Lalalaleigha
Since starting the Showcase, I've pestered the mods to let me feature them. Leigha finally gave into my hounding, so we now have a complete set! (Firesign10's Showcase, Pipisafoat's Showcase)
Doing this interview took longer than the usual two hours ... it took seven days. I'm recovering from a surgery, I'm fine, it's just much more difficult than I anticipated to resume my regular activities (like sitting at a desk for prolonged periods of time). But of course, our fearless leader was gracious when I had to bow out of the interview last week and agreed to chat with me again tonight despite our vast time zone differences :D
Gather 'round, my darling FLAMERS, and enjoy getting to know a bit more about our very own Lalalaleigha!
Kathy: I'm incredibly interested in hearing more about the dreaded death by bursting ear drum story you mentioned in a recent chatter post. Care to elaborate?
Leigha: The home I grew up in was located near an abandoned factory. Even at a young age I was fascinated by less-than-upbeat publications, so I decided this abandoned factory would be the perfect site for a choose your own adventure book that I was going to write. It had 40 pages and six or so possible endings, one of which was death by burst eardrum. Apparently my childhood logic decided that banshee screams from inside haunted rooms could burst ear drums, and that this poisoned the sufferer to death rather instantly. Not all the endings were that gruesome, but that's the only one apart from 'and you escape the factory safely!' that I remember.
After that I was writing on and off through school assignments. I switched from French Immersion to English education in grade six and distinctly remember handing in a french-language piece to my teacher. I pretended it was 'out of habit' but really I was looking to raise a little hell. She gave me the credit anyway, which is nice because it was a crap story.
Then started writing in earnest at 14, and the rest is history.
Kathy: :D Are there any stories about you as a child that your parents and/or family members retell purely for entertainment?
Leigha: I guess most of the stories about me are less stories and more anecdotes. Like, when I was three I mistook a spoonful of mayonnaise as a spoonful of ice cream and took it into my mouth in one. To this day, mayonnaise makes me gag. My mom's best friend hated pickles and so called them 'guck'. I loved them, and yet somehow carried on the assumption that they were actually called 'guck' until I was eight or so. One time my dad commented on the repeated use of the word 'absolutely' in his novel. I then crooned 'ABSOLUUUUUUTELY' for about six hours ... in the car ride ... all the way across the province. I was about four. But no huge paradigmatic 'Leigha' story, alas.
Kathy: French immersion? From what I've heard about the education system in Canada, it sounds amazingly thorough compared to what I've experienced (on my side of the US). What memories do you have (and feel free to tell us about specific classes/studies) from primary and secondary?
Leigha: My parents enrolled me in French immersion right out of kindergarten. I have a distinct memory of being five years old and sitting in my kindergarten-teacher-to-be's office and having her ask me questions. I counted to 20 in French and gave her a few phrases -- I have my parents to thank for that one -- and that served as sort of a screening process for the immersion program. It was no secret that French immersion got a more thorough education than English immersion did. I could have carried on right through to the seventh grade, but my parents moved me out of the province's capital and into what I now call my hometown when I was 11. I spent one year in regular, English-immersion education bored out of my skull and getting along with no one. I didn't like my teacher much but she had the good smarts to put me in a 'high potential' placement exam, which I did well enough in to be accepted to a small class of 20 kids who operated outside of the regular curriculum. I hated the idea at first but my folks talked me into it, and I made amazing friends in an engaging environment. My best friend today was the first friend I met in that class.
Unfortunately, because our town had 16,000 people and limited resources (though major kudos for that program's existence at all), half the 20 kids were taken out of regular curriculum because they had *below-average* IQs. So half of us were too smart for the mandated curriculum, and half couldn't keep up. Naturally that fitted the entire class with a certain stigma that stuck with us through high school, and made for sometimes-awkward social dynamics within the class itself. Some kids had been in the same class with the same teacher and outside of the curriculum for four years, grades 4-7. I'd only been there for one year; I couldn't imagine the difference such a vigorous program made on their lives.
Eighth grade meant junior high, and the town had French-immersion programs starting up for grades eight through ten where half the classes were taught in French and the other half in English. I enrolled, but had much better French-language skills than most of the others. Still, it provided me with friends and a niche environment of linguistically intelligent kids within which to make friends.
Once out of the tenth grade I finally went into regular English-language high school. My hometown has since implemented a way to get French immersion through elementary (K-5) and middle (6-8) schools, having abolished the 8-10 junior high system I went through. I really value that second-language environment in hindsight. I think I was very lucky with my education. In real-world British columbia, no one speaks French. So it's a bit odd to have the program, if I'm honest. My language skills have faded considerably once out of the schooling environment and I know those friends I was in French immersion with only from grades 8-10 no longer consider themselves fluent. It's a shame.
