys, but he must have taken them. If I run he will find me and probably kill me. If I stay he will probably kill me. Let’s run.

I open the door as careful as possible and creep down the driveway. I don’t even look to see where I am going and start running down the street.

“What the fuck? Why would you leave her in the car alone?” I hear men yelling in the distance. “You lost her. You find her. Or I’m taking you out.”

I keep running and I hear the car start. My only options are run or knock on someone’s door and ask for help. No one is going to answer their door this late at night. It’s no use. I stop in my tracks and wait for him to find me.

The car stops meters away from me and I willingly get back in the car before he even gets out. We go back to the house. He yanks my by the hair into the house and places me in front of two other men in masks.

They begin to strip me. First my socks and pants. Next my shirt. They leave me vulnerable in just a bra and underwear. At least it’s warm.

“Where is she?” a female growls.

“Right here miss. Just like you asked us,” one man declares with a shaky voice. “You know the three of us…”

“Shut up, I don’t care,” the lady interrupts. “Pretty, pretty Jade. Look at how you’ve grown up. So beautiful and kind.”

Tears roll from my eyes once again. Who is she? How does she know me? I slowly back away from her in fear. She grabs me and pulls me back in front of her.

“Oh are you scared J, don’t be. I’d never hurt a fly, never mind an innocent city girl like you” she says pulling the tape from my mouth. “Now tell me sweetheart. Where is your father. A man like him certainly knows how to run from the devil.”

“I-I don’t know. H-he left me by my-myself. He said my mother w-would be back s-soon. It’s been weeks, “I stutter, breathless from all the weeping.

“Well I guess you’re mine then,” the lady grins and lets out a giggle. She turns to my kidnapper and motions to his pocket. He pulls out a knife and hands it to her. She holds it to my neck. “Now daddy wouldn’t be so happy if his little girl got hurt. Let me ask again. Where. Is. Your. Father,” she demands, each word grinding through her teeth and spitting a little on me.

“I really don’t know miss” I cry desperately. The knife digs deeper into my neck feeling as if it is going to puncture the skin.

“One more time baby girl, where is he.” This time more gentle, but with just as much anger. I don’t reply. “Suit yourself. I’ll let them take care of you” referring to the men. “Boys, don’t be too gentle.”

The men release my wrists, cover my mouth with more tape and take me to another room with a bed. They strip me completely naked and violate my body. All I can do is sob and try to yell. How could he do this to me? Hurt his little girl. Where is my father and what did he do.

Complete failure/ SSS #1

I was writing my short story for today while I took a break from studying for finals and I hate it. I restarted it 3 times and I just can’t figure out what I want it to be. Maybe I’ll figure it out, but for now here’s a small part of it.

The fresh air burns her lungs and she coughs up water. The girl swims to a nearby rock and climbs up to check the contents of the bag. Inside: a flashlight, wads of cash, a gun, a passport, and a letter in a plastic bag.

She takes out the letter and the flashlight.


If you are reading this letter it means you made it out alive. In the bag I’ve left you money, a way to leave, and protection. You are going to be okay. I am going to find you. I’m sorry for everything.


Lola reads the letter over and over again wondering how he could have gotten her into this near death situation. How did he get a gun? Where did he get all of this money? Where is she going that she needs to be found?

It’s not terrible, I just don’t know where I want to go with it.

I’ll work on it though.

Happy Saturday guys 🙂


We Were Liars (and random announcement that doesn’t need a whole post to itsself)


Cadence. Sweet, sweet Cadence. How could you ever do such a thing? Hurt such innocent people. And then just forget.

*And now back to your regularly scheduled program*

Let’s break this book down. I read We Were Liars by E. Lockhart at the recommendation of a friend (also out of pure curiosity) in about 10 hours, it was good, not great but good. Also, it made me cry, so that’s something.

In terms of the actual story, I loved it. I connected with Cady and loved Gat whole heartedly and slightly hated Mirren for being such a bitch at times.

In terms of the actual style of the writing, eh. It was very confusing at times. I might just be a little dumb, but I feel there were times where the author mistakes Cady for Mirren and then I would go back and be like “oh wait I though Cady dyed her hair, but now its saying Mirren.” Just little things like that.

Also at random

times in the


of the book

it would break

up like this.

Granted sometimes I loved it and it added drama, but other times just made it annoying to read and slightly difficult.

I wish the other characters were given a chance to develop more. I read somewhere that the title never really got explaining because the part where they are declared “The Liars” was cut out in editing. That bothers me because 1) it would probably help me get a larger understanding of Mirren, Johnny, and Gat but also because 2) why do publishers get to decide that a part of the book isn’t necessary, like excuse me, you need to back up.

(This is why I am going to start my own publishing company and let people publish whatever they want)

Do I recommend this book? Yes. Would I read it again? If I have 10 hours to spare and nothing to do, so probably not. Is it worth me purchasing? No, but I’m still going to buy it off thrift books to say I have it and because I love owning books. It makes me feel significant and educated.

Other reviews have complained that Cadence is annoying or spoiled or whatever, but I like her. She falls fast and hard. And she’s poetic about her pain. And she fell in love with a boy she couldn’t have. And she messed up really bad. And that’s who I am. I fall in love fast and hard and for no real reason, not know who the person is. And I aim to be poetic, sometimes. I don’t know, I just liked Cady… and Gat. Gat’s my favorite.

I didn’t like Mirren or Granddad. Mirren was annoying and Granddad was an arse.

This is the kind of book that you either love or hate. I mean granted I don’t particularly love or hate it, but there was nothing powerful or impactful. It’s a book to pass time and make you cry. It’s a good book. It’s a good book about a rich blond girl who has brain injury and is in love with a boy she can’t have and can’t remember most of summer 15.

But, it’s just a good book.

Read it or don’t.

My feelings won’t be hurt.



Starting next week, I will start doing “Short Story Saturday”. I probably didn’t make it up, and I won’t always post short stories, I might also post poetry, but it was catchy and Saturday is a nice day for me to just write and read and be lazy.

I just aim to post something not ranty/life/school on Saturdays 1) to improve my writing and 2) because I like posting my writing because I don’t expect feedback or feel it’s necessary.

Also, I’m sure it gets annoying having to read about my life.

Alright, that’s all for now.

Happy Saturday and happy memorial day weekend 🙂

BLACK&WHITE (short story)

It was once all in color. The vibrant spring flowers of Battery Park. The obnoxious taxi cabs and bright lights of Times Square. The rich jewel tones of our tiny studio apartment furniture overlooking Central Park. It was all in color. And I was in love. And he was my soulmate. Life was in color. But now it’s always dark. And Everything is grey and dreary. And I no longer believe in color.

The urn on the book shelf of the apartment I can barely afford reminding me daily of the color my life now lacks. That gold and turquoise urn is all that’s left in color. But I wish I could bury it. Burn it. Throw it in the ocean. Do anything just so that I didn’t have to feel the same heart break every day when I come home from my miserable job to my lifeless apartment and dull cat named Mr. Mittens. But I can’t do that unless I fall in love, which I frankly have no interest in.

Falling in love is not something I ever imagined for myself. In grade school they taught us the wonders love had to offer. When we were little we saw glimpses of color, but as we grew into our late teens reality set in and everything went grey.

I knew in order to get the color I missed from childhood back I’d have to find a boy and fall in love. Not too hard. But being gay in this grey world is impossible. Yes, our mentors taught us to fall in love if we loved color and happiness, but they never taught me to fall in love. They never taught me how hard it would be to find my color. Or my soulmate. Or simply just another gay boy who was looking for some different hues besides grey. So I moved to New York and met the love of my life and life was in color.

I was at the Limelight with some friends. One of the most iconic NYC clubs. I honestly didn’t want to go, I’m not a clubbing type person, but I went. I felt something in me forcing me to go. I was longing to go. Some asshole spilled a sticky mixed drink on me, but that didn’t even matter the second I saw him. There he was. Sweaty. Careless. On the dancefloor. The most beautiful sight.

It all happened so fast. Everything I did I did for him. We got married quickly and discussed adoption. We settled on a cat seeing as we were only 22 and poor. Not ready for little feet running around. We never fought, except for about the color of the kitchen table, though we settled on a hideous sunny yellow. I always had a chest to snuggle in and soft lips accompanied by a scruffy face to kiss. I lived every second of every day in color admiring the blooming flowers, beautiful taxi cabs that reminded me of the kitchen table, and the bright lights of time square. Those 6 years were the best of my life.

Until it was all grey. My heart dropped and I skunk to my knees on the corner of Central Park West and and West 89th street. I was on my way home, a mere three blocks away. I felt it in every inch of  my body. I knew he was gone. My baby was dead. Everyone knew. The people walking saw all of the color being drawn out of every inch of my body. But they all just kept walking as I cried and screamed in agony. I don’t know what was worse. The color being ripped out of me or losing the love of my life.

Even after being in such breathtaking, heart stopping love, the only thing I love anymore is Mr. Mittens. He can’t give me any color, so when his time comes, there won’t be any color to lose and I can just replace Mr. Mittens. I don’t even want the color anymore. It’s too bright and obnoxious. The thought of it makes me want to throw up or cry. Maybe both. Definitely both.

The truth is, I’m not scared of love. I’m scared that I’ll never get my color back. I mean I know I will, or at least that I can, but it’s not going to be the same. It’s not going to be as bright and precious as it once was. And not only is your first colorful love your greatest, I’m gay and I’ve had that. Finding a fellow gay is hard enough, but adding the fact that I’ve had my firework love makes it a million times harder.

Do I regret falling for him, no never. I was young. I intended to love him forever, and I will. I wanted a forever firework kind of love or nothing at all. I wanted the moonlight kisses and picnics in the warm sun. I wanted to give away my heart completely. But now there is no color. My color was taken away, and so was my love before it even had the chance to begin. And you see none of that matters any more. It’s just me, Mr. Mittens, and the hollow, colorless apartment I used to call home.

I hate losing

So, as I mentioned in a previous post, I wasn’t sure if I was going to share my short story, and all though I didn’t win, a friend of mine did and I’m happy for her. Even though I am super upset about losing, I know I’m a good writer and that’s all that matters. Anyway, enough with the rant, here’s Silent Desire.



There she is. This beautiful person whom I’d only seen a few times before. I looked at her trying to avoid making eye contact. Someone like me could never be with her. She is everything someone could want in a girl. I am in love with a girl who doesn’t even know I exist. That’s the problem. I am in love with a girl who wouldn’t ever be seen with a guy like me. I’m a walking encyclopedia. She is just generally smart, and I surely have no chance. If only Lux knew who I was.


It is the first day of school. I saw him again. He hasn’t seemed to notice me, but why would he. I’m the awkward girl with no friends. I keep to myself. I wouldn’t ever interfere with him. If only Micha knew how much I adored him, then surely, things would be different. Who am I kidding, we will graduate in nine months without having said a single word to each other for four years. That’s insane, how could I possibly love someone as much as I love him without even knowing who he is?




She’s in my science class. This is the first time I’ve had a class with her. Of course I’ve liked other girls, but ever since I saw her freshman year in that emerald green sweater, light washed denim jeans, and high-top black converse that were laced one hole down from the top, I knew she was the girl I wanted. I realized I wanted her even more when she walked up to me.

“Hello,” she said to me.

At this point I am convinced she doesn’t even know I exist. I don’t even realize she is talking to me until I noticed we are the only one’s in the room with the exception of our teacher.

“Hi. Lux, right?”

I replied a few seconds away from awkward. By this time, people began to enter the room. We were no longer alone. The truth is, I know her name, I just don’t want to freak her out.

“Yea, that’s me. The nerd with no friends.”

How could someone so painfully beautiful not have any friends? How could she even declare herself a nerd? She was smart and beautiful, a beautiful nerd.

A moment too soon, the bell rang. I had ruined my one chance of speaking to her.


How could I do that? Micha doesn’t even know my name. I’ve made such a fool of myself. I know that it was a risky move speaking to him. I couldn’t stop glancing at his tall build and glasses. The same glasses he’d worn for three years. The same glasses I had come to know. I knew every inch of his face, like the back of my hand. Yet, all I could manage to say was a bland ‘hello.’



Class was drawing to a close. It had been nine months since our first and last encounter. I have always wondered why she never spoke to me again. As if I were some contagious disease that she didn’t want to catch. I get it though. I’m not exactly the prettiest color in the crayon box. I’m the color you use when the color you want is missing, a second choice of sorts. Lux, on the other hand, she is the crayon you always grab for without a doubt. Another reason I was in love with her, the fifth reason I loved her. She is the definition of perfect.

It is the last day of school. In a few hours we all graduate, and it is very likely that I’ll never see Lux again. I have had this reoccurring dream that she has spoken to me, and we are friends and that everything is perfect, but I know that that couldn’t ever happen.

We are sitting in our last science class together and I feel the urge to speak to her. Discuss all of the science related things that we have learned in our nine short months together. Lux is the most amazing person I had ever met in my life. I have grown even fonder of her since sharing a class with her. Hearing her answer every question correctly. That is the girl of my dreams. But purely of my dreams because I can’t even manage to say a simple ‘hello’ to her.


I plan to talk to Micha at graduation, but possibly before. I want to talk to him simply because he hasn’t said anything to me since that first conversation. Overall, science was a great class. While I hoped that it would mean getting to know Micha rather than simply knowing of him, I only got to know that atoms are the smallest constituent unit of ordinary matter that has the properties of a chemical element.



We are getting ready to walk at graduation, this is my last chance to do anything. I could simply pretend that I haven’t had feelings for Lux all these years, but that’s not exactly what I want to do. I want to speak to her again and tell her exactly what I feel. Tell her how absolutely beautiful and smart she is. I wanted to tell her how lucky a guy like me would be to date someone as extraordinary as her, but I’m not that kind of person. I will, more likely than not, just pretend I never thought of being in a relationship with her that wasn’t strictly friendly and nothing more.


I have come to realize that I will never see Micha again, but I have thought this through over and over again, and I decided that I am going to hug him with no explanation, and pass it off as just saying goodbye to everyone, including him, even though we aren’t friends. I am nervous mainly because I have yet to think about what I have ahead of me, but I am trying to keep my mind set on saying goodbye for the sake of my sanity. I have spent enough time obsessing over this guy, whom I barely know, and I am finally ready to give that up. I have my whole life ahead of me to fall in love with people who actually know I exist, and while it may not seem like it, I know that I will find someone who I care about equally as much as I do Micha.



We walked at graduation, and now Lux is standing next to me. This time when she says ‘hello,’ I know that she is talking to me because we are the only ones in the science room, saying our final goodbyes to high school.

“Are you going to miss it here,” she asks breaking the stale, silent air that stands between us.

“I don’t think so,” I respond lying to myself. I won’t miss highschool, I’ll miss this science class, and more specifically this girl. I’ll miss her laugh and her stupid mistakes. The way she taps her pencil when she is thinking. All of the small things I have come to know about Lux are the things I will miss the most.  I will miss Lux Margos.


“Can I hug you goodbye,” I questioned. I didn’t want to be too forward. And, as I waited for his response, Micha turned to face me. I didn’t even realize it until it happened. Micha Traxler kissed me. My life flashed before me, and in a panic I raced out of the science room. I was in the hallway leading to the main door when Micha yelled for me to stop.

“Lux, I am so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have done that. But, I need to tell you something,” He starts. “Ever since I saw you that first day freshman year, in that beautiful green sweater, I knew that you were the person I wanted to be with. You are the most beautiful and most intelligent person I have ever met, and I think you deserve to know that.”

I want to tell him that I feel the same, but I am ready to move on. He is four years too late. I run towards him and embrace him in a tight hug. “I’m so sorry,” I began. “But, I am ready to let you go, let every thought I’ve ever had about you go. But, you are amazingly smart and sweet, and I think I’ve changed my mind. I had this whole plan to hug you goodbye and pretend that I never felt anything for you, but then you kissed me and I take that as a sign not to let go.”

“Don’t pretend Lux Margos. You won’t regret it.”



I finally have the girl of my dreams. Lux Margos, absolutely perfect.


Micha Traxler. The first and hopefully last person I will love.



So, that’s the story I didn’t win with. Wow, I’m such a sore loser. Happy Thanksgiving guys!

Forgotten: A very short story

(My friends asked me to help her on a project a few weeks ago and I wrote this for her, and I just reread it and I actually like it, so here it is.)

The kids don’t play with me anymore. They are interested in their phones and their laptops more than they are in their favorite past time. I’ve been in the bottom of this dingy box for a few months, maybe years, I’ve lost track. It’s not like they gradually lost interest in me, they just got new gifts from mommy and daddy one day and I suddenly no longer mattered. Mommy and daddy threw me and others in this box, shoved us in the corner, and none of us have seen the light of day since. Kids these days only care about what’s on the internet; I remember the days when these kids would have their friends over and they would be excited to stay up all night and show me off, but now, they sit on their phones, showing each other memes, not even verbally speaking to one another, but rather texting. I miss the old days, the days where I was the best thing in the world. Now, I’m just an old board game in a box that has been shoved in the corner, and the kids have all lost interest.

So, the assignment was to personify something, and I think I did a pretty good job. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed 🙂