Kathy: That's great! Overall, I mean. It's definitely a shame that you didn't get to employ French more after school. Though, I'm sure the learning of a second language, and developing the proces of mental translation helped you develop other skills, no? Through the sixth grade, we didn't study anything beyond the basics. Although, I did have a teacher in sixth who (unlike the others in the school)required us to learn how to do research papers and public readings. Those definitley made an impact on my later performances in more advanced classes ... what would you say was a class or particular subject that influenced you the most in later scholastic pursuits?
Leigha: If I'm honest, no particular subject struck me until History 12. It was all the teachers. I've wanted to be a teacher since I-don't-know-when. That's been the inspiration. Then when I took Social Studies 11 and actually enjoyed it (it was a hated subject until then), I signed up for history 12 on a whim. And it completely engaged me. So I went to uni, still entirely intending to become a teacher at the lower-school level, and it turns out I'm pretty smart. So I've upped it to university level. :) Perhaps a bold goal but I've always got that old dream to fall back on.
Kathy: !! And you're a history major now, correct? Do you mind sharing with everyone your more indepth educational goals (as they stand now)?
Leigha: Oh, sure. I'm in my fourth year of uni and my educational goals have fluctuated like mad over the last three years. But I went into uni a history major -- European history was my first love -- and a history major is what I remain, though I now focus more specifically on Britain. I'm spending the next two and a bit years compiling an honours thesis on gender and sexuality in Northern Ireland and to what extent related civil rights issues have been pushed aside by the sectarian conflict in the mid-to-late 20th century. I'm also getting a for-fun BA in philosophy -- I stumbled into a philosophy class in first year by complete happenstance, met a boy, and loved the material. I hope to graduate with a PhD in history by 2017.
Kathy: Whoa! (Your goals make my heart thump!) For my own understanding: do you take classes for the two BAs at once or concentrate on one at a time, then go for the Master's? I'm a bit puzzled as to how that works.
Leigha: Basically you take the undergraduate classes you want in conjunction. I'll be continuing my philosophy degree alongside my history thesis. I'll graduate with both BAs in Spring 2013, and after that is grad school. I'd like to get my PhD in three years but I'm allowing for four, more realistically.
Kathy: Ahh! And for your PhD, you have to write a dissertation? Random: Do you have a favorite color? (There is a reason for this question. *making a banner*)
Leigha: Yes. What on? I don't know. That's in 2014. I'll figure it out. :D My favourite colour is actually brown! I am told this is odd, but I find it very aesthetically pleasing. (Next is a nice foresty green.)
Kathy: Yes! Definitely have plenty of time to contemplate that :) Meanwhile, will you still consider publishing any of your fiction? Or is that not a goal of yours right now?
Leigha: It's not among my major priorities. I want to keep my focus on my honours thesis, but on the other hand I just (completely horrifyingly) signed up for NaNo this year so it's not a one-or-the-other thing. It's also on my 101in1001 list to get a piece of leisure writing published, so it's definitely something I have in mind.
Kathy: Do you find that there's been a particular inspiration for your fiction (or nonfiction)? Music, current events, emotions, etc.?
Leigha: You know, I am not sure. I wrote largely to escape the madness of my daily affairs so it's hard to look back and discern a particular motive. I know music is always a motivator for every aspect of my life, and my NaNo is tentatively structured on the naval base I pass on my walks in Vancouver. I suppose it comes from all places.
Kathy: And what piece are you going to let me feature?
Leigha: Navel!
(navel, naval ... heh heh)
Kathy: :D
*Seven day intercession due to Kathy crying OW! Reopens with random question.*
Kathy: What historical person would you say is an inspiration to you?
Leigha: I'm largely a social historian, and I'm focused mostly on the history of oppression. I study mostly tyrants and royal arses. Very very recently I've turned my focus to the history of gender and sexuality, and I'm reading about Harvey Milk and Nell McCafferty with varying stages of admiration. But there is no one figure I am able to slam down on the table and say, 'hellz yes, this is my inspiration!' I am more inspired by populations.
Kathy: I have a mission for you. What's your most favorite song (right now or of all time)?
Leigha: Right now? It is Paradise by the Dashboard Light by Meat Loaf. All-time is too hard. But there is a criterion that it must be at least seven minutes long to hit the favourites list ;)
Kathy: I. Love. Meat Loaf. :) Mission: Write for me ... a 200+ word story based on whatever that song inspires in you ... a mini-drama, whatever.
Leigha: I am going to change the song to one that is equally epic and more condusive to this project, if that's okay.
Kathy: That's fine :)
*45 minutes later!*
Disclaimer: written in 45 minutes. Some lines very obviously stolen shamelessly from the song (like, many). Should not be judged alongside my better works. 838 words, it got away from me, ack. ~Leigha
Bat Out of Hell
Tommy finally tore into his hotel room, top-heavy with the weight he'd put behind his shoulder. Sweat rolled liberally down his face, cutting through dirt and complementing his sideburns. He straightened; he gazed around the room, shocked the door had finally crashed open before his weight, before coming to his senses.
With the sort of fluidity usually foreign to him, he pulled his suitcase out from under the bed. Doors and drawers flew furiously open; he shoved his belongings haphazardly into the case, not bothering to stop to retrieve dropped socks.
Sirens screamed over the city.
He had the presence of mind to realize the bareness of his wrist. His watch—his father's watch, the only valuable thing he owned—was in the bathroom. Tommy swore a propos the wasted time and jogged toward the bathroom, turning his back just long enough for the shadow to cross his door—
He swiftly pulled the gun out of his waistband and pointed it at the room's entrance.
Shauna stared back. Her blue eyes widened, bubblegum lips sculpted into an expression of shock. She raised her hands in surrender.
Tommy breathed and let his hand drop to his side; he beseeched Shauna with a tragic look, half-panicked at the sight of her. "I thought you were Jack."
She didn't respond; she was looking at his suitcase. "You're just leaving? Just like that? Not even a goodbye?"
"This isn't about you." He suddenly ignored her; warm metal slid back against his tailbone as he strode back toward the bed. He'd stuffed cloth away from the suitcase's edges and clasped it shut in a matter of seconds.
"Tommy!"
He looked up; determination flashed in Shauna's eyes. "Fight this," she implored him.
"We tried. We tried that, remember? It didn't work, it just made shit worse. Somewhere out in that riot, Jack's coming up with the next best way to kill me. I've gotta get out."
"You're a coward." She was furious with him. She stood in front of the exit as though such a five-foot obstacle would stop him from ever leaving. He tried to push softly past her but she stood strong, unmoving.
"I caused this!" he reminded her, half-mad with panic. "Have you seen the city? I'm done, Shauna, I'm out. That's it. It's not safe for anyone if I stay. Especially you. I've gotta get out, before the crack of dawn. It's what's best, please understand."
He tried again to push past her. She wasn't going to move and he wasn't about to move her, so he stared her down instead.
In the valley, the fires raged on. Raised voices could be heard intermittently against the din.
"One night," she said after a while, voice rasping with the effort of concealing her emotion. "We take the bike, go to the outskirts of town, I take out a room in a hideaway inn. No one will be staying there, not in this din. One more night."
There was strength in her stature he had never seen before; the light of the fire contrasted against the cool blue of her eyes. "I'm damned if I don't get out," he tried.
"Maybe you're damned if you do," she reasoned. "Jack probably knows you're going to run. Maybe he's got his thugs stationed at every damn exit from this place. We get away from the fires, spend a final night together, and when the morning comes, you get on your bike and fly like a bat out of hell. We can do this."
She stared down his obvious disbelief. "It's about predictability," she reiterated. "This is not predictable."
"That's because it's not smart!" Tommy protested, gesticulating wildly.
"Look. Not to be a pessimist, but if Jack catches you tomorrow … what would you want to spend your last night doing? Down in the gutter trying desperately to escape your crazed assassin in a city torn by civil unrest?"
He stood nearly a foot taller than she was, and weighed double. Yet she was staring him down, expression hot and hungry and steeled for his next protest.
"I'll come back," he told her.
She rolled her eyes. "You'll never be back."
"Then come with me."
Her expression softened. "And I'll never do that. You know it. So let's have our one last night together, because when it's over, you know…" Her sentence went left unfinished.
The muscles in his jaw twitched; someone miles away was screaming; the fires burned on.
At last he threw an arm over her shoulder and closed the shattered door to the hotel out of habit. A minute later, they were hitting the highway like a battering ram on his silver black phantom bike, suitcase strapped onto the back end with a bungee cord and Shauna's hands wrapped firmly around his waist.
Jack was too good; they both knew it. There was no way Tommy could escape. Shauna was right: he was damned either way.
And if he's gonna be damned, he knew he'd rather be damned dancing through the night with her.
